Almighty painter

Chapter 984 The Painter Who Gains Attention
“I know,” Sarah said.

Deckard Anron, who longed for the old lady's approval and support, was taken aback by the answer.

This statement is too detached from reality.

The leaves turned yellow in autumn—"I know."

Yesterday's coffee had too much sugar in it—"I know."

"My art exhibition was not successful."

"I know."

This was not the answer Deckard Anlen was hoping for, because the assessment "I know" itself does not carry any moral judgment.

It is neither a compliment nor a praise.

It wasn't as strongly derogatory as when she was arguing with Anna downstairs.

When she uttered the word, the female critic Sarah appeared as cold as ice, as if she were describing a natural law without any emotion.

The course of nature is constant.

It did not exist for Yao.

It will not perish for Jie.

“So—” Deckard Anlen asked tentatively.

Big sister, is there anything I can do for you?

An exhibition of paintings by such a lovely painter as him, which Sarah cherishes and appreciates, has been met with indifference and unfair treatment. Shouldn't you do something about it?

Go away and get angry!

Go and stand up for what's right!

He thought it would be great to donate a "Dyke Anron" museum! He thought the land next to the MoMA Museum in New York, which houses many of Andy Warhol's works, was a good place to buy for a few hundred million dollars.

On this point, Deckard Anlen must criticize Sarah.

We need to get moving. Procrastination is unacceptable; if we keep putting it off, he'll just collapse to the ground. Look at how Miss Elena does it! That's true pragmatism. No matter who the opponent is, Anna never tolerates Miss Elena's bad habits.

Spray it if you feel like it.

Just do it.

Look at how she treats Gu Weijing!
If Anna Elena were standing here today, some of these people's photos would already be stuck on the wall, used for dart practice!
This needs to be studied seriously.

The painter Anna cares about has been treated unfairly, and Deckard Anron believes that the other party will definitely not just say "I know" and let it go.

"Perhaps... we can do something to change this situation."

Anlun tried his best to make his voice sound as passionate as possible.

He doesn't daydream about donating an art museum. Given the circumstances and the way he's described, shouldn't we write a special interview with Deckard Anlen?

"why?"

The old lady's tone was neither warm nor cold.

Deckard Anlen didn't understand.

"You liked my art exhibition... but it wasn't very successful."

"It was a complete failure," the old woman said maliciously.

I'm so angry!
But Deckard Anlen tolerated it.

He grinned.

“It was a complete failure.” Deckard Anron took a deep breath. “I believe that if you were willing to write an article about it, you might be able to change many people’s opinions of that exhibition.”

"Yes."

Sarah nodded.

“But…why do that?” the art director repeated.

The old lady turned her head and looked at Deckard Anlen's bewildered face.

What a silly child.

Sarah decided to kindly "give him a pointer".

“In that case, I would lose my reason for liking it, and it would no longer be the most interesting and noteworthy exhibition at the Maes Gallery in recent years in my opinion.”

Deckard Anlen stood there dumbfounded.

There must be something wrong with his or this old woman's language and logic abilities.

“The reason I like it is precisely because it was a failed art exhibition. I think its worthiness of attention lies precisely in its lack of attention,” Sarah said gently. “Do you understand?”

"This exhibition embodies the most perplexing quality in the art world—a painter who doesn't understand what he wants to do creates works that he himself doesn't understand. He achieves success without understanding why he is doing it, and then fails without understanding why he is doing it."

"He wanted to use a comical dance in front of the campfire to call upon the god of wealth."

"The god of wealth has long since departed from him."

"Nothing could better reflect the pervasive sense of bewilderment in modern society, a bewilderment that is itself so alluring. As for that exhibition—it was so boring that you wanted to run away. I believe Ms. Elena's article made it very clear."

"Mr. Anlun? I've heard that color illustrations can have a certain auxiliary therapeutic effect on the rehabilitation of children with autism. Have you considered practicing medicine?"

Deckard Anlen stood there, stunned.

To depict Mr. Anlun's feelings in a cartoonish style, one would probably paint his face orange-red and draw thick smoke like a steam train above his head to express his inner emotions of shame and anger, his face turning red and green in turns, and his intense hatred.

Actually.

Deckard Anlen's expression didn't change noticeably.

He stood there for a while.

His eyes dimmed.

Losing interest in everything in the room, he turned around and walked out, looking dejected.

"Mr. Anlun."

Just as Deckard Anlen was about to leave the studio, Sarah called out to him.

Deckard Anlen felt he didn't need to endure these insults any longer, but... he couldn't help but stop in his tracks.

"You just asked me a question: if Andy Warhol were alive today, how would he see all of this here?"

Sarah said.

"I'm not quite sure. My career spanned the most glorious era of Pop Art, so I can't say I liked it, but I didn't hate it either."

“Unlike Ms. Elena, I tend to maintain a distance and vigilance towards all painting methods and all schools of painting.”

“I haven’t had much contact with Andy Warhol, so it’s hard for me to answer your question. But I think if the so-called ‘Pop’ spirit really exists, and if Andy Warhol were standing here today, he probably wouldn’t be asking for my opinion like a baby wanting to be nursed, or seeking affirmation from an authoritative art critic in order to have the courage to continue.”

What if I don't like him?

Sarah thought for a moment.

"Maybe he'll just shrug it off, or maybe he'll give me the middle finger."

"I do not know."

"However, you're right. I do think that Gu Weijing isn't the kind of superstar Andy Warhol was looking for his whole life. Perhaps Hunter Bull is closer to that, after all, he's so much like Elvis."

The old lady inserted her fingers.

He glanced around at the art studio, which was neither too big nor too small.

"Edward Munch's works represent a kind of eternal anxiety. So when a generation of modern people is lost, what medicine should be used to cure it?"

...He strolled up the stairs with great enthusiasm, only to be beaten so badly by the ninety-year-old woman that his head was covered in bumps, and then staggered down the stairs as if his soul had been sucked away by a demonic storm.

Those students who have participated in the master program interviews would probably feel a sense of unease upon seeing such a scene.

It turned out that he was in front of the art director of "Oil Painting".

The world's top 100 most influential painters and their students who have not yet graduated are no different in their behavior.

Deckard Anlen lowered his head and left as if he had lost his soul.

He originally intended to walk out the door without looking back and leave this place of sorrow.

Miss Elena raised her hand and slapped him across the face.

Ms. Sarah patted his head with a kind smile, then did a 360-degree spin around him, delivering a powerful slap across the face in an extremely difficult pose.

have to say.

The old lady is really skilled.

As Deckard Anron passed through the first floor, he saw several reporters interviewing Gu Weijing by the coffee pot in the open kitchen. He also saw Miss Elena sitting in her wheelchair, crumpling a piece of paper from a sugar cube and casually tossing it into a small wastebasket a few meters away.

Mr. Anlun frowned, his heart suddenly clenching.

He recalled the legend that Miss Elena had practiced darts to the point where she could hit the bullseye from several meters away.

"Perhaps... any strange rumor, in its initial stages, has some basis in fact?"

The relationship between rumors and facts is like that of Rembrandt and his wife, who, based on stories from vernacular novels, dressed themselves up as Eastern princes in their paintings.

Although it is far from the truth, there are indeed Eastern kings in the world.

After leaving the house, Deckard Anlen kept thinking about what he had seen in the studio.

Green soft board.

Pins.

Ms. Elena, who throws paper balls... So, what about the ferocious beast that Ms. Elena keeps at home, the one that devours all the works she's not satisfied with?
-
Campus Announcement:

"Regarding the report received that a student claimed to have seen a dangerous cougar in the woods southwest of the school, the campus police office confirmed after reviewing CCTV footage that the cougar he saw lying in the grass at a distance was actually a large orange cat weighing over 20 pounds. This cat belongs to a second-year watercolor student and has been fully vaccinated; it poses no danger. The alert has been lifted, and students and faculty are urged not to panic."

—Hamburg Academy of Fine Arts Campus Police Office: "Fake News! 'Puma' Sighting is a Misconception"
-
"So, Bro, what the media is saying is true?"

In the dormitory.

Viktor knocked on the door, holding his phone.

"You're going to hold an art exhibition?" His eyes widened, like copper bells.

Gu Weijing nodded.

A solo art exhibition?

Gu Weijing continued to nod.

"At the Louvre?"

The new semester has begun, and Viktor has been busy studying his incredibly long schedule, which seems to require a time converter. He's been working non-stop every day.

While he was having lunch in the school cafeteria and browsing industry news, he came across a news article about the upcoming solo exhibition of one of its contracted artists by the Maes Gallery, with Maes III telling the media that he was "full of confidence" in the exhibition.

Viktor glanced at it twice, then almost ate the mixed vegetables on the plate up his nose.

He browsed through it many times.

OMG.
He stopped eating the food on his plate and ran back from the self-service cafeteria on the east side of the campus.

"This June, at the Louvre in Abu Dhabi. It was just a very small exhibition. Ten paintings, not a large-scale event."

Gu Weijing then spoke up to confirm the question that Viktor had asked like a broken record.

"Wooo!"

Viktor tilted his head to the side, his mouth wide open, the skin around his eyes stretched thin, and with this facial expression reminiscent of a black stand-up comedian, he vividly expressed his inner shock.

That was a solo art exhibition.

That's the Louvre Abu Dhabi.

It is said that the princes of the Middle East are all incredibly wealthy.

As a future art academy "professor" with a clear career plan, Viktor understood all too well what this meant.

Viktor always felt that Gu Weijing's university life was somewhat lukewarm, with so much time on his hands, and he wondered where he was wasting it.

just now.

The story has become magical.

The impact of this news on Victor was like having your classmate tell you one day, "Bro, I need to take a day off. I'm going to be the lead singer for Queen's tour next month."

In Victor's mind, he wouldn't trade his chance to hold an art exhibition at the Louvre for the lead singer of Queen, even if someone offered to do so.

Viktor stood in front of the dormitory for a long time, his expression quite interesting.

He seemed to have a lot to say, but in the end, he was too shocked to know how to begin.

"Congratulations."

All his emotions boiled down to one sentence: "Williams and the like are nowhere near as good as you."

Are you going?

Gu Weijing began, "During the preparation period for the art exhibition, there were some confidentiality agreements and such that I didn't tell you. But I can invite you to see my art exhibition."

"October 6th?"

"Yes, it officially opens on June 7th."

Viktor seemed quite interested, but after thinking for a moment, he shook his head. "Never mind, I need to prepare for exams and finish my final paper by then."

"I'll take care of it for you, including the round-trip tickets."

Gu Weijing said, "I'll give you a formal VIP invitation. Even Professor Kozens should give me face. And I think there will be some unexpected surprises at the exhibition."

Marketing should be done in stages.

The exhibition previews released so far are just some vague news.

Gu Weijing thought that introducing Viktor to his agent at the exhibition would be more likely to get him a letter of recommendation than trying his luck at the photography studio.

But Victor thought about it.

He still shook his head and refused.

"Forget it, I'd better focus on my final exams." Victor's teeth were very white. "This is your party, have fun. I'll be keeping an eye on the news about the art exhibition."

He waved.

"Good luck, great painter."

"You too, Professor. If you change your mind, you can let me know anytime."

……

It wasn't just Victor who rushed to the door.

Ma Shi Gallery has a very solid media promotion channel, and news of Gu Weijing's solo exhibition has gradually been exposed in the media.

After living in Hamburg for a year and a half, Gu Weijing, who had always been unknown, experienced a huge change in his campus life.

First of all.

Gu Weijing's daily viola forest recitals are no longer short of listeners.

(End of this chapter)