Created on

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15

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2026

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13

Updated on

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2026

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39

Location

Oakland, CA

New World (ii): Age of Discovery

新大陆(ii):大航海时代

前言:欧洲人很会用发明。本文和chatGPT合作完成。


最早被记录的磁性定向现象出现在中国,时间可追溯至汉代文献传统,并在宋代得到更明确的发展。早期使用的是天然磁石(磁铁矿,lodestone)。其“自行指向”的特性很早就被观察到,但当时并未以物理规律理解,而是被纳入宇宙秩序、方位观念与象征体系之中。文献中常提到类似“司南”“指南”的器物——以磁石制成勺状或针状物,放置在刻有方位的盘面上,用来判定南北。这类装置更接近一次性的定向判断,常用于占卜、堪舆与空间方位确认,而不是在动态环境中持续导航。它并非为航海而设计。

真正的转折出现在宋代。此时已有更明确的“磁化针”记载,并开始进入航海实践。也就是说,从“象征性定向器具”到“可用于海上辨方位的工具”的变化,首先发生在中国本土。

随后,磁性定向技术通过包括阿拉伯—地中海贸易与知识网络在内的多重路径,逐渐进入地中海与欧洲航海世界。欧洲的关键变化并不在于重新发明原理,而在于工程化与用途重塑。磁针从临时定向,变为装置化、可持续读数的航海仪器;从偶尔参考,变为航行过程中持续依赖的标准装备。干式罗盘、罗盘盒、刻度盘与“罗盘玫瑰”等配套设计,使其与航海记录、风向判断和航海日志共同构成一整套操作体系。

从原理上看,罗盘只是为磁针提供低摩擦、低干扰的环境,使其能够稳定对齐地球磁场。需要注意的是,它指向的是磁北极而非地理北极,两者存在偏差。早期航海者并不了解其物理原因,但通过经验逐渐注意到不同海域存在偏差,并在实践中进行修正。

与此并行的是天文测量工具的发展。星盘(astrolabe)的理论基础可追溯至古希腊天文学的球面几何与天球投影思想。真正使其成为精密、耐用、可操作仪器的,是伊斯兰黄金时代的工程化与数学化实践。大量黄铜星盘被制造,用于宗教时间计算、天文观测与测高。随后,经由伊比利亚与地中海知识网络传入欧洲。

在航海中,星盘及其海用变体(以及象限仪、十字杖等测高仪器)被用于测量天体高度。北半球尤为直观:北极星在天空中的高度,近似等于观测者所在纬度。通过测量北极星或太阳高度,并结合天文表格,航行者可以估算自己的纬度。误差不小,但足以把船保持在大致的“纬度带”内。

单独的纬度信息不足以完成导航,但与罗盘结合后,形成了稳定的定向与定位组合:罗盘提供方向,天文测量提供南北位置。这种粗略却稳定的能力,使远洋航行第一次摆脱完全依赖沿岸地形与目视判断的状态,成为可以规划、修正和重复的行动。经度问题仍未解决,但已不再构成致命限制。

与此同时,航海地图也逐渐从象征性图像转向经验记录,洋流、风向、港口信息被系统整理与传承。

让这种能力真正转化为远洋探索工具的,是卡拉维尔帆船(Caravel)。它并非为追求速度或规模,而是为解决复杂风况下的操控性问题。卡拉维尔融合了多种航海传统:更坚固、耐浪的大西洋船体结构,地中海航海强调的机动性,以及长期在地中海—伊斯兰航海圈使用的三角帆(lateen sail)传统。三角帆允许船只通过“之”字形迎风前进,使船只在风向不利时仍能保持航向。

这一变化的意义不在于更快,而在于可控。航行从顺风漂流的冒险,变成可以途中修正、失败后返回、成功航线可以重复使用的过程。对历史而言,重要的不是“第一次到达”,而是“是否能够回来,并再次前往”。殖民与扩张依赖的,正是这种可重复性。

技术成熟只是条件,真正推动欧洲向外的,是内部长期累积的结构性压力。

随着奥斯曼帝国在14—15世纪逐步控制东地中海与欧亚陆上通道,欧洲对中介贸易与关税成本愈发敏感。香料、丝绸等高利润商品仍然存在,但必须经过更多中介与更复杂的政治博弈进入欧洲。对欧洲而言,这并不只是奢侈品变贵,而是既有商业利润结构与王权财政来源受到挤压。历史上常用“奥斯曼阻断贸易”解释这一时期的动机,但更准确的理解是:欧洲逐渐形成了绕开中介、直接接触资源产地的长期动力,这一动力由多种因素叠加而成。

与此同时,欧洲内部的社会结构也在转型。封建秩序松动,商业与城市崛起,王权逐步集中。新兴的中央国家形态需要持续、可控、规模化的财政来源。海外贸易与探索,提供了一条绕开本土封建结构、由王权直接掌控财富流入的路径。黄金、白银、香料与新贸易品,意味着财政来源可以直接进入国家体系。

因此,航海探索逐渐从个人冒险转化为国家战略。王室出资、授予特许权、建立垄断公司,都是这一转变的体现。在这种语境中,大航海并非源于浪漫的探索冲动,而是一种被现实压力推动的选择:用海洋的不确定性,对冲陆地秩序已难以承载的经济与政治需求。

Preface: Europeans are exceptionally good at using inventions. This essay was co-written with ChatGPT.


Rewritten according to the principles of tightening certainty, adding qualifiers, and avoiding single-cause explanations and overly engineered details, the original text has been revised into a more historically defensible version while preserving your narrative rhythm and style.

The earliest recorded observations of magnetic directional behavior appear in Chinese sources traceable to Han-era textual traditions, with clearer developments documented during the Song dynasty. Early materials relied on naturally magnetized lodestone. Its property of “self-orientation” was observed quite early, but it was not understood in terms of physical law. Instead, it was incorporated into cosmological thinking, spatial symbolism, and directional concepts.

Texts frequently mention devices referred to as sinan or “south-pointing” instruments—ladle- or needle-shaped pieces of magnetized stone placed on marked plates to determine direction. These devices were closer to one-time directional indicators, commonly used for divination, geomancy, and spatial orientation rather than continuous navigation in a dynamic environment. They were not designed for seafaring.

A decisive shift occurred during the Song dynasty. By this time, clearer records describe the use of magnetized needles, and these began to enter maritime practice. In other words, the transition from a symbolic orientation tool to a device usable at sea first took place within China itself.

Subsequently, magnetic orientation technology spread through multiple routes, including Arab–Mediterranean trade and knowledge networks, gradually entering the seafaring world of the Mediterranean and Europe. The crucial European development did not lie in rediscovering the principle, but in engineering refinement and a transformation of use. The magnetic needle shifted from occasional orientation to a mounted, continuously readable navigational instrument. It became standard equipment integrated with logbooks, wind assessment, and navigational procedure. The dry compass, compass housing, graduated card, and compass rose together formed a complete operational system.

In principle, a compass simply provides a low-friction, low-interference environment allowing a magnetized needle to align with Earth’s magnetic field. Importantly, it points toward magnetic north rather than geographic north, and the two differ. Early navigators did not understand the physical cause, but through experience they noticed regional variation and made practical corrections.

Parallel to this development was the evolution of astronomical measuring tools. The theoretical basis of the astrolabe can be traced to ancient Greek spherical geometry and celestial projection models. It was during the Islamic Golden Age that the astrolabe became a durable, precise, and practical instrument through advances in mathematics and craftsmanship. Large numbers of brass astrolabes were produced for religious timekeeping, astronomical observation, and altitude measurement. From there, through Iberian and Mediterranean knowledge networks, the instrument entered Europe.

In maritime practice, the astrolabe and its seafaring variants—along with the quadrant and cross-staff—were used to measure the altitude of celestial bodies. In the Northern Hemisphere, the relationship is especially direct: the altitude of Polaris closely approximates the observer’s latitude. By measuring the height of Polaris or the sun and consulting astronomical tables, navigators could estimate their latitude. The margin of error was significant, but sufficient to keep a ship within a general “latitude band.”

Latitude alone could not complete navigation, but when combined with the compass, a stable system emerged: the compass provided direction, astronomical measurement provided north-south position. This rough but reliable method allowed ocean travel to break free from total dependence on coastlines and visual reference, becoming an activity that could be planned, corrected, and repeated. Longitude remained unsolved, but no longer fatally limiting.

At the same time, nautical maps gradually shifted from symbolic representations to empirical records, systematically preserving information on currents, winds, and ports.

What truly converted these capabilities into tools for oceanic exploration was the caravel. It was not designed for speed or size, but to solve the problem of controllability under complex wind conditions. The caravel combined multiple maritime traditions: sturdier Atlantic hull construction, Mediterranean emphasis on maneuverability, and the lateen sail tradition long used in Mediterranean and Islamic maritime practice. The lateen sail allowed ships to tack against the wind in a zigzag pattern, maintaining course even in unfavorable winds.

The significance of this change lay not in greater speed, but in controllability. Voyages shifted from downwind drift to a process that allowed mid-course correction, return after failure, and repetition of successful routes. Historically, what mattered was not “arriving once,” but “being able to return and go again.” Colonization and expansion depended on this repeatability.

Technological maturity was only a condition. The deeper driver pushing Europe outward was long-accumulating internal structural pressure.

As the Ottoman Empire gradually came to control the eastern Mediterranean and key Eurasian land routes during the 14th and 15th centuries, Europeans became increasingly sensitive to intermediary trade costs and tariffs. High-value goods such as spices and silk still flowed, but through more intermediaries and more complex political negotiations. This was not merely a matter of luxury goods becoming expensive; it squeezed existing commercial profit structures and royal fiscal systems. While history often frames this as the Ottomans “blocking trade,” a more accurate understanding is that Europe developed a long-term motivation to bypass intermediaries and directly access resource origins, driven by multiple overlapping factors.

At the same time, Europe’s internal social structure was transforming. Feudal order loosened, commerce and cities rose, and royal authority gradually centralized. Emerging centralized states required stable, controllable, large-scale fiscal sources. Overseas trade and exploration offered a path for wealth to flow directly into royal systems, bypassing local feudal redistribution. Gold, silver, spices, and new trade goods represented revenue streams that could enter state finance directly.

Thus, maritime exploration gradually shifted from individual adventure to state strategy. Royal funding, charters, and monopoly companies all reflect this transformation. In this context, the Age of Exploration did not arise from romantic curiosity, but from structural pressure: using the uncertainty of the sea to offset economic and political demands that existing land-based systems could no longer sustain.



Artist Statement

My work is not about explaining the world; it’s about dismantling the emotional structures that everyday life tries to conceal. What I focus on is not “story,” but the dynamics between people—the pull and tension of intimacy, the quiet control embedded in family, the fractures that come with migration, and how an individual maintains their boundaries within these systems.

I grew up between shifting cultures and languages, often in environments where I was expected—needed—claimed by others. I was asked to understand, to accommodate, to take care, to adjust. Even the gentlest relationships carried an undercurrent of consumption. That tension became the foundation of my creative work.

The characters in my stories are not moral types. They each carry a kind of private conflict: they want closeness but fear being swallowed; they long to be seen but can’t fully expose themselves; they are asked again and again to give—to family, to love, to work—without knowing how to keep space for themselves. These aren’t inventions; they’re reflections of lived experience. Writing, for me, is a way to unearth the emotions that have been suppressed, ignored, or normalized—and let them speak again.

I gravitate toward rhythmic narrative structures: compressed scenes, quick shifts, intentional gaps, silences between characters. These spaces reveal more truth than dialogue ever could. The themes I explore—migration, family, identity, trauma, intimacy, female autonomy—ultimately point to a single question: how does a person protect their boundaries in a world that constantly pulls at them, demands from them, watches them?

Creating is neither escape nor self-soothing. It is a way of reclaiming authorship over my own narrative. When I write a character’s silence, resistance, hesitation, or departure, I’m answering one essential question:

When the world insists on defining me, how do I choose to define myself?

艺术家陈述

我的创作不是为了解释世界,是为了拆开被日常掩盖的情绪结构。我关注的核心不是“故事”,而是人与人之间的力量关系——亲密带来的拉扯、家庭带来的隐性控制、身份在迁徙中的断裂,以及一个人在这些结构里如何保持自己的边界。

出生在不断变化的文化与语言之间,长期处在“被期待—被需要—被占用”的环境里。很多时候,我被要求理解别人、照顾别人、顺着环境。那些看似温和的关系里,也潜藏着吞噬性的需求。这种张力成了我创作的源头。

在我的故事里,人物不是善恶分明的类型。他们都带着某种困境:他们想靠近别人,但又害怕被吞没;他们渴望被看见,却无法完全暴露自己;他们在家庭、爱情、工作里不断被要求付出,却不知道怎样为自己保留空间。这并不是虚构,是现实经验的折射。我写作,把那些长期被压抑、被忽略、被习惯化的情感重新挖出来,让它们重新发声。

我倾向于使用节奏性的叙事结构:压缩的篇幅、快速切换的场景、留白的空间、人物之间的静默。这些“空隙”比对白本身更能暴露一个人的真实状态。我处理的主题是移民、家庭、身份、创伤、亲密、女性的自主性,但它们都指向同一件事:一个人如何在被拉扯、被要求、被凝视的世界里,维护自己的边界。

创作不是逃避,也不是自我疗愈,是重新夺回叙事权的方式。当我写下一个人物的沉默、反抗、犹豫或离开,我其实是在回答一个核心问题:
当世界不断定义我时,我选择如何定义自己?

Artist Statement

My work is not about explaining the world; it’s about dismantling the emotional structures that everyday life tries to conceal. What I focus on is not “story,” but the dynamics between people—the pull and tension of intimacy, the quiet control embedded in family, the fractures that come with migration, and how an individual maintains their boundaries within these systems.

I grew up between shifting cultures and languages, often in environments where I was expected—needed—claimed by others. I was asked to understand, to accommodate, to take care, to adjust. Even the gentlest relationships carried an undercurrent of consumption. That tension became the foundation of my creative work.

The characters in my stories are not moral types. They each carry a kind of private conflict: they want closeness but fear being swallowed; they long to be seen but can’t fully expose themselves; they are asked again and again to give—to family, to love, to work—without knowing how to keep space for themselves. These aren’t inventions; they’re reflections of lived experience. Writing, for me, is a way to unearth the emotions that have been suppressed, ignored, or normalized—and let them speak again.

I gravitate toward rhythmic narrative structures: compressed scenes, quick shifts, intentional gaps, silences between characters. These spaces reveal more truth than dialogue ever could. The themes I explore—migration, family, identity, trauma, intimacy, female autonomy—ultimately point to a single question: how does a person protect their boundaries in a world that constantly pulls at them, demands from them, watches them?

Creating is neither escape nor self-soothing. It is a way of reclaiming authorship over my own narrative. When I write a character’s silence, resistance, hesitation, or departure, I’m answering one essential question:

When the world insists on defining me, how do I choose to define myself?

艺术家陈述

我的创作不是为了解释世界,是为了拆开被日常掩盖的情绪结构。我关注的核心不是“故事”,而是人与人之间的力量关系——亲密带来的拉扯、家庭带来的隐性控制、身份在迁徙中的断裂,以及一个人在这些结构里如何保持自己的边界。

出生在不断变化的文化与语言之间,长期处在“被期待—被需要—被占用”的环境里。很多时候,我被要求理解别人、照顾别人、顺着环境。那些看似温和的关系里,也潜藏着吞噬性的需求。这种张力成了我创作的源头。

在我的故事里,人物不是善恶分明的类型。他们都带着某种困境:他们想靠近别人,但又害怕被吞没;他们渴望被看见,却无法完全暴露自己;他们在家庭、爱情、工作里不断被要求付出,却不知道怎样为自己保留空间。这并不是虚构,是现实经验的折射。我写作,把那些长期被压抑、被忽略、被习惯化的情感重新挖出来,让它们重新发声。

我倾向于使用节奏性的叙事结构:压缩的篇幅、快速切换的场景、留白的空间、人物之间的静默。这些“空隙”比对白本身更能暴露一个人的真实状态。我处理的主题是移民、家庭、身份、创伤、亲密、女性的自主性,但它们都指向同一件事:一个人如何在被拉扯、被要求、被凝视的世界里,维护自己的边界。

创作不是逃避,也不是自我疗愈,是重新夺回叙事权的方式。当我写下一个人物的沉默、反抗、犹豫或离开,我其实是在回答一个核心问题:
当世界不断定义我时,我选择如何定义自己?

Artist Statement

My work is not about explaining the world; it’s about dismantling the emotional structures that everyday life tries to conceal. What I focus on is not “story,” but the dynamics between people—the pull and tension of intimacy, the quiet control embedded in family, the fractures that come with migration, and how an individual maintains their boundaries within these systems.

I grew up between shifting cultures and languages, often in environments where I was expected—needed—claimed by others. I was asked to understand, to accommodate, to take care, to adjust. Even the gentlest relationships carried an undercurrent of consumption. That tension became the foundation of my creative work.

The characters in my stories are not moral types. They each carry a kind of private conflict: they want closeness but fear being swallowed; they long to be seen but can’t fully expose themselves; they are asked again and again to give—to family, to love, to work—without knowing how to keep space for themselves. These aren’t inventions; they’re reflections of lived experience. Writing, for me, is a way to unearth the emotions that have been suppressed, ignored, or normalized—and let them speak again.

I gravitate toward rhythmic narrative structures: compressed scenes, quick shifts, intentional gaps, silences between characters. These spaces reveal more truth than dialogue ever could. The themes I explore—migration, family, identity, trauma, intimacy, female autonomy—ultimately point to a single question: how does a person protect their boundaries in a world that constantly pulls at them, demands from them, watches them?

Creating is neither escape nor self-soothing. It is a way of reclaiming authorship over my own narrative. When I write a character’s silence, resistance, hesitation, or departure, I’m answering one essential question:

When the world insists on defining me, how do I choose to define myself?

艺术家陈述

我的创作不是为了解释世界,是为了拆开被日常掩盖的情绪结构。我关注的核心不是“故事”,而是人与人之间的力量关系——亲密带来的拉扯、家庭带来的隐性控制、身份在迁徙中的断裂,以及一个人在这些结构里如何保持自己的边界。

出生在不断变化的文化与语言之间,长期处在“被期待—被需要—被占用”的环境里。很多时候,我被要求理解别人、照顾别人、顺着环境。那些看似温和的关系里,也潜藏着吞噬性的需求。这种张力成了我创作的源头。

在我的故事里,人物不是善恶分明的类型。他们都带着某种困境:他们想靠近别人,但又害怕被吞没;他们渴望被看见,却无法完全暴露自己;他们在家庭、爱情、工作里不断被要求付出,却不知道怎样为自己保留空间。这并不是虚构,是现实经验的折射。我写作,把那些长期被压抑、被忽略、被习惯化的情感重新挖出来,让它们重新发声。

我倾向于使用节奏性的叙事结构:压缩的篇幅、快速切换的场景、留白的空间、人物之间的静默。这些“空隙”比对白本身更能暴露一个人的真实状态。我处理的主题是移民、家庭、身份、创伤、亲密、女性的自主性,但它们都指向同一件事:一个人如何在被拉扯、被要求、被凝视的世界里,维护自己的边界。

创作不是逃避,也不是自我疗愈,是重新夺回叙事权的方式。当我写下一个人物的沉默、反抗、犹豫或离开,我其实是在回答一个核心问题:
当世界不断定义我时,我选择如何定义自己?

sunny.xiaoxin.sun@doubletakefilmllc.com

Sunny Xiaoxin Sun's IMDb


©2025 Double Take Film, All rights reserved

I’m an independent creator born in 1993 in Changsha, now based in California. My writing started from an urgent need to express. Back in school, I often felt overwhelmed by the chaos and complexity of the world—by the emotions and stories left unsaid. Writing became my way of organizing my thoughts, finding clarity, and gradually, connecting with the outside world.


Right now, I’m focused on writing and filmmaking. My blog is a “real writing experiment,” where I try to update daily, documenting my thoughts, emotional shifts, observations on relationships, and my creative process. It’s also a record of my journey to becoming a director. After returning to China in 2016, I entered the film industry and worked in the visual effects production department on projects like Creation of the Gods I, Creation of the Gods II, and Wakanda Forever, with experience in both China and Hollywood. Since 2024, I’ve shifted my focus to original storytelling.


I’m currently revising my first script. It’s not grand in scale, but it’s deeply personal—centered on memory, my father, and the city. I want to make films that belong to me, and to our generation: grounded yet profound, sensitive but resolute. I believe film is not only a form of artistic expression—it’s a way to intervene in reality.

我是93年出生于长沙的自由创作者。我的写作起点来自一种“必须表达”的冲动。学生时代,我常感受到世界的混乱与复杂,那些没有被说出来的情绪和故事让我感到不安。写作是我自我整理、自我清晰的方式,也逐渐成为我与外界建立连接的路径。


我目前专注于写作和电影。我的博客是一个“真实写作实验”,尽量每天更新,记录我的思考、情绪流动、人际观察和创作过程。我16年回国之后开始进入电影行业,曾在视效部门以制片的身份参与制作《封神1》《封神2》《Wankanda Forever》等,在中国和好莱坞都工作过,24年之后开始转入创作。


我正在重新回去修改我第一个剧本——它并不宏大,却非常个人,围绕记忆、父亲与城市展开。我想拍属于我、也属于我们这一代人的电影:贴地而深刻,敏感又笃定。我相信电影不只是艺术表达,它也是一种现实干预。

sunny.xiaoxin.sun@doubletakefilmllc.com

Sunny Xiaoxin Sun's IMDb


©2025 Double Take Film, All rights reserved

I’m an independent creator born in 1993 in Changsha, now based in California. My writing started from an urgent need to express. Back in school, I often felt overwhelmed by the chaos and complexity of the world—by the emotions and stories left unsaid. Writing became my way of organizing my thoughts, finding clarity, and gradually, connecting with the outside world.


Right now, I’m focused on writing and filmmaking. My blog is a “real writing experiment,” where I try to update daily, documenting my thoughts, emotional shifts, observations on relationships, and my creative process. It’s also a record of my journey to becoming a director. After returning to China in 2016, I entered the film industry and worked in the visual effects production department on projects like Creation of the Gods I, Creation of the Gods II, and Wakanda Forever, with experience in both China and Hollywood. Since 2024, I’ve shifted my focus to original storytelling.


I’m currently revising my first script. It’s not grand in scale, but it’s deeply personal—centered on memory, my father, and the city. I want to make films that belong to me, and to our generation: grounded yet profound, sensitive but resolute. I believe film is not only a form of artistic expression—it’s a way to intervene in reality.

我是93年出生于长沙的自由创作者。我的写作起点来自一种“必须表达”的冲动。学生时代,我常感受到世界的混乱与复杂,那些没有被说出来的情绪和故事让我感到不安。写作是我自我整理、自我清晰的方式,也逐渐成为我与外界建立连接的路径。


我目前专注于写作和电影。我的博客是一个“真实写作实验”,尽量每天更新,记录我的思考、情绪流动、人际观察和创作过程。我16年回国之后开始进入电影行业,曾在视效部门以制片的身份参与制作《封神1》《封神2》《Wankanda Forever》等,在中国和好莱坞都工作过,24年之后开始转入创作。


我正在重新回去修改我第一个剧本——它并不宏大,却非常个人,围绕记忆、父亲与城市展开。我想拍属于我、也属于我们这一代人的电影:贴地而深刻,敏感又笃定。我相信电影不只是艺术表达,它也是一种现实干预。

sunny.xiaoxin.sun@doubletakefilmllc.com

Sunny Xiaoxin Sun's IMDb


©2025 Double Take Film, All rights reserved

I’m an independent creator born in 1993 in Changsha, now based in California. My writing started from an urgent need to express. Back in school, I often felt overwhelmed by the chaos and complexity of the world—by the emotions and stories left unsaid. Writing became my way of organizing my thoughts, finding clarity, and gradually, connecting with the outside world.


Right now, I’m focused on writing and filmmaking. My blog is a “real writing experiment,” where I try to update daily, documenting my thoughts, emotional shifts, observations on relationships, and my creative process. It’s also a record of my journey to becoming a director. After returning to China in 2016, I entered the film industry and worked in the visual effects production department on projects like Creation of the Gods I, Creation of the Gods II, and Wakanda Forever, with experience in both China and Hollywood. Since 2024, I’ve shifted my focus to original storytelling.


I’m currently revising my first script. It’s not grand in scale, but it’s deeply personal—centered on memory, my father, and the city. I want to make films that belong to me, and to our generation: grounded yet profound, sensitive but resolute. I believe film is not only a form of artistic expression—it’s a way to intervene in reality.

我是93年出生于长沙的自由创作者。我的写作起点来自一种“必须表达”的冲动。学生时代,我常感受到世界的混乱与复杂,那些没有被说出来的情绪和故事让我感到不安。写作是我自我整理、自我清晰的方式,也逐渐成为我与外界建立连接的路径。


我目前专注于写作和电影。我的博客是一个“真实写作实验”,尽量每天更新,记录我的思考、情绪流动、人际观察和创作过程。我16年回国之后开始进入电影行业,曾在视效部门以制片的身份参与制作《封神1》《封神2》《Wankanda Forever》等,在中国和好莱坞都工作过,24年之后开始转入创作。


我正在重新回去修改我第一个剧本——它并不宏大,却非常个人,围绕记忆、父亲与城市展开。我想拍属于我、也属于我们这一代人的电影:贴地而深刻,敏感又笃定。我相信电影不只是艺术表达,它也是一种现实干预。