“树”是我的童年记忆中非常重要的一个部分，在我的老家，每一户人家门前都会种树，大部分是龙眼、芒果、黄皮果、杨桃等果树，每到收获季节大家就从树上直接摘水果来吃。那时童年的游戏也常常是爬树、抓蝉、荡秋千之类的，承载我最多的记忆的就是好朋友家门前的龙眼树。那棵树在五年前被砍掉了，后来我站在它曾经生长的地方前拍下了一张照片，我才意识到树的意义远止于遮阴或结果，与之相连的是我逝去的记忆，还有对这片土地的依赖和眷恋。
2023年，我偶然接触到苗族的树文化，发现树在苗族人的生活中除了功能性作用，更重要的是一种精神信仰。这种人与树木的深切连接让我感到向往和好奇，在我的老家消失的树，在那片将“树”奉仰为神的土地是什么样的？而那个民族又会是什么样的？因此，我多次前往贵州黔东南最深处月亮山区的苗寨，试图寻找答案。在加宜苗寨，孩子出生时，长辈种下一片杉树，待其成家时建造属于他们的家。他们以最好的枫木作为房子的中柱，寓意祖先与家人同在。寨子里散落着供人休息和出行的小板凳、木桥，是长辈为了给孩子积累阴德、祈福消灾而搭建的，称为“消灾树”。在岜沙苗寨，一些父母会为孩子寻一棵“生命树”，以此为孩子生命的依托，保佑孩子如苍天大树般健康强盛。在逝者的坟头上，人们还会插上一棵小树，叫“常青树”。人在泥土之下，与树长眠。苗族人用杉木建房子，用竹子编背篓，用板蓝根制染料，他们生活的每一个细节都与草木相关，人与树、与天地万物之间，既自由生长，又亲密无间地连接在一起。这种亲密而强大的关系让我感动，也让我反思，在现代文明中我们是否早已遗忘了这种最原始的依存？
然而，这块避世桃源背后同样也有缝隙。即使坐在家门前就能观山望天，他们也有着自己难以改变的困境。深居山中，交通闭塞，青壮年外出务工，留守现象非常严重。被迫背井离乡外出打工，是否能真正地解决他们的问题呢？信息通过一个小小的手机流动得相当迅速，这种可见的不同他们是如何应对的呢？当年轻人不再相信树神的庇护，当“消灾树”、“生命树”的习俗逐渐被遗忘，苗族的树文化会走向哪里呢？树可以百年长青，但依附于树的文化呢？当年轻人不再相信树神的庇护，当“消灾树”“生命树”的习俗逐渐被遗忘，苗族的树文化会走向哪里呢？
我想起了老家被砍的那棵龙眼树——我们失去的不仅仅是树木本身，还有与之相连的情感和记忆。而当我们砍倒一棵树时，我们切断的，或许是一段尚未讲述的故事。“生命树”指的不仅仅是岜沙苗寨苗寨中父母为孩子种下的那一棵树，是与我们的生命相连接的所有树木，是给予我们隐蔽和依靠、承载我们的记忆和信仰的那一棵稳定而持久的树，是我们的身体和灵魂最原始的栖息地。我希望通过这些影像，让观者重新思考自己与自然、土地的关系。在钢筋水泥的都市里，我们是否还能找回那些曾与树共生的纯粹与快乐？当最后一棵“生命树”倒下时，我们失去的，会是什么？
‘Tree’ is a significant part of my memories. When I was a child, I used to swing, catch stones and jump rope with my best friend under the longan tree in front of her house. The tree was cut down five years ago, and I took a photograph of the place where it used to grow.
In 2023, I came across the tree-worshipping culture of the Miao people, an ethnic group from southwestern China. In the Jiayi Miao village, when a child is born, the elders will plant fir trees for them to build their own home when they reach adulthood or get married. The centre pillar of the house is made from the finest maple wood to signify the presence of the ancestors. In Biasha Miao village, some parents would find a strong 'Tree of Life' to shelter and bless their children's health. At burial sites, people also plant a small tree called the 'Evergreen Tree'. The Miao people build houses with fir trees, weave baskets with bamboo, and make dyes from Chinese indigo. Every aspect of their lives is connected to plants, and living in harmony with nature is an integral part of their existence. This intimate and strong relationship moved me and made me reflect on whether we have long forgotten this primitive interdependence in modern civilisation.
However, there are also cracks behind this paradise. Despite living amidst breathtaking mountains, the Miao people face their predicaments: poor transportation, scarce resources, and an exodus of young people. In the villages I visited, the working-age population was hard to find; only the elderly and children remained. Can their struggles be truly solved by being forced to go out to work? How do they cope with the visible difference in the flow of information via mobile phones? Trees may live for centuries, but what about the culture built around them? When young people no longer believe in the protection of tree gods, and when customs like the ‘tree of disaster-dispelling’ and the ‘tree of life’ fade, where will the tree culture of the Miao go? I think of the longan tree that was cut down in my hometown - what we have lost is not only the tree itself, but also the emotions and memories tied to it. When we cut down a tree, we sever a story yet to be told. Through these images, I hope to provoke reflection on our relationship with nature and the earth. In the concrete and steel city, can we still find the purity and happiness that we once shared with trees? When the last ‘tree of life’ falls, what will we lose?
