Almighty painter

Chapter 1047 Faust's Gift (Part 2)

Gu Weijing may be able to deceive many people with pretty words.

Gu Weijing had no way of deceiving himself.

Say.

It seems that it's not just Impressionism.

It seems that... he himself is not the only one who has seen through Gu Weijing.

"No matter how the region, culture, or ethnicity changes, we are always facing the same group of people—painters."

"No one knows their names. They gave so much and received so little."

The old man said this to the experts participating in the art exchange program.

"Please remember, everyone, this is not a place for you to let loose and do whatever you want. The murals in front of us are the result of the life's work of countless anonymous painters. This may be the only trace they left on earth."

Time goes by in circles.

We row forward with all our might, like rowing against the current, and will eventually return to the past again and again.

Gu Weijing has come a long way. He has been to many places, met many people, and held a top-level exhibition that he could never have imagined as a child. In his early twenties, he sold his work for a price that he could never have dreamed of before.

The spotlight of the entire art market shines on him.

His life path was paved with gold.

Gu Weijing still felt time and again that he had returned to the past.

Sometimes, he felt as if he had returned to that luxurious yet gloomy clubhouse, where a thin man wearing gold-rimmed glasses sat holding an English version of "The Godfather".

He would close the book.

He took off his glasses, gently drew circles with his thumb and forefinger holding a velvet handkerchief, wiped the lenses, and then took out a pen from the drawer and bent down to sign a check.

"So many years have passed."

"Mr. Gu."

Have you figured it out?

And sometimes.

Gu Weijing felt as if he had returned to the very beginning of everything, to the very start of this story. He stood in that international collaborative art project, watching the sunlight fall on the magnificent pagoda in the distance, and the bells were jingling in the breeze again and again.

At that time,

Golden light cascaded down like a waterfall.

The bell rang like a song.
-
"There are many, many art forms in the world, including oil painting, silk painting, paper painting, and silk rope painting... like a kaleidoscope."

"But people only selectively see what they want to see, and they are even proud and complacent about it. It seems that everything around them, every piece of ink they pick up, every piece of cinnabar, and every stroke they make, is proclaiming their own correctness."

"Actually, many people are like me. They are a kaleidoscope full of beautiful flowers, but they can only see a few points that are covered with gold dust."

"This is my fault."

"I have walked past so many beautiful art forms countless times, but I have never really looked at them properly."

Gu Weijing's fingers rested on the windowsill, and he heard Cao Xuan's voice.

“Every time I stand in front of these works by predecessors, I feel like I am just a student.”

"Painting is never about you destroying me and me destroying you, but about me being fine and you being fine too..."

Painting has never been a vertical relationship of conquest or suppression.

Anything that embodies the wisdom of hardworking people is true art.

But as long as it's true art.

All of these are good art.

It should be an open, mutually integrated, and mutually beautiful horizontal relationship.

It seems that everything that needed to be said has already been said.

True artists, even before those dilapidated, ancient, and mottled murals, will still maintain a pure and devout heart. You must realize that every painting you are facing may embody the entirety of a person's life.

But in the face of those mountains of wealth, fame, and status.

We must still maintain a pure and devout heart.

Let go of everything.

“Just to go and see,” Wittgenstein said.

Just to take a look.

I feel both joy and awe for the exquisite beauty of works from ancient times to the present, for the painstaking efforts of artists who may never have been treated as painters, and for the unique charm and commonalities found in the works of various places and ethnic groups.

Gu Weijing has a systematic approach.

Sometimes, he had access to the techniques that generations of mural painters had gradually developed.

But when he picked up his pen...

Did he really give these things a very serious and thoughtful consideration?

"There can't be a truly all-around great painter in the world. Even if you are Picasso, even if you have extraordinary talent and resources, even if you have created tens of thousands of works of art in your life, you are still far from being an all-around great painter."

Gu Weijing said, "You're just someone who reaches out and picks up a few seashells on the beach. When you look up, you see the boundless ocean and the twinkling stars."

"But as long as you are willing to look up, you have a broad mind. The waves of the art world will enter your ears one after another. In the past, those ancient and modern people, those works that once existed, and those painters who once existed, shine on you like stars from a distance of several light-years, tens of light-years, hundreds of light-years away."

"You might get a little closer to the true meaning of art, and then a little closer still."

“Just like the ingredients in a restaurant,” Gu Weijing said, “sour, sweet, bitter, spicy… none of these flavors are inherently superior to another. There shouldn’t be any notions of high or low quality. They are all simply taste sensations on the human tongue. There’s no such thing as oil painting being superior to any other painting technique, just as caviar isn’t necessarily superior to cherry tomatoes.”

"No, that's not a good analogy."

He talked to himself, then shook his head.

"The metaphor of caviar and tomatoes still reflects a certain worship of the money system," the painter said. "If we're talking about rarity, perhaps the murals in Zimbabwe are the real caviar."

Even if it's just watercolor.

Gu Weijing said, "Mr. Kozens, I once showed you that 'Self-Portrait'?"

"great."

Mr. Kozens clicked his tongue. "I think he draws better than Gao."

"great."

Gu Weijing nodded. "That was the work of an artist from Cape Verde. And I had never heard of that country before."

Even if it's just watercolor—

“When I look at those international exhibitions, I can easily come to the conclusion that even with oil paintings, even with watercolors, a watercolor painter from Europe, say Germany, is a high-level watercolor painter, while a watercolor painter from other places is a low-level watercolor painter.”

“Even I… I’m someone from outside Europe, and I’m discriminated against because of this kind of thinking, but deep down I’m still a supporter of this view. Because it seems like people are telling me this kind of story, and that’s the truth.”

“I used to think that the same ‘excellent’ level of brushstrokes would be considered normal in Europe, but in Southeast Asia or Africa, it would be like, ‘So they can paint this well too.’ I really thought that way, I truly believed it.”

Gu Weijing's tone was somewhat pained.

"This is my worldview. After all, only Europe has so many outstanding watercolor masters whose works command high prices. But I wonder, in this day and age, is it because European painters paint better, or because they are more chosen by the market, and therefore they are seen more by the world?"

There was a whole kaleidoscope there, but people's eyes were fixed on a few specks of gold dust.

Gu Weijing.

This glittering fragment of art turned to look at his teacher.

“When I was in high school, I had a classmate named Miao Angwen.”

"Over the years I have seen many, many of my classmates’ paintings. In fact, many people’s paintings are not as good as his, and it is almost impossible to find anyone who works harder than him."

"what do you want to say in the end?"

"I used to think that the world would be different in other places," Kozens asked, frowning.

Gu Weijing said, "Later I realized that, deep down, everyone seems to have been doing the same thing all along."

The world is hilarious, all come for profit.

Everyone in the world is benefiting.
-
"42."

"This is the ultimate answer to the universe, but it is missing one ultimate question."

Gu Weijing picked up the glass of Scotch malt whisky from the table.

"But I know the ultimate question."

"Just now at the dinner table, as I listened to you and Ben talk about Martin Luther, I couldn't help but think that throughout Germany, and even more broadly—Anna has a set of Winston Churchill's *History of the English-Speaking Peoples* on her bookshelf, and conversely, if there were also a set similar to *History of the German-Speaking Peoples*—then there would surely be an ultimate question that this culture would have to confront—"

"Wird Faust am Ende erlost?"

Gu Weijing read it in clear German.

"That classic question in German literature, the mystery Goethe left to the world."

Back then, when Gu Weijing and Hao Ge were having their final confrontation at the Xihe Guild Hall, he picked up his paintbrush and casually wrote down the famous poem that the German had adapted from ancient Greek mythology in the corner of the canvas of "Human Noise".

"I sit here and created mankind, in my own image, making them my own kind. To suffer and weep, to revel and gloat, and like me... to despise you!"

Time passes.

In an upscale neighborhood in downtown Hamburg.

With the ultimate goal that Gu Weijing had worked hard for for four years right in front of him, and when he was almost certain to become the winner of the Master Project.

He asked Professor Kozens for the answer to Faust, the story Goethe adapted from a classic Central European folk tale.

"Germany seems to often like to metaphorically describe itself as a Faustian nation."

"So, in the end, was Faust really saved?"

he asks.

Goethe's answer would be, "Yes, Faust ascended to heaven at the last moment of his life."

"But in another famous version of Faust, Thomas Mann's Doctor Faustus, the ending of the story seems to be expressed in a much more subtle way."

Have you read Doctor Faustus?

Gu Weijing inquired.

Professor Kozens nodded.

It is actually a book with a very, very complex structure, which describes the decline of artists in parallel with the First World War and the decline of Germany in World War II.

"That book tells the story of a fictional artist with unparalleled talent."

"He was born on October 15th (note). This is the birthday of King Frederick William IV of Prussia, and also—"

"Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche's birthday."

Birthdays are a hidden clue.

In Gu Weijing's "World Zoo" series, which features a detective cat, the main characters, a cat and a dog, are named "April 23." This is because it is both the birthday of William Shakespeare and the birthday of William Turner.

The protagonist of Doctor Faustus was born on the same day as Nietzsche and William IV.

"In order to gain artistic inspiration, he deliberately infected himself with syphilis."

"Syphilis is a very 'interesting' concept. It is so special that I have never had it, but I think that probably half of the famous European literary and artistic figures from the 16th to 19th centuries whose names I can think of had it, and a third of them died from it. Of course, this includes Nietzsche."

"The artist, through this symbolic method, like the story of Faust, summoned the devil in his own home. It is also possible that the syphilis bacteria infected the meninges, causing the mental confusion symptoms that were very common among syphilis patients at that time."

"He made a deal with the devil. The devil promised him an inexhaustible source of inspiration, gave him the potential for groundbreaking breakthroughs, and allowed him to 'escape from that indifferent life into the raging fire of creation.'"

"This timeframe is twenty-four years."

"After twenty-four years of prolific output, the devil will come to take away the soul of this outstanding artist."

"Great time, crazy time, utterly hateful time!"

Gu Weijing read aloud: "Once the sand in the hourglass runs out, the devil will seize power and permanently dominate, lead, and rule over everything he owns, whether it be his body and mind, flesh and blood, or wealth."

"At the end of the deal."

"The devil also made an additional request."

"Love is not allowed."

“An artist can freely weave the most exquisite works of art in the world; he can create masterpieces that are astonishing as hellish laughter; he will always be full of inspiration. He can look down on all the great musicians, he can disdain Beethoven’s so-called Symphony No. 5, and he can create cantatas that are better and more excellent than Bach’s many works.”

"There's only one point."

"That means the artist will not be able to love; he will not be allowed to love."

Gu Weijing returned to the window with two glasses filled with whiskey.

He stood down next to Professor Kozens.

I want to reach for the great.

There always has to be something to exchange, doesn't there? "Love" was the bargaining chip that artist used to achieve greatness.
-
My conditions are clear, governed by the legally mandated warmth emanating from hell. As long as love in this world can still radiate warmth, you are forbidden to love. Your life should be cold and icy—therefore, you cannot love anyone.

—Thomas Mann, *Doctor Faustus*
-
"There are two traditional art forms in Germany."

"One is full of love, the other is without love. No matter how exquisite and gorgeous the latter may be, no matter how sweet it may seem, in the end... it is probably about chaos, depravity and death."

"This is a deal made with the devil."

Gu Weijing clinked two wine glasses together, his gaze falling on the Canadian oak trees that gleamed with an eerie purplish-red luster under the night and streetlights.

It's like a scene straight out of an Edvard Munch painting.

You will escape from your indifferent life to the flames of creation, as the devil in Faust's novel says, before fleeing from the raging fire back to the icy wasteland.

"Using this brightly colored oak, which has a burning appearance, to represent coldness."

Gu Weijing said, "Professor Kozens, you grasped the essence of this German artwork from the very beginning. You have always been a good teacher."

"damn it."

Kozens cursed again.

"You probably never really thought I was a good teacher, did you? You looked down on me and thought I was a jerk."

“Sometimes, I do think you’re a bit harsh,” Gu Weijing thought for a moment. “But I’ve seen people who are harsher than you. Well, you’re certainly not a good teacher.”

"In my mind, a good teacher shouldn't throw their watch at someone like a baseball pitcher. It's quite strange that you haven't been dismissed due to student complaints over the years."

"I am a tenured professor!"

"That's what the German said."

“I started smashing things after I was promoted to tenured professor,” Kozenstein shrugged. “Traditionally, universities don’t usually dismiss tenured professors.”

“Whether you are a good teacher or not, I have always respected you. Regardless of the harsh nicknames you gave me, I even admire you,” Gu Weijing said. “I think you are a very good artist.”

"Whether you are a good artist or not is not contradictory to whether you are a jerk."

"Many of the best artists were also the worst bastards in their lives. Picasso was a bastard, Titian was a bastard, Cannavaro was a bastard. Have you ever seen a painter who would play tennis with a bunch of knives stuck in his waistband, ready to stab his opponent at any moment?"

"He's definitely a bastard."

“I’ve even done a lot of awful things myself. There are many things I don’t know how to handle. I’ve made a lot of mistakes and hurt a lot of people.”

"Whiplash".

Gu Weijing said.

“I know many students compare you to the grumpy teacher in Whiplash who throws the gong in the middle of a performance. And you seem to enjoy it.”

(End of this chapter)