Almighty painter

Chapter 1010 Augustus... Fat (Part 1)

Miss Elena suddenly announced that she was going to Hamburg to continue her studies and complete her degree.

The core courses for graduate students in the photography department were basically completed last year.

All that's left is my graduation project.

These days, Anna often takes a small boat on the river near Hamburg, carrying a black Nikon camera. She tells her secretary that she wants to go out and clear her head.

The river surface is like a desert.

A person, a boat, drifting on a wide river, just like a traveler walking in the desert, sitting on a wide sand dune. She is clearly in the center of the city, with the bustling modern civilization within reach, but for a moment she feels that the world is vast and everything is far away from her.

She would be overwhelmed by a strange sense of etherealness.

She would feel that she was the only person in the world, and she would completely detach herself from all her classes, all her work, and all her interpersonal relationships.

She is like a goddess who is detached from the world.

Anna never denied the existence of her narcissistic nature, just as she did not deny the existence of her self-destructive nature. Miss Elena knew how beautiful she was, how irresistible her charm was, and this quality—as someone who admired Byron—was the poetry in her soul, the source of her inner beauty.

It was her self-righteous "Greekness".

She is a beast, she is a rose, she is a daffodil, she is a figure from ancient Greek mythology, capable of concocting mysterious potions that make all the people of Troy infatuated with her.

When Ole proposed to Miss Elena.

Miss Elena recited a line from the movie "Cleopatra," sarcastically implying that the other person was trying to seduce her by covering himself in gold dust.

She compared herself to Caesar.

Miss Elena saw herself not only as Gaius Julius Caesar, but also as a mortal man, no matter how outstanding Caesar was as an emperor and a genius military strategist.

She saw herself as a god on Mount Olympus, able to summon thunder with her own will.

As for hypocrisy.

Hypocrisy, greed, debauchery, extravagance...aren't these the true nature of the gods on Mount Olympus?

One can only have one destiny; this is the most beautiful essence of all Greek mythology.

It's not that one person can only have one destiny.

Those brave warriors, wise heroes, beautiful princesses, emperors of the mortal world, and even gods who rode the burning sun chariot across the sky.

From fishermen to the sun, moon, and stars.

Everything has only one predetermined fate.

Fate, the most powerful law in mythology. Fighting, struggling, reveling, wailing—it doesn't matter. You can take up a spear and win battles outside Troy, and you will surely drag the body of the Trojan prince in your chariot as you race outside the city, just as you will surely be struck in the ankle by a stray arrow from the clouds.

Fate is a spider web that wraps around you.

In Greek mythology, when the butterfly first enjoys the pleasure of flying, far away, beyond a hundred trees and a hundred days and nights, a spider web has already been woven in mid-air.

She is Anna, she is Countess Elena.

She could criticize Sir Browne without holding back, and she was overcome with grief over Carla's situation while reading her diary.

But when it actually happened to her, she didn't behave much better.

It's like fate.

But... why couldn't she just succumb to the feasts that fate had ordained? Why couldn't she become a cold-blooded god, or why couldn't she let that self-destructive aura take over her heart? Why didn't she jump into the river? Why, after falling into the sea from the cargo ship that day, did Anna ultimately choose to struggle?

Why is the answer "No"?
When you're drifting on a boat, the noise is far away, and the world is close at hand, making it a good time to contemplate life's questions.

While drifting on the boat.

Anna Elena couldn't help but think of Gu Weijing's paintings.

"It's like watercolor."

A few days before the opening of the exhibition, Miss Elena saw the works repainted by Gu Weijing at the Louvre Abu Dhabi, and this was the evaluation that came to her mind.

"do you know?"

Miss Elena looked at the works in the exhibition and thought to herself.

“Mr. G, these are the evaluations that Van Gogh’s paintings have received.”

Van Gogh had extensive experience creating watercolor sketches, and his teacher once commented that Van Gogh's watercolor works "are just like watercolors."

This is a humorous jest.

Van Gogh was a self-taught artist, and watercolor painting emphasizes fluidity. When he first started learning, he couldn't get it right no matter what he tried. Only after a great deal of practice did he finally achieve his goal—

"Oh, it looks like a watercolor painting."

Thank goodness.

Now everyone can finally see what this drawing actually is.

The colors unfold in the flowing water, just like watercolors.

Emotions unfold in the flowing water, just like watercolors.

In some cases, oil painters may feel that being praised as being like a watercolorist is a form of criticism.

Gu Weijing wouldn't think that way.

Miss Elena couldn't help but think that Mr. Samuel Kötzens of the Hamburg Academy of Fine Arts would probably love the color palette of these works.

Miss Elena knew that she could not, like Sarah, offer a simple evaluation with just one sentence.

She can give a simple, one-sentence evaluation of many works.

"Failure, failure, and more failure."

Or

"what."

But the works in these art exhibitions are not acceptable.

The emotions it contains are too complex, and Miss Elena's attitude towards this art exhibition is also too complex.

If she were in Sarah's position, she would either have a stern face and not say a word. Just like her attitude towards the Detective Cat's works during the "Oil Painting" project after she became the "Detective Cat's" agent.

otherwise.

She would then launch into a long, rambling monologue.

In fact.

Even now, on this small boat drifting on the Hamburg River, Anna Elena doesn't know how long she intends to write. Some things, unless you're really in that situation, driven by a strong desire, and putting pen to paper, you just don't know what kind of article you'll write.

Writing art reviews is like a ritual.

In this temple, the priestess kneeling barefoot beside the ritual platform, dressed in a priestly robe, with her hair tied up and her feet bare, is Anna Elena. On the platform, the Muse, with her flowing sleeves gazing at the starry sky, is also Miss Elena herself.

even.

The offering on the altar was still Miss Elena herself.

Miss Elena herself had no idea what the response would be after the ritual—when her and Gu Weijing's art exhibition was put on stage.

Perhaps colorful flowers and leaves will fall from the sky.

Perhaps the goddess on stage will suddenly draw a blazing sword and chop it all to pieces, all the while muttering resentful comments, "Why don't you shoot yourself?"

"I sentence you to death."

"Go to hell, go to hell, go to hell."

Miss Elena didn't know.

But Anna knew that whether the praise for the painting was fiery or icy, whether it was lengthy and effusive or mocking its pettiness, she would probably never be able to offer such a simple and straightforward comment as old lady Sarah.

She will never be able to calmly and objectively evaluate this art exhibition.

This is Gu Weijing's first solo art exhibition.

This was also Anna Elena's first solo art exhibition in her life.

The exhibition attracted a huge audience, with tens of thousands of visitors stopping at the Maes Gallery art space in the Louvre Abu Dhabi during its two-month run. Some were deeply moved, others were disillusioned, some were greatly shocked, some were puzzled, and some were full of disdain.

It's ok.

This is all normal.

There is no right or wrong. That's just how art exhibitions are. For some people, an art exhibition may be unforgettable for a lifetime, while for others it is just ordinary. They turn around and buy a fancy Arabic burrito and forget everything they just saw.

This is very common.

Everyone has reasons to like an exhibition, and everyone has reasons to dislike an exhibition.

It was good enough for some of the audience members, but not good enough for others.

Outside the exhibition hall, millions of people have read reports about the exhibition, and hundreds of millions have read reports about gossip.

Each has its own needs, and each takes what they need.

In the first month after the exhibition opened, news broke that the Maes Gallery had reached a deal with a private collector from Belgium to sell "Night Rhapsody" for €87, approximately £101 million.

This significantly broke the record for a new artist's sales.

For Maes III, this must have been a successful enough exhibition to give the entire gallery a three-day holiday and have a proper party to celebrate.

Even for Deckard Anron, this was a successful art exhibition; the superman of art drew back the curtains, and once again the sunlight of his youth shone through.

For Anna Elena, or for Gu Weijing, whether it's 30 euros or 101 million pounds, it's probably not a perfect enough exhibition.

When the feast arrived, the piggy bank containing spare change still sat quietly beside the piano on the ranch, waiting to be opened, not replaced with baguettes, burritos, or a lavish meal.

At a time when we should be raising our glasses in celebration.

The artist and his agent, the curator and her artist.

The two are now separated by vast distances.

But since the pain and joy, all sorts of emotions of the two people are reflected in an art exhibition, intertwined in a mess, and their agency contract has not yet ended, who can say for sure what the future holds?

Oh, right.

It is worth mentioning that this happened when the two were separated by distance.

The mess wasn't just about an art exhibition.
-

Gu Weijing walked down from the sand dune.

Sitting in the tent, he quietly began to paint, carrying his easel and oil pastels with him. Of course, from a market feedback perspective, Gu Weijing won't need to "contribute" any new works for the foreseeable future.

Things are rare.

The market needs time to digest and fluctuate before collectors can finally determine the market's assessment of Gu Weijing's "market value".

From a gallery's perspective, if an artist has just sold a big piece, and then turns around and puts two hundred of their works up for auction, no collector would be willing to buy them.

This is equivalent to a stock market crash.

But painting isn't just about money, or even just about holding exhibitions. Art can entertain others, but more importantly, it can also bring joy to oneself.

Gu Weijing has never shown any particular talent for playing the viola, but he still enjoys playing it.

In Lao Yang's mind, driving a cool off-road vehicle in the Dubai desert and coolly rushing towards the sand is a great way to relax. Sometimes, you can not think about anything and just "MAN" step on the gas.

Painting is also a great way for Gu Weijing to relax after a tiring day.

You can choose not to think about anything.

Just drawing.

Since that lovely Dutch cow isn't around.

So I had no choice but to draw.
-

The outskirts of Hamburg.

pasture.

A powerful melody filled the night air; listen closely, and you'll hear a piano excerpt from Beethoven's Symphony No. 5 (Fate).

The piano's tone, normally light and crisp, produced a sound like metal striking metal when played. The brilliant and splendid C major key overwhelmed all unease and hesitation.

That was truly a masterful performance.

Not only humans, but all the animals on the ranch seemed to be immersed in the beautiful music, unable to resist listening intently. The sheep, the ducklings... A black owl landed on a branch, its head turned 180 degrees to look at the first-floor window of the ranch, and remained motionless.

It seemed to be struck by the invisible passion within the music, captivated by a powerful spell.

I was stunned for a moment.

Only one large Dutch cow, lying in the stable, seemed to hear the music; its large eyelids twitched slightly before quickly returning to calm.

It turned a deaf ear.

It remained as still as a mountain.

It slept peacefully.

"That's it, that's it, that's it? What kind of crap is this? It has no power at all. Who do you think you are?"

Moo.

"That's not enough! I need something more exciting."

Miss Elena was playing the piano in the ranch's hall. She hadn't been to the ranch for a very long time, and the piano was covered in dust.

After the rowing session.

She ordered someone to drive here, and without even wiping the piano, she quietly began to play. Playing the piano quietly brought Miss Elena a greater sense of inner peace than rowing.

For her, playing the piano is not just about gaining praise from others.

It can entertain oneself.

A woman can think of nothing at all, simply pressing the jade-like, gleaming piano keys with her fingertips.

Miss Elena was not without an audience; among the animals present, there were clearly many with a greater appreciation for music than the Dutch cow.

A cat and a dog peeked out from the second floor together.

(End of this chapter)