TUBE-3

 

TUB 3

The Japanese woodblock print master Ando Hiroshige created in the 1830s to the magnificent series of 53 Stations on The Tokaidoroad (Tokaido Gojusana Tsugi-no Uchi).


Torsten Jurell has portray the 14 Stations on Hjulsta Line (Stockholm, Sweden) with  potato prints...
 

Yahagi bridge in Okazaki - from Hiroshige's series "53 Sations on The Tokaidoroad"

 

Bortom Underjorden, Röhsska museet visar Ando Hiroshige, träsnitt och Torsten Jurell, potatistryck, sida vid sida.

Above: Photo from the exhibition Beyond The Lower World at Röhsska museum in Gothenburg, Sweden. In the "Japanese" room"  Hiroshige's series to the left and Torsten Jurell's TUB 3 to the right...

 

The whole suite of potato prints, TUB-3 is collected in a book, bound in traditional Chinese "Accordion-foled-out". Spread out, the whole book is into the shape of a long train. TUB-3 was first shown in the 'World Plate and Print Art Exhibition - Millennial Wind', Hapcheon-gun, Gyeongsangnam-do, Korea, 2011.

 

地底下的标志

我到草场地的市场去买土豆。草场地是北京郊区的一个村子,这里的农贸市场熙熙攘攘,满街都是买食品的人。我精挑细选地买了土豆。回去后,我拿起土豆削皮器,以土豆为材料,刻制图案,以斯德哥尔摩的蓝色地铁(TUB3)为题材。我们小时候大多都曾经用土豆刻章印画,可惜,有些艺术表达方式被小瞧。土豆画仿佛是其中最卑贱的一种艺术表现方式,甚至不值得一提。就像我们的地下铁路(也称tube),土豆一生绝大部分时间在地底下。然而,追根究底,土豆画和地铁都是交流的方式:一个交际过程,一次可能产生各种奇遇的历程。

我从哥德堡搬到斯德哥尔摩时,在我眼里,地铁图上的线路决定了城市的地理。即使现在,如果我在地面上,我仍然很难确定从一点到另一点的最便捷路线。地铁线路图表述了所有不同地铁站的线性连接,像一条珍珠项链一样把各站点整洁地拴在一块儿。在地面上,我时常觉得,我并不需要一站一站的通过才能到达目的地。但是,我心中的地图却固执而直率地发挥其作用。

与地铁里面的乘客交融在一起,破译密码,学会如何观察其他人而不被发现——这是一种精彩的旅行方式。

有时,我会在站与站之间打瞌睡。但是,我总在到站前醒来:地铁开始减速时,我能感觉到。有时,仅仅靠感觉地铁列车是否在慢慢转弯或者在某段提速,我就能够感觉到自己的方位。当我向窗外观望时,我看到一个抽象的世界:颜色、图案、一个金属箱的影子。让我知道在哪里的是地铁站的墙壁,而不是站牌。突然,墙上遍布着鲜艳的墙砖:我到站了。然后,我乘扶梯到地上的世界,却发现走错出口了,虽然我那么地坚信自己不会走错。这种事情每天都发生,无论我是在家乡乘地铁还是在北京。

有些人对地铁也看不上眼。他们不是反对这种交通手段,而是反对其模式:与不同人搅和在一起。

在地铁里面,我有自己的私人空间但是却又暴露在大庭广众之下,因为我是旅行集体中的一员。我喜欢这一点。从我家到工作室,我乘坐绿色线。但是在最近这几年,我经常选坐蓝色线——TUB 3号——这条线更近一些。

蓝色线属于斯德哥尔摩城市近期扩张的体现。这条地铁的两个终点站分别是Kungsträdgården 和Hjulsta,将城市具有数百年历史的市政中心和郊区连接在一起,也将工人、小商人、公务员和学者联系在一起。他们来自于五湖四海,正在创造、建设并改变着我们的日常生活。

   作为交通工具,地铁完美无缺。这就是在描述地铁Hjulsta线的十四个地铁站时,我觉得选用土豆来表现我的艺术清楚明了。谨以本系列的作品缅怀鲁迅和安藤广重先生。

                                                 

 

LANDMARKS OF THE UNDERGROUND

To buy my potato I go to the market in Caochangdi. It’s a village on the outskirts of Beijing, and it’s thronging with crowds of people buying their food. I choose my potato with care. Then I set to work with my potato peeler, cutting the prints for my series of graphics of the blue underground railway line in Stockholm – TUB 3. Potato prints are something that many of us did as children but, sadly, certain types of artistic expression are looked down on. And potato prints, it would seem, rank lowest of them all – not even worthy of mention! Like our subterranean railways (the “tube” lines), potatoes (tubers!) live most of their lives under the ground. Yet both potato prints and underground railways are ultimately about communication: a communicative process, a journey which gives rise to all sorts of unexpected opportunities.
 

At the food market in Caochangdi

When I moved from Gothenburg to Stockholm, it was the lines on the underground map that shaped the city’s geography in my mind’s eye. Even today, when I’m above ground I still have difficulty in finding the quickest route between certain places. The underground map illustrates a linear progression between all the different stations, neatly lined up like a string of pearls. Above ground, I am reminded time and time again that there is no need for me to pass by the stations one by one to get to where I want to go. But my “inner map” remains stubbornly straightforward in its simplicity.

 

Tools: potato peelers, ink and paper at the studio in Caochangdi, Beijing...

Mingling with people in the underground, deciphering the codes, learning how to look at other people without seeing them, is a wonderful way to travel.
    It happens now and then that I snooze between stations. But I always wake up in time; I can feel when the train starts to decelerate. Sometimes I can sense where I am simply because I have memorised certain slight inclines in the track or the length of some stretches where the train picks up speed. When I look through the window, I see an abstract world. Colours, patterns, the shape of a metal box. It’s the structure of the station walls rather than the nameplates that tells me where I am. Suddenly the wall is covered in brightly coloured tiles – I’ve arrived. Then I take the escalator to the world above only to find that – despite the firmness of my conviction – I’ve chosen the wrong exit! It happens every day, whether I’m travelling in my home town or in Beijing.

 

 

The subway station Västra Skogen  (photo: Jurell)

 

Some people also look down on the underground railways. It’s not so much the mode of transport that they disapprove of, but mixing with people who are different to them.
    In the underground I am private yet exposed – part of a travelling collective. I like that. From my home to my studio I take the “green” line, but over the past couple of years I have often chosen a shorter route with the “blue” line – TUB 3.

The subway station Västra Skogen  (photo: Jurell)

 

   The “blue” line belongs to a more recent phase in the history of Stockholm’s expansion. Its two terminuses, the stations at Kungsträdgården and Hjulsta, link the city’s centuries-old centres of administrative power with the suburbs, and with the workers, tradesmen, civil servants and academics from all corners of the world who create, build and shape our day-to-day lives. 
    The underground is perfect as a vehicle for communication. That’s why, when I decided to depict “14 Stations on the Hjulsta Line”, it seemed the obvious thing to do to use the potato as my means of artistic expression.

The series of prints is a tribute to Lu Xun and Ando Hiroshige.

 

Sculpture, patinated bonze; potatos

 

 


 

Potato print Kungsträdgarden Station

 

Potato print Hjulsta Station

 

Potato print Tensta Station

 

 

Potato print Västra Skogen Station

 

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