Almighty painter

Chapter 782 Nanquan Kills the Cat
“The difference between hustle and bustle. It’s not just hustle and bustle, it’s also smoke and firework.”

Apples, with their rounded shapes, smooth skin, plump and mellow flesh, a mixture of emerald red and bright green, and a mixture of red and green light and shadow...

Hiccup. Hiccup.

Tiny bugs were wriggling in the core of the fruit.

Amid all these flawless things, the gnawing sound coming from inside and outside, which seemed to exist and yet not exist, sounded like the auditory hallucination of a mental patient.

Cui Xiaoming looked at Gu Weijing.

The other party's statement, the way he stared at the booth in front of him, along with the gnawing hiccups in his heart, were so sour that he couldn't help but pinch his fingertips.

Gu Weijing's words slightly stirred the window paper in his heart.

The paintings of Gu Weijing and Wu Guanzhong confront each other.

The painting "Water Village People" on the booth was reflected in his peaceful pupils, as if he was a messenger of God, a priest at the altar of art, climbing the long steps of the temple of art on behalf of the people around him, on behalf of Cui Xiaoming, on behalf of Cui Xiaoming.

Cui Xiaoming felt envious for a moment.

As the other person climbed up with his clothes fluttering, the gnawing sounds of the bugs in his heart became even louder and clearer.

So, in an instant, Cui Xiaoming's envy turned into jealousy and doubt.

Impossible.

He couldn't have grasped something that he couldn't grasp.

Because it doesn't exist!

It is impossible for people to grasp something that does not exist, and painters cannot paint something that does not exist.

Cui Xiaoming has no confusion.

Apples don't have worm eyes.

It's all just self-hypnosis of a hypochondriac.

Everything is just like the clever arguments and riddles of the monks in ancient times.

Sometimes someone would chop a cat, sometimes someone would kill their ancestors, and sometimes someone would put their shoes on their heads and walk out of the door.

Chopping here and there, upside down, confusing.

After all, it is just a Zen mystery that no one can understand.

Cui Xiaoming would rather understand it as some kind of performance art and verbal game.

What Gu Weijing is doing now is nothing more than some kind of performance art and verbal game.

Cui Xiaoming suppressed the little bug in his heart, and the squeaking sound surrounding his ears disappeared.

"Weijing, if this is a rhetorical contest, I appreciate your double entendre."

“But in the final analysis, I think a painting is a painting, a dot is a dot, a line is a line, and a plane is a plane. Its essence does not change because of its name. No matter what you call it, hustle, bustle, smoke or fireworks, it is essentially a work based on dots, lines and planes. No one can deny this.”

Cui Xiaoming said: "It's like a flower that blooms before our eyes, grafted from a thing and a thing."

"I didn't deny it. I always thought what you said was very good."

Gu Weijing nodded, his tone filled with sincere praise but without any self-doubt.

"Art emphasizes the combination of reality and illusion, the unity of mind and hand, and both realism and impressionism. You have already talked about the real part, points, lines, planes, black, white, gray, red, yellow, and green. So I should talk about the imaginary part."

"I hope you don't think I'm talking nonsense. Just like what you said, artistic style is not metaphysics. Mr. Wu Guanzhong said that the essence of abstraction is not nothingness. It is to summarize and extract the spirit from the work. Peel off the painted skin and touch the heartstrings with emotion."

Just like Cui Xiaoming just now, Gu Weijing pointed his palm to the far end of the picture, pointing at the willow branches hanging beside the winding arch bridge.

"Look at these lines. They are intertwined, agile and dynamic. They are not tangled, tangled yarns, but naturally grown grasses and branches, thick or thin, long or short, stretching endlessly."

"Yarn and branches, very good rhetoric, but the difference here..." Cui Xiaoming shrugged.

"No, you haven't really listened to me."

Gu Weijing directly interrupted Cui Xiaoming's attempt to interrupt.

"You just said that my speech was too abstract, so I will say something more practical."

“The difference between yarn and twigs, between hustle and bustle, between hustle, bustle, smoke, and fireworks, is not merely a rhetorical difference, but a spiritual difference.”

"Take the lines on these works for example. We all know clearly that Mr. Wu Guanzhong is a creator who pays great attention to the shaping of lines in the picture. Your analysis just now is very clear. In this regard, you explained it better than I did."

"Very good." Gu Weijing nodded.

"Let me talk about something you may not have made clear just now—"

“The spirit of art, the power of the spirit. If we only regard the lines as part of the painting style and understand the pictures as a game of colors, it is not impossible, but we may make the mistake of drawing the winding willow branches as winding wool.”

The green brushstrokes in the painting swayed in the wind, but Gu Weijing saw the power of willow branches in these wool-like entangled lines.

“The wool can be arranged into the shape of a willow branch. It can entwine, flutter, and meander with the wind, but it is not a willow branch. It lacks vitality.”

The young man stood by the booth.

He pointed his palm at the central booth, with half of his body hiding in the shadow of the booth. His palm pointing at the work was illuminated by the light from the fill light.

“When painting, we can also use our own brushstrokes to imitate those of our predecessors. They can entwine, droop, and meander with the wind. But just doing this is still just imitation, just approaching, but not reaching.”

“The empty reduction of the brushstroke itself.”

Gu Weijing paused and said, "It's like the imitation of the willow branch by the wool. It only imitates the appearance, but it lacks something in essence. What it lacks is the so-called power contained in the brushstrokes and the power contained in the spirit."

"The appearance of the brushstrokes is not the appearance of the spirit. If the painter continues to paint like this, he will always feel that something is missing in his work. He will only be able to paint with a tiny difference."

Cui Xiaoming was stunned for a moment.

He often copied his works over and over again and lingered in front of his easel, feeling proud of his work.

But Cui Xiaoming always feels that the original paintings in the display cabinets in art galleries have a more noble texture.

The works in the booth sparkled. On the small canvas, there were rippling water and brewing clouds, as if hiding the centuries of history of the Jiangnan water town.

The paintings on his easel are like delicate shells, like the musical crystal balls sold in stores. Spring, summer, autumn, and the outside world change, but in the painting, there is always the same scene, spinning back and forth with the same background music of "Merry Merry Christmas".

Cui Xiaoming is willing to regard it as a brain filter brought by status——

Miss Elena might just have a stomachache, or she might just have a sudden thought. The big shot just raised a finger, and he became anxious and restless.

It turns out.

According to Charlie Newzland, deputy editor-in-chief of Oil Painting, Manager Anna is very interested in him.

The dots, lines and surfaces casually drawn by Wu Guanzhong and Van Gogh also have unique meanings because of their different status.

A pen worth S$50 vs a pen worth a mansion on Bukit Timah Hill.

The same pen, with two different labels, should have different weights when held in the palm of your hand.

A Wu Guanzhong oil painting worth $1000 million, a Van Gogh oil painting worth $10000 million, and a $1000 copy of a painting painted by Cui Xiaoming himself.

These two works are almost the same, and it is natural that the first two look more brilliant.

The waterfall of wealth should certainly radiate the waterfall of golden light.

When he has the status of Van Gogh, when he has the same booth as Wu Guanzhong, his works can also occupy the best position in an entire special exhibition hall.

Cui Xiaoming's paintings will also radiate the same light in the eyes of the tourists surrounding him and the next generation of art students who buy tickets to copy his works.

But now.

Someone suddenly gave a different explanation.

He didn't want to listen, but he had to.

Cui Xiaoming is also a young painter who has practiced painting for more than ten years!

There is no such thing as hearing the truth in the morning and being willing to die in the evening.

But what if someone suddenly opens their mouth and points out the hidden illness you have suffered from for many years, and then raises their hand and pats the shoulder socket that always feels sore and swollen whenever it rains or blows?

Even if you are certain that the guy in front of you is a clumsy barefoot doctor or a charlatan selling miracle health drugs, you can't help but want to listen to it with a sense of surprise and doubt.

Is not it?
Gu Weijing's voice seemed like the best bait, once again tempting the non-existent bug in Cui Xiaoming's heart to gnaw. Cui Xiaoming subconsciously wanted to change the subject, but for some reason, the words turned into -

"Can you tell me more about this? For the Sutra."

"of course."

Gu Weijing's face was calm and unfathomable. "If the word wool is still too abstract, then we should say that painting is not a simple restoration of the image, but a restoration of the temperament. The temperament should include two parts, one is the restoration of the image, and the other is the restoration of the spirit."

“Painting not only records images, it also encompasses events. Do you know who is Wu Guanzhong’s most admired writer?”

Cui Xiaoming thought about it.

He didn't have much interest in literature, but he was very familiar with the habits of some celebrities in the literary and art circles.

Goethe liked Frederick's paintings.

Turner liked Byron's poetry.

And Wu Guanzhong——

"Lu Xun, of course." Cui Xiaoming replied, "Wu Guanzhong has always loved Lu Xun. Do you want to talk about Lu Xun's artistic insights?"

Lu Xun also did a lot of work in the field of art, especially art education.

For example, the Peking University emblem was designed by Mr. Lu Xun.

"No, I'm talking about Lu Xun's writings. Lu Xun's writings are powerful. I'm reading two books recently, one is Goethe's Conversations, and the other is Lu Xun's Wild Grass. There are some things I didn't understand or like before. Now I can't say I can understand them, but I like them very much. Lu Xun's writings are powerful. His power is not the kind of hysterical venting, but a kind of inner strength, a cry. His writings have a tension, and he is a noble warrior."

"Wu Guanzhong's paintings also have a similar spiritual tension. His works are about points, lines, and planes, but not just about points, lines, and planes. After observing various factors related to the scenery and various conditions related to the events, he uses points, lines, and planes to make a precise summary. He encapsulates the spirit of ever-changing beauty in his brushwork..."

……

Gu Weijing explained the painting on the booth to Cui Xiaoming.

His tone was calm, like the sunshine and the water. He would occasionally pause and think quietly, as if he had hit a reef. However, the sunshine refracted several times and the water flowed over the reef, and he continued speaking calmly.

Cui Xiaoming's face was gloomy.

He initially tried to interrupt the other person, insert his own ideas, and introduce different indirections.

Later Cui Xiaoming stopped talking.

He listened quietly.

Listening to Gu Weijing's words, or listening to the sound of the worm in my heart biting the fruit flesh.

Hiccup, hiccup, hiccup...

The real and illusory insect eggs, with the bait as nourishment, have drilled out of the hard shell and will not be satisfied to continue to be the king of some illusory infinite world in the closed fruit core.

It gnaws at the flesh.

From virtual to real, from one to two, from two to three, and from three to tens of millions.

Every word, every pause, every frown, every Wu Guanzhong, Van Gogh, and Lu Xun in Gu Weijing's words were like a curse falling on his heart.

Cui Xiaoming was beaten so hard that he had no chance to defend himself.

If this is a debate, a self-marketing competition, Cui Xiaoming has ten thousand ways to resolve Gu Weijing's moves.

But what if Gu Weijing didn’t make any move?

Doubt emanated from the emptiness in his own heart, from his own doubts, just like a strange Indian street performer playing his flute, the notes floating around, causing the snake in the basket to stick its head out with its tongue spitting out.

How should Cui Xiaoming defend himself and resolve the situation?
“…This kind of landscape is not only the concentration and expansion of points, lines and surfaces, but also the concentration and expansion of breath and spirit. Points, lines and surfaces are processes and tools, not causes.”

“The spirit is the real cause.”

"I can always feel the shadow of the small town described by Lu Xun in Wu Guanzhong's works. His brushstrokes are like Lu Xun's words, with green willows swaying and grains drying on the walls in the Jiangnan villages. It always touches my nerves."

"It is different from many ancient literati paintings. Many literati paintings depict Jiangnan, the East-flowing River, mountains and rivers, willow trees, small bridges, and talented scholars and beautiful women. But they probably won't paint village girls in red cotton-padded jackets or grains drying by the wall. That's why it seems so intimate, just like what you just told me - like a fish swimming in the water."

"When water is too clear, there are no fish. You said that if the color is too clean, there is no artistry. If the emotion is too pale, there is no artistry either. Oh, that's right."

Gu Weijing thought for a while.

"I'm not sure how to say it in English, but I can probably explain it in French. A brushstroke without connotation is [Beau (beautiful)], and a brushstroke with connotation is [Joli (beautiful)]. Beau is easy to imitate, but Joli is not."

"You, uh, uh..."

Cui Xiaoming stood there in a daze.

His face was pale and his lips were tightly pursed. When he heard these words, he suddenly became like a wooden sculpture.

Even many tourists around noticed this scene.
-
"It appeared, as expected, it appeared! The legendary reversal really happened!" The short man Yu Tianli behind the crowd also saw the drastic change in Cui Xiaoming's face, and shouted in his heart that it was indeed true.

The tyrannical and tyrannical will eventually be destroyed.

Like dust blowing in the wind.

True.

Yutian Li also felt that Cui Xiaoming's behavior at the moment was a bit strange.

Gu Weijing performed very well, and it is one thing to analyze very well.

But there is no reason for Cui Xiaoming, a young man who is good at marketing and is easy to deal with, to perform so poorly.

Whether the debate can convince the judges is one thing.

But the essence of debate is not to be speechless and not to admit defeat voluntarily.

Cui Xiaoming may not speak well, and his momentum may be temporarily suppressed by Gu Weijing, but what if he throws a tantrum and refuses to give in and makes excuses?
All are adults.

No matter how well or how reasonably Gu Weijing spoke, it touched Cui Xiaoming's heart.

If it were true, a young man like Cui Xiaoming, who is good at dealing with people, would not behave like he had seen a ghost in broad daylight.

Doesn't he know that being tongue-tied, stumbling and speechless is tantamount to admitting defeat in a debate?
If someone stands still like a stupid goose in a debate, chirping and humming for a long time without uttering a single word,

Then even if the referees and judges have subjective tendencies, it cannot save them at all.

Without looking at Mr. Charlie Newzland beside him, he was rubbing Cui Xiaoming's pen, his face full of confusion and disappointment, shaking his head and muttering to himself.

"It's too bad. Oh, it's too bad. Do young people nowadays have such poor psychological endurance? This is not good. It's very bad."

Yu Tianli was equally confused.

But he did not criticize Cui Xiaoming's performance like the deputy editor-in-chief of Newsland.

If someone who knows Japanese observes Mr. Yutian's lip shape at this moment, they will find that this Japanese scholar with a strong literary temperament and proficient in "Dream of Red Mansions" and "The Tale of the Heike" is muttering in a low voice: "Spring night dreams, dust in the wind, Zhao Gao of Qin, Wang Mang of Han, Zhu Yi of Liang, An Lushan of Tang..."
-
No matter what the audience around you think, just keep mumbling something.

None of this has anything to do with Cui Xiaoming at the moment.

Cui Xiaoming's mind went blank. The reason why his mind went blank was not because Gu Weijing's words made so much sense, like the roar of a Buddhist lion, which made his mind shake.

But it was because what Gu Weijing said sounded familiar.

He seemed to have heard it somewhere before.

【——I was intoxicated by the paintings of the Impressionists...Professor Dubay of the Academy admired me very much, but I did not like his works, which lacked passion. I decided to leave it and throw myself into the arms of Professor Su Fuerpi...He always liked to divide art into two paths: the small path of art entertains people, and the big path of art shocks people...When looking at objects and works, they are always divided into two categories, one is Beau, and the other is Joli——】

[If the teacher says someone's work is very beautiful, it may seem like praise, but it is actually criticism, so be careful.]

Seemingly praise.

Actually criticism.

Need to be vigilant.

Who said this?...

Cui Xiaoming shook his head, as if trying to find some answer in his mind which was in turmoil.

Oh, right.

He remembered—

It’s Wu Guanzhong himself.

(End of this chapter)