Almighty painter

Chapter 1060 Magikarp's Splash

“I have enjoyed the world’s splendor,” Hunter Bull said. “All of this… everything.”

“I earned my first million dollars in 1987 and then spent it in three weeks. I once drove a Ferrari on a deserted highway in Nevada, surrounded by the Gobi Desert. The road was like a child holding onto a straight rope that was shaking up and down. There were no curves, just continuous ups and downs, with peaks and troughs.”

"Zoom, Zoom, Zoom!"

The man pressed the tip of his tongue against the cigarette butt, trying to imitate the sound of a multi-cylinder naturally aspirated engine, typical of old-fashioned high-horsepower sports cars, when the accelerator pedal was floored.

The old painter, who had received hundreds of millions of dollars from an oil painting contract a few years ago but had achieved nothing, squinted at the sun in the city sky.

Light shines down from the sky.

The sunlight was still dazzling, but the scorching heat, mixed with the smell of gasoline and the sauna-like atmosphere of my youth, was gone.

At that time.

Hunter Bull always liked to drive incredibly fast, as if he would never have an accident or die. His nickname was Elvis. In reality, Hunter Bull wasn't as well-versed in rock and roll as many people thought. However, he was definitely not the kind of guy who, after drinking a glass of whiskey, would shamelessly vomit into a trash can and see Jackson Pollock waving at him in the headlights of a street sweeper.

Perhaps we will be able to see it.

To burst into space like a comet—that sounds so "artist-like."

If Hunter Bull saw Jackson Pollock in the headlights of an oncoming car, he might laugh and pull out a beer from somewhere, inviting him for a drink.

Hedonism, decadence, revelry—unrestrained, indulging in sensual pleasures, drinking heavily, weeping and singing, believing that "everyone has their own talents, and even if I spend all my money, it will come back again"—that was the first half of Hunter Bull's life. Even if a sudden bend appeared in front of him, and he mistook the accelerator for the brake, he was completely fearless.

fortunately.

Nevada's interstate highways are different from New York's; they have the standard American infrastructure style, without a single curve, only continuous undulations. As it passed the top of a small hill, the Ferrari was slightly thrown off the ground by kinetic energy, and then crashed heavily back down.

Hunter Bull could clearly feel the entire suspension collapsing to its limit, the entire frame twisting under pressure, as if it were about to collapse into pieces at any moment.

He is not afraid at all.

He felt incredibly good; in that instant, he felt as if he were flying, like Icarus sprouting wings and soaring towards the sun.

“In Nice, I attended some really big parties. University boys and girls were sunbathing on beach chairs, in a European style. Naked people were jumping straight into the pool from second-floor balconies, just like in the Garden of Eden before Adam and Eve ate the forbidden fruit.”

"I jumped from several thousand meters in the air, closed my eyes, and felt the gale pressing my skin tightly against my cheekbones like a thin sheet of paper."

"My era has passed; this is your era. I shouldn't steal your spotlight, I shouldn't steal your glory..."
-
Gu Weijing crossed his arms and watched the live video stream on the short video platform.

"What is he doing?"

Just now, both he and Anna Elena were informed that Hunter Bull appeared at Gu Weijing's career retrospective exhibition in Switzerland.

Gu Weijing couldn't figure out what the other party was arguing about.

Is it because of a psychological imbalance?
If Hunter Bull came here just to stand in front of Gu Weijing's solo exhibition and rattle off about his past successes with a megaphone, that would be just too... hilarious.

Gu Weijing could understand this feeling, but he couldn't help feeling a little sad.

"Is it to match some kind of action from the 'Oil Painting' project?" Anna guessed. "Maybe it's suggesting you could have a European-style sofa party."

A burst of laughter erupted from the restaurant.
-
“I’ve been waiting all along. I’ve been waiting since the first time Oil Painting magazine contacted me. I’ve been waiting since you had your first solo art exhibition in Singapore. I’ve been waiting since you were in university. I’ve been waiting since you held your first exhibition. I’ve been waiting since Cao Xuan passed away. I’ve been waiting since you swept up one art award after another.”

"I've been watching you the whole time."

"I've been waiting all along."

“I watched you achieve success, setting record after record. I watched you fulfill that seemingly impossible promise. I watched you acquire shares in the magazine ‘Oil Painting’.”

"It's ok."

"It's okay, none of this matters. Go grow, go change, let everything in your life become nourishment for your growth. As long as I get what I've been waiting for, then all of this should be yours."

What am I waiting for?

Boole took the cigarette butt out of his mouth, thought for a moment, and said, "I'm waiting for the day when you have a painting displayed, and I stand in front of it, and a voice says to me, 'Oh, this is it.'"

"He draws better than you."

"The moment you see this painting, you'll understand that this is a work you can never reach in your entire life; this is it."

“I waited ten years for this exhibition. I came here with high expectations. I hope that after seeing this exhibition, I can feel that my life as an artist, whether successful or unsuccessful, has come to an end. I can live like an ordinary rich old man, buy a mansion and spend the last years of my life in comfort and quiet, or watch striptease in a club.”

"But no."

"Unfortunately."

“It’s a pity for you and for me,” Hunter Bull said. “For me, it’s a pity that my retirement plans have all fallen through. I’m over seventy years old this year, and I probably don’t have many years left. For you, so many years have passed…”

"You're still there, tirelessly drawing dog poop."

"Bull said."

"Years ago, I listened to your podcast episode where you were crying and expressing your despair over the practice of equating the art market with the commercial market. You were fascinated by a certain handcrafted quality in the works, and you said you loved it, calling it the soul of art."

“I don’t know what this craftsmanship represents in your mind? Since the Renaissance, oil painting has been regarded as a symbol of a certain social class. Ordinary citizens could not afford to hire painters, while wealthy merchants could hire painters to paint a portrait for them. The nobles and priests gathered in the palace, commenting on the brushstrokes on the canvas.”

What do these brushstrokes mean?

"If in your mind those oil paintings hanging on the walls of Florence are similar to the forks people use when eating. Ordinary guests eat with iron forks, those of slightly higher status eat with silver forks, and the host can use gold bowls and plates. But the tableware of cardinals and court favorites has an extra emerald bead. The difference between a good painter and a bad painter is that the tableware made by a good painter has an extra gold engraving, so he is more superior than others."

Big dogs eat big poop. Little dogs eat small poop.

"And your biggest improvement is that you've gone from being able to poop a small amount of poop to being able to take off your pants and poop a huge pile of poop now."

Hunter Bull rudely tossed his cigarette butt onto the main road and stomped it out with his heel. "That's so stupid [beep]."

"I'm sorry, child. I was thinking of waiting a little longer."

“But I’m already seventy years old, I really am an old person, if I wait any longer I will really get completely old. Last month, for the first time in the past ten years I went to see a doctor because of shoulder pain. The doctor told me that I have arthritis. I’m not sure if my technique will deteriorate, so…”

"I really can't wait any longer."

"I can't keep watching you take a dump in the street."

Hunter Bull turned around, took out the paintbrush next to him, and began to mix colors.

"Is this guy crazy? On drugs? Is he high right now?"

In the New York restaurant, everyone stared speechlessly at the old madman on the screen, thinking that this person must be very mentally unstable.

"What is he doing? Is he trying to teach others how to paint?" asked a marketing consultant from the Mas Gallery who was holding a plate.

He took out his phone and glanced at the data.

Following Hunter Bull's explosive remarks, a large number of onlookers flooded into the live stream. The number of viewers in this live stream alone exceeded 10,000. Considering that this is certainly not the only live stream, it means that at this moment, it is estimated that about 30,000 to 50,000 people are watching Hunter Bull through the live stream camera.

Gu Weijing spread out his hands.

……

Hunter Bull skipped the process of sketching with a pencil; he drew almost without thinking, picking up his pen and starting to draw.

When he made the first stroke on the white canvas.

Gu Weijing finally figured out what the other party wanted to do; he recognized the painting. Almost no bystander could understand what the painter was painting based on just a couple of initial strokes of color, unless they knew the painting so well that it was like their own work.

That's right.

That was Gu Weijing's own painting.

Hunter Bull was painting Gu Weijing's "The Human Comedy," just as Gu Weijing had repeatedly copied other people's works during his student days. At that moment, Mr. Elvis was also copying Gu Weijing's own work in public.

Copying is all too common.

The problem is that.

"The Human Comedy" is not the kind of common oil painting; it is a super-large painting like "Guernica" or "The Night Watch," with a length exceeding three meters.

That alone is one thing.

More importantly, this is a virtuoso painting known for its exquisite brushstrokes, and the canvas in front of Hunter Bull is almost ten times smaller than the original canvas of Gu Weijing.

This is similar to how a ballet dancer could support her body on her toes and spin on a soapbox, which amazed everyone.

just now.

Some people took the soap dish and replaced it with a needle.
-
"Friend, how many angels can stand on the tip of a needle?"

—Thomas Aquinas, *Summa Theologica*
-
If those who acquire the system equate the meaning of life with the system itself, then it's only natural that those with higher scores defeat those with lower scores.

Everything you rightfully obtain because of the system should rightfully be taken away by someone else who rightfully possesses a higher numerical level.

If we equate the meaning of painting with the golden fork in our hands.

A person who eats with a gold fork is considered more sophisticated than someone who eats with a silver fork.

Therefore, someone who can carve 1765 stripes on a gold fork is more sophisticated than someone who can carve 1764 stripes on a gold fork.

This is also a matter of course.

Gu Weijing locked himself in his studio for ten years, acquired shares in the magazine "Oil Painting," sold his works for tens of millions of dollars, and held a retrospective exhibition of his career in Switzerland. Hunter Bull, on a busy street with people and traffic, used two boxes of cheap paint and spent fifty minutes proving this to the world.

People kept flocking to the live streaming rooms of various video platforms.

We live in a fast-paced era where people read less and less, go to the movies less and less, and even find movie review videos too long to watch.

It's hard to imagine that you would stare at a crazy old guy, not saying a word, just drawing for an hour straight.

But this actually happened.

Watching an exquisite work gradually take shape under Hunter Bull's brush gives one a sense of exhilaration, as if the skill has reached the level of the Tao.

In the fast-paced internet age, the efficiency of information dissemination has reached an unprecedented level.

In the 15 minutes before the live stream started, more than 200,000 people flooded into the various online rooms.

At the Zurich Art Museum, the sheer number of onlookers brought the entire city center street to a complete standstill. Police arrived and implemented emergency traffic control measures to maintain order.

When reporters from major television stations stationed in Zurich arrived with their recording teams and cameras, millions of people around the world were watching Hunter Bull live as he copied Gu Weijing's work.

and.

The entire copying session was nearing its end.

Hunter Bull only painted half of it; he only copied the left half of Gu Weijing's "Human Comedy," and he only used the left half of his canvas.

He used tape to draw a line across the middle of the canvas, leaving the right side completely blank.

Nobody knew what Hunter Bull was trying to do; for the past half hour, he had been showcasing his true talent to the audience.

(End of this chapter)