中英对照 | 我停止做艺术的那一年 (The Year I Stopped Making Art. by Paul Maheke)

我停止做艺术的那一年。除了现身,艺术界应该团结一致帮助艺术家。

### The Year I Stopped Making Art. Why the Art World Should Assist Artists Beyond Representation: in Solidarity

作者 | Paul Maheke
译者 | 曾不容
原文于2020年3月发表于艺术杂志DOCUMENTATIONS。原文链接:https://documentations.art/The-year-I-stopped-making-art

The year I stopped making art, I just stopped. I wasn’t just being slowed down in my progress, I didn’t take a detour, it just stopped. Life didn’t throw me curveballs, at least not more than usual My whole life felt like a curveball. I had no more stamina. Not a single drop of blood left. My body collapsed. That’s the year when I couldn’t hold it together any longer. You failed me.
  我停止做艺术的那一年,我就这么停下了。并不是放慢速度,并没有误入歧途,就这么停止了。生活没有冷不丁地给我出难题,起码不比往常多。我整个生活就是个难题。我丧失了耐性,没有一滴血留下。我支撑不住。那一年,我无法持续。你把我淘汰。

The year I stopped making art, it was before COVID-19. It didn’t take a global pandemic to end my career. I just didn’t manage to pay my tax return on time. It was 2019 and I had a bike accident on one of my shifts when I delivered food to people’s door. The year I stopped making art, it didn’t take for the wealthiest parts of the world to go in total lockdown, to be made redundant from the arts industry. It was so mundane no one noticed. No one noticed because I couldn’t make an artwork out of it. It couldn’t be turned into art. It just ended. My shows were canceled and no one paid me and no one saw me. I had made art for too long by now to be hired by any company outside the field. No restaurant would give a job to someone with little to no experience in hospitality.
  我停止做艺术的那一年发生在新冠之前。不需要一场席卷全球的疫情终结我的事业。我只是没能及时交税。那是2019年,我在骑车送外卖的途中出了车祸。我停止做艺术的那一年,并不需要世界最富有的地区进入戒严,才能让我被艺术产业淘汰。它发生地如此庸常,甚至没人在意。没人在意我的退出,因为我无法把这些经历改造成艺术品,无法变成艺术。它就这么停止了。我的展览被取消,没人买我的作品,没有人看到我。我做艺术的时间太长了,以至于艺术领域之外,没有公司愿意聘用我,也没有一家餐馆愿意给在服务业如此缺乏经验的人一份工作。

The year I stopped making art is the year my secondary school teacher decided I would make a good factory technician. This was the year my parents had to move further away, away from the center; barely on the outskirts in suburbia. The year I stopped making art is when I realized I needed to speak several languages in order to be an artist, to have a computer with unlimited access to the internet and a smartphone to answer your emails on the go. The year I had to stop, is the year I couldn’t afford to commute to your museum to meet you. I was wrestling with depression and mental illness.
  我停止做艺术,发生在中学老师认为我更适合做工厂技师的那一年。是那一年,我的父母决定搬去郊外,远离市区,甚至在郊区以外。停止做艺术的那一年,我意识到一个艺术家必须会讲几门外语,拥有电脑,无限网络链接和智能手机,随时回复你的邮件。那一年我必须停止,那一年我再也付不起去美术馆和你见面的通勤费。我正与抑郁和精神疾病做挣扎。

It was 2008 when I became homeless because my benefits were cut and you didn’t pay me. It all stopped when I realized I was the only person of color at your opening. It stopped when I had to clean floors of hotel rooms, airports, and trains to make ends meet. That’s also when I saw you walk in the business lounge. I smelled your fragrance when you passed by. Turns out, they sell a fake version of your perfume at the local market down the estate. I almost smelled like you the year I stopped making art. Me smelling like you was my camouflage. It didn’t make a difference when in 2020, I was forced to stop because of the fragile state of my finances.
  2018年我无家可归,救济金停发,但你还没有付给我工钱。一切停止下来,当我意识到我是开幕式上唯一一个有色人种,我停止做艺术,当我得在宾馆、机场和火车站清洗地板,才能不再入不敷出。那也是当我看见你走进商务休息室,你经过之处我闻到香水的气味。原来,在街市小贩那里,我就能买到你香水的复刻版。在我停止做艺术的那一年,我几乎就要和你拥有一样的气味。拥有和你相似的气味是我的掩饰。这一切在2020年都变得无关紧要,因为我的脆弱的经济状况。

The next day, you and I still smelled the same fig leaf scented fragrance you spray in your hair and your neck every morning. You were at your office, in the museum, on the day our president decided to bar access to various institutions across the country to prevent a virus to spread. You carefully applied the alcohol-based gel on your hands and your wrists, which would prevent you from getting contaminated. Then, you went on to check your bank account on your phone. You thought “it should be fine until it all ends”. You just had collected the money from the rent of your tenant, your paid sick leave, the bitcoins someone mined for you overnight. The year I stopped making art you started trading them.
  第二天,你我仍然闻得到每天早上你喷在头发和脖颈的无花果叶的香水气味。那一天,你在自己的办公室,在美术馆里,总统宣布关闭全国上下的各大场所,阻挡病毒的传播。你小心翼翼地把消毒液涂抹在手掌和手腕,隔离污染。然后查看手机银行账户,“在疫情结束之前应该没问题”,你想。只需要收齐房租,休完带薪病假,然后换掉别人连夜为你挖出的比特币。我停止做艺术的那一年,你开始贩卖艺术品。

The year I stopped making art is the year I was reminded I did not have a safety net or support structure to carry me through the testing of time like you did. That I was too naive to think I could make it all the way through, just like you.“Jog on!”. You made a swerve and I couldn’t follow. Leaving me to chew on the sillage of your perfume/our perfume. The year I stopped making art is the year I almost smelled like you, but only to realize that, to you, I was always gonna be the smell of forgery.
  我停止做艺术的那一年,被人提醒其实我并没有像你一样的保障和资助,助我像你一样扛过考验期。我太天真,以为我也可以斩荆披棘,像你一样继续奔跑。而你突然掉转方向,我却无力跟上,剩下我咀嚼你的香水的气味。停止做艺术的那一年,我几乎就要和你拥有一样的气味,但最后仅仅意识到,对于你,我永远只是赝品的气味。


Paul Maheke (b. 1985, France) lives and works in London. With a focus on dance and through a varied and often collaborative body of work comprising performance, installation, sound, and video, Maheke considers the potential of the body as an archive in order to examine how memory and identity are formed and constituted.

Paul Maheke是一位法国艺术家,现居伦敦。