［从“修复”到修复］

我一开始不是修复师。我甚至可以说，我是被“误会”成修复师的。

I didn't start as a restorer. I could even say I was "misunderstood" into becoming one.

那时候的我，是初出茅庐的“画家”。画画的人，总会认识一些画廊朋友。画廊朋友也总会有一些“麻烦”——比如，客户的画坏了，没人敢碰，最后就会有人想起你：

Back then, I was a fledgling "painter." Artists always know gallery friends, and gallery friends always have "troubles"—like a client's painting being damaged, and nobody dares to touch it. Eventually, someone remembers you:

这句话听起来逻辑很完整，实际上非常危险。但我当时也年轻，也不懂得害怕风险，更不懂得拒绝。于是我开始“帮忙”。

The sentence sounds logically complete, but in reality, it is very dangerous. I was young then, didn't understand the risks, and knew even less about how to refuse. So, I began to "help."

起初要修的，不是什么惊天动地的大作。多数是装饰画。它们的问题也很“生活”：这里脱色，那里发黄；这边一块小小的破损，那边一点点掉漆。

Initially, what needed fixing weren't monumental masterpieces. Most were decorative paintings. Their issues were very "mundane": fading here, yellowing there; a tiny tear on this side, a bit of peeling paint on that.

我用的方法也很简单：补色、覆盖。哪里坏，就把哪里“补回去”。

My method was simple: color matching and overpainting. Wherever it was broken, I would "patch it back."

说真的，那段时间我做的“修复”，跟作画几乎没什么差别。而且我有一个优势：我对色彩特别敏感。我可以调出非常接近原画的颜色——接近到连我自己都会忍不住得意：*哇，几乎看不出来。*

Honestly, the "restoration" I did then was almost indistinguishable from painting. And I had an advantage: I was exceptionally sensitive to color. I could mix shades so close to the original that I couldn't help but feel a bit proud: *Wow, you can hardly tell.*

我就这样，莫名其妙走进了“修复”这条路。但那时候的“修复”，其实更像装修。

And so, I unknowingly wandered into the path of "restoration." But back then, "restoration" was more like interior renovation.

你知道装修工人怎么修墙壁吗？裂了，就补；脏了，就刷；旧了，就重新盖一层新的。重点不是历史，不是尊重，也不是留下痕迹。重点是——看起来像新的就好。

Do you know how a renovator fixes a wall? If it's cracked, patch it; if it's dirty, paint it; if it's old, cover it with a new layer. The point isn't history, respect, or leaving traces. The point is—make it look like new.

直到有一天，画廊朋友又来找我。他说有一幅画需要“处理一下”。我过去一看，心里突然一沉——那是一位马来西亚艺术家前辈的作品。

Until one day, my gallery friend came to me again. He said there was a painting that needed to be "handled." When I saw it, my heart suddenly sank—it was a work by a senior Malaysian artist.

我瞬间不舒服。不是因为我不会修，而是因为我突然意识到：我可能不应该修。那种感觉很奇怪。它不像“害怕”，也不像“压力”。它更像是……一种不太讲得清的羞耻。

I felt an instant discomfort. Not because I didn't know how to fix it, but because I suddenly realized: I probably shouldn't. It was a strange feeling. Not quite "fear," nor "pressure." It was more like... an indefinable sense of shame.

我第一次开始怀疑：我之前那些“修复”，到底算不算修复？还是说，我只是用一种很会调色的方式，把问题遮起来，然后装作它从来没发生过？

For the first time, I began to wonder: Did my previous "fixes" even count as restoration? Or was I just using my color-mixing skills to hide problems and pretend they never happened?

我开始搜索：真正的修复师，是怎么做修复的？也就是这个动作，意外打开了我生命中另一扇门。我第一次看到一些让我很震撼、也很刺痛的词：

I began to search: How do real restorers do their work? It was this action that unexpectedly opened another door in my life. For the first time, I encountered words that both shocked and stung me:

我才知道，修复不是“盖过去”。修复不是“让它看起来没事”。修复甚至不是“让它变漂亮”。修复是一种克制。是一种对作品说：“我会帮你，但我不会占有你。”

I realized that restoration is not about "covering it up." It's not about "making it look fine." It isn't even about "making it pretty." Restoration is a form of restraint. It's a way of saying to the work: "I will help you, but I will not possess you."

更糟糕的是：我开始对自己产生一种很强烈的——犯罪感。真的，我不是在开玩笑。我开始觉得自己好像做过一些不该做的事情。虽然我当时是出于好意，虽然我确实修得很像，但我心里越来越清楚：这不是正确的方式。这甚至不是一个专业应该有的底线。

Worse still, I began to feel a profound sense of—guilt. Seriously, I'm not kidding. I began to feel as if I had done things I shouldn't have. Though I meant well, and though I fixed them convincingly, it became increasingly clear to me: this was not the right way. This wasn't even the bare minimum a professional should uphold.

可人生有时候很残忍——你一旦知道了，就回不去了。但那幅前辈的作品怎么办？画已经在我面前了，画廊朋友也在看着我，空气里充满一种“你总不能现在退缩吧”的沉默。

But life can be cruel—once you know, you can't go back. But what about the senior artist's work? The painting was right there in front of me, and the air was filled with a silence that seemed to say, "You can't back out now, can you?"

最后，我还是动手了。只是那一次，我用的是广告粉彩。当时的我认为：这应该是“最可逆”的方案。至少，如果未来有人要把我的痕迹拿掉，它不会像油画颜料那样死死咬住底层。现在回头看，我知道这其实还是很幼稚。但至少那一刻，我终于开始学会害怕。

In the end, I did proceed. But that time, I used gouache. At the time, I thought this was the "most reversible" solution. Looking back, I know that was still very naive. But at least in that moment, I finally began to learn to be afraid.

害怕，是我走向真正修复的第一步。

Fear was my first step toward true restoration.

之后我内心一直挣扎。我不想继续犯罪下去。我不想继续做那个“看起来很厉害”的装修工。我想成为真正意义上的修复师。所以最后，我做了另一个任性的决定：我去了意大利佛罗伦萨，学习油画修复。

Afterward, I struggled internally. I didn't want to continue "committing crimes." I wanted to be a restorer in the true sense of the word. So finally, I made another willful decision: I went to Florence, Italy, to study oil painting restoration.

那一次我不是去旅游。我也不是去圆梦。我只是想让自己有一天能够站在一幅画面前，问心无愧地对着画作说：

That time, I wasn't going as a tourist. Nor was I chasing a dream. I just wanted to be able to stand before a painting one day and say with a clear conscience to the work: