Almighty painter

Chapter 963 The Question of Kozens

As Professor Kozens's roar echoed through the classroom, many students in the art studio still harbored envy and even jealousy for the lucky Ed.

Because the changes happened so quickly, it's necessary to do a special review. In less than half a second, three things actually happened simultaneously—

Halfway there, the gentle and kind expression on Kezens' face suddenly vanished, replaced by a ferocious and furious look. If Yang Dekang, the teacher, had been fortunate enough to witness this scene, he would probably have been moved as well.

Tsk tsk.

His cool expression suddenly turned into a fiery one, it was practically a facial expression performance.

If the other person isn't a severely mentally ill patient, then there are indeed people in the world who are more like "Ghost Rider" than him.

"That's really authentic. Have you considered forming a CP with Mr. Yang and filming a new movie together?"

Kozens stretched his arm back, swung it around, and used the watch on his wrist as a baseball, forcefully smashing it into the face of the Irishman, whose face was filled with a clear yet foolish joy.

“Scheibe (German for shit),” he scolded.

at the same time.

Having anticipated this, Gu Weijing yanked the chair to one side, his inner monologue probably being—Oh, oh, oh, just as I expected, please don't let any blood splatter on me.

Even more amazing than Kezens, who knew what was going to happen, and Gu Weijing, who had some experience and vaguely guessed what was going to happen, was Ed.

This guy truly lives up to his reputation as a party dance prince and disco genius.

Their motor skills have been well-developed.

Perhaps due to the muscle memory developed from the professor's daily beatings, his brain hadn't quite caught up yet, watching as Kozens stretched out his arm behind him. He had already pushed off the ground with his toes, executed a tactical lean back, and flipped himself backward.

He watched helplessly as the "gold watch" flew past his cheek at a height of about one and a half feet, tracing a parabola with almost no descent, before crashing into the wall on one side of the classroom.

With a "bang," the movement popped out, scattering parts all over the ground.

The classroom was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

-

"What a disgrace!"

Kozens glanced at Ed and muttered something. Judging from his regretful expression, it was hard to tell whether he felt Ed's performance was truly shameful, or whether he felt ashamed that his fierce and powerful blow had missed Ed's nose and bruised his face.

The watercolor teacher let out a sigh of relief.

He rubbed his cheeks, and when he released his hand, he returned to his kind and amiable appearance.

"Classmates, does anyone else want to answer this question? My promise still stands."

This time, no one answered.

Even the sound of turning pages has disappeared.

Everyone stared at Professor Kozens with fearful eyes; his kind smile was far more terrifying than his usual irritable and sharp-tongued demeanor.

Irritable, manic.

Add a smiley face.

This isn't Ghost Rider, isn't this Heath Ledger's Joker?
His "Kids, does anyone else want to answer this question?" sounded almost as intimidating as "Kids, welcome to Gotham City." Ed, the last student he praised with a smile, was still lying on the ground panting.

"I suspect the answer doesn't actually exist, right? Did you make it up? Just like Miss Elena's interview?"

In the silence, Gu Weijing asked softly.

"Or rather, the answer is Samuel Kertzens."

Professor Kozens chuckled.

"It seems you do have experience dealing with this kind of thing. But, I'm sorry—I'm wrong."

"No, he exists, it's just that you are not able to answer my question. I think if Ms. Elena had enrolled in this class, she would know the answer."

"The correct answer is revealed. This is not an art theory in the strictest sense, and it has nothing to do with the Hudson River School of painting."

"That's what the professor with the square face said."

"The correct answer is Wittgenstein. Wittgenstein believed that the logical picture of facts is thought... He said—'Denk nicht, sondern schu!' Now, put your textbooks aside. Regarding color, don't think, look. The color theory of watercolor can also be based on this..."

Kozens returned to his previous state of absent-minded self-talk and began lecturing.

It was as if everything that had just happened was just a minor incident in the class that didn't need to be paid attention to, until the end of get out of class.

No one dared to remind Mr. Kozens that get out of class was over.

Even though Ed had just been so scared that he wet himself and wanted to escape from the "prison," he didn't dare.

If he were a prisoner, then his teacher, Kozens, would be the warden, and whether or not he could go out for fresh air would be entirely up to him.

at last.

The professor finished the lesson.

Instead of announcing the end of get out of class, he picked up the chalk and wrote an entire line of text on the blackboard—

"Warum soll man die warhrheit sagen, wenn en borteihaft ist zu lugen?"

Does anyone know the meaning of this sentence?

After writing that line, Kozens turned around, leaned against the blackboard, and waited with the chalk in his hand.

A local German student stirred; he didn't dare to interrupt directly, but instead shakily raised his arm.

Kozens casually tapped him.

“It is, ‘Why choose to tell the truth when lying is in one’s best interest, sir?’” the student replied.

Kozens forgot about the student like a used rag.

Such a simple question doesn't deserve his encouragement.

He turned his head and stared intently at the words on the blackboard.

"This is a sentence that Ludwig Wittgenstein wrote in his diary when he was nine years old. It was also the first philosophical question he wanted to study in his life."

“I asked Ed before if he had seen that interview in Oil Painting magazine.”

“If he had seen it, he would have realized something. There were two guests on stage at the time, facing the same question posed by the former art director of the magazine ‘Paint’: whether they knew anything about a letter by Monet or something.”

"That was a completely fictitious letter."

"The question, in essence, can be abstracted into this sentence I wrote on the blackboard: When lying is most advantageous to a person, why choose to tell the truth?"

"I watched that interview many, many times. The point that attracted me the most in the whole debate was not the emotional interviews, nor the letters and diaries... the question itself was the most attractive to me."

“Gu”.

Mr. Kozens called out Gu Weijing's name.

"Can you tell me, given your extensive experience with this question, what were your thoughts at that moment that led you to answer 'I don't know'?"

All eyes in the classroom were on the Asian students in the front row.

Gu Weijing was thinking.

Kozens wasn't in a hurry; he just waited quietly, seemingly willing to wait forever for this answer.

"I don't have any particular thoughts."

Gu Weijing said frankly.

"That time was too short, and I didn't think about much else. It's just that... maybe my grandfather told me to be an honest person."

“Oh, my grandfather told me to be an honest person.” Samuel Curtzens repeated Gu Weijing’s answer, looking dissatisfied, though his tone wasn’t exactly sarcastic; at most, he just thought the answer was too naive.

"There's a rural German saying that goes, 'A fool owns half the world,' and it seems there's some truth to that."

The other students laughed together.

Kozens shook his head listlessly.

The laughter stopped.

"Of course, another fool in this class, Ed, fell into almost the same trap. Don't laugh, he was just a clever fool who thought he had guessed my thoughts. And there were many, many more like him sitting in the classroom."

"He might not be the dumbest one, he was just the one who rushed over the most anxiously."

"I asked Ed before if he had seen the interview in *Painting* magazine. If he had, perhaps he would have been more aware and avoided falling into this trap. However, I think it's more likely that, whether you've seen it or not, anyone in this classroom will, at some point, fall into this trap—"

"Why choose to tell the truth when lying is in one's best interest?"

"You can gain huge benefits, wealth, success, and many, many things just by nodding. Why choose to tell the truth?"

The manic quality in Kozens's voice subsided.

Like a quietly flowing stream.

"Why, sir?"

Gu Weijing inquired.

"I do not know."

"Kötzens answered."

He chuckled.

"What, do you think every question has an answer? Or do you think I know the answers to every question?"

"Because lying will be punished?"

One student said.

"No, no, no, please don't misunderstand."

Kozens shook his head.

"The mistake Ed made today, was it because he lied, or because he wasn't smart enough? These are two completely different questions. I can't tell you that lying will always be punished."

"Because the same thing is happening over and over again throughout the European art world, in the past, present, and future."

“Ed didn’t know the real answer, but he thought he did—he knew the answer in my heart. So he rushed up, afraid that the award would be snatched away by someone else. I’ve been a judge for awards of all sizes in Hamburg, Berlin, Munich, and many, many places. Outside this classroom, among the people I know, I think there are many, many ‘Artists’ who also have no idea what they want to express or what they want to highlight.”

"But they thought they knew what collectors wanted, what art award judges wanted, and what gallery owners and hype experts wanted. They thought they knew which art trends were hot, which were the darlings of the capital market, and which themes would be incredibly expensive, so they rushed in."

"Bingo."

Kozens snapped his fingers.

"Not everyone is destined to fail. No, of course not. Not everyone gets hit by a watch; many people actually win trophies. They become the one who truly stands out among a thousand people on that long art street in Manhattan, New York, lined with galleries and art centers."

Gu Weijing sat in the chair.

Kozens not only threw a watch at Ed's face.

His words lashed at Gu Weijing's mind like a whip.

"Why would you choose honesty when the benefits are great enough?"

He remembered Cao Xuan asking him why he wanted to choose this style of painting to participate in the Singapore Biennale.
Gu Weijing's answer was—

"I think it's beautiful."

That's such a sly, self-righteous remark typical of young people.

What does it mean to say "it is beautiful"?

Gu Weijing was moved by the beauty of this painting style and decided to make it his own way of painting, thus choosing this style of painting.

Therefore, he said to Cao Xuan, "I think it's very beautiful."

This is because this style of painting has received very positive feedback from the international market in recent years. With the groundwork laid by predecessors, it is likely to be well-received by the judges in a setting like Singapore.

He then said, "I think it's beautiful?"

Cao Lao did not criticize himself too much. He still offered himself artistic advice and told himself that once you have chosen a path, you must continue to walk it.

“I can tell you the answer that Wittgenstein arrived at at the age of nine.”

"Kötzens said."

"One of the most brilliant minds in Austrian history, after long contemplation, arrived at this conclusion regarding the first philosophical question he pondered in his life—"

"No need."

"Yes, as a child, Wittgenstein studied, observed, and analyzed, and finally concluded that—in such circumstances, there was nothing wrong with lying."

Kozens sighed.

"How pessimistic."

"Okay, get out of class is over."

"Oh, right, Ed, if you want, you can go to the school administration office and complain about my violent teaching practices. But let me tell you, that watch is fake. But my promise is real—if any of you can actually answer it."

"Unfortunately, I know you don't."

"Then—I hope that one day, one of you will be able to stand before me and answer this question."

"I know the answer to the previous question was Wittgenstein, but as for this question, I don't know either."

Kozens tapped the blackboard, tossed the chalk aside, and strode away with unparalleled nonchalance.

The illustration classroom was quiet.
-
The sound of sawing wood could be heard from the picnic lawn on the west side of the art academy.

Don't rush to call the campus police; someone is illegally cutting down ash trees on campus.

If you walk a little closer and peek out, you'll understand.

"Oh."

Ok.

It sounds like sawing wood from a distance.
It sounds like grinding grain up close.

Let's take a closer look.
It turns out to be a world-famous painting – "Gu Weijing, a watercolor student, is playing his violin with great effort in the woods".

Life is not easy.

He performed for a living.

"Squeak, squeak."

Gu Weijing put his phone down, turned on the tuner, and squeaked it twice.

He turned the several tuning knobs up and down in a flurry, then pulled them along with a "squeaking" sound.

"Squeak, squeak... squeak, squeak, squeak..."

The sound of a zither came from the woods.

The shock caused all the birds in the forest to flee in panic.

(End of this chapter)