The Courage of a Bird: Yang Fudong on ‘Sparrow on the Sea’

Artist and filmmaker Yang Fudong created the commissioned video work Sparrow on the Sea (2024) for the M+ Facade, which premiered in March 2024. The project, co-commissioned by M+ and Art Basel and presented by UBS, is an hour-long film created specifically for the LED screen embedded in the M+ building. In the film, actors journey through Hong Kong’s scenic countryside and bustling city streets, revealing the rich landscape of this vibrant metropolis. In this article, Yang talks about drawing inspiration from the city’s cinema and art. Imbued with imagination and existential reflection, Sparrow on the Sea is a powerful and poetic work that interacts with audiences and the city.

I wanted to give this commissioned work a euphonious and visually metaphorical name. I once saw the character 雍 in seal script in a picture album and I immediately recognised the beauty of this word. Tracing its etymology, I discovered that the oracle bone script of the character contains a depiction of water on its left side and, on its right, a bird standing by the river. This imagery naturally led me to think of Sparrow on the Sea (雍雀) as the title of my work.

I want to convey that a little bird may have some beautiful dreams and visions as it takes flight towards the boundless ocean. With the work’s English name, you can imagine a slow-motion shot of a bird flying over the ocean. That little sparrow fills itself with great courage and is supported by the sea, the land, and everything else. All the elements in this visual environment come together to create a beautiful moment. I was wondering, when people grow older, will they still have the courage to do something that brings them happiness, something that they are longing for?

When I received the invitation from M+ to create this work, I was immediately compelled to shoot the film in Hong Kong. I also feel that the name of my work shares a fateful connection with Hong Kong and I intuitively wondered if they could be associated with each other. I thought about this while location scouting, and I felt the connection grow stronger throughout the filming process.

Many of Hong Kong photographer Fan Ho’s works capture the light and shadows of Hong Kong. They are records of time and of the city’s many textures. I have my own interpretations of things, but I have also drawn on Ho’s works and aesthetic sensibility to nourish my creations. I hope this can also provide inspiration and nourishment to young artists in the future.

To me, many Hong Kong films are not strictly art films or commercial films. I see them more as the images that accompanied my growing up; they created a lot of wonderful memories for me. For instance, I watched A Better Tomorrow (1986) on VHS tape in a video hall during university. A Chinese Odyssey (1995) also left a strong impression on me. I was very touched by this film at the time, and many people would later joke about it and quote lines from the movie. Then came the movies of Wong Kar-wai. From Days of Being Wild (1990) to In the Mood for Love (2000), his films all have their unique merits and have become sources of inspiration for many students. I also talk about movies such as Infernal Affairs (2002) in my film-editing classes. Incredibly rich and diverse, Hong Kong cinema provides artists with a wide variety of visual impressions and references.

At the beginning of Sparrow on the Sea, some fishermen find a suitcase by the sea but don’t know who its owner is. When the camera pans, the fishermen gaze into the lens to reflect their concern for the protagonist and to show that they witnessed everything that happened on the beach. The camera then turns to someone on the shore picking up the suitcase. This person is Mr Wu, the film’s main character, and this is where the story begins.

Mr Wu, [Wu meaning number five in Chinese] could be a man in his fifties. He is actually played by three different actors. Two of them portray different versions of a young Mr Wu, with contrasting aspects that are like day and night, while the other plays an old Mr Wu. The character has left traces of himself all over the city, and at every stage of his life. These traces are woven together, which is why, in the same room, you’ll see a young Mr Wu dancing, while another older version of himself looks into a mirror, creating this sense of intertwining time and space.

At the beginning of the film, Mr Wu picks up the suitcase and prepares to depart. This opening scene conveys the youthful desire to leave and pursue a beautiful life. In the decades that follow, Mr Wu quietly comes and goes. Coupled with the film’s everyday details, Mr Wu’s journey represents a kind of cyclical reincarnation. Time flows slowly, as we experience different life moments. The film therefore attempts to weave together time and memory, re-assembling the confused and ambiguous episodes into a vivid journal of life.

The film ends with an octopus sliding out of a suitcase that is on the beach. The octopus evokes the imagery of some unknown creature in the vast ocean, and it’s unclear where the octopus goes and whether it heads into the sea. The final shot then brings us back into the city, where a girl is running into the distance. This scene was filmed in Lan Kwai Fong and symbolises reality.

Speaking of the narrative, I want to emphasise the idea of comprehension via sensing, which is the feeling of things that are hinted at but not explicitly explained. I sometimes think that such ambiguity is the most accurate way to articulate feeling. As in many poems, it is a beautiful form of expression and a way to reach the most beautiful imagination. That’s why my images also attempt to get close to that feeling. From another perspective, ‘sensing’ also refers to how every individual experiences something. It is very abstract, and sometimes, it is a bizarre connection or interpretation. The audience is, in fact, the film’s second director; when viewing the work, their own life journey affects how they understand and interpret parts of the film.

When I start shooting, I have an overall vision of the work. In practice, though, things deviate from your original vision. When this happens, you may have to improvise, alter your way of shooting, or modify the content, so you could recover on the spot what you had envisioned in your mind. In this way, creation becomes full of uncertainties. For instance, all the spoken lines were only added to my Sparrow on the Sea script on the eighth day of filming. At the time, I had the uncomfortable feeling that the film was missing something, so at two in the morning, I instinctively wrote down all the lines I wanted to add to the shoot the next evening. I was amazed at how well the three actors performed the lines, each imbuing the words with their own unique characteristics. We also employed some theatrical techniques when performing the dialogue. This approach may become a point of reference for my own practice in the future.

Usually, after the filming is done, editing the footage is another chance for improvisation. I usually put the film aside with feigned apathy, however this is actually a period of creative fermentation and crystallisation―I’ve already started processing it in my head. Sometimes, I don’t follow formal and professional rules when editing. Instead, I let my mind wander and select, which feels like natural breathing. We sometimes joke that this technique should be called ‘breathing editing’.

When shooting Sparrow on the Sea, there was a psychological turning point that took me back to the beginning of my artistic journey. My first film, An Estranged Paradise (2003), kept flashing inexplicably in my mind. I even borrowed a short swimming-pool scene from An Estranged Paradise when editing the opening of Sparrow on the Sea. I didn’t know anything when I filmed An Estranged Paradise; I just relied on my youth and moved ahead without fear. To some extent, it is like Sparrow on the Sea. Faced with the boundless ocean and your own insignificance, would you dare to fly across the vast waters?

I later realised that many aspects of my daily life, including my creations, were more or less inspired by An Estranged Paradise. Now I’m going back to the starting point to digest the revelations brought by time. Should I go out into the sea or continue flying over the ocean? Instead of needing a lot of self-driven motivation, I now opt to do things with a greater sense of ease. In a sense, flying across the vast ocean is not necessarily the absolute goal, but having the courage to do so may bring you happiness.

Sparrow on the Sea brings together various elements from other previous works. For example, the man in the robe gestures not only to my memories of old Hong Kong kung fu movies, but the character also appears in No Snow on the Broken Bridge (2006). The film also features the type of suitcase that features in Seven Intellectuals in a Bamboo Forest (2003–2007). The ocean scenes recall The Light That I Feel (2014), shot in Norway―our camera operator even jokingly asked if that shot of the deep ocean was from Norway. As for the props, we created the tiny gold tooth that old Mr Wu wears. In the scene where he is dancing in the street and a girl passes by, that gold tooth is glowing. We joked that the gold tooth signifies the critical juncture between reality and dreams.

This was the first time I had worked with a Hong Kong team, and I felt that they were very capable and exceptionally efficient. Making a film requires teamwork—it is a relationship where we carry and support each other. Sometimes when I felt a little tired during filming, I would consider skipping some shots and going straight to the next scene. But our cameraman would insist that I don’t give up, and that encouragement would prompt me to finish the shot. Quite a few of the best shots from the film were captured this way. It goes to show, that sometimes when you feel like retreating but others in your team decide to forge ahead, something special and rewarding can happen. For Sparrow on the Sea, when my little bit of courage was propped up by others, that’s when I felt like I was soaring high.

This was perhaps my first time to really get close to Hong Kong, to observe it, and to be near it. Hong Kong feels so big to me, not geographically but in terms of its richness and diversity. There are modern and old buildings, and there are natural landscapes. Such abundance enables me to experience a Hong Kong that is very different from the one I imagined or saw in movies. It gives me a sense of estrangement in my closeness.

When you are in your forties, you may enjoy practicing calligraphy for fun. You may write phrases such as 取捨, which translates into ‘take or let go’. You’ll notice that most people secretly prefer to ‘take’ instead of ‘let go’. After a decade or so, you may casually pick up calligraphy again. This time, you write the phrase 捨得, which literally translates into ‘let go and receive,’ denoting a willingness to give something up. And here you discover that most people favour the latter character—they prefer to ‘receive’ rather than ‘let go’.

Many things in daily life make me wonder if humans should be more like sparrows. Sparrows do not have many big concerns. Rather, they treasure their own lives. For example, we can spend our days catching up with friends and chatting over meals. That sort of life is real and truly present. We do not have to chase after seemingly grand aspirations that are difficult to reach, and we do not need to pursue an impractical life. Nowadays, many people will spend their entire lives desperately working and earning money. They work hard and are diligent, but it’s impossible to tell if this type of harvest is good or bad. I feel that even if we earn very little money, we can still be content if we share a happy and peaceful life with those we love. Our understanding of life may change significantly with age.

The film on the M+ Facade is silent. It contains three lines of dialogue, which I did not create subtitles for, nor did I try to cut. I thought that if I kept the dialogue silent in the film, perhaps a viewer would think, ‘That person seems to be saying something.’ I think it’s quite interesting and meaningful to leave the audience some room for imagination.

I hope that when the film is shown on the giant open-air screen, it can interact with the city. Throughout the course of three months, it will remain in silence, yet immersed in Hong Kong’s urban soundscape. When you watch it closely, it changes every day, along with sounds of the ocean, vehicles, construction, and people. Amid the surrounding architecture, mountains, and sea, if an audience turns back or casts a glance at Sparrow on the Sea for even just an instant, I think that is already enough.

—As told to Kate Gu