四種顏色封面隨機出貨
「有段時間因為沒錢沖洗，拍過的底片被我丟進一個魚缸。
曾經泡在貓尿和威士忌裡，就這樣過了很多年。
十四年後，我把它們洗出來了。
那些畫面，比我還頑強。」── 黃俊團
台灣攝影師黃俊團的第四本攝影集《吶，青春》，出版於 2025 年，是從他大學時期留下的舊底片中，首度沖洗並集結的回顧性影像紀錄。對他來說，那是一段貧窮如洗的時光，也是年輕氣盛的時光，曾經狂奔、酒醉、貪婪的拍照，浪蕩又毫不遮掩的生活態度，成為一冊對青春年華的追憶。
「十四年前，長壽七號軟盒一包五十元，富士 X-TRA 400 一捲六十五元，台北影像沖掃一百元。那時我住在林森北路靠近民權西路巷內的一樓小套房，夏天門口會有蟑螂甚至蜈蚣。早上出門會遇到抽 K 的少年，或是剛醉倒的酒店小姐。晚上就帶著相機去街上閒晃，累了就去薇閣對面的麥當勞點杯可樂坐在窗邊，看那些穿西裝的少爺公關在街上拉客。
那時我沒什麼錢，卻每天都在拍照，覺得任何東西都值得記錄下來，幻想未來能成為一個獨當一面的攝影家。每天都抓著相機拍，連睡覺都抱著相機，接近病態的拍攝，病態的吞食身邊所有情緒。那段時間，是我拍得最多、也最瘋的一段日子。
沒錢買底片的時候，我會把拍過的底片抽出片頭，重新再拍一次。拍完的底片，我都丟進一個大約 30×15 公分的玻璃魚缸，那是我和大學時期女友一起養金河豚用的。我還記得那隻魚叫小金。小金離開後，拍完的底片因為沒錢沖洗就堆在那魚缸裡。我剛領養的貓咬夜和切切，不知為何的也喜歡尿在裡面。那些照片就這樣泡在尿（也許還有泥煤威士忌）裡，靜靜躺了十四年。
它們就這樣被擱著，慢慢生鏽、發臭，就像我的人生一樣。直到 2024 年，我把底片送去沖洗，幸運的是，還是洗出了一些影像。模糊、退色、發臭的青春。我把它們整理起來，做成了這本書，叫《吶，青春》── 青春，有逗號，沒有句號。」
Covers in four colors, shipped at random.
“For a while, I couldn’t afford to develop my film, so I tossed the rolls I’d shot into a fish tank.
They once soaked in cat urine and whisky, and stayed that way for many years.
Fourteen years later, I developed them.
Those images turned out to be tougher than I was.” — Huang Jun Tuan
The Taiwanese photographer’s fourth photobook Ah, Youth, published in 2025, is a retrospective collection drawn from undeveloped rolls he shot during his university years—now printed for the first time. For him, it was a time stripped bare by poverty yet charged with youthful recklessness: running wild, drinking hard, shooting voraciously. That raw, unguarded way of living became a memoir in pictures to a youth once lived.
“Fourteen years ago, a pack of GENTLE 7 soft-pack cigarettes cost fifty dollars, a roll of Fujifilm X-TRA 400 was sixty-five, and developing and scanning at Taibei Ying Xiang (台北影像) cost a hundred. Back then, I lived in a cramped ground-floor studio off Linsen N. Rd near Minquan W. Rd. In summer, cockroaches—and sometimes centipedes—would appear at my door. Mornings, I’d pass boys smoking K or hostesses passed out drunk. At night, I’d wander the streets with my camera, and when tired, I’d slip into the McDonald’s across from Wego, order a Coke, and sit by the window, watching suit-clad club hosts hustle for clients on the street.
I had little money, but I shot every day, convinced that anything was worth recording, dreaming that one day I’d stand on my own as a photographer. I clutched my camera constantly—even in sleep—shooting with an almost pathological urgency, devouring every emotion around me. It was the period when I photographed the most, and the most madly.
When I couldn’t afford new rolls, I’d pull out the film leader from a roll I’d already shot and expose it again. The used rolls went into a glass fish tank about 30 by 15 centimeters—once home to a golden pufferfish my college girlfriend and I had kept. I still remember its name: 小金. After Xiao Jin died, the exposed rolls piled up in that tank, left undeveloped for lack of money. The cats I’d just adopted, 咬夜 and 切切, for some reason liked to urinate in it. So the film sat there, steeped in urine—perhaps also in peaty whisky—for fourteen quiet years.
They stayed there, rusting, reeking, much like my own life. Until 2024, when I finally sent them out to be developed. Some images survived, miraculously—blurred, faded, and smelling faintly of youth gone sour. I gathered them into this book and called it “Ah, Youth”—Youth, with a comma, but no period.”
Publisher：moom editions
Signed/Softcover/96 pages/18.5×12.7 cm/Limited edition of 500/2025
