巧遇九色鹿 A Chance Encounter with the Nine-Coloured Deer

 

 

“咦，这不就是九色鹿吗？”

去年在敦煌莫高窟，参观完八个普通窟和三个特窟，我漫步流连，舍不得离开。走着走着，看见一座洞窟敞着门，里面有两个人指指点点，正在讨论什么。我和同行的伙伴好奇地凑进去。

洞窟中央耸立着塑有佛像的塔柱，旁边安装了玻璃。隔着玻璃，瞧见里面斑驳暗淡的壁画，我起初看不出什么名堂，正想再聚精会神，忽然发现塔柱左后方的墙上有个似曾相识的身影。啊，九色鹿！多年向往的九色鹿，竟然在这里遇见了！

我早就知道九色鹿。佛像、飞天之外，这大概是最早留在我记忆里的敦煌印象。后来又看过上海美术电影制片厂制作的动画片《九色鹿》，再从图册欣赏它的色彩与姿态，总盼望着有一天能在莫高窟亲眼见到原作。心愿这样意外实现，雀跃欢欣。可惜眼睛没有跟上心情：一千五百多年的岁月让墙面污渍残损，又有塔柱和玻璃阻挡，看不全画面。我终于看到了九色鹿，却没能把它看清楚。

九色鹿故事取材于《佛说九色鹿经》。讲的是释迦牟尼成佛以前，曾经是一只身上有九种毛色的鹿。有一天它在恒河救起一个落水人，对方发誓绝不泄露它的踪迹。后来王后想得到鹿皮，国王悬赏，落水人竟然为奖赏出卖九色鹿，带领国王和随从去捕猎它。九色鹿面对国王讲出真相，落水人遭到报应，颜面和全身生疮。

在抵达莫高窟以前，我先在兰州敦煌艺术馆看到介绍《鹿王本生图》的展板，注意到其中的叙事顺序与众不同：通常横向展开的连环故事画，从右到左叙述情节；九色鹿图却从两端开始，先左后右，最后结束于中间。

画面上救人、立誓的场景在左侧；王后求鹿、告密和出猎在右侧，两边的人物与行动逐渐朝中央推进。最醒目的位置，聚焦九色鹿向国王陈情——故事接近结局的一刻，竟站上了画面的“C位”！观众或许先看见结果，再回头寻找前因。画家把故事发展的时间线，安排成跳转的空间配置。

今年，在新加坡亚洲文明博物馆的敦煌特展，我再次遇见九色鹿。这回是1988年的临摹画，颜色鲜明，人物与山水轮廓容易辨认，我可以从容地沿两侧铺陈故事，再凝视中央。慢慢琢磨去年未能细看的许多地方，却更难忘那一次在原窟隔着玻璃，突然发现它的惊喜。

越能看清一些细节，越让我想要探究这幅画的图像叙事结构。于是我打开数字敦煌网站，进入第257号虚拟洞窟重新查看：《鹿王本生图》绘于北魏，位于窟主室西壁中段南侧，正好是礼佛信众绕中心塔柱转角的位置。如果按照敦煌研究院的资料，画面分为8段图像叙事，从第1到第3（落水、救人、立誓）就是合乎行进的方向，接着视线会集中到第8段（陈情），也就是最具张力，揭发背叛的高潮。然后才从右侧看第4段（王后求鹿）以及其他。

我想起十多年前曾经参观新疆库车的克孜尔石窟，搬回厚重的龟兹壁画图册。把图册摊开在地上，跪着一页一页翻看，终于在第 175 窟看到了同样是九色鹿故事的图画。图画集中处理的是国王骑在马上，右手举着箭，准备挥向九色鹿，这惊险的刹那，激发了九色鹿吐露真相。也许克孜尔石窟和莫高窟的画家都认为，最应该让信众会意的，就是这个场景吧。

动画片让我记住故事，图册让我熟悉形象，兰州的展板提醒我留意叙事顺序，在莫高窟远观原作，在新加坡由临摹画重新细读，数字敦煌则帮助我确认图像的空间位置。我与九色鹿反复相逢，每一种媒介都赋予兴味盎然的观看方式，也留下值得继续追索的问题。保护壁画使我们不能随心所欲地拍摄，临摹和数字技术则让图像传播更便捷，利于玩味推敲。亲临现场的身体记忆与后来逐步获得的知识见解，在观看体验中彼此补充。

去年，我巧遇九色鹿；如今，我仿佛离它更近了。

从看不清，到认出它；从认出它，到试着读懂它，我一次又一次走进敦煌。

 

2026 年 11 月 7 日，《联合早报》“上善若水”专栏

 

A Chance Encounter with the Nine-Coloured Deer

I Lo-fen

“Wait—isn’t that the Nine-Coloured Deer?”

Last year, after visiting eight regular caves and three special-access caves at the Mogao Caves in Dunhuang, I was still reluctant to leave. As I wandered around, I noticed an open cave entrance. Two people inside were pointing at something and talking. Curious, my travelling companion and I stepped in.

At the centre of the cave stood a pillar with sculpted Buddhist figures, with glass barriers installed alongside it. Through the glass, I could make out the faded, weathered murals, though at first I could not quite tell what I was looking at. Just as I was trying to focus more carefully, a strangely familiar figure caught my eye on the wall behind and to the left of the central pillar.

The Nine-Coloured Deer! After all these years of longing to see it, I had stumbled upon it here!

I had known the Nine-Coloured Deer for as long as I could remember. Apart from Buddhist statues and flying apsaras, it was among my earliest impressions of Dunhuang. Later, I watched The Nine-Colored Deer, the animated film produced by Shanghai Animation Film Studio, and admired the creature’s colours and graceful form in illustrated books. I had always hoped that one day I would see the original mural at Mogao.

To have that wish fulfilled so unexpectedly was exhilarating. Unfortunately, my eyes could not keep up with my excitement. More than 1,500 years had left the wall stained and damaged. The central pillar and glass barriers obstructed my view, making it impossible to see the entire painting. I had finally seen the Nine-Coloured Deer, yet I had hardly been able to see it clearly.

The story of the Nine-Coloured Deer comes from the Sutra of the Nine-Colored Deer. It tells of a previous life of Shakyamuni Buddha, before he attained Buddhahood, when he was a deer whose coat displayed nine different colours.

One day, the deer rescued a drowning man from the Ganges. The man solemnly promised never to reveal its whereabouts. Later, the queen desired the deer’s beautiful hide, and the king offered a reward for its capture. Tempted by the reward, the rescued man betrayed his benefactor and led the king and his attendants to hunt it down. Confronting the king, the deer revealed the truth. The treacherous man received his karmic retribution, developing sores on his face and body.

Before arriving at the Mogao Caves, I had visited the Dunhuang Art Museum in Lanzhou, where an explanatory panel about the Deer King Jātaka caught my attention. What intrigued me was its unusual narrative sequence.

In conventional horizontal narrative paintings, the story often unfolds from right to left. Here, however, the episodes begin at opposite ends of the composition. The eye moves first from the left, then from the right, before the story concludes in the middle.

On the left are the scenes of the deer rescuing the drowning man and the man pledging his gratitude and secrecy. On the right are the queen’s demand for the deer, the man’s betrayal and the royal hunting expedition. Figures and actions on both sides gradually converge towards the centre.

The most prominent position is reserved for the deer confronting the king and pleading its case. A moment near the end of the story occupies centre stage—the composition’s very own “C-position”!

Perhaps viewers first encounter the outcome, then look back towards either side to discover what led to it. The painter has transformed the chronological progression of a story into a spatial arrangement that invites the eye to move back and forth.

This year, at the Dunhuang exhibition at Singapore’s Asian Civilisations Museum, I encountered the Nine-Coloured Deer once again.

This time, I was looking at a painted copy dating from 1988. Its colours were vivid, and the outlines of the figures and landscape were much easier to distinguish. I could take my time following the narratives from either side before returning my gaze to the centre. I lingered over details that had escaped me in the original cave. Yet I could never forget the excitement of that first unexpected discovery, when I caught sight of the deer through the glass.

The more details I could discern, the more curious I became about the painting’s visual narrative.

I turned to the Digital Dunhuang website and entered a virtual reconstruction of Cave 257. Painted during the Northern Wei dynasty, the Deer King Jātaka occupies the southern section of the middle register on the cave’s west wall. This is near the point where worshippers would have turned as they moved around the central pillar.

According to the Dunhuang Academy, the painting can be divided into eight narrative episodes. Episodes one to three—the man falling into the river, the deer rescuing him, and his pledge of gratitude—follow a plausible direction of movement around the cave. The viewer’s gaze may then be drawn to episode eight, the deer’s confrontation with the king, where the betrayal is exposed in the story’s most dramatic moment. Only afterwards might the viewer turn to the right-hand section, beginning with episode four, in which the queen demands the deer, and proceed through the remaining events.

I was reminded of a visit more than a decade ago to the Kizil Caves near Kuqa in Xinjiang. I had brought home a hefty volume of reproductions of the murals of ancient Kucha. Spreading the book across the floor, I knelt down and turned its pages one by one, until I came upon another depiction of the Nine-Coloured Deer story, identified as being from Cave 175.

This painting concentrated on a moment of great tension: the king, mounted on horseback, raising an arrow in his right hand, poised to shoot the deer. Faced with imminent danger, the deer reveals the truth.

Perhaps the painters of Kizil and Mogao alike believed that this was the moment worshippers most needed to understand.

The animated film helped me remember the story; illustrated books made the deer’s image familiar. The exhibition panel in Lanzhou taught me to pay attention to the narrative sequence. At Mogao, I saw the original mural from a distance; in Singapore, I could study its painted copy more closely. Digital Dunhuang, in turn, helped me establish the painting’s position within the cave.

I have encountered the Nine-Coloured Deer again and again. Each medium has offered its own fascinating way of seeing, while leaving me with further questions to pursue.

The need to preserve fragile murals prevents us from photographing them freely or approaching them as closely as we might wish. Painted copies and digital technologies, meanwhile, make these images more accessible, allowing us to examine and reflect upon them in greater detail. The bodily memory of standing before the original and the knowledge gradually gained through subsequent encounters complement one another.

Last year, I happened upon the Nine-Coloured Deer. Today, I feel as though I have drawn a little closer to it.

From struggling to see it clearly, to recognising it; from recognising it, to trying to understand it—I find myself entering Dunhuang, again and again.

7 November 2026 | “Shang Shan Ruo Shui” column, Lianhe Zaobao

 

观音为什么有千手千眼？｜Why Does Guanyin Have a Thousand Arms and Eyes?｜敦煌莫高窟第3窟

 观音为什么有千手千眼？

一千只手、一千只眼睛，观世音菩萨为什么会有如此特别的形象？

千手象征救度众生的力量，千眼象征洞察世间苦难的智慧。千手千眼，不只是神奇的造型，更是佛教慈悲精神的视觉表达。

敦煌莫高窟第3窟开凿于元代，南北两壁绘有精美的十一面千手千眼观音像。层层展开的手臂宛如光轮，繁密却井然有序，展现了古代画工高超的线描艺术。

这座小小的洞窟，留下了敦煌晚期石窟艺术的杰作。

🎥 衣若芬带你看懂敦煌｜莫高窟第3窟

2026年11月6日，欢迎参加衣若芬敦煌文图学导览「走进敦煌·学会观看」！

日期：2026年11月6日（星期五）

时间：晚上7:00–8:30

地点：新加坡亚洲文明博物馆（Asian Civilisations Museum）

报名：https://forms.gle/wcLUkRQ5LxQeCbP89

从精美的佛教艺术，到丝绸之路上的人物与故事，现场一起探索敦煌千年的文化魅力。

🌐 衣若芬个人网站：https://lofen.net

🌐 文图学会：https://www.tiss.info/

Why Does Guanyin Have a Thousand Arms and Eyes?

Why is Guanyin, the Bodhisattva of Compassion, depicted with a thousand arms and a thousand eyes?

The thousand arms symbolize the power to help all beings, while the thousand eyes represent the wisdom to perceive suffering throughout the world. This extraordinary image is a visual expression of Buddhist compassion.

Dating from the Yuan dynasty, Cave 3 of the Mogao Caves in Dunhuang features exquisite murals of the Eleven-Headed, Thousand-Armed, Thousand-Eyed Guanyin. The countless hands radiate like a halo, demonstrating the remarkable precision and elegance of traditional Chinese line painting.

Discover one of the masterpieces of Dunhuang's late cave art in just 90 seconds.

🎥 Discovering Dunhuang with I Lo-fen | Mogao Cave 3

🌐 Website: https://lofen.net

🌐 Text and Image Studies Society: https://www.tiss.info/

#敦煌 #莫高窟 #千手千眼观音 #观世音菩萨 #衣若芬 #文图学 #Dunhuang #MogaoCaves #Guanyin #BuddhistArt

敦煌莫高窟第45窟：盛唐艺术究竟有多美？｜The Beauty of Dunhuang Cave 45

 敦煌莫高窟第45窟，是盛唐佛教艺术最杰出的代表洞窟之一，被誉为「精美塑像馆」。

一千多年前的艺术家，如何塑造出如此生动的人物？七尊彩塑，各有不同的容貌、姿态与神情。佛像庄严，菩萨柔美，天王威武，展现盛唐艺术的非凡魅力。

除了精美彩塑，洞窟里还有丰富的佛教壁画，包括观世音菩萨救苦救难的故事。

三分半钟，跟着衣若芬一起欣赏敦煌第45窟，看看千年前的艺术究竟有多精彩！

11月6日，欢迎参加衣若芬敦煌文图学导览「走进敦煌·学会观看」！

日期：2026年11月6日（星期五）

时间：晚上7:00–8:30

地点：新加坡亚洲文明博物馆（Asian Civilisations Museum）

报名：https://forms.gle/wcLUkRQ5LxQeCbP89

从精美的佛教艺术，到丝绸之路上的人物与故事，现场一起探索敦煌千年的文化魅力。

Dunhuang Cave 45: The Beauty of Tang Dynasty Art

Mogao Cave 45 is one of the finest artistic achievements of the High Tang dynasty, renowned for its exquisite Buddhist sculptures.

Seven remarkable figures reveal an extraordinary range of expressions, gestures, and personalities—from the serene Buddha and graceful bodhisattvas to the powerful heavenly guardians.

The cave also features magnificent murals illustrating Buddhist teachings and stories of compassion.

Join I Lo-fen for a three-and-a-half-minute introduction to the beauty and artistry of Dunhuang Cave 45.

Join I Lo-fen's guided tour, “Entering Dunhuang: Learning to See”!

Date: Friday, 6 November 2026

Time: 7:00–8:30 PM

Venue: Asian Civilisations Museum, Singapore

Registration: https://forms.gle/wcLUkRQ5LxQeCbP89

Discover the art, stories, and cultural wonders of Dunhuang through Text and Image Studies.

#敦煌 #莫高窟 #敦煌45窟 #衣若芬 #文图学 #Dunhuang #MogaoCaves #TangDynastyArt

铁拳打出了什么教育？What Kind of Education Does the Iron Fist Deliver?

 

今年，韩剧《铁拳教育》引起不少讨论。韩文原名《참교육》，“참”是“真正”，“교육”是教育，字面是“真正的教育”；但在当代韩语口语里，“참교육”又有“好好教训一顿”的意思。Netflix的英文片名作 Teach You a Lesson，中文则译成更拳拳到肉的《铁拳教育》。

从“真正的教育”到“给你一个教训”，再到“铁拳”，三个片名之间的滑移，本身就抛出一个问题：教育需要多少权威？权威到了什么程度，就变成了权力？

剧中虚构了一个“教权保护局”。当学生、家长或教师越界，学校又无力收拾残局，监察员便进驻校园，以非常手段处理冲突。按照设定，这个机构不站在教师一边，也不站在学生一边，只站在受害者一边。

拳头自然是戏剧的夸张。值得追问的是：为什么这样的铁拳，让许多观众看得痛快？一个“恢复校园秩序”的故事能跨出韩国引起共鸣，说明它碰触的不只是韩国的问题。

过去很长一段时间，我们担心的是教师权力太大。老师掌握知识、主导课堂、决定成绩，学生处在被教育、被评价的位置。于是，学生评教、申诉、投诉、反霸凌等机制逐步建立。这些制度必不可少：学生受到不公，要有说话的地方；教师的专业身份，也不该成为免于监督的特权。

然而，当学生权利越来越受重视，另一个问题浮现了：教师还有没有教育的权利？

教育权不等于处罚权。它是教师根据专业判断设计课程、指定阅读、提出要求、纠正错误、评定成果的权利，也包括在学生没有达到标准时，明白指出：“这样不行。”

倘若每一项要求都可能被视为压力，每一句批评都可能被当成冒犯，每一次不满意都直接进入投诉系统，老师最快学会的，便是少要求、少批评、少冒险，把课程做成标准件，把师生关系维持在最安全的距离。这样的课堂最不容易出事，却也最难有教育的力量。

这时，学校的角色格外关键。

师生起了冲突，问题常被简化为二选一：保护学生，还是保护老师？学校不应只是选边站的人，而应是做判断的人。有人投诉，不等于有人犯错；有人感到不舒服，也不等于对方一定行为失当。什么是权力滥用，什么只是教学理念不同；什么必须纠正，什么属于正常的专业判断，都需要调查和辨析。如果学校收到投诉，只是要求老师写一份说明，再把说明转回给投诉者，自己既不查证，也不下判断，学校就从裁判退成了传话的人。

反过来，教师也不能以专业资格为挡箭牌，拒绝被询问。学生有权问：为什么这样教？为什么这样评分？为什么非完成不可？说得出理由，本来就是专业的一部分。

所以，教育需要的是三方的平衡：学生有表达与质疑的权利，也要承担学习与选择的责任；教师接受监督，也应保有专业判断与提出要求的空间；学校设立申诉渠道，更要担起查明事实、分辨是非、保护双方的责任。

回到“참교육”这个片名：什么才是真正的教育？

把人制服，能带来戏剧的快感；因为害怕而服从，却不等于受了教育。同样，老师因为害怕投诉而沉默，也证明不了学校更进步。真正的教育，是让年轻人学会质疑权威，也学会为选择负责；知道自己拥有权利，也明白世界不会总按自己的期待运转。而教师的权威，应当经得起追问，也说得出根据。

如果有一天，学生只能用投诉表达异议，老师只能用沉默避免投诉，学校只能用程序回避判断，那么即使校园里没有一只拳头，伤害也已经发生。

教育需要的不是铁拳，而是一双肯伸出来、也敢收回去的手：能扶持，也能拦阻；能托举，也能放开。

 

2026年10月24日，新加坡《联合早报》“上善若水”专栏

 

What Kind of Education Does the Iron Fist Deliver?

I Lo-fen

This year, the Korean drama Iron Fist Education has stirred considerable discussion. Its original Korean title is 참교육 (chamgyoyuk). Literally, 참 means “true” or “genuine,” and 교육 means “education,” so the phrase may be read as “true education.” In contemporary Korean colloquial usage, however, 참교육 can also mean “to teach someone a proper lesson.” Netflix renders the title in English as Teach You a Lesson, while the Chinese title, Iron Fist Education, makes the violence even more explicit.

The shift from “true education” to “teach you a lesson,” and then to the “iron fist,” already raises a question: how much authority does education require? And at what point does authority become power?

The drama imagines an institution called the “Educational Rights Protection Bureau.” When students, parents, or teachers cross the line and schools are no longer able to contain the situation, inspectors enter the campus and intervene through extraordinary means. According to the premise, the bureau sides neither with teachers nor with students. It sides with the victim.

The fists, of course, are dramatic exaggeration. The more interesting question is why so many viewers find those fists satisfying. The fact that a story about “restoring order in schools” resonates well beyond Korea suggests that it touches a problem that is not uniquely Korean.

For a long time, our concern was that teachers possessed too much power. Teachers controlled knowledge, dominated the classroom, and determined grades, while students occupied the position of being taught, judged, and evaluated. Systems of student feedback, appeals, complaints, and anti-bullying mechanisms were therefore gradually established. These safeguards are indispensable. Students who are treated unfairly must have somewhere to speak, and a teacher’s professional status should never become a privilege that places them beyond scrutiny.

Yet as student rights have received increasing attention, another question has emerged: do teachers still have the right to educate?

The right to educate is not the same as the right to punish. It is the teacher’s professional right to design a course, assign readings, set expectations, correct errors, and evaluate outcomes. It also includes the right to say clearly, when a student has not met the required standard: “This is not acceptable.”

If every demand can be interpreted as pressure, every criticism as an offence, and every dissatisfaction immediately enters a complaints system, teachers quickly learn the safest strategy: demand less, criticize less, take fewer risks, turn courses into standardized products, and keep students at the safest possible distance. Such classrooms are the least likely to generate trouble—but they are also the least likely to possess educational force.

This is where the role of the school becomes crucial.

When conflict arises between teachers and students, the issue is often reduced to a binary choice: protect the student, or protect the teacher? But a school should not merely choose sides. It should make judgments. The existence of a complaint does not prove that someone has done wrong; the fact that someone feels uncomfortable does not automatically mean that another person has acted improperly. What constitutes an abuse of power, and what is simply a difference in teaching philosophy? What requires correction, and what falls within legitimate professional judgment? These distinctions require investigation and discernment.

If a school receives a complaint, merely asks the teacher to write an explanation, forwards that explanation to the complainant, and neither verifies the facts nor reaches a conclusion of its own, then the school has ceased to act as an adjudicator and has become little more than a messenger.

At the same time, teachers cannot use professional qualifications as a shield against questioning. Students have the right to ask: Why is the course taught this way? Why was this grade given? Why is this assignment compulsory? Being able to explain the reasons is itself part of professional responsibility.

Education therefore depends on a balance among three parties. Students have the right to express themselves and to question, but they must also accept responsibility for learning and for the choices they make. Teachers must be subject to oversight, but they must also retain room for professional judgment and for setting meaningful expectations. Schools should provide channels for appeal, but they must also assume responsibility for establishing the facts, distinguishing right from wrong, and protecting both sides.

So we return to the title 참교육: what, after all, is “true education”?

Forcing someone into submission may provide dramatic satisfaction, but obedience born of fear is not the same as education. Likewise, teachers falling silent because they fear complaints is not proof that a school has become more progressive.

True education teaches young people to question authority while also taking responsibility for their own choices; to understand that they have rights, while also recognizing that the world will not always conform to their expectations. The authority of teachers, meanwhile, should be able to withstand questioning—and should be able to explain the grounds on which it rests.

If one day students can express disagreement only through complaints, teachers can avoid complaints only through silence, and schools can evade judgment only through procedure, then harm has already occurred—even if not a single fist is ever raised on campus.

Education does not need an iron fist.

It needs a hand that knows when to reach out, and when to draw back: a hand that can support, but also restrain; that can lift someone up, but also know when to let go.

Published in the “Shang Shan Ruo Shui” column, Lianhe Zaobao, Singapore, 24 October 2026.

 

壶管上刻着她的名字 Her Name Was Engraved on the Spout

 

那套镀金铜执壶与水盘，安静地放在灯光下，壶身密布菱形凸起，坚硬又华丽。我忽然想到附近的滨海艺术中心。新加坡人习惯叫它“榴莲壳”，因为它满身尖刺，像一颗巨大果实。这把壶当然不是榴莲，可是我的目光已经被那些密密麻麻的凸纹带偏了。再仔细看，圆鼓鼓的壶腹又像一颗凤梨，壶盖上方的装饰像花朵，也像松果；长长的壶管向外伸出，末端还有一个兽首，仿佛水不是从金属管子里流出，而是从某种动物的口中倾泻而下。

站在不同角度，壶身上的菱形凸纹会显现出不同的光泽。有时像钻石，有时像切割水晶，有时又像被阳光照到的金色果皮。后来查资料才知道，这种表面效果并不是随意敲出来的装饰，而是奥斯曼 tombak 鎏金铜工艺与锤揲凸纹结合的结果。工匠先在铜胎上锤出几何凸面，再经过修整和鎏金，使整器呈现接近黄金的光泽。那一颗颗凸起并不只是花纹，也是一种光的设计。它让器物在人的移动中改变样貌，像是故意引导观众绕着它走。

我集中精神观察那根长长的壶管。水从壶腹进入壶管，再从兽首般的出口流向手掌或水盘。它本来属于一个动作：举壶、倾斜、倒水、洗手、承接。没有这个动作，壶就少了一半意义。可是进入博物馆以后，动作停止了，水不再流出，人的手也不能触碰它。我们能做的，只剩下观看、拍照、阅读展签，以及想像它曾经如何被使用。

展签说明，这套壶与水盘属于米赫丽玛苏丹 （Mihrimah Sultan，1812-1838）。她是奥斯曼苏丹马哈茂德二世（Mahmud II，1785-1839）的女儿。壶管铭文的伊斯兰历纪年显示，她拥有这套器物时，只有8岁。8岁，一个孩子已经有了刻着自己名字的金色器物。那不是童话里的魔法道具，而是宫廷生活中与洗手、洁净、礼仪有关的日用器皿。也许在某个清晨，侍女曾经拿起这把壶，为她倒水；也许水流过那根细长的壶管，落进盘里，完成一个日常而庄重的动作。

长流执壶的历史，比这位公主26岁的一生长得多。类似的长流、曲柄、梨形腹器物，可以追溯到西亚—伊朗金属器传统。早期伊朗已有长流器和兽首流器，后来萨珊、粟特、中亚、伊斯兰世界不断发展这种器形。唐代中国的凤首壶、胡瓶式执壶，也与西亚金银器的输入和丝绸之路交流有关。到了元明以后，中国陶瓷中也出现长流、曲柄、带盖的执壶。换句话说，眼前这把十九世纪奥斯曼公主壶，并不是孤立的美丽器物，而是一条漫长器形谱系上的晚期花朵。它的壶腹像梨，表面像凤梨，壶管像动物的嘴，而它真正的历史，却像水一样，从西亚流向中亚、东亚，又回到伊斯坦布尔宫廷。

博物馆保存了这件壶，也改变了这件壶。十九世纪，它的意义在使用中生成；二十一世纪，它的意义在观看中生成。过去，它控制水流；现在，它控制目光。过去，人的身体围绕它完成净礼；现在，观众的身体围绕展柜移动，寻找反光、纹样和铭文。它失去了原来的功能，却获得了另一种生命。展柜不是终点，而是一种新的开始：器物从生活用品变成艺术品，从礼仪工具变成历史证物，从公主的私人物件变成所有观众共同阅读的对象。

一件器物真正的寿命，并不只在于它曾经被使用多久，也在于它还能被多少人重新阅读。Mihrimah Sultan 的一生停在26岁，而这把壶仍在继续旅行：从宫廷到博物馆，从洗手礼仪到展柜灯光，从她的名字到我们的目光。两百年前，它属于一位公主；今天，它属于所有愿意停下来细看的人。

 

2026年10月10日，新加坡《联合早报》“上善若水”专栏

 

Her Name Was Engraved on the Spout

I Lo-fen

The gilt-copper ewer and basin rested quietly beneath the gallery lights. The body of the ewer was densely covered with raised diamond-shaped facets, giving it an appearance at once hard-edged and sumptuous. Suddenly, I thought of the Esplanade nearby. Singaporeans affectionately call the building “the durian” because its spiked exterior resembles an enormous tropical fruit. This ewer was certainly no durian, yet those tightly packed protrusions had already led my imagination elsewhere. Looking more closely, its rounded belly began to resemble a pineapple. The ornament on top of the lid looked at once like a flower and a pine cone, while its long spout extended outward and ended in an animal head, as though the water were not flowing through a metal tube at all, but pouring directly from the mouth of some creature.

Seen from different angles, the diamond-shaped relief on the surface catches the light differently. At times it resembles diamonds, at others cut crystal, and then again the golden skin of a fruit struck by sunlight. I later discovered that this shimmering surface was not simply the result of decorative hammering. It was produced through a combination of Ottoman tombak—gilded copper—and hammered repoussé. The craftsman first raised geometric facets on the copper body, then refined and gilded the surface until the vessel acquired an almost golden brilliance. Those countless projections are therefore more than ornament: they are also a design for light. As the viewer moves, the object itself appears to change, almost as if it were deliberately inviting us to walk around it.

I concentrated on the ewer’s long spout. Water once travelled from the belly of the vessel into the spout and emerged from its animal-headed opening, falling onto a pair of hands or into the basin below. The object originally belonged to a sequence of actions: lifting the ewer, tilting it, pouring the water, washing the hands, catching the water in the basin. Without these actions, half of its meaning disappears. Yet once the ewer entered a museum, movement ceased. Water no longer flowed from its mouth, and human hands could no longer touch it. All that remains for us is to look, take photographs, read the label, and imagine how it once functioned.

According to the museum label, this ewer and basin belonged to Mihrimah Sultan (1812–1838), daughter of the Ottoman Sultan Mahmud II (1785–1839). The Hijri date inscribed on the spout indicates that she was only eight years old when she owned the set.

Eight years old—and already possessing a golden vessel engraved with her own name.

It was no magical object from a fairy tale, but an everyday courtly implement associated with handwashing, cleanliness, and etiquette. Perhaps one morning an attendant lifted this very ewer and poured water for her. Perhaps water travelled through that slender spout and fell into the basin below, completing an action that was both ordinary and ceremonious.

The history of the long-spouted ewer is far longer than the princess’s brief life of twenty-six years. Vessels with elongated spouts, curved handles, and pear-shaped bodies can be traced back to metalworking traditions in West Asia and Iran. Long-spouted vessels and animal-headed spouts were already known in early Iran, and related forms continued to develop through Sasanian Persia, Sogdiana, Central Asia, and the wider Islamic world. In Tang China, phoenix-headed ewers and so-called “foreign-style” vessels were likewise connected to the importation of West Asian gold and silverware and to exchanges along the Silk Roads. From the Yuan and Ming periods onward, Chinese ceramics also adopted covered ewers with elongated spouts and curved handles.

The nineteenth-century ewer of an Ottoman princess, then, is not an isolated beautiful object but a late blossom on a very long genealogy of forms. Its belly resembles a pear; its faceted surface, a pineapple; its spout, the mouth of an animal. Yet its deeper history flows like water itself—from West Asia through Central and East Asia, and eventually back into the courtly world of Istanbul.

The museum has preserved this ewer, but it has also transformed it.

In the nineteenth century, its meaning was generated through use; in the twenty-first, its meaning is generated through looking. Once, it controlled the flow of water. Now, it controls the flow of our gaze. Once, human bodies moved around it in acts of washing and purification. Today, visitors move around its display case, searching for reflections, patterns, and inscriptions.

The vessel has lost its original function, but it has acquired another life. The museum case is not an ending but a new beginning. A domestic object becomes a work of art; an instrument of courtly etiquette becomes historical evidence; a princess’s private possession becomes something that all of us are invited to read.

The true lifespan of an object is measured not only by how long it was once used, but also by how many people are still able to read it anew.

Mihrimah Sultan’s life ended at twenty-six, but the ewer continues to travel: from palace to museum, from the ritual of washing to the light of the display case, from her engraved name to our searching eyes.

Two hundred years ago, it belonged to a princess.

Today, it belongs to anyone willing to stop and look closely.

Published in the “Shang Shan Ruo Shui” column, Lianhe Zaobao, Singapore, 10 October 2026.

 

走进敦煌：衣若芬敦煌文图学导览 Entering Dunhuang: I Lo-fen’s Dunhuang Text and Image Studies Guided Tour

 

 

来了!来了!大家期待已久的活动来了!

2026 年 11 月 6 日星期五晚上，我将在新加坡亚洲文明博物馆导览《走进敦煌》

名额有限，欢迎报名!

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EP6｜看见迹象：伊斯兰美术的转译与本土化 Seeing the Signs: Translation and Localization in Islamic Art

 

「看见迹象：伊斯兰美术的转译与本土化」是衣若芬于2026年8月28日在新加坡亚洲文明博物馆进行的专题导览。 本次导览以伊斯兰艺术在不同地域、文化与媒介之间的流动为线索，从莫卧儿、萨法维与奥斯曼艺术出发，观察文字、图像、器物、建筑装饰与观看方式如何在跨文化传播过程中不断被转译，并形成具有地方特色的视觉语言。 「看见迹象」不仅意味着观看一件件艺术品，也意味着从细节中辨认文化交流留下的痕迹：文字如何成为图像，图像如何承载信仰，来自不同文明的形式又如何在相遇之后产生新的意义。 导览：衣若芬 时间：2026年8月28日 地点：新加坡亚洲文明博物馆（Asian Civilisations Museum, Singapore） 参看衣若芬《联合早报》专栏文章 1.汇流之外 Beyond Crosscurrents https://lofen.net/%e6%b1%87%e6%b5%81%... 2.看见迹象 Seeing Signs https://lofen.net/%e7%9c%8b%e8%a7%81%... 3.诗会在墙上 A Poetry Gathering on the Wall https://lofen.net/%e8%af%97%e4%bc%9a%... Seeing the Signs: Translation and Localization in Islamic Art is a thematic museum tour led by Lofen I at the Asian Civilisations Museum, Singapore, on 28 August 2026. Focusing on the movement of Islamic art across regions, cultures, and media, the tour explores Mughal, Safavid, and Ottoman art and examines how texts, images, objects, and architectural ornament were translated and transformed through cross-cultural encounters. “Seeing the Signs” invites us to look beyond individual artworks and discover traces of cultural exchange: how writing becomes image, how images embody belief, and how artistic forms acquire new meanings as they travel between cultures. Guide: I Lo-fen Date: 28 August 2026 Venue: Asian Civilisations Museum, Singapore @AsianCivilisationsMuseum #伊斯兰美术 #islamicart #louvremuseum

EP5｜看见迹象：伊斯兰美术的转译与本土化 Seeing the Signs: Translation and Localization in Islamic Art

 

"Crosscurrents: Masterpieces of Mughal, Safavid and Ottoman Art from the Musée du Louvre" 「看见迹象：伊斯兰美术的转译与本土化」是衣若芬于2026年8月28日在新加坡亚洲文明博物馆进行的专题导览。 本次导览以伊斯兰艺术在不同地域、文化与媒介之间的流动为线索，从莫卧儿、萨法维与奥斯曼艺术出发，观察文字、图像、器物、建筑装饰与观看方式如何在跨文化传播过程中不断被转译，并形成具有地方特色的视觉语言。 「看见迹象」不仅意味着观看一件件艺术品，也意味着从细节中辨认文化交流留下的痕迹：文字如何成为图像，图像如何承载信仰，来自不同文明的形式又如何在相遇之后产生新的意义。 导览：衣若芬 时间：2026年8月28日 地点：新加坡亚洲文明博物馆（Asian Civilisations Museum, Singapore） 参看衣若芬《联合早报》专栏文章 1.汇流之外 Beyond Crosscurrents https://lofen.net/%e6%b1%87%e6%b5%81%... 2.看见迹象 Seeing Signs https://lofen.net/%e7%9c%8b%e8%a7%81%... 3.诗会在墙上 A Poetry Gathering on the Wall https://lofen.net/%e8%af%97%e4%bc%9a%... Seeing the Signs: Translation and Localization in Islamic Art is a thematic museum tour led by Lofen I at the Asian Civilisations Museum, Singapore, on 28 August 2026. Focusing on the movement of Islamic art across regions, cultures, and media, the tour explores Mughal, Safavid, and Ottoman art and examines how texts, images, objects, and architectural ornament were translated and transformed through cross-cultural encounters. “Seeing the Signs” invites us to look beyond individual artworks and discover traces of cultural exchange: how writing becomes image, how images embody belief, and how artistic forms acquire new meanings as they travel between cultures. Guide: I Lo-fen Date: 28 August 2026 Venue: Asian Civilisations Museum, Singapore @AsianCivilisationsMuseum #伊斯兰美术 #islamicart #louvremuseum

走进敦煌158窟：卧佛为什么躺在这里？｜新加坡亚洲文明博物馆敦煌特展动线Inside Dunhuang Cave 158 | ACM Dunhuang Exhibition Walkthrough

 

新加坡亚洲文明博物馆（Asian Civilisations Museum）推出敦煌特展

走进展览之后，最先引人注目的重要洞窟之一，就是莫高窟第158窟——著名的涅槃窟。

佛陀为什么以卧姿出现？

“涅槃”究竟意味着什么？

卧佛周围的人物又在表达什么？

而在博物馆里，我们又应该按照怎样的动线进入敦煌的世界？

这支视频带大家从展览现场出发，一边认识158窟，一边看看整个展览怎样从敦煌的历史背景、洞窟空间，到壁画、塑像、文书与丝绸之路层层展开。

对我来说，看敦煌不只是辨认“这是什么”，更重要的是理解：图像为什么这样安排，文字怎样进入图像，空间又怎样改变我们的观看。

这也是我正在发展的“敦煌文图学”（Dunhuang Text and Image Studies）所关心的问题。

衣若芬 I Lo-fen

文图学 Text and Image Studies

#敦煌 #莫高窟 #158窟 #涅槃 #卧佛 #亚洲文明博物馆 #新加坡 #文图学 #Dunhuang #MogaoCaves #TextAndImageStudies

The Asian Civilisations Museum in Singapore presents a major exhibition on Dunhuang and the Mogao Caves.

One of the most striking spaces visitors encounter is Mogao Cave 158, known for its monumental reclining Buddha and its representation of the Buddha’s parinirvana.

Why is the Buddha shown reclining?

What does “nirvana” mean in this visual context?

Who are the figures surrounding him?

And how does the exhibition route guide us from the history of Dunhuang into its caves, murals, sculptures, manuscripts, and Silk Road connections?

In this video, I walk through the exhibition and introduce Cave 158 while asking a broader question: how should we actually look at Dunhuang?

Rather than treating murals, texts, objects, and cave space separately, I approach them through Dunhuang Text and Image Studies—examining how image, text, space, and viewing work together to produce meaning.

I Lo-fen

Text and Image Studies

#Dunhuang #MogaoCaves #Cave158 #Nirvana #RecliningBuddha #AsianCivilisationsMuseum #Singapore #TextAndImageStudies