21/04/2026
天闊煙靜|李安成 水墨展
Vast Skies, the Haze Withdrawn
Li An-Cheng Ink Painting Exhibition
▍展期:2026.05.02 ~ 05.23
李安成1959年生於雲林莿桐的農村,泥土、田水、竹林與溪流是他最初的視覺記憶,也構成日後創作的底色 。離鄉之後,基隆的潮濕山海、陽明山的雲霧、淡水紅樹林的水氣⋯⋯都不斷浸潤於他的畫面中,即使在早年受傳統書畫訓練,他卻很快擺脫師承束縛,走向一條近乎自學、極為個人的創作道路。
他以水與墨為主要媒介,發展出獨特的技法:讓墨在水的引導下自行蔓延、滲透與堆疊,筆觸往往隱沒於流動中,畫面生成於控制與放任間,充滿風、水、光與時間的痕跡。
然而,真正讓人難以忘記的,是他的「黑」。
那是層次極其豐富的黑:濃、淡、潤、枯、沉鬱或流動,既如夜幕覆蓋,也如水氣蒸騰。在他筆下,黑並非遮蔽,而是顯現,正如他所言:「黑色是可讓人放鬆的顏色。」這種對黑的極致運用,使畫作產生強烈的情緒張力與精神密度,也讓觀者在沉靜中被緩緩吞沒。
他的創作歷程亦如墨色般層層轉化。早期作品偏向輕薄宣紙上的水氣流動,畫面通透而敏銳,細膩捕捉氣候與環境的細微變化;中期之後,墨色轉趨厚重,對比更為強烈,表現力顯著提升;晚期則在韓紙等材質上展開更大尺幅的實驗,筆觸狂放而自由,墨色如暴雨傾瀉,既粗獷又內蘊寧靜 。在這些變化之中,不變的始終是對自然的凝視,也是對內在世界的探問。(參考張玉音,〈他在墨裡安放自然:關於李安成作品選〉,《典藏ARTouch》,2019)
這樣的藝術強烈、純粹,也因此孤獨。
敦煌藝術中心創辦人洪平濤先生每每憶起李安成,總帶著複雜的情緒。一方面篤定於他那無需多言、難以模仿的天成才氣;另一方面,亦不免惋惜他對創作的虔誠與對筆墨的敬畏,使他在面對主流藝術市場時不願妥協,也未曾改變自己已然確立的藝術語言。洪先生曾半開玩笑地對他說:「不然畫一點有顏色的?也許會比較好賣。」李安成只是搖頭。
他始終站在邊緣。有人欣賞他的深度與力量,卻也有更多人無法進入他那片過於沉靜、甚至帶著陰鬱的黑。即便身為畫廊經營者,洪先生也坦言,未能讓這位老友被更多人看見是長久的遺憾。
也因此,「天闊煙靜」不只是李安成作品的展示,更像是對時代的回望;對一位不被時代堅定選擇的藝術家之致意。這些來自洪平濤先生精選的作品,不僅見證李安成創作的歷程,也承載著兩人之間長年的情誼與相惜。面對時間無情的洪流,我們或許無力阻擋,但仍願意留下些什麼,讓李安成不至於就此被遺忘。
張大春曾在《我的老台北》提到李安成堅決的遺言:「我很快就要死了,但是還好,我還在畫,還在畫。」而他也確實畫到了最後一刻。
在藝術愈發喧囂、甚至過度解讀的當代,李安成的作品反而顯得異常安靜。他一生行走於少有人跡的幽徑,既不依附傳統,也不追逐潮流,而是在黑與白間,持續開鑿出一片暫離喧鬧的世界。而「天闊煙靜」讓我們得以走進這裡。駐足於作品之前,我們不只是觀看一位藝術家的創作,更是承接一段未竟的對話——關於藝術的純粹、選擇的代價,也關於那些未被時代記住,卻依然留存於筆墨間的生命。
在那之中,李安成的世界仍緩緩展開。
Born in 1959 in a rural village in Yunlin, Li An-Cheng’s early memories of soil, water, bamboo, and streams became the foundation of his artistic vision. After leaving his hometown, the damp mountains of Keelung, the mist of Yangmingshan, and the humidity of Tamsui’s mangroves continued to permeate his work. Though trained in traditional ink painting, he soon broke away from convention and developed a largely self-directed and deeply personal path.
Working primarily with ink and water, Li developed a distinctive method in which ink spreads, seeps, and accumulates across the paper. Brushstrokes dissolve into movement, and images emerge between control and release, carrying traces of wind, water, light, and time.
What makes his work unforgettable is his use of black.
It is a richly layered black, dense and light, wet and dry, heavy and fluid, at once like nightfall descending and v***r rising. In his work, black does not conceal but reveals. As he once said, “Black is a color that allows one to relax.” Through this, his paintings hold a powerful emotional intensity and spiritual depth, drawing the viewer into a quiet and immersive experience.
His artistic trajectory unfolds much like ink itself. Early works are light and fluid, capturing subtle atmospheric changes. Mid-period works grow heavier, with stronger contrasts and greater expressive force. In later years, working on larger formats and different materials, his brushwork becomes more uninhibited, the ink surging like a downpour, at once raw and deeply restrained. Throughout these transformations, what remains constant is his gaze upon nature and his inquiry into the inner world.
Such art is intense and pure, and inevitably solitary.
Hong Ping-Tao, founder of Caves Art Center, recalls Li with mixed emotions, a deep conviction in his rare and unexplainable talent, and a lingering regret that his unwavering devotion to art kept him from compromising with the market. Once, Hong jokingly suggested he add color to make his work more marketable. Li simply shook his head.
He remained at the margins. While some recognized the depth of his work, many found it difficult to enter his quiet and often somber world of black. Even as a gallerist, Hung admits it is a lasting regret that he could not bring wider recognition to his friend.
Thus, Vast Skies, the Haze Withdrawn is more than an exhibition. It is a reflection on time and a tribute to an artist never fully embraced by his era. These works, carefully selected by Hung Ping-Tao, trace Li’s artistic journey while bearing witness to a long-standing friendship.
Facing the relentless passage of time, we may not be able to resist its erasure, yet we still hope to leave something behind so that Li An-Cheng may not be forgotten.
Writer Chang Ta-Chun once recorded Li’s final words: “I will die soon. But it’s alright. I am still painting, still painting.” And he did, until the very end.
In an age of increasing noise and over-interpretation, Li’s work remains profoundly quiet. Walking a path few have taken, he neither adhered to tradition nor followed trends, but carved out, in black and white, a space apart from the clamor.
Vast Skies, the Haze Withdrawn invites us into this space. Standing before these works, we do more than observe. We take part in an unfinished dialogue about the purity of art, the cost of choice, and lives that endure in ink, even when history forgets them.
Within it, Li An-Cheng’s world continues to unfold, slowly and quietly.