side hustle Journal : “Shua Sao Mai Jian: The Pleasure of Becoming an Image” - Pai'an Chen

This morning I spoke with Chen Paian again about that three-hour-long conversation from the other day, which in some sense felt like re-digesting what had been said. I originally thought we were discussing something more grand, such as how to establish a standardised workflow for artistic creation and follow it step by step, or how to secure a position for oneself within the entangled art market so that one’s work could be seen and recognised. But he actually brought the discussion back to something very simple, even somewhat boring: everyday life itself is a continuous process of acquiring dopamine and serotonin. Creating, working out, watching films—these activities already provide a certain level of satisfaction and do not need to be additionally assigned meaning. He believes that those grand achievements are of course important and do bring a strong sense of accomplishment, but living an ordinary life does not necessarily mean dullness. What seems like repetitive daily routines can in fact generate a stable form of happiness.

Then he asked me what I usually rely on to get 樂子（pleasure / enjoyment）. I answered, as always, very honestly—perhaps a bit too bluntly: shopping, being a 韭菜（a willing subject of capitalism / exploited consumer） under capitalism, deriving a sense of identity and self-worth from consumerism; climbing; writing cynical and highly self-reflective texts, engaging in philosophical discussions with friends and ending up even more cynical yet somehow happier; listening to music; and also those interactions with men that carry a sense of probing. Being objectified by men is actually quite enjoyable, and of course being objectified by women as well. He replied, “耍騷賣賤（performative flirtation / self-sexualised display）is fun, shopping too, but I later realised that 95% of what I buy only increases cleaning costs, so now I only buy alcohol and funds.” He is a very straightforward person, at least in this regard more clear-headed than I am. Then we began a rather serious and somewhat philosophical, yet strange discussion about “耍騷賣賤”.

I deliberately skipped those overused explanations such as childhood trauma or lack of love, which can be applied to almost anyone, and instead tried to understand what is actually happening within this act itself. In my view, “耍騷賣賤” is essentially a process of objectification, more precisely, a form of self-objectification. I actively collapse myself into a two-dimensional object that can be looked at, displaying those traits that most easily attract attention, and constantly adjusting according to the observer’s reaction to fit their preferences. They may approach me, or they may simply pass by, but in that moment what remains in their mind is not a complete “person”, but rather an out-of-focus image—a highly distilled, fully emotional and desire-laden image. They may remember my face, my hairstyle, my outfit or body, but “who I am” is not important; they are simply enjoying the pleasure that this momentary image provides. At the same time, what I perceive as “how they see me” is actually my imagination of how they imagine me. The entire process is deeply rooted in projection, and therefore I do not consider this experience to have any universality.

Some might ask, doesn’t this make you want to be truly understood? Doesn’t being objectified feel tragic? But I think there is a distinction that needs to be clarified: being objectified and self-objectification are completely different states. When a person is objectified, they are passively placed under the gaze, with no control over the image they leave in others’ minds; within such a relationship, the one being looked at always occupies a subordinate position. Self-objectification, however, is to some extent a deliberate choice: within specific contexts and groups, one intentionally presents a compressed version of oneself, granting others the permission of “you may see me in this way”. This kind of “耍騷賣賤” is, to a certain extent, a way of pleasing oneself, using one’s own advantages to exchange for attention, and building self-esteem and identity from it. I allow myself to become two-dimensional at certain moments, but this does not mean I am only that two-dimensional self; rather, it is a strategic shift: first presenting a surface that can be quickly read, and then deciding whether there is a possibility of entering a more dimensional level. But in reality, most of the time, an image alone is already sufficient.

In real life, it is actually difficult to expect others to truly understand us, just as we would not, without reason, attempt to understand another person. “耍騷賣賤” is built precisely on this premise—it utilises human instincts toward sex, beauty, and stimulation, and follows a simple logic: distance itself produces aesthetic appeal. We are always prone to projecting unrealistic yet overly idealised fantasies onto people we have only seen once, simply because they possessed a certain presence or attractiveness in a brief moment. What “耍騷賣賤” does is actively construct such a space for dreaming, an out-of-focus image, allowing the viewer to obtain everything they desire within that brief, blurred, and compressed visual moment.

If I can actively compress myself into an image at certain moments, then this compression has already long existed within the larger structure of capitalist consumerism. We are living in an era where almost everything is required to become clear: images are increasingly sharp, narratives increasingly direct, and emotions are continuously distilled into units that can be quickly recognised and consumed. At the same time, everything is being turned into images and spectacles：life becomes visual frames, relationships become moments, and experiences are compressed into surfaces that can be viewed, scrolled through, and remembered. Under such conditions, “clarity” is no longer merely a visual issue, but rather a normative demand—you should be understood, you should be legible, you should be recognisable within the shortest time possible; anything too complex or not immediately digestible appears redundant.

But the contradiction emerges precisely here: on one hand, we accelerate understanding, demanding everything to be readable and recognisable; on the other hand, we still expect images to retain depth and meaning. We want an image to be instantly readable, yet we are unwilling to give up the imagination of “depth”, but under such conditions, depth itself has already become difficult to sustain.

Within such an environment, more and more images become blurred, out of focus, or intentionally remain in a state that cannot be fully recognised. But this blur is not necessarily a form of resistance; rather, it resembles a kind of compliance. As the production and consumption of images accelerate, and everything is compressed into quickly readable surfaces, whether extremely sharp or intentionally blurred, both serve the same mechanism. Neither can truly maintain objectivity, nor sustain what is called depth—they simply adopt different modes of presentation: sharp images attempt to preserve the illusion of “I can be accurately understood”, while blurred images abandon this illusion and remain within a more direct realm of emotion and sensation.

Blur exists because when details begin to loosen and the image can no longer be immediately recognised, we lose the ability to quickly understand and temporarily lose control over the image, forced to remain within a state of not knowing. This suspension is not about seeing clearly, but rather a delay—a continuously unfolding affective experience. The image may be blurred, but the emotion it conveys is often not; in fact, it may become even more concentrated. When we can no longer rely on details to identify “what this is”, viewing itself becomes a form of projection—we begin to fill in the missing parts with our own experiences. The less the image provides, the more the viewer invests. And so we return to a very direct question: is this image enough to make someone pause and take another look? Just like when I engage in “耍騷賣賤”: will you pause and look at me for a second longer?

But if blur and clarity share the same logic, then the real question may not be whether the image is blurred, but whether there exists an image that can further refuse this logic itself.

At this point, I believe Chen Paian’s work truly carries a certain counter-contemporary quality. He does not simply flatten everyday life, but further weakens the image’s capacity to carry meaning. His images do not rush to convey emotion, do not attempt to construct narrative, and even “atmosphere” itself is reduced to an almost blank state, leaving only seemingly neutral colour blocks and structures. Under such conditions, the image no longer provides an entry point for understanding, but instead pushes perception back onto the viewer—emotion and meaning are no longer given by the image, but are forced to emerge when facing this emptied surface. In a sense, he is not using images to convey meaning, but using images to de-signify the image itself.

中文：

今天早上我和陳拍岸又聊了一下前天那場長達三個小時的對話，某種程度上算是重新消化了一遍當時的內容。我原本以為我們在談的是一些比較宏大的東西，例如如何制定一個藝術創作的標準化流程並按部就班地完成，又或者是在那個盤根錯落的藝術市場之中如何為自己爭取一個位置，讓作品被看見、被認可。但他其實把話題帶回到一個很簡單、甚至可以說有點無聊的層面：日常生活本身就是在不斷獲取多巴胺和血清素的過程。創作、健身、看電影，這些事情本身就已經在提供某種程度的滿足感，而不需要被額外賦予意義。他認為那些宏大的成就當然重要，當然也會帶來強烈的成就感，但平凡地過日子並不代表沉悶，看似一日復一日地重複同樣的事情，其實也可以從中穩定地獲得快樂。

然後他反問我，我平時是靠什麼獲得樂子。我就一如既往地很誠實，甚至有點過於直白地回答了這個問題：購物，當資本主義的韭菜，從消費主義中獲得某種身份認同以及自我價值；攀岩；寫一些憤世嫉俗且高度自省的文章，和朋友進行哲學思辨，最後變得更加憤世嫉俗但卻又從中獲得快樂；聼音樂；還有就是和男人之間那些帶有試探意味的互動，被男人物化其實也挺開心，當然也可以被女人物化。他回我說，「耍騷賣賤是很有趣，購物也是，但我後來發現我買的95%的東西最後只是增加清潔成本，所以現在我只買酒和基金。」他是一個很實誠的人，至少在這一點上過得比我清醒。然後我們就開始對「耍騷賣賤」這件事情展開了一個其實還挺認真且富有哲學性的奇怪討論。

我刻意跳過了那些已經被說得太多的解釋，例如童年創傷、缺愛這些幾乎可以套用在任何人身上的敘述，而是試圖去理解這件事情本身在發生什麼。「耍騷賣賤」在我看來，本質上是一個物化的過程，更準確一點來說，是一種自我物化。我主動地將自己坍縮成為一個二維的、可以被觀看的對象，去展示那些最容易吸引注意的特質，並且隨時根據觀察者的反應進行微調，以貼合他們的喜好。他們可能會因此來搭訕，也可能只是路過，但在那一刻，我在他們心裡留下的並不是一個完整的「人」，而更像是一張失焦模糊的圖像，一張被高度提純、完全情緒化且帶有欲望的圖像。他們可能會記得我的臉、我的髮型、我的穿著或體態，但「我是誰」這件事情其實並不重要，他們只是在單純地享受那一瞬間這個畫面所帶來的愉悅。而同時，我所認為的「他們怎麼看我」，其實也是我在想像他們如何想像我，這整個過程本身就帶有很強的投射性，所以我並不認為這種經驗具有任何普遍性。

有人會問，那這樣難道不想被真正地理解嗎？不會覺得被物化是一件很可悲的事情嗎？但我覺得這裡有一個需要被釐清的區別：被物化與自我物化是完全不同的狀態。當一個人被物化時，他是被動地處於被凝視的位置，對於自己在他人腦海中留下什麼樣的形象並沒有控制權，在這種關係之中，被凝視者始終處於下位；而自我物化，某種程度上是一種主動的選擇，是在特定的場域與人群之中，刻意地呈現出一個被壓縮過的自己，給予他人一種「你可以這樣看我」的權力。這種「耍騷賣賤」某種程度上其實是在討好自己，利用自身的某些優勢去換取關注，並從中建立自尊與身份認同。我讓自己在某些時刻變成二維的，但這並不代表我只有那個二維的面向，而是一種策略性的切換：先讓人看到一個可以被快速閱讀的表面，再決定是否有機會進入一個更立體的層次。但現實是，多數時候，一個畫面其實就已經足夠了。

在現實生活中，我們其實很難要求別人真正地去理解自己，正如同我們也不會無緣無故地去理解另一個人。「耍騷賣賤」某種程度上正是建立在這個前提之上——它利用了人對性、美與刺激的本能，也遵循了一種很簡單的邏輯：距離本身會產生美感。我們總是很容易對那些只見過一面的人投射出不切實際卻又過於美好的想像，僅僅因為他們在某一瞬間具備了一點姿色或氣場。而「耍騷賣賤」所做的，其實就是主動地去建構這樣一個讓人做夢的空間、一張失焦的畫面，讓凝視者在這個短暫、失焦且被壓縮的畫面之中，獲得他們想要的一切。

如果說我可以在某些時刻主動地把自己壓縮成一張圖像，那麼這種壓縮，其實早就已經發生在更大的資本消費主義結構之中。我們正處在一個幾乎所有東西都被要求變得清晰的時代——影像越來越銳利，敘述越來越直接，情緒被不斷提純成可以被快速辨識與消費的單位。同時，一切又在被圖像化、被景觀化：生活被轉換成畫面，關係被轉換成瞬間，經驗被壓縮成一個可以被觀看、被滑過、被記住的表面。在這樣的條件之下，「清晰」不再只是視覺上的問題，而更像是一種默認的要求——你應該被理解，你應該是可讀的，你應該在最短的時間內被辨認出來，那些過於複雜、無法立即被消化的部分，反而顯得多餘。

但矛盾也正是在這裡生成的：我們一方面不斷加速理解，要求一切變得可讀、可辨識；另一方面卻又仍然期待圖像能夠保有深度與意義。我們希望一個畫面既能被瞬間讀懂，同時又不願放棄對「深度」的想像，但在這樣的條件之下，深度本身早已變得難以維持。

在這樣的環境裡，越來越多圖像開始變得模糊、失焦，甚至刻意地停留在一種無法被完全辨認的狀態之中。但這種模糊並不一定是一種對抗，反而更像是一種順應——當圖像被生產與消費的速度不斷加快，當一切都被壓縮成可以被快速閱讀的表面時，無論是極度清晰還是刻意模糊，其實都在服務同一套機制。它們同樣無法真正保有客觀性，也同樣難以維持所謂的深度，只是選擇了不同的呈現方式：清晰的圖像試圖維持一種「我可以被準確理解」的假象，而模糊的圖像則乾脆放棄這種假象，停留在一種更直接的情緒與感受之中。

模糊之所以成立，是因爲當細節開始鬆動，當畫面無法被立即辨認，我們失去了快速理解的能力，也暫時失去了對畫面的掌控，只能被迫停留在那種看不清的狀態之中。這種停留並不是為了看清，而更像是一種延遲，一種在不確定之中持續發生的感受。畫面可以是模糊的，但它所傳遞的情緒往往並不模糊，甚至在資訊被抽離之後變得更加集中。當我們無法再依賴細節去辨認「這是什麼」時，觀看本身其實已經轉變為一種投射，我們開始用自己的經驗去填補那些缺失的部分，畫面越少，觀者投入得反而越多。於是我們最終還是回到一個非常直接的問題：這個畫面夠不夠讓人停下來多看一眼，也正如我耍騷賣賤時所想的：你能不能停下來多看我一眼，是一樣的。

但如果說模糊與清晰其實共享同一套邏輯，那麼真正的問題或許不在於圖像變得模糊，而在於是否存在一種圖像，能夠進一步拒絕這套邏輯本身。

在這一點上，我認為陳拍岸的作品才真正帶有某種反時代的性質。他不只是將日常生活進行平面化處理，而是進一步削弱圖像本身承載意義的能力。他的畫面不急於傳達情緒，也不試圖建立敘事，甚至連「氛圍」本身都被壓低到近乎空白的狀態，只剩下一些看似中性的色塊與結構。在這樣的情況下，圖像不再提供理解的入口，而是將觀看推回到觀者自身——情緒與意義不再由畫面給出，而是在面對這種被抽空的表面時，被迫生成。某種程度上，他並不是在利用圖像去傳達什麼，而是在利用圖像去「去意義化」圖像本身。