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

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!

https://forms.gle/wcLUkRQ5LxQeCbP89

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

EP4｜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

 文物地图：路易十四收藏过的玉杯，经历过多少地方？

「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: Lofen I

Date: 28 August 2026

Venue: Asian Civilisations Museum, Singapore

 @AsianCivilisationsMuseum  

#伊斯兰美术 #islamicart #louvremuseum

EP3｜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

 

EP2｜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

 

走进敦煌莫高窟第249窟的视觉宇宙 Inside Mogao Cave 249, the Visual Universe of Dunhuang

 

走进莫高窟第249窟，看西王母、东王公、阿修罗与西魏敦煌如何共同构成一个跨文化的视觉宇宙。

Step inside Mogao Cave 249 and explore a Western Wei visual universe where Buddhist imagery, Chinese deities, mythical beings, and Silk Road cultures meet.

诗会在墙上 A Poetry Gathering on the Wall

 

在亚洲文明博物馆为文图学会会员导览《汇流：卢浮宫的莫卧儿、萨法维与奥斯曼艺术珍品》展览之前，我在每个人的手心轻轻喷了一点玫瑰露。

当时没有多作解释，只觉得这样走进展厅，似乎多了一点仪式感。后来才说明，这个动作其实来自我准备导览时，对一面十七世纪萨法维王朝诗会瓷板的反复观看。

祥云飘荡，花团锦簇，两位相对跪坐的年轻诗人，面貌清秀，头戴包裹式头巾，衣袍上缀满了花朵纹饰。其中一人身体略向前倾，抬手作吟诵或辩说的姿势，神情专注，像正在念出自己的诗句；另一人则低头执笔，把诗句写入狭长的 safīna 诗文册中。两人的旁边各有侍从，一位叉手而立；一位捧着有盖的食器，整体表现出从容而优雅的诗歌交流。虽然博物馆解释这是一场诗歌竞赛（Poetry Contest），我想到“以诗会友”，称它为《诗会图》瓷板。

Safīna和有盖的食器在展场里都能见到实物。我后来被画面里的瓶子吸引。那是一种鼓腹、细长颈、小口的器物。再看亚洲文明博物馆另一处展柜，我发现几件中国制造、外销海外的银器，器形十分相近，馆方明确标示为 rosewater sprinklers，玫瑰露洒水瓶。再查大都会艺术博物馆、英国维多利亚与艾伯特博物馆收藏的萨法维人物瓷板，也看到了相似的长颈瓶。

我当然无法证明诗会图中那只瓶子盛的就是玫瑰露。可是，萨法维时期的伊朗确实使用这类长颈洒水器来盛放芳香水；后来印度宫廷所用的 gulabpash 玫瑰露洒水器，也延续了这种细长颈、鼓腹的形式。于是，那些原先只是画面中物件的小器物，以及整面瓷板令我流连忘返。

它原来并不是一张挂在墙上的画。

它就是墙。

艺术史学者 Farshid Emami 根据宫廷史料、旅行记、十九世纪照片和收藏记录，把相关人物瓷板，重新放回伊斯法罕一座已经拆毁的皇家亭阁 Jahan-nama Pavilion。换句话说，我们今天在博物馆里看到的，其实是一座消失建筑留下来的残片。

十七世纪走进这座亭阁的人，他们可能坐在廊下，身边有食物，有花木，有谈笑，也有诗歌。墙上的人物与现实中的人物彼此映照，画里的花园与建筑外的花园互相延伸。诗歌在这里并不只是写在纸上的文字，而是进入建筑、进入日常生活的一种环境。

中国的雅集图比如《兰亭修禊图》《西园雅集图》，描绘文人在山水或园林中赋诗宴饮。中国文人把雅集画成长卷，萨法维王朝却把诗会烧成瓷砖，镶进建筑。两种文明选择的媒介不同，却都把“理想的生活”变成可以观看的图像。

而萨法维的诗会墙面，又比一幅可以收起的长卷更进一步。它不会等你打开，而是一直在那里。人走进建筑，就走进图像；坐下来，也坐进诗会的世界。

如果从建筑文图学来看，这面墙保存的并不只是文学题材。人物、文字、花园、器物、饮食、建筑位置与观看方式，共同构成意义。甚至那些我们今天已经无法确定用途的细颈瓶，也提醒我：一个空间的经验，从来不只属于眼睛。

所以，那天导览开始以前，我在每个人的手心喷了一点玫瑰露。

我并不是想复原一个已经无法证明的萨法维仪式。那一点香气，只是想补上一种今天的博物馆难保存的东西：嗅觉。

也许四百年前的诗会究竟是什么气味，我们永远不会知道。但至少这一面墙提醒我，文学曾经不只被阅读，也曾经被写下、被吟诵、被观看，并且生活在建筑空间。

诗会在墙上。

也曾经，在人的身体之间，在花园里，在空气中。

 

2026年9月26日，新加坡《联合早报》“上善若水”专栏

 

A Poetry Gathering on the Wall
I Lo-fen

Before leading members of the Text and Image Studies Society on a guided tour of Crosscurrents: Masterpieces of the Mughal, Safavid and Ottoman Arts from the Louvre at the Asian Civilisations Museum, I lightly sprinkled a little rosewater into each person’s palm.

At the time, I offered no particular explanation. I simply felt that entering the gallery in this way lent the occasion a certain sense of ritual. Only later did I realize that the gesture had grown out of my repeated contemplation, while preparing for the tour, of a seventeenth-century Safavid tile panel depicting a poetry gathering.

Auspicious clouds drift across the scene amid luxuriant blossoms. Two young poets kneel facing each other. Both have delicate features, wear wrapped turbans, and are dressed in robes covered with floral motifs. One leans slightly forward, raising a hand as if reciting or debating, his expression intent, as though he were speaking his own verse aloud. The other lowers his head and writes, recording the lines in a narrow safīna, a manuscript anthology of poetry. Each poet is accompanied by an attendant: one stands respectfully with hands clasped before him, while the other holds a covered food vessel. The overall impression is one of poised and elegant poetic exchange. Although the museum identifies the scene as a “Poetry Contest,” I am reminded instead of the Chinese expression “making friends through poetry,” and have come to think of it as a tile panel of a “poetry gathering.”

Actual examples of both the safīna and covered food vessels can be seen elsewhere in the exhibition. Yet it was the bottles in the image that eventually caught my attention. They have swollen bodies, long slender necks, and small mouths. Looking again at another display case in the Asian Civilisations Museum, I noticed several pieces of Chinese silverware made for export overseas whose forms were remarkably similar. The museum explicitly identifies them as rosewater sprinklers. When I subsequently examined Safavid figural tile panels in the collections of The Metropolitan Museum of Art and the Victoria and Albert Museum, I encountered comparable long-necked bottles there as well.

I cannot, of course, prove that the bottle in the poetry-gathering scene actually contained rosewater. Yet long-necked sprinklers of this kind were indeed used in Safavid Iran for scented waters, while the gulabpash rosewater sprinklers later used at Indian courts continued the same basic form of a bulbous body and slender neck. Objects that had initially seemed merely incidental within the composition thus began to hold my attention, as did the entire tiled wall.

It was never simply a painting hung on a wall.

It was the wall itself.

Drawing on court records, travel accounts, nineteenth-century photographs, and collecting histories, the art historian Farshid Emami has reconstructed the original architectural setting of related figural tile panels in the now-demolished Jahan-nama Pavilion in Isfahan. In other words, what we encounter in museums today are fragments surviving from a vanished building.

Those who entered the pavilion in the seventeenth century may have sat beneath its verandas, surrounded by food, flowering plants, conversation, laughter, and poetry. The figures on the wall echoed the people inhabiting the actual space; the painted garden extended into the garden beyond the architecture. Poetry here was more than words written on paper. It became part of an environment embedded in architecture and everyday life.

Chinese images of literati gatherings, such as the Orchid Pavilion Gathering and the Elegant Gathering in the Western Garden, likewise portray scholars composing poetry, feasting, and socializing amid landscapes or gardens. Chinese literati transformed such gatherings into handscrolls; the Safavids fired poetry gatherings onto ceramic tiles and set them into architecture. The two cultures chose different media, yet both transformed an “ideal way of life” into images that could be seen.

The Safavid tiled wall went even further than a handscroll, which could be rolled up and put away. It did not wait to be opened. It remained permanently present. To enter the building was to enter the image; to sit down was to sit within the world of the poetry gathering.

Seen from the perspective of Architectural Text and Image Studies, what this wall preserves is far more than a literary subject. Figures, writing, gardens, objects, food, architectural placement, and modes of viewing all work together to produce meaning. Even those long-necked bottles whose precise function we can no longer determine remind me that the experience of a space never belongs to the eyes alone.

That is why, before the tour began that day, I sprinkled a little rosewater into everyone’s palm.

I was not attempting to recreate a Safavid ritual that can no longer be proven. The faint fragrance was simply an attempt to restore, however briefly, something that museums find difficult to preserve: the sense of smell.

We may never know what a poetry gathering smelled like four hundred years ago. Yet this wall reminds me that literature was once more than something to be read. It was also written, recited, seen, and lived within architectural space.

The poetry gathering was on the wall.

And once, perhaps, it was also between human bodies, in the garden, and in the air.

Published in the “Shang Shan Ruo Shui” column, Lianhe Zaobao, Singapore, 26 September 2026.