A couple of years ago, HM and Haymarket Books published a collection of writings by the Chinese Trotskyist leader Zheng Chaolin (Selected Writings, 1942–1998). Sadly, it seems to have slipped without trace into the deep of the unremembered – please order the hardback for your libraries and the paperback for yourself. My favourite part is the final section, containing Zheng’s correspondence with his long-lost friend Hu Qiuyuan (“Letters across the Sea, 1996–8”) – the two lived either side of the Taiwan Strait. The exchange includes letters from Zheng’s amanuensis Little Zhou (Zhou Lüqiang). Hu had been among the Chinese students who returned to China sometime in the 1930s after studying in Japan. Most of them supported the Chinese Communist Party, but a few, including Hu, showed some sympathy for Trotskyism. Zheng was a prolific correspondent after the end of his decades in a Kuomintang and then a Communist jail. His letters display his excellent qualities: an absolute concern for accuracy and truth, a non-sectarian approach to politics (Hu Qiuyuan was not a comrade), and his elephantine memory, as well as the reverence and esteem in which he was held by those around him. Here are a few passages: Little Zhou to Hu: “At the age of 97, Zheng Chaolin has a clear memory and a quick mind, and continues to write articles. In recent years, however, he has suffered from cataracts, so his vision is poor. The characters he has in mind when writing are hard to identify. Some of Zheng Chaolin’s letters to Hu Qiuyuan were first copied out, by me, and then the venerable Old Zheng appended his signature.” Zheng to Hu: “I have received your reply. I took the liberty to write to you regarding a small matter. I received no reply for several months. I imagined that after receiving my letter you had decided not to answer. Who would have thought that you would write a nine-page reply on such a small account. Thank you for your kindness! […] It is a pity that I am now very old and almost blind. People have sent me your Chinese Heart, published in the mainland, but I am unable to read it. Someone read aloud to me your answer to my letter. I can’t read it clearly myself. If I didn’t have someone capable of making out my characters, I would be unable to send letters.” Hu’s letter to Zheng: “Today’s letter bears the handwriting of someone over 90, which leads me to believe that it is indeed the same Mr Zheng Chaolin that I saw seventy years ago. If my speculation is correct, our affinity is indeed predestined.” Zheng to Hu: “The Zheng Chaolin living out his later years in peace in Shanghai is the same Zheng Chaolin who experienced the defeat of the revolution in Wuhan seventy years ago. After today, starting with New Year’s Day tomorrow, I can tell the people across the country that I am 97 years old. You and I once came across one another when we were young. I hope that we can still keep in touch in future.” Hu to Zheng: “One of the joys of receiving this second letter is that the handwriting in it is askew [and therefore by an old person], which proves that this Chaolin is the same Chaolin I once saw and whose translations I read. You said that there has only ever been one Chaolin in ancient and modern times. Today, he is a venerable old person of 97 years, how can one not rejoice? […] You are ten years older than I, and there are very few people left in your generation, and there aren’t very many left in mine either. Over here, elder brother Yan Lingfeng is still hale, I don’t know if you still remember him. I wish you a Happy New Year, and please take care, I hope you live to reach one hundred years and more!” Zheng to Hu: “I’m an old man, nearly one hundred years old and almost blind, and I can only walk around indoors by holding on to tables and chairs, but I can still listen to people reading to me, I can still talk, and I can still write. I believe my job as a human being has not yet run its course, and that I should remain active as long as I am able.” Little Zhou to Hu: “Thank you for calling me Little Zhou and younger brother, it gives me a warm, sweet and cordial feeling. More than fifty years ago, my friends called me Little Zhou, and now that I have passed the age of seventy, old friends still call me that. I am happy to bear that name. I refuse anyway to give in to old age, but in the eyes of the senior generation, the venerable Old Zheng and you yourself, I will always be Little Zhou. In dealing with your correspondence with Old Zheng, I was deeply touched by the rigorous pursuit of knowledge to which each of you is committed. You do not forget the letter from someone in Anhui a few years ago that you never answered, and you apologise again and again for your remissness. You are such an admirable person. […] Old Zheng wrote a good hand in his early years, and right up to his eighties he continued to write clearly (see his handwritten inscription at the age of eighty), but in recent years he has suffered from cataracts and his vision has greatly deteriorated. However, he continues to churn out a ceaseless flow of articles and letters. We suggested that he dictate them into a tape-recorder which we would then sort out, but after one or two trials he gave up, probably because he was in the habit of thinking while writing, so he insisted on writing everything down on paper. His ‘blind writing’ is hard to read.” Little Zhou to Hu: “Your esteemed letter has arrived. I went to read it aloud to Old Zheng. He was very happy. He took hold of your recent photo, brought it right up to the tip of his nose, peered closely at it, and said: ‘Hu Qiuyuan is in far better health than I.’ Old Zheng told me to write a letter to thank you and wish you good health. If you visit the Mainland for the third time, he hopes you will pay him a visit to speak about old times.’ Zheng to Hu: “Elder brother, Little Zhou read your two letters aloud to me. […] Our unexpected [reunion] caused me to sigh with emotion, at something that happened exactly seventy years ago. At the time, I was only twenty-seven years old, and you were only eighteen. Now, both you and I have grown old. Reading your letter, however, I am suddenly again full of vim and vigour, though I have eyes but am unable to read, legs but am unable to walk. That makes me so angry!” Zheng finished his letter with a poem:
I’m not the only one to have grown old [quoting Fang Weng].
I sigh at the frustration of my lofty goals,
one hundred years along a rough and bumpy road.
Snow drifts among the mountains,
showers lash the little boat.
Straining to glimpse the glorious future,
a spring breeze, with the bright sun overhead.
Trudging across mountains and wading streams,
what is the old, declining man striving to achieve?
Chasing the sun in the Abyss of Yu,
Kua Fu will happily die of thirst.
[The Abyss of Yu is the legendary place into which the sun sets. Kua Fu, and Zheng, died racing the sun.]
Hu to Zheng: “Our predestined affinity has brought good fortune – how many of our generation lived to see the return of Hong Kong to China? I hope that I can go back to the Mainland and talk about old times.” No further letters passed between Zheng and Hu. Zheng fell ill and died on 1 August 1998. Although still only 98, Zheng claimed in letters to be 100. This was because, in traditional Chinese age reckoning, you are one year old at birth and become a year older at Chinese New Year, rather than on your birthday. That would make Zheng a bit short of 100, but he and his friends might still claim the opposite for fun
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許鐵生、趙無極、林風眠與 BBC 的關聯，核心在於一段橫跨中國與東南亞的「重新連結的藝術史」。 [1]
- 林風眠（校長/恩師）： 作為杭州藝專的創辦人與校長，他是中國現代藝術教育的先驅。1937年抗日戰爭爆發前夕，林風眠在許鐵生的臨別紀念冊上題字，稱讚他有「鐵的意志」。 [1, 2]
- 趙無極（同窗好友）： 後來名震國際的華人抽象藝術大師。他與許鐵生是同窗，在面臨戰亂分別時，趙無極曾在許鐵生的紀念冊中留下三幅油畫小像，並贈言：「困難是等著你克服而設立的。」 [1, 2, 3]
- 許鐵生（檔案保存者/南洋先驅）： 他在戰亂中隨學校南遷，畢業後於1940年代「南渡」定居馬來西亞與新加坡，成為當地的現代藝術教育家與木雕藝術家。他一生低調，在新加坡主要以美術老師和木雕家身份為人所知，極少提起早年在中國與林風眠、趙無極往來的輝煌過去。 [1, 2, 3]
手提箱內保存著极其珍貴的歷史文獻：包括八本杭州藝專時期的師生相冊、林風眠與趙無極等人的親筆題贈與書信、甚至有趙無極年輕時的合影，以及他因戰亂未能在馬來亞實現的「中西美術博覽會」宣言手稿。
這只手提箱就像是許鐵生個人珍藏、跨越地域與戰火的「一個人美術館」，鎖住了20世紀中國現代美術史最動盪也最精華的一段記憶。 [1]
她定居新加坡後創辦品藝畫廊，注意到東南亞早期華人移民藝術家的文獻流失嚴重。她運用在 BBC 累積的紀錄片拍攝與口述歷史調研方法，歷時數年訪問許鐵生的家人與學生，將手提箱內的相冊、作品與日記進行严谨的比對與整理。 [1]
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1997年10月，許鐵生於新加坡辭世，享年83歲。家人在整理遺物時，於床下發現一只手提箱，其中保存著八本國立杭州藝專時期的師生相冊、一批師友手書題贈，以及他離開中國以前所創作的早期作品。
攝影與檔案整理，幾乎貫穿了許鐵生的一生，他親手沖印底片，在照片背面逐一記錄時間、地點與人物，再依年份裝訂成冊。這些資料保存得近乎完整，卻長期未為外界所知。即使是與他相處多年的學生，也鮮少聽到他談起杭州藝專時期的經歷，更不知其曾受教於林風眠，與趙無極同窗往來。直到他去世之後，這段早年生命史才隨著遺留下來的相冊、書信與作品，才再度出現在世人眼前。
我們可以透過這些檔案閱讀到的，不只是許鐵生個人的青春歲月，也讓他以藝術家的身分，重新回到20世紀中國與東南亞藝術史彼此交會的脈絡之中。從杭州藝專的現代藝術教育，到戰亂中的南渡，再到戰後新加坡的藝術教育與創作實踐，他的一生橫跨了不同地域與歷史階段，卻長期未被納入既有的藝術史敘事。
➤➤ #精彩全文請見留言處
許鐵生晚年也曾提及，雕塑是一種長期受到低估的藝術形式。他此後數十年的創作，也逐漸由繪畫轉向木雕。與其將許鐵生對於創作媒材的選擇理解為對「後世評價」的等待，或許更值得追問的是：在一位藝術家的生命結束近30年後，當這批沉睡已久的作品與文獻重新進入公共視野，我們如何重新理解許鐵生，以及他所身處的那段藝術史？
許鐵生於1914年出生於廣東開平。1930年考入廣州培英中學後，他師從藝術家及攝影家何鐵華，學習素描、油畫與攝影。1933年，19歲的許鐵生擁有了一台德國Ermanox相機。在那個攝影器材仍不普及的年代，相機很早便進入他的創作生活，也逐漸成為他觀察與記錄周遭世界的重要媒介。
1934年秋天，許鐵生考入國立杭州藝專。當時學校由林風眠主持，他先後受教於林風眠、蔡威廉、潘天壽、吳大羽等人，課餘時間則參與「蘆花社」與「影社」，從事寫生、攝影及展覽活動。就學期間，他也與年紀稍輕的趙無極建立深厚友誼；留存至今的書信中，趙無極都稱呼他為「鐵生兄」。
來到了1937年的夏天，隨著戰局日益逼近杭州，許鐵生原本的校園生活也面臨中斷。離校前夕，林風眠在贈予許鐵生的照片旁寫道：「徒然地說幾句悲傷的話，抄幾句走心的成語，勉勵著。可是眼睛水淌的時候是看不見的，內心的痛苦是只有自己才曉得的。不過你的努力是令人傾佩的，所以我一點也不替你擔心。你的確不愧是有『鐵的意志』。」
落款為「老謬，於西子湖畔，仲夏臨別前夜」。同一本紀念冊中，趙無極則留下三幅油畫小像，以及一句「困難是等著你克服而設立的」贈言。這些私人題贈不僅記錄了許鐵生與師友之間的關係，也留下杭州藝專在戰前最後階段的一段校園記憶。
抗戰全面爆發後，許鐵生隨學校南遷，先後輾轉諸暨、長沙、沅陵、貴陽與昆明。遷徙期間，他仍持續作畫，也曾以有限的鉛筆與紙張記錄戰亂中的所見，之後並受教於常書鴻、關良，並且在1940年，自國立藝專西洋畫組畢業。
1940年代初，在杭州藝專學長鄭天送的邀請下，許鐵生離開中國，向南抵達馬來亞（位於馬來半島南部的馬來西亞領土，舊稱馬來亞），落腳於森美蘭州瓜拉庇勞（Daerah Kuala Pilah），並在當地中華中學教授美術與華文。
許鐵生在杭州藝專求學期間所接觸的現代藝術教育，也影響了他初到馬來亞後對當地文化環境的觀察。許鐵生曾在文字中提及，德國即使是小城鎮，也設有美術館並舉辦博覽會；相較之下，當時馬來亞仍缺乏相應的藝術展示與公共文化空間。
1941年，他因此起草宣言，倡議在馬來亞舉辦大型中西美術博覽會，希望藉由展覽建立東西方藝術交流的平台。為推動計畫，他曾往來永春會館等華人僑社籌措經費，並一度完成舉辦展覽所需的資金準備。
然而，這項計畫很快受到戰爭中斷。1942年，日軍佔領馬來亞與新加坡，原訂的博覽會未能舉行。日據時期，華文教育與華人文化活動受到嚴格限制，華校遭到改制，許多文化工作者亦在戰時政治環境中受到迫害；包括張汝器等，當時活躍於新加坡藝壇的人士，於大檢證期間遇害。許鐵生則留在瓜拉庇勞任教，並持續進行以花卉等題材為主的繪畫創作，度過戰爭時期。
1968年，許鐵生開始由二維轉向三維的藝術實踐，雕塑成為他後期重要的藝術語言。他特別選擇柚木作為創作媒材。柚木具有質地堅實、不易蟲蛀等特性，可以長期保存傳世，這成為他選擇這一媒材的重要原因。此後，他的繪畫創作逐漸減少，晚年作品大部分為木雕，題材多取自民間風土人情者與地方節慶等日常生活景象。相較於早年的油畫與水彩，木雕不僅改變了他的工作方式，也使他對東南亞社會生活的長期觀察，以另一種物質形式延續下來。
1997年，許鐵生辭世。曾為國家博物院畫廊策展人的許元豪（Koh Nguang How）開始著手整理與蒐集他的檔案。受家屬託付後，這項工作持續了近30年。長期以來，許元豪持續保存與整理新加坡藝術史相關文獻，並將自家祖屋的一部分作為檔案空間；BBC紀錄片《一個人的博物館》也曾以他的收藏與研究工作為題。在許鐵生尚未受到公共機構與研究者廣泛關注的時期，包括相冊、書信、照片與作品在內的大量資料，主要由許元豪持續整理與保存。
許鐵生的經歷，也提供了一條不同於既有敘事的藝術史路徑。趙無極、吳冠中等人自杭州藝專前往歐洲，構成中國現代藝術史中較為熟悉的線索；許鐵生則南來馬來亞，將此後數十年的教學、攝影與創作置於東南亞的社會文化環境之中。街市、港口、廟宇、勞動者與節慶逐漸進入他的視野，使杭州時期的藝術養成在移居經驗中產生新的轉化。
這也是今日重新研究許鐵生的重要性所在。品藝畫廊所關注的，並不只是作品的市場流通，而是如何透過作品、文獻與口述歷史，重新理解一位跨越中國與東南亞的藝術家。2026年5月舉辦的許鐵生攝影專題展，以及2027年即將呈現的對1960至1990年代許鐵生水墨作品和木雕創作的整理，也使許鐵生的個案逐漸被置回新加坡乃至東南亞現代藝術發展的脈絡之中。
許鐵生生前很少談論自己的杭州藝專經歷，卻留下大量照片、書信、作品與文字資料。近30年來，隨著這些材料陸續被整理，一段原本分散於私人記憶中的生命史才重新進入公共視野。
今日「重識」許鐵生，或許不只是為一位長期被忽略的藝術家補上一個位置，更是在重新思考：當藝術家的生命跨越戰爭、移民與不同文化地域，我們應如何重新連結並書寫20世紀亞洲藝術史？（文／ 李京樺）
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- 林風眠 (1900–1991)：中國現代繪畫的開拓者與先驅。他早年留學法國，主張東西方藝術融合，並創辦了國立杭州藝術專科學校（現中國美術學院）。在文化大革命期間，他遭受了極其殘酷的政治迫害，為了不讓作品落入紅衛兵之手成為罪證，他被迫在自家的馬桶裡親手燒毀了自己一生創作的數千幅心血畫作，隨後被坐牢入獄 4 年半。 [1, 2]
- 趙無極 (1920–2013)：享譽國際的華裔法籍抽象畫大師。他是林風眠的得意門生。在林風眠擔任校長期間，趙無極在杭州藝專學習，畢業後更被林風眠提拔為助教，並在林風眠的鼓勵與資助下遠赴法國深造。趙無極成功將中國傳統的水墨意境融入西方抽象油畫中，成為二十世紀全球藝術界的巨擘。 [1, 2]
- 張鐵生 (1950–)：文化大革命時期的著名政治符號，被稱為「白卷英雄」。1973年高考時，他因物理化學考試不會做，在試卷背面寫了一封信，控訴高考制度是「資產階級文人卡工農兵」。這份「白卷」被「四人幫」利用，張鐵生一躍成為文革反對教育體制的英雄與政治明星。這象徵了文革時期「政治掛帥、踐踏知識與藝術」的極端社會背景。
- BBC "ONE MAN'S MUSEUM"（一個人的美術館/博物館）：
這通常指的是英國廣播公司（BBC）在報導、紀錄片或藝術評論中，用來形容藝術家在面對大時代動盪與政治迫害時，如何用生命守護、重建或甚至孤身一人代表了一個時代的藝術精神。 [1, 2]
- 師生與命運的極端對比（林風眠 vs 趙無極）
林風眠留在中國大陸，在文革中迎來了藝術的毀滅，被迫親手燒光作品；而他的學生趙無極因為去了法國，在自由的環境下將林風眠「中西融合」的藝術理念發揚光大，作品在國際拍賣會上屢創天價。 [1, 2] - 時代荒謬的對比（林風眠 vs 張鐵生）
當一代大師林風眠被迫燒毀幾千幅珍貴畫作、被視為「反革命分子」關進秦城監獄時；交白卷的張鐵生卻因為政治正確被捧為全國英雄、甚至當上全國人大常委。這展現了當時「知識越多越反動」的扭曲價值觀。 [1, 2] - 「一個人的美術館」的悲劇意涵
林風眠晚年（文革後）獲准定居香港，他在生命的最後十幾年裡，憑藉著記憶，瘋狂地重新默寫、重畫當年被他親手燒毀的那些作品。他一個人、一間小公寓、在孤獨中用殘存的生命重建了本該屬於一個國家、一整個世代的現代藝術寶庫。BBC 專題或藝術史論中常用類似的視角（One Man's Museum），來致敬林風眠這般以血淚孤軍奮存藝術火種的傳奇一生。 [1]
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