Almighty painter

Chapter 1033 Upgraded Calligraphy and Painting Appraisal Techniques (Part 2)
Very few people can examine a work of art so closely.

In the past, customers who came here would drink coffee, chat in hushed tones, men and women would gently clasp hands, exchange a few tender glances, and time would pass by like that.

The paintings on the wall are merely a backdrop.

The gallery's biggest revenue comes from selling coffee and desserts. Essentially, it's still the same coffee shop, just with a different decor. The wallpaper and posters on the walls have been replaced with picture frames of various sizes. That's about it.

The owner has her own selection criteria for the works in the gallery, but she seems rather indifferent to whether the customers feel anything about the canvases.

She knew that cafes were essentially social spaces.

The decor isn't that important; whether it's a reproduction of Matisse or Picasso hanging on the wall, or a hand-painted poster, isn't that important.

Sometimes, even coffee beans aren't that important.

That's fine too.

Customers often buy one or two pieces of art, and the proprietress will chat with them for a while. Some people feel that they have come many times and the atmosphere is right, so they subconsciously buy one.

Indeed, some people are moved by the works, but those feelings are mostly fleeting and ephemeral.

They stopped abruptly.

I vaguely glimpsed some secrets in the brushstrokes of the work, but in the next instant, I was overwhelmed by the complexities of urban life and it was hard to really say what I saw.

and so.

The proprietress might find it somewhat conspicuous that Gu Weijing stays in the shop doing nothing but gazing at the paintings on the walls for extended periods. During their conversation, she might also feel that the young man's immediate comments about the "brushes here" being somewhat rough and the works being "quite interesting" were a bit pretentious.

Anyone can do something so vague and unrealistic.

By saying these two sentences, you've mistakenly identified yourself as an art critic.

It's like casually wearing a big leather coat, leather boots with silver studs on the uppers, and driving a Porsche convertible, and then mistakenly thinking of yourself as a domineering CEO when you go out.

It's way too oily.

The customer who bought the painting just two days ago was still bragging about having a parrot that could recite Keats, Shelley, and Hegel.

The proprietress just listened and smiled casually.

Only a ghost can believe it.

She was too lazy to call her out on it.

Hearing this, the German woman truly believed that Gu Weijing was also a painter, and a painter with a high level of skill in using the brush. He could disassemble and dissect a painting, extracting the brushstrokes from the colors and light and shadow on the canvas, as if using nimble fingers to peel away a colorful silk cocoon bit by bit.

Unless he happens to know the creators of these paintings, or is a pervert who spyes on others while they are painting with binoculars, then he must truly be a highly skilled painter.

It cannot be ruled out that he is a master of theoretical knowledge but lacks practical skills.

If someone can talk about strategy on paper so well, who can say that they aren't a remarkable master?
"...The larger the painting, the less impatient you should be. The relationship between positions is very important. I have spent a lot of energy painting the human body, and I have some experience in how to paint people."

The young man spoke in the same unhurried tone as before.

At this moment, his voice no longer sounded as old-fashioned as before; instead, it had a simple and down-to-earth feel to it.

Ordinary and uneventful.

Clean and tidy.

"What I learned in this process was not just how to draw people like their faces, how to make the form realistic, and how to make the brushstrokes precise. I have a rather outrageous and crude statement, which is probably far from the true essence of art, but it still sounds quite interesting."

"How so?" the proprietress asked curiously.

"Since the vast majority of works are painted by people, then the vast majority of works are also all about painting people."

"Drawing people?"

The proprietress jokingly pointed to a landscape painting on the wall and said, "Then please take a look at this painting. Where does it resemble a person at all?"

“I mean rhythm.”

Gu Weijing replied.

“My own watercolor teacher always emphasizes rhythm. He always has the word ‘rhythmic feel’ on his lips, and he usually praises me for doing a good job in rhythm.”

"I guess this is what talent is?"

The proprietress praised it.

She never used to enjoy reading professional art reviews. She was interested in painting, loved going to exhibitions, and always found books difficult to understand.

In her early years, she bought two famous and well-known books on oil painting.

Turned two pages.

The proprietress found it unbearable. She could tell that it was indeed well-written, but the convoluted sentences made her dizzy and disoriented. Reading these articles didn't feel like reading or evaluating a painting; it felt more like editors and writers discussing the recipe for a magical potion that could grant immortality, using a complex code and cipher unique to them.

So mysterious.

That's too hard to understand.

The artistry of "Painting" magazine, like the humor of "The New Yorker," is exceptionally famous, something that countless people find delightful to read, yet she has never quite understood.

Sir Brown, who defined the magazine's target audience as "The New Yorker Plus" at the board meeting, would certainly be pleased with this description.

The proprietress, who rarely reads art reviews, listened to a conversation between herself and a young painter today.

Gu Weijing seemed to be pulling her upwards in a very simple way, dissecting a painting little by little from a more macro and micro perspective.

Joking aside...

Women need to admit that there are indeed some truly exceptional people in this world.

She bumped into one today.

"It's not talent."

Gu Weijing pressed his fingers against the edge of the picture frame and explained softly, "At first, I also thought that these factors could be attributed to talent. Now, looking at it from the other side, my talent is definitely not bad."

“I believe you,” the proprietress nodded.

“When I was a child, I had a pretty good spatial imagination. I was good at perspective relationships of various objects and sketching static scenes. But as I grew up, I realized that compared with those who are truly gifted, my talent is nothing.”

“In an art college, there are always people, both upperclassmen and lowerclassmen, who are more talented than me. Why do teachers always praise my work for having a ‘rhythmic feel’? Is it because of my brushwork, or some other factor?”

Gu Weijing said calmly, “I suddenly remembered that someone else had mentioned the word ‘rhythm’ to me. Someone who lived a hundred years ago. When I was a child, I was drawing in Bridgman’s booklets, and Mr. George Bridgman also liked to mention ‘rhythm’.”

"When painting portraits, if you want to paint well and accurately, there is a general principle, a kind of inner principle, that must exist in your heart, and that is a sense of rhythm. Bridgman does not like to use the term 'rhythmic feel' like watercolor teachers do; the term he uses is 'the rhythm of the human body'."

“George Bridgman’s theory of portraiture tells me that no matter how the human form changes, whether running, standing, or lying down, there is a sense of rhythm that runs through the entire picture. This sense of rhythm makes a person a person, rather than a piece of wood, a cliff, or an unfinished marble statue. It firmly commands the muscles, bones, and fascia, connecting them in one continuous flow.”

"That sounds a bit obscure." The proprietress frowned slightly.

"On the contrary, this is probably the least obscure thing. As individuals living in this world, this sense of rhythm is always present in our bodies. The model is ourselves, the painter is ourselves, and the audience and critics are also ourselves."

Gu Weijing's tone was low.

“Bridgman discussed in his book that this sense of rhythm exists not only in human muscle movements and body changes, but also in the muscle movements and body changes of animals. When you draw enough and observe carefully enough, you will find that this sense of rhythm can be extended to all paintings. Even on wood, cliffs, or unfinished marble sculptures, it exists.”

"I think that's why my watercolor teacher praised my work for its rhythm. Many theories in painting are interconnected."

“In my studio, there’s an ugly half-bronze bust,” Gu Weijing said. “When I’m copying it, I can also feel the rhythm in my brushstrokes. You have to understand, I’m not talking about finding out where the head, body, arms, and toenails are in a landscape painting. The so-called rhythm or human rhythm is essentially a connection and balance of the forms in the picture.”

“Unless what you want is that sense of instability—a painter can certainly paint only a head, only an arm, but unless the creator wants to create a terrifying impact, the rhythm of the form should force the viewer to realize that the head, the arm, exists as an extension of a whole, rather than as an isolated entity on the canvas. Similarly, unless there are special circumstances, no form, such as a stone or a branch, should exist in isolation on the canvas. Otherwise…”

"Otherwise... it would be like a murder and dismemberment scene."

The proprietress stared at the picture frames on the wall, seemingly lost in thought, before speaking.

Suddenly.

After the young man beside her explained, she seemed to understand where the "roughness of the brushstrokes" he mentioned at the beginning came from.

"So how do we express this sense of rhythm?"

The proprietress turned to look at Gu Weijing again, hoping to get some advice.

"I'm afraid... there's no better way than persistent long-term practice and constant observation of life."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

Gu Weijing smiled.

The proprietress smiled gently as well.

"It is true that persistent long-term practice and continuous observation of life can bring corresponding rewards, which is probably one of the few fair things in life."

She said.

"Is there any more coffee?" Gu Weijing finished his latte.

"Of course, selling coffee is the main source of income for the shop. You can drink as much as you want." The woman in her forties combed her hair.

“Another one, Danke! (Thank you!)” Gu Weijing said.

"You're welcome. You can drink as much as you want, but the only free drink is the one you just had," the proprietress said, squinting her eyes.

Gu Weijing turned around and looked at his eldest sister in shock.

The woman in the green suit looked at the painting on the wall and, with the characteristic aloofness of Germans in Europe, said, "A latte is 3.5 euros. Want some more?"

This guy may really have a deep understanding of brushstrokes, but what does that have to do with the owner of a small art shop?

That greasy guy who drove a Porsche even claimed to have a parrot that could carry Keats on its back, but the proprietress didn't give him a discount because of that, did she?
Gu Weijing shrugged.

"Okay, then I'll have another one, iced."

So the older sister went to operate the coffee machine behind the counter. A few minutes later, she gracefully walked over and handed Gu Weijing a cup of beverage with a herbal color that was covered in a light mist.

“Danke”.

Gu Weijing said another sentence.

He remained standing there, staring at the picture frames on the wall.

“I haven’t finished speaking yet,” the proprietress said slowly. “Selling coffee is the main source of income for the shop, but selling paintings is not.”

"Since you've been looking at it for so long, if there's a painting in the shop that you like, you can take one with you."

"Uh... even that painting is free?"

Gu Weijing pointed to the cartoon-style painting hanging on the left side of the shop's porch. It depicted a short, stout man with a long torso, relatively short limbs, and a head resembling an owl... It was probably a portrait.

This gallery didn't put the price tags up directly, but Gu Weijing's family also runs a small gallery, so he knows how galleries usually arrange their artwork.

What's more.

The artist at the bottom of the painting is French, whose name I've never heard of before, but there's a description below of his experience participating in an art exhibition a few years ago that wasn't too big or too small.

"free."

The proprietress shrugged. "But there's only this one."

"This painting will sell for 6700 euros." The proprietress looked at the painting, but didn't seem to be heartbroken or wanting to back out. "It's the most expensive piece in this shop. You have good taste."

"6700 euros, that's more expensive than the car I drove here."

Gu Weijing said, "They can't bear to part with a cup of coffee worth 3.5 euros, but they're willing to give away a painting worth 2,000 cups of coffee? This shop is really strange."

"Yes."

The German woman still doesn't seem to have much of a sense of humor.

"Take it if you want."

"Are you sure?" she asked again. "You can take it now, or you can leave a mailing address. Large artworks are shipped free within Hamburg. Outside of Hamburg, there will be normal courier costs plus the price of artwork insurance. You can also choose not to insure it; just sign a confirmation agreement here."

"never mind."

Gu Weijing shook his head.

He shifted his gaze from the old man with an owl's head, which was worth nearly 7000 euros, and looked at another painting that he had been looking at for a long time.

"I want this."

(End of this chapter)