Author: Zixiao Huang
“Where are you from?” Nicolas Trigault, in his Daopao, of 1617, politely asks the Fonthill Vase of 1300 in the National Museum of Ireland.
“I come from Jingdezhen in Jiangxi; I come from Székesfehérvár, I come from Naples, Normandy, Paris, Wiltshire, and Dublin.”
“That’s far from home.” Trigault looks at the vase, his hand subconsciously reaching to his long beard. He is overdressed for the vase in front of him, which has long lost its Hungarian vanity.
“Not far,” the three-hundred-years-older vase answers. “Where are you from?” The question gets through the glass box of the vitrine to the Jesuit missionary. Looking into his face, somehow, the vase senses a moment of deja vu.
“I come from Douai, but also Rome and Macau. I have been traveling for so long that I cannot remember. I have visited Jindezheng, though many springs have passed since then.”
“Is my hometown well?” The Fonthill Vase suddenly reveals some sentimentalities that the missionary has not noticed before.
“Still the emperor’s favorite.” In that short half-second, Trigault figures this would be the best answer.
“That would be enough.” The vase’s momentary emotion is immediately under control. The vase continues, “My hometown is no longer my hometown. Székesfehérvár is home. Fonthill Abbey is home too.” Listening to the monologue of the old vase, the missionary turns the medieval manuscript in the neighboring display. On the yellow parchment, he sees the image of the Fonthill Vase from hundreds of years ago: silver lines and gold fills decorated the top opening, a slim curvy spout was installed on the side: the afterlife of the vase was a Persian-style ewer, with a Hungarian coat of arms covering the original lotus motif carved on the surface of the glaze. He does not know when all those decorations were removed; after years of reincarnation, its afterlife is now its past life again.
Jingdezhen is no longer the hometown of the Fonthill Vase, as the town that was under Mongolian rule when the vase was made is long gone; who knows which name the city pays tribute to now? The missionary raises his hand and hopes to be closer to the vase, only his enormous sleeves stop him. He does not remember when he became so used to this Chinese costume. Was it in Nanjing or Beijing? He no longer recognizes his hometown either; no one there would attempt to speak to him in crooked Mandarin, and no one would ask him to write calligraphy on a silk scroll for a study. When he met with Peter Paul Rubens in Brussels, it may have been the only time that someone was so genuinely interested in his life in the East. Rubens asked for the clothing colors and shapes of headwear in the "East”; the missionary told him everything he had learned, even when the artist laughed at him for no longer understanding his mother tongue. Indeed, he can understand the dialect spoken on the bank of the West Lake in Hangzhou but not the new vocabulary in Flemish. A relocated home has become a hometown.
Whether in the National Museum of Ireland or somewhere else, Nicolas Trigault of 1617 and the Fonthill Vase of 1300 share the same homesickness. They are the lucky ones who had the privilege of traveling on this planet before many others. They carried materials, techniques, languages, and clothing from remote places. They become stories and then histories. Is there anyone at the end of the journey waiting to ask them, “Where are you from?”
They have both become the testaments of circulation and play unforgettable roles in the longue durée of art history, but does the mobility ever stop? Sentimentality may not be the most discussed concept in the history of art, but memory is, as the home and relocated home brings us to rethink how space and place hold an essential key in understanding mobility and circulation, and eventually, identities. Because of conversations like this, art history became a subject with a unique touch of humanity. The objects travel, dwell, and continue with their journeys in this world in which anyone can call anywhere home today.
Yet, this folio in the history of art was never simply a conversation, never simply an imagination; the objects, the people, follow and continue and never stop.
“君從何處來？” 1617年的金尼閣修士穿著縫補于杭州的道袍小心詢問著來自十四世紀的豐山瓶。
“吾自江西景德鎮來，吾自塞克什白堡來，吾自那不勒斯、諾曼底、巴黎、威爾特郡、都柏林來。”
“離家很遠了。” 金尼閣捋著長長的鬍子，他若有所思地望著這尊花瓶，如今他已卸掉原襲一身的匈牙利浮華。
“不遠，” 年長三百余歲月的豐山瓶靜靜答道，”君從何處來？” 問題被拋回站於玻璃匣子另一側的耶穌會修士，不知怎的，他的一身裝扮顯得面熟卻又陌生。
“晚輩自杜埃來，亦自羅馬、澳門來，旅居太久，大多不記得了。我也曾拜訪過景德鎮，只是又過去許久了。”
“故鄉尚好嗎？” 豐山瓶突然流露出與之年齡不相稱的感傷。“仍是天子所愛。” 金尼閣琢磨半秒，想著這或許是最好的答案。
“那便如意。” 那一剎那流出的情感在聽到這句話時便收回了。“畢竟已不是故鄉了，塞克什白堡是故鄉，豐山居亦是故鄉。”
聽著花瓶的答復，修士看向旁側的中世紀手稿。古舊的羊皮紙上繪出豐山瓶數百年前的面貌：銀飾與金條蓋住了原本的瓶口，在左一旁裝置一道沒有開口的嘴，花瓶的前世被改造成有如波斯風格的酒器，寶石與家徽裝扮著瓷匠勾勒出的荷花。豐山瓶不知在什麼時候被卸下如此多餘，於是輪迴數甲子後的花瓶又回到前世模樣。
是的，豐山瓶的故鄉已不是景德鎮了。蒙古人治下的景德鎮早已不再，如今是誰的天下也不相關了。修士抬起手想要觸摸瓶身的溝壑，卻發現大袖遮住了手。是從什麼時候起，自己已經習慣了這一身穿著呢？在南京，還是在北京呢？
他也不再知道故鄉了，那裡沒有人會和他講音調古怪的官話，也沒有人會求他為書房題下一幅字畫。他在布魯塞爾拜訪彼得·保羅·魯本斯時，或許是回鄉途中唯一一次有人如此熱烈且好奇地詢問他在東方的生活。衣袍是什麼顏色，帽子是什麼形製，如數家珍之後，魯本斯卻笑話他已經聽不懂鄉音了。
是的，他能聽懂杭州西湖邊的吳儂軟語，卻在回應弗萊芒語對話時躊躇不安。他鄉早已是故鄉了。
在都柏林的國家博物館裡，來自1617年的金尼閣和來自1300年的豐山瓶有著類似的鄉愁，他們是這個星球上早於許多人可以跨越大洲旅行的幸運兒。他們攜帶不同材料，技法，語言與衣著在亞歐大陸上往返，他們傳遞著來自遙遠地區的故事與歷史，只是在旅途終將結束的時候，可有人隨口詢問過“君從何處來”呢？
他們各自成為“交流”二字的見證者，在藝術史的長河中扮演著不會被遺忘的角色。然而旅途會停止嗎？感思或許不是藝術史學者最在意的概念，卻因故鄉與他鄉的重合生發出對交流與時空的記憶。因為這樣的對話，藝術史才有著屬於物件與人物獨特的情感。他們在遺存中活著，在人與人不斷交流中繼續流動著，在這個四海為家便是幸運的世界裡，因為如此般對話的可能，空間與地點得以在移動中交互往來。
而這藝術史中的一頁，對話也好，想象也好，都還有下文。