Embracing the Imperfect Pearl

Paganini's Caprice No. 24 in A minor

Upon first hearing this piece, I was awestruck by its dazzling, almost maddening virtuosity. But behind the seemingly wild and untamed flurry of complex notes hides a fascinating philosophy of "change and constancy." This realization fermented in my mind for a long time. It wasn't until much later that I gradually understood how deeply it resonated with the placemaking philosophy I have always believed in.

Let’s rewind the clock and first return to the foundation of this piece: the Baroque.

The word "Baroque" originates from the Portuguese barroco or the French baroque, which initially meant a "misshapen,distorted, or imperfect pearl." In its early days, it was even a derogatory term used to describe styles that were overly elaborate, exaggerated, and eccentric. Think back to 17th-century Rome, Italy—a restless era. To counter the Reformation and glorify royal power, artists poured their all into creating magnificent spectacles to awe the masses. Intense movement, lavish chiaroscuro (light and shadow), gold ornamentation, and geometric lines were all brimming with dramatic tension. In the hands of Bach, Vivaldi, and Handel, music was filled with driving rhythms and ornate embellishments, as if life itself was meant to be this wild and unbridled.

In the practice of "Reproductive Placemaking," what I encounter are never standard, perfect circles. Those who walk into this space are mostly people bearing scars, carrying thorns, and possessing a touch of "imperfection" in the eyes of society. Their emotions are full of dramatic tension, with contrasts of light and shadow sometimes so intense that they can be overwhelming. If we just romantically preach "giving freedom" and let these tensions collide at will, the space would quickly collapse into chaos.

These "imperfect pearls" are trying with all their might to display the extravagance and wildness of life.

As a Theme and Variations, whether it is the theme, the eleven variations, or the finale, Paganini strictly adheres to one rule: no matter what acrobatic tricks are played on the surface, the underlying structure is always a perfectly symmetrical 16 measures. These 16 measures are precisely bisected: the first half consists of a 4-measure phrase repeated twice; the first 7 measures of the second half continue to develop the preceding emotional trajectory. What moves me the most is the very last measure, no matter how tangled, impassioned, or fragmented the preceding melody is, this final measure always delivers a highly stable cadence.

This is exactly why I am so captivated by this Paganini caprice. Beneath its most frantic exterior lies an extremely sober restraint. Every time I hear that stable resolution giving way to the unfolding of the next manic variation, I am deeply entranced. And this fascination ultimately found its projection in my work.

After stumbling and navigating through this field for so long, it suddenly dawned on me, this is the truest form of empowerment work.

Perhaps my job is not to polish away the rough edges of these "imperfect pearls," but rather to uphold these constant "16 measures" beneath them. This structure is the rule of the space, the baseline, and the commitment we must provide as companions. We provide a predictable rhythm to catch those spiralling emotions. And at the end of every moment of chaos, conflict, or courageous attempt, we offer a sense of security that firmly catches them, just like that 16th measure.

Beneath the highly rational, symmetrical facade of the Baroque era actually courses the blood of Romanticism, yearning for self-expression.

Sometimes, after a long, exhausting day watching people come and go with their own tempers and stories, and even after mediating a few sudden conflicts, I habitually find a quiet corner, put on my headphones, and play Paganini’s Caprice No. 24 in A minor. The piece sounds crazy, packed with breathless virtuosity. Strangely enough, though, every time I listen to it, my own restless heart slowly settles into peace.

Here is the version performed Paganini Caprice Nº 24 by violinist David Garrett. If you are also feeling a bit restless right now, why not click play and take a listen. Perhaps you, too, will find a calming sense of security within those constant 16 measures.

| 為兼顧閱讀流暢度與語意傳達，以下中文版本並非英文之逐字翻譯，而是專為中文語境編寫之版本。|

擁抱「不完美的珍珠」

帕格尼尼的《a小調第24號隨想曲》

初聽這首曲子，我被那華麗到近乎瘋狂的炫技所震懾。但在那些繁複飛舞的音符聽似狂放不羈的背後，藏著一段關於「變與不變」的迷人哲理。這份感悟在我的心裡發酵了很久，直到後來，我才漸漸明白，這其實與我一直以來所信仰的空間營造哲學，有著靈魂深處的共鳴。

讓我們把時間倒轉，先回到這首曲子的基底 －巴洛克（Baroque）。

「巴洛克」這個詞，源自葡萄牙語的 barroco 或是法語的 baroque，它最初的意思是「形狀不圓、變形或不完美的珍珠」。在初期，這甚至是一個帶有貶義的詞彙，用來形容那些過於繁複、誇張、甚至不合常理的風格。回想17世紀的義大利羅馬，那是個躁動的年代。為了對抗宗教改革、宣揚王權，藝術家們用盡全力搞出宏偉壯觀的東西來震撼人心。強烈的動感、奢華的光影對比、黃金裝飾、幾何線條，全都充滿了戲劇張力。到了巴赫、韋瓦第、韓德爾的手裡，音樂裡滿是強烈的律動和華麗的裝飾音，彷彿生命本身就該這樣張狂。

在做培力性場域創造的實務裡，我遇見的從來就不是什麼標準、完美的圓。走進這個空間的，多半是帶著傷痕、帶著刺、帶著社會眼中一點「不完美」的人。他們的情緒充滿戲劇張力，有時光影對比強烈到讓人招架不住。如果只是浪漫地喊著「給予自由」，任由這些張力隨意碰撞，這裡很快就會在混亂中瓦解。

這些「不完美的珍珠」，用盡全力展現著生命的奢華與張狂。

這首主題變奏曲，無論是主題、十一段變奏還是終段，帕格尼尼都死死守著一個規矩：不管上面變出什麼花樣，底下永遠是工整的「16小節」。這16小節被精準地對半切：前半是4小節的樂句反覆兩次；後半的7小節順著前面的情緒繼續發展。最讓我感動的，是最後那1小節——無論前面的旋律多麼糾結、激昂或破碎，最後這1小節永遠會給出一個非常穩定的「終止感」。

這就是我迷戀帕格尼尼這首曲子的原因。它在最瘋狂的表象下，藏著極度清醒的克制。每當聽到那個穩定的終結與下一個瘋狂變奏的展開，我總會深深著迷。而這份著迷，最終在我的工作中找到了投射。

跌跌撞撞久了，我才恍然大悟，這就是培力工作最真實的模樣。

或許這裡不是要去磨平那些「不完美的珍珠」，而是要在他們底下，撐起這不變的「16小節」。這個結構，是空間裡的規則，是底線，也是作為陪伴者必須給出的承諾。一個可預期的節奏，接住那些失控的情緒，並且在每一次混亂、衝突或勇敢嘗試的最後，給出一個像那第16小節般，穩穩接住對方的安全感。

巴洛克時期那種極度理性的均衡外表下，其實潛藏著浪漫主義裡，最渴望自我表現的血液。

有時候忙了一整天，看著那些來來去去、帶著各自脾氣和故事的人們，甚至處理完幾場突如其來的衝突後，我會習慣性地找個安靜的角落，戴上耳機，點開帕格尼尼的《a小調第24號隨想曲》。這首曲子聽起來很瘋，滿是讓人喘不過氣的炫技，說也奇怪，每次聽，我躁動的心反而會慢慢沉靜下來。