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穿着粗布盘扣上衣、一脸黢黑的吴家林站在人群中,和那些山民并无二致。长年游走在边地村寨的他,就住在村子里,早起挎上相机,一边行走一边寻找:今天将出现什么,要发现什么,一无所知。人群突然陷入窃窃私语,焦点集中于一对夫妻身上。个头小小的男人,腰几乎弯到了地上,背杈上捆得严实的女人,是他虚弱的妻子。男人的脸毫无生气,像被霜打过的茄子。乡民们毫不掩饰地盯着看,“又一个结扎的”的讯息心照不宣地传递到每一位擦肩而过的人。有人苦笑,有人
Wearing a coarse cloth buckle shirt, black face Wu Jialin standing in the crowd, and those mountain people no different. Long years of walking in the edge of the village, he lives in the village, got up early on the camera, walking while looking for: what will happen today, to discover what, know nothing. Suddenly the crowd fell into whispering, the focus was on a couple. A small man, waist nearly bent to the ground, tied on the back of a woman dull, his weak wife. The man’s face is lifeless, like a frosted eggplant. The villagers stared unobtrusively and the message of “another ligation” was tacitly passed on to every passing person. Some people smile, someone