The painter Matthew Wong is an artist with whom I feel a deeply vital connection. It began because he was the contemporary painter my lost, beloved one was most drawn to. But through this reunion in Venice, I have come to realize a strange connection—a parallel between his path and my own.
His colors and brushstrokes engage in a quiet dialogue with Matisse and Van Gogh, holding a mysterious microcosm captured and gently placed before us. Everyday life mixed with fairy tale; stillness, solitude, and a mirror-like lake without a single wave. A vacuum. Is there any sound there at all?
“If you had to choose between losing your sight or losing your hearing, which would you choose?” It was just a casual conversation. I cannot even remember which of us asked, but I hesitated and replied, "I would choose to lose my sight." Her response remains vividly etched in my mind: she said she could never bear losing her sight—never, absolutely not.
Born in Toronto, Matthew was originally a photographer who studied at an art school in Hong Kong. In 2011, while working as a guide at the Hong Kong Pavilion for the Venice Biennale, he encountered painting. This single event prompted him to pivot from photography to painting shortly after. Completely self-taught, he left behind a massive body of work during the seven years before he took his own life at the age of thirty-five. Like Van Gogh, it is said he was at his most prolific just before his death. Toronto, Venice, photography, autism. He is someone with whom I feel a strange, fated kinship.
From my lodgings in Accademia, I boarded the Vaporetto and rode it two stops to San Tomà. It is a distance that takes about fifteen minutes on foot. Tucked away down a narrow alleyway, the venue sits along the Grand Canal, yet it is quiet and beautifully weathered. If you did not already know Matthew Wong, you would likely never find it. In fact, there were only a few people inside the space, which made me quietly happy.
The space was in complete harmony with Matthew’s thirty-nine works. The evening light richly enveloped the room, and sound was entirely absent. To be unable to hear, yet still be able to see—so this is what it means. I stepped inside his world. There, warmth and solitude synchronized; light and darkness existed simultaneously. It was a place where Matthew’s heart became completely visible.
Matthew Wongという画家は僕にとって大切な繋がりを感じる画家である。それは亡くした大切な人が最も惹かれた現代画家であったということが発端であるが、今回このベネチアでの再会を通して、自分との不思議な繋がり・パラレルに気づく。
彼はマティスやゴッホと対話する色彩・タッチ、不思議な小宇宙が握られてポッと置かれる、日常とメルヘンと静けさ、孤独、波のないミラーの湖面。真空、音はそこにあるのだろうか？
目が見えなくなるのと耳が聞こえなくなる、もしどちらかを選ばなければならいとしたら、どちらを選ぶ？そんなたわいも無い会話。どちらが聞いたのかも覚えていないが、僕は躊躇しながら「見えなくなるを選ぶ」と答えると、彼女は見えなくなるのは嫌だ、絶対に嫌だ、という言葉が印象に残っている。
トロント生まれのMatthewはもともと香港のアートスクールで勉強した写真家であった。２０１１年にベネチア・ビエンナーレの香港館にてガイドを務めるなか、絵画に出会い、これをきっかけに間も無く写真から絵画へ転向を決める。独学で絵を学び、３５歳で自ら命を経つまでの７年間に多くの作品を残した。ゴッホと同様、死の直前ほど多作であったという。トロント、ベネチア、写真、自閉症。不思議と縁を感じる人である。
ベネチアのアカデミアの宿からバポレットに乗り、二駅ほどのSan Toma。歩いても1５分ほどで着くであろう、細い路地を入った会場はグランカナル沿いであるが物静かでひなびている、Matthew Wongを知らなければほとんどの人は訪れないであろう。実際に会場にはほんの数名ほどしかおらず、僕は少し嬉しかった。空間は完全にMatthewの３９作品と調和し、夕方の光が部屋を豊かに包み込み、音はそこになかった。耳が聞こえない、でも見える、というのはこういうことか。彼の世界へと入り込む。そこには暖かさと孤独とか同期し光と闇もが同時に存在する。Matthewの心が見えるということなのである。
