05/01/2026
前幾日一邊印相、一邊與來訪的客人聊天時，我們聊到了紙材。
我經常使用不同的紙張作為相紙，這些紙之間的差異其實相當巨大。除了纖維紋理與厚薄不一之外，每一種紙材在「堅固」與「脆弱」之間，也各自帶著不同的性格，而這些特質最終都會反映在製作時的良率上。
理性來說，基於成本、時間與穩定性的考量，理應選擇良率較高的材料來製作成品。因此在過去，我確實也優先使用那些相對安全、成功率高的紙材。
然而，當我試過一輪材料之後，卻發現自己真正偏好的，並不是良率最高的那一種。
我現在最喜歡的紙材，反而是那種略顯脆弱的材質——就像撈金魚用的紙網一樣。製作的過程必須全神貫注、步步為營，稍一分心，紙張便可能在手中受損。奇妙的是，我卻十分喜歡這樣被迫專注的工作狀態。
至於為什麼會這樣，我想或許與《源氏物語》中所描寫的「物哀」概念有關。
脆弱的事物，總帶著一種無法挽留的無常感——就像季節更替時自然凋零的花朵，正因為短暫，反而顯得格外動人。
也許正因如此，我才會特別偏好那些自己無法完全掌控的材料。即便成品經常帶著些許瑕疵，但在我眼中，那些不完美並不是缺陷，而是製作過程真實存在過的證據。
我所追求的，並非完美，而是在隨時可能失敗的狀態中，依然全然投入的那份安靜而專注的勞動。
A few days ago, while making prints and talking with a visitor, our conversation drifted toward paper.
I often work with a wide range of papers as photographic supports. The differences between them are substantial—not only in fiber structure and thickness, but also in their balance between strength and fragility. These characteristics directly affect the success rate of the printing process.
From a practical standpoint, it would make sense to choose materials with higher reliability and predictable results. For a long time, I did exactly that, prioritizing papers with a higher yield.
Yet after working through many options, I came to an unexpected realization: the papers I truly prefer are not the ones with the highest success rate.
The materials I now favor are, in fact, quite fragile—almost like the thin paper scoops used for catching goldfish at summer festivals. Working with them demands complete concentration. Every movement must be deliberate; a brief lapse of attention can result in damage. Strangely enough, I find myself enjoying this state of enforced attentiveness.
Perhaps this inclination is influenced by the concept of mono no aware found in The Tale of Genji. Fragile things carry an inherent sense of impermanence. Like flowers that naturally wither as seasons change, their beauty lies precisely in their transience.
This may be why I am drawn to materials that resist full control. They do not allow shortcuts. They demand presence. Although the finished prints often bear small imperfections, I do not see them as flaws, but as evidence—proof that the process was real, that attention was sustained, and that nothing was taken for granted.
In the end, I am less interested in perfection than in the quiet intensity of making something that could fail at any moment.
