I am not a fan of Frank Gehry—actually far from it. The Disney Concert Hall in LA and the LVMH Foundation in Paris are the only two places I’ve visited. I was a student when I first saw the Disney Concert Hall and was completely taken in by its exterior aura— until the moment I stepped inside. The same shock hit me again when I walked into the LVMH Foundation in Paris last year. His cramped, contradictory interiors are like the “three-inch golden lotus” of the old Chinese women—seemingly refined on the surface, yet hiding a suffocating constriction imposed by power.

Sadly, I’ve always believed architecture is a profession that should demand the deepest empathy for people. But the ruling class of this profession is made up of men who favor the higher, the bigger, the grandeur, the better— especially old men who are unable to erect the thing between their legs so instead they dream of erecting something else.

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I finished reading this book Value Investment in Art yesterday. The author encourages investors to discover non-mainstream (or anti-mainstream) artists. That might have worked a hundred years ago, when communication was limited and the art world was relatively independent. But in today’s society, what even counts as “mainstream” art? Is it a shark preserved in formaldehyde, a stainless-steel rabbit, or a banana taped to a wall?

In the past, the mainstream was defined by critics, art academies, and art associations. But now—who holds the power to define it? Is it the algorithm? If so, then today’s top artists, like Jeff Koons or Takashi Murakami, may soon be swept into the dustbin of history, precisely because they are the ones who attracted the most traffic.

So what, then, are the criteria for identifying the next rising stocks? It certainly can’t be style anymore. The value of art does not lie in aesthetics, nor in aligning with the taste of a particular era—or any era. Nor does it lie in inventing new forms. These are merely additional values.

As Heisenberg wrote in Why I Chose Physics Instead of Music, “The path of modern music seems to have been determined by a purely negative assumption: that the old tonality must be abandoned, not because there are new and more powerful ideas which it cannot express, but because we believe its strength has been exhausted.” Of course, one could argue against this view by citing works such as Berg’s Wozzeck, where new forms became vessels for the ideas of a new age. I believe this applies to all creative activity: if everything beautiful truly possessed intrinsic value, why do so many admire these works for their appearance, yet remain emotionally unmoved?

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寺庙最是热闹无比的大型交易现场，香客各个摩拳擦掌，人口攒动，香火也鳞次栉比，按价钱排起坐来，三柱香是标配，最少四殿十二香，你拾阶而上，拜完了弥勒拜观应，再四顾一下旁殿的四大金刚，还不忘扫一眼功德箱上的二维码，最后来到大雄宝殿，跨过门槛见到了须弥座上的如来佛，这时一旁的工作人员正忙着给人发红签，两块钱一签。出门左转，在移步换景中你忽然发现了一块牌匾，上面赫然写着“了生脱死”，这时你体会到佛堂的另一个世界。

鲁智深在征方腊前去了一趟五台山，智真长老给了他四句偈语：“逢夏而擒，遇腊而执，听潮而圆，见信而寂。”鲁智深当时不解其意，后来却一一应验：擒于夏，执于腊，最终在钱塘江畔，听潮声拍岸，沐浴更衣，端坐而化。鲁智深并非勤于修行，也谈不上功德圆满，更像是在尘世的喧闹中，忽然看清了自己的归处。

寺庙正是这样的所在。它不刻意排除欲望，反而容纳香火、功德与人心的算计；在最人间的交易往来里，反倒保留着通向超脱的缝隙。像鲁智深这样“不修善果”的莽汉，也无需理性推演，便能在喧嚣之间，偶然撞见“了生脱死”的一刻。

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