Almighty painter

Chapter 784: Diagnosis
Cui Xiaoming's youth was always shrouded in a faint haze, a haze of fear of not being able to succeed, fear of not being able to make it over the top, not being able to achieve fame and success, not being able to have his works displayed in the center of an art gallery one day.

The fluffy fill lights dyed the center's booth a golden color like the sun.

The carp swung its tail and leaped towards the golden narrow gate with all its might. It hit the hard golden layer and then fell down. It did not jump over the narrow gate, nor did it fall back into the water. The moment it leaped up with all its might, the river water beneath it split to both sides, revealing a bottomless abyss.

He fell into the void for three days and three nights, one hundred and eighty thousand miles, and then was smashed to pieces among the charred reefs.

When Cui Xiaoming was a child, he saw a fisherman throwing a fish to death in a forest in the countryside of Berlin.

A huge carp was struggling and flapping, and the strong man swung its tail like a baseball bat and smashed it hard onto the reef on the side, making a "puff" sound like a heavy bag full of sand thrown from the back of a pickup truck.

The surface of the carp looked intact, even its scales seemed to be intact. It continuously spit out a small string of bubbles from between its pink and white lips, and then it stopped moving.

But in Cui Xiaoming's imaginary dream, the scene was not like that.

Carp landed on the rocks.

He landed on the rocks.

It was not a "puff" sound, but a "clang" sound, like a high-legged vase being pushed to the ground, and then exploded directly into millions of tiny bubbles.

gone With the Wind.

All the carp that cannot truly jump over the Dragon Gate will be like this, drifting away with the wind in the golden sunshine, and becoming ignored in the torrent of history and money.

Oh, right.

Even the bubbles are golden.

It melted into the river water that closed again around it and became part of the bubbles and dust on the water. No one would scoop up a handful of water from the river, knowing that it was once a scale on a fish that longed to leap over the Dragon Gate.

The smog in the normal world is gray-brown like coal ash.

The haze of his youth was golden, the same color as bright youth, hidden in his smile, like golden strokes painted on a golden background, so it did not look conspicuous.

Only when the smile fades, will people discover its true existence.

Cui Xiaoming would rather die than live a lonely, deserted, isolated and insignificant life like a bubble.

If there were two carps that could cross the Dragon Gate, if there were two frogs in the world that could climb up the wall of the well.

Cui Xiaoming didn't mind being more "lenient" towards Gu Weijing, letting him be the wind that "takes advantage of the wind", the fish that takes advantage of the wind, and the frog under his feet, being stepped on by Cui Xiaoming and rising into the clouds together.

He could magnanimously hope that the other party could jump higher and higher.

But if it's the other way around.

There was a slight possibility that Gu Weijing would jump on his head and use him to leap over the dragon gate.

If only a carp could ride the wind and turn into a dragon, and a frog could enjoy the beautiful moonlit lotus pond.

Even if Gu Weijing really reached the dragon gate of art, he would grab him by the tail and pull him down. Even if he had already crawled on the bluestone beside the well and puffed up his cheeks quietly, Cui Xiaoming would kick him back into the gutter.

How about speaking well?

It sounds like Van Gogh, how about that?
Even if it was the real Van Gogh, wouldn't he have to be pitiful, lonely and destitute, wandering all his life?

The success of an artist is never just about art.

Gu Weijing's works are probably closer to those of masters than his.

But he is the youngest invited painter at the Lion City Biennale, and Gu Weijing is just an ordinary painter among ordinary painters, which is a clear example of this.

Cui Xiaoming originally wanted to use the power of art and Wu Guanzhong's paintings to suppress him.

Since I can't suppress it.

He used the curator's power and Cao Xuan's words to suppress the other party.

Gu Weijing, do you understand? No matter how good your painting is, you are just a second-rate product in the eyes of curator Mika Tonks.

No matter how well you speak, you are just a poor follower who failed when Cao Xuan wanted to imitate me, and finally had to settle for the second best way of painting!
How can a follower have the right to say that what he said was wrong and what he drew was not good?
Cui Xiaoming held his breath.

"Is there such a thing?"

Gu Weijing was also visibly stunned.

He didn't know that Cao Xuan had actually personally asked others for help for his own artistic career.

"Now I want to say that my painting is not good and there are problems with my speech, but I'm afraid it's not appropriate, otherwise——"

Cui Xiaoming took a deep breath, ready to take advantage of Gu Weijing's attempt to deny it, to say a few sharp words with enough weight to nail the other party firmly to the "pillar of shame" of the imitator, and then turned around and left.

The current situation is really embarrassing enough.

Even Cui Xiaoming has no interest in showing any artistic spirit in front of the camera.

"Maybe, I don't know, but I didn't say that your painting is bad. Is there something wrong with what you said?" Gu Weijing said softly.

Uh.

Cui Xiaoming was stunned.

Gu Weijing's reaction was calm.

A bit too peaceful.

Gu Weijing did not have the rage, shock or anger that Cui Xiaoming had imagined, which would make him want to punch him in the face.

Put yourself in their shoes.

If Cui Xiaoming was accused by someone in front of everyone in the hall of being a failed imitator and a clumsy follower of another person, he might really punch the other person in the face out of rage, shock or irritability.

A fish is about to touch the narrow golden gate. If someone dares to pull its tail at this time, how can it not hysterically swing its body and slap the other person in the face?
"I haven't seen your paintings yet, so I can't comment on whether they are good or not. But I always think that many of your art analyses make sense, and it's normal for Mr. Cao to want me to learn something from you."

Gu Weijing said calmly.

"You said that black, white, gray, red, yellow, and green are just representations. This combination of points, lines, and surfaces between Chinese and Western painting is the essence of painting, and the most basic elements that constitute the bottom layer of painting. It is the 'How', 'Why', or 'doctrine'."

"So you feel that you are on the right track. I think what you said is very good." Gu Weijing nodded.

"And I say that black, white, gray, red, yellow, and green are just representations. Whether it is Chinese painting or Western oil painting, the same spiritual power, the same beauty, the same determination to reveal something and bring something, it is the essence of painting, it is the basic element that constitutes the bottom layer of painting, it is the 'How', 'Why', or 'doctrine'."

“So I think I am on the right track, and I think what I said is also correct.” Gu Weijing nodded again, “Wu Guanzhong’s works can be displayed here not because he is called Wu Guanzhong, but because he believes in the power of art.”

"Your words have helped me a lot today, I hope mine will too."

Gu Weijing patted Cui Xiaoming on the shoulder.

"mutual encouragement."

Say it, the young man turned and left.

An inexplicable aura enveloped him, and the crowd watching the excitement naturally separated to both sides for him, quietly making way for him, and watched Gu Weijing leave step by step.

Only Mr. Ameda Rikiya huddled in the crowd, hesitantly looking at Gu Weijing's back as he left the booth, wondering if he could catch up with him.

Well, I also answered the question just now, can you give me a pen or something?

Don't be stingy!
Thank you!

……

Cui Xiaoming stood there in a daze.

what is this?
Gu Weijing did not refute his words, and Cui Xiaoming did not get the expected sense of satisfaction from picking up a fish and dropping it on the rocks or kicking a frog into the well.

He just stood there silently, staring blankly at the artist introduction at the booth in the center of the special exhibition hall.

【Wu Guanzhong (1919-2010)】

[A native of Yixing, Jiangnan, a party member, contemporary artist, oil painter, educator... an envoy of cultural exchange between China and France... at the age of 72, he was awarded the highest French Order of Arts and Culture, and at the age of 81, he was elected a Correspondent Member of the French Academy of Fine Arts...]

"At the age of 72, he was awarded the highest French Order of Arts and Letters... At the age of 81, he was elected as a corresponding member of the French Academy of Sciences?"

Cui Xiaoming read the words silently in his mind. "I will get all of this, too."

"Earlier than that, and younger than that. Much earlier, much younger," he said to himself.

……

Gu Weijing walked out of the exhibition hall with a leisurely pace, passing through the bustling crowd in the hall.

He was thinking about the conversation just now and was planning to just stroll around the exhibition hall.

But he stopped in front of the main entrance door.

Not counting the special invitation exhibition hall just now, there are a total of six works displayed at the entrance of the Lion City Biennale Master Exhibition Area, including root carvings, stone sculptures, and two oil paintings.

Gu Weijing stopped not because he was amazed by the two oil paintings.

He had seen these paintings before, or one could say that he was already familiar with them.

He stopped because Gu Weijing felt that—

It's time to give Katsuko Sakai a call.

Gu Weijing dialed the number and waited for the call to be connected.
-
The connected phone was placed on the table.

The tea was still steaming.

Miss Elena tapped the side of the paper cup with her fingers, staring at the speakerphone on her desk in a daze.

The telephone is truly a magical invention that has completely changed the way people live.

Miss Elena did not come to such an obvious conclusion from a scientific and technological perspective.

How the telephone was invented in the sultry summer of the mid-1870s, how Canadian Alexander Graham Bell and American Elisha Gray applied for the patent for the telephone in the same year, month, week, day, and morning, just a few hours apart, and how this patent dramatically changed people's communication life in the next 150 years...

This story has been told over and over again in the history of science.

Anna understood all this from a more artistic perspective - when she was in high school, she read a legendary story with a strong oriental flavor.

It is said.

In ancient times, there was a beautiful princess who was sick and bedridden. The king would not allow other men to see her. So, a skilled doctor took a red silk rope, wrapped one end around the princess' wrist behind the curtain, and held the other end in his palm. He used this silk thread to feel the princess's pulse and listen to her heartbeat, so as to determine the princess's condition and bring her back to health.

The telephone is the red thread that listens to the voice of the heart and leads to faraway places.

The first telephone line in the entire city of Gliese was laid at Irena Manor very early on. The telephone line went directly to Vienna, and from the telephone exchange station in Vienna it was connected to Schönbrunn Palace and important cities across the European continent. Eventually, all the lines were connected into a large network.

Ding ding ding.

Ding ding ding.

The fate of the empire hangs on these threads.

She imagined how people from both sides discussed politics, war, orders and conspiracies on these threads, the Schlieffen Plan, the Battle of the Somme, and the fat Churchill knitting a sweater with a big belly while calling the king. Adolf was furious and hysterical in front of the phone in Wolfsburg, and his mental state was extremely weak. He was completely crazy because of the large amount of drugs injected by his private doctor. How would this thread vibrate when Edward VIII, the Duke of Windsor who reigned for less than a year and loved beauty more than the throne, flirted with Mrs. Simpson, who was disliked by the entire British royal family, on the phone?
……

Whenever Miss Elena made a phone call to interview someone, she had a rather romantic imagination in her mind.

She would always think of this mythical Dongxia story that was like one of the Thousand and One Nights.

of course.

She must not be the beautiful princess lying in the veil.

Anna is the doctor holding the red thread.

Face-to-face interviews and conversations, the other person's facial expressions and features are right in front of you. This mode of conversation is naturally friendly and lovely, but it may also be misled by various things because it is too close.

Age, appearance, body shape, smile, what kind of coffee you order, what kind of book you hold in your hand, what kind of watch you wear...

Maybe she was misled by the other party's attitude and thought he was a young man who was easy to bribe.

Or the other party was misled by her appearance and thought she was a friendly young woman.

There is an additional risk.

If someone behaves too obnoxious, she might pour coffee on their head.

Being willful is the privilege of young people, and Miss Elena rarely uses it.

But Anna almost did it.

This kind of long-distance telephone contact, where appearance, demeanor, and dress are all invisible, can actually make many people more relaxed and bring them closer to their real selves.

When all irrelevant factors are hidden in the curtain, in front of the "famous doctor" Miss Elena, the pulse beating on the red thread extending from behind the curtain will become clearer and more direct.

It was easier for her to understand, to restore, and to write down medical notes in her notebook, recording what kind of person was behind the curtain.

For example, Mrs. Detective Cat——

Young and a little naive at times, but possessing beautiful spiritual power.

She is strong and resilient, with a natural exuberance.

Beneath the rolling smoke, there is a burning fire.

She is the noble and kind princess behind Anna's curtain.

Another example is the man on the phone right now -

Mature, confident, and well-organized, you even thought that he was a polite and respectable gentleman at first, but as you felt the vibrations on the silk thread, Anna slowly realized that he had a heart covered with green copper rust, dirty and full of holes.

Deeply hidden in the siren-like enchanting singing voice is a terrifying face with long sharp fangs that belongs to a fairy.

He is the evil spirit behind the curtain.

"Ms. K's spiritual strength?" Brother Hao on the other side seemed to sigh, "For someone who has been surrounded by wealth and money since birth, talking about spiritual strength is a bit too theoretical."

"LOVE AND PEACE, love and peace, the miracle of art... these words have been said too much. Some lies have been told a thousand times, and you believe them yourself. I'm talking about people like you, Anna Elena."

The middle-aged man said bluntly: "Irena's family never relied on LOVE AND PEACE, love and peace, and the miracle of art to win today's wealth. Your ancestors relied on wielding cavalry swords on horseback, killing people here and there in the Thirty Years' War, killing French, Danes, and Swedes, killing without recognizing relatives, and blood flowed like a river. The crown on your head was won from the blood that flowed from people's chopped-off necks."

"It's fine if you want to fool fools, but why are you still here, saying something that you don't even believe?"

"You have no respect for me at all," Haoge commented, "Of course, since I called you a bitch, I don't demand your respect either."

"But you shouldn't disrespect your own ancestors. I always think Mr. G is just too young. One day..."

Brother Hao seemed to be talking to Anna, seemed to be talking to the mysterious Mr. G, but also seemed to be just persuading himself.

"One day."

"I think, when he truly saw these things, saw the rules of how power works, saw the rules of how the world works. When he also became a real big man——"

"He will understand me."

The middle-aged man said softly: "One day."

"He should listen to our conversation today and hear about what the Elena family has done. Then he will look at the world from a different perspective."

"Some stories, like any other stories in the world, can harm or benefit people. It all depends on how the listener treats the story..." Miss Elena looked calm as she slowly recited famous passages from The Decameron in English. "Any mean person will never understand a sentence from a positive perspective, and a truly decent person will not fall even if he hears the most indecent words--"

"--Just as the mud will not taint the sun's brilliance, the dirt on the ground will not taint the beautiful clear sky." said the woman.

"The noble Miss Elena is going to defend her Elena family, which is as beautiful as the clear sky." Brother Hao laughed, "I am the dirty soil on the ground, and my words certainly cannot be tainted..."

"Do not."

"I mean, a truly noble man. If Mr. G is really like what you wrote on the Picasso painting, he is a man who wants to be the fire in the hands of Prometheus. Even if he witnessed the darkest things in the world."

"He wouldn't necessarily become different. But you are different. Even if you see something truly noble, you will be full of doubts in your heart. Mr. G loves this world, and you hate this world."

Doctor Anna gave the middle-aged man her diagnosis.

(End of this chapter)