Almighty painter

Chapter 602: Exhibition Painting: Cat (Part )
"Awang! (twist), Awang! (twist), it's a ginger cat, it makes the Yangon River restless, it's the devil among cats."

"Awang! (twist), Awang (twist), he's a ginger cat. Whenever the pantry gets robbed, the milk goes missing, or the neighbor's poodle gets beaten up, he's always there. He's the Napoleon of crime!"

——Adapted from T.S Eliot's children's poem "Old Possum's Practical Guide to Cats"

(The original text is the mysterious cat Macavity who fights against the cat detective. This image was created by the writer Eliot based on Moriarty, the enemy of Sherlock Holmes)——
Looking at the yard in front of him, Gu Tongxiang gradually became reluctant to leave.

This is where Gu Weijing and his father grew up.

It is also the place where Gu Tongxiang grew up.

It is even the place where Gu Tongxiang's father and grandfather grew up.

Gu Tongxiang is as familiar with every tree and blade of grass here as Awang is with the types of canned cat food.

The tree over there.

It was planted by his grandmother the year before he was born.

Old Man Gu had urinated there when he was a child. Fortunately, the old tree was very strong and was not burned to death by the boy's urine.

Now it is covered with green trees.

This ugly, moss-covered rock had existed when his grandfather was a child.

Generation after generation passed.

Some people were buried in the ground and turned into yellow soil and a tablet placed in the cabinet.

Some people have grown from toothless children to bald old men.

The stone did not change at all.

It still lay there as solid as a rock. One year, there was a drought in Yangon. Perhaps due to insufficient humidity, the green moss on the surface faded away, revealing the dark green stone wall.

Old man Gu even urinated on it.

But by the second year, the moss grew back, and its thickness and greenness were exactly the same as before.

Still looking so ugly.

So even though the stone was in the way, the old man did not let the construction team carry it away and throw it away when he was renovating his house.

Just let it continue to lie obediently in the corner of the yard as a remembrance of the past.

The floor of the front room of the calligraphy and painting shop over there used to be paved with wooden floors, the kind that creaked when you stepped on them.

Old man Gu also urinated on it several times.

Later, he was held down by his father and beaten severely, and finally he became obedient.

But that year.

He made money from dealing in antiques, and he lavishly renovated and modernized the calligraphy and painting shop, replacing all the old wooden floors with bright, smooth glazed marble tiles. At that time, Gu Tongxiang felt somewhat emotional as he looked at the yellowed and bubbling wooden boards.

Not just floor tiles.

There is also a wall in the inner room.

The armchair in the yard.

There is a big jar of pickled vegetables outside the window.

In front of the neighbor's house, Old Man Wu knocked it down and turned it into a small flowerbed in front of the raw stone display stand...

……

Old Man Gu reminisced about his days as a carefree kid who could pee and play in the mud freely.

Extremely sad.

These are all beautiful memories engraved with the trivial textures of life and carrying a unique youthful atmosphere.

There is no greater joy in old age than leisure.
I woke up from a deep sleep and the dream was over.

Last night, there was a drizzle of rain on the thatched eaves.
In the dream, it was called the sound of beating tent.

The ancient poet had a good night's sleep. It had rained the night before, and the raindrops slid down the eaves. In his dream, it became the sound of water hitting the boat awning in his childhood.

Gu Tongxiang didn’t know if he would be able to take a nap again in his life. He opened the window and water drops fell.

Listen to the sound of flowing water.

He seemed to have returned to his childhood overnight.

"I really have to leave. I'm really sad!"

Old Man Gu looked out the window at the empty shelves as the items began to be packed up. His heart was filled with a complex sadness that had nowhere to vent. He felt that he had a very deep emotional resonance with the great ancient poet.

I didn't even know we were in London.

Can I still run my own painting shop business?

Forget about galleries or anything like that.

The hub of a financial empire like London.

The smallest community gallery requires an investment of around one or two million pounds.

There are some small family workshops in the form of slum studios... but they are probably located in London and are not easy to come by.

Even if it can be opened.

Whose paintings can I sell?

Both he and his grandson signed with Meurice, so secretly selling paintings at home would definitely not be allowed.

The son and daughter-in-law had to start over from scratch and begin by creating some tourism art works in the downstream industry.

In fact, it doesn’t matter whether they work or not.

I am also a great painter. At worst, I can ask Gu Weijing's uncle to be my personal assistant!
But Old Man Gu knew that people always have to find something to do.

Fortunately, my whole family can speak English, so there is no communication barrier in Europe.

Life won't become boring because of this.

Gu Tongxiang touched the rough bark of the old tree beside him with great nostalgia.

When the excitement and yearning for starting a new life come, the sadness of saying goodbye to the past always fills the heart as well.

It is certainly very good to go to a European town to take a hot spring bath, soak in a spa, or get a massage.

But it can't give me the same feeling of home as this old tree.

Gu Tongxiang only hoped that in the last one or two months, time would pass more slowly, more slowly, and more slowly, giving him enough time to remember every blade of grass and every tree, and to engrave them all into his heart.

"Wandering around in the yard again! Have you finished your homework for today?"

The small door on the main gate of the yard was opened.

After a whole day of sketching in the old church, grandson Gu Weijing came in from outside holding a cat.

As soon as he entered the door, he saw the old man leaning against a tree, posing there doing nothing.

He couldn't help but frown.

I can’t get my Chinese painting techniques past Level 5 all day, maybe it’s because I’m too idle and my strength isn’t enough.

"Grandpa, I'll go back and check today's homework. I have an important phone call tonight, so I won't have time to teach you. Just copy the next three pages of the Mustard Seed Garden Painting Manual as you did yesterday... If you have enough time, study the rolling cloud texture method. We'll make up for today's lesson tomorrow morning."

Gu Weijing patted his classmate Old Gu on the back beside the tree to show encouragement.

"Come on. You always say that studying is like taking Chinese medicine, it will pass after a while of bitterness. You can do it."

Then he walked towards home without looking back.

Awang poked his head out from Gu Weijing's shoulder, stared at the old man Gu, whose face was dull, eyes were empty, and legs were trembling, and uttered an ambiguous "meow".

Gu Tongxiang looked at his grandson's back as he went upstairs.

He looked at the old tree beside him again.

"Damn it, how many days are left before I can pack up and send my grandson away! I want to go to England to be a great painter, I want to go to Belgium to soak in hot springs, I can't stay here for even a moment."

Old man Gu slapped the tree trunk wildly in grief and anger.

The old tree, which had been urinated on countless times by Gu Tongxiang when he was young, responded with a rustling sneer as its branches and leaves swayed.
-
Gu Weijing pushed open the door of his bedroom, put Awang on the ground, closed the window, turned on the air conditioner, and then locked the door from the inside.

After washing my hands, I sat in front of the computer, put on headphones, and adjusted the software.

Today, when he was collecting materials at the Good Luck Orphanage, his agent sent him a message and made an appointment to discuss the exhibition in the evening.

Soon, the voice in the chat room was connected.

"Hello, Mr. Sloth." Gu Weijing greeted.

"Hello, Ms. Detective Cat."

The other side responded.

"Before we officially start the evening—"

distance.

Miss Elena did not go straight to the topic of conversation as usual, or share with the other party the latest progress related to the art exhibition.

She glanced down at the printed document in her hand, her tone slightly excited.

To Miss Anna.

It is not easy to make her show obvious happiness.

She sits in her office every day, interviewing painters who are at the top of the artist rich list, and every word she writes on paper makes the tinkling sound of money colliding.

The past hundred years.

The storm in the European art world revolves around Oil Painting magazine.

The successive managers of the visual arts section are the art leaders who approve the content of each issue of the magazine and decide the direction of the articles.

They sat at the desk in silence, as if they were sitting in the eye of a hurricane.

The warm sunlight shines in through the window, but I can vaguely hear the sound of the wind in the boundless silence.

Many people who have struggled for this all their lives, when they have passed all the tests, have certificates of French Academician or Royal Society of Arts hanging on their walls and a knight's medal on their chests.

When the fat man with gray hair pushed open the office door and was qualified to sit down on the chair on the top floor of the magazine.

You will instantly become deeply fascinated by the feeling of being able to stir the artistic atmosphere as easily as stirring coffee with a spoon.

Drinking coffee and writing articles.

between hands.

It determines the fate of one great painter after another.

They are the golden scales in Egyptian mythology, the god Anubis, the judge of death, who weighs the weight of an artist's heart and feathers.

If you adjust them up one star in the buyer's guide to "Oil Paintings", that person will ascend to heaven.

Collectors flocked in waving banknotes.

They were able to move into a mansion in Honolulu, Hawaii, with horse stables and tennis courts.

The interview was not effective. The art manager of Oil Painting thought the interviewee was vulgar, had no inspiration, no keen social insight, and had crude techniques.

Or it may be because the other person is unhygienic, does not brush his teeth properly, has bad breath, has uncut nails, and his left foot entered the office door before his right foot.

Especially in the field of modern art and avant-garde art, the level of art is a matter of personal opinion.

Then the other party will be in trouble.

They can hate each other for any reason.

Then they come up with some high-sounding reasons to blast the other party.

A buyer’s guide that drops half a star is enough to keep a top-notch millionaire artist tossing and turning at night.

Sail against the current.

If you don't advance, you will retreat.

The art market is like climbing a mountain. A painting can be sold for $10,000, $30,000, $100,000, $500,000, $1 million, or even $10 million. As long as there is confidence in the market.

The collectors are full of enthusiasm.

Whose work do you think can add value?

With the game of passing the flower by beating the drum, they rushed through one checkpoint after another.

"Oil Painting" magazine can increase the value of a little-known painter by more than 10,000 times within ten years.

But once the confidence is lost, the spirit will be lost.

Then the fall will be super scary.

Rumors in the world.

Because "Oil Painting" lowered its recommendation index from six stars to five and a half stars, and the financial crisis also hit.

Hirst's big sale was a flop.

At the most critical moment in 08, it was the buyers controlled by Gagosian who rushed into the auction house with mountains of cash and spent hundreds of millions of dollars to take over the auction.

It is just to stabilize the collectors' investment confidence.

If the buyer's guide for "Oil Painting" were to be adjusted from top to bottom by two or three stars.

The snowball rolled down from the top.

It can directly destroy market confidence.

Artists tend to spend money lavishly.

Many of the painters who moved into mansions with stables and tennis courts in Honolulu, Hawaii, may not be able to pay their annual property taxes and have to declare bankruptcy the following year.

For them, this is hell on earth.

God can only decide whether a person goes to heaven or hell after death.

However, "Oil Painting" magazine can judge the lives of painters while they are still alive.

This feeling of COSing as a god in the human world can bring a huge sense of power.

Power brings pleasure.

It was in his position as programme manager that Sir John Brown earned the title of "Pope of Art" among his colleagues in the critics' circle.

Anna is probably the most different manager of the visual arts program in history.

Maybe she is too young.

Maybe she is too rich.

Perhaps it was because she had been sitting in a wheelchair since the moment she was born, and she was accustomed to observing the changes in the world from a very slow and long-distance perspective.

Even without bodyguards.

The halo of "Countess Irene" bubbled up on the day Anna was born. The infant was held in the arms of the last crown prince, old Archduke Otto Habsburg, who came to congratulate her, the last mark left by the distant Austro-Hungarian Empire in the world.

The moment when the entire estate was decked out in pink.

It has already expanded to all sides.

It pushes everyone away, leaving a vacuum that ordinary people can never approach.

The sun rises and sets.

Students from the school were running and walking in groups laughing and joking from afar.

When they looked at the girl in the wheelchair from afar with envy, jealousy, or strange eyes.

Anna was also observing those people with their own thoughts from a distance.

Don't get it wrong.

This is not a story about a lonely ugly duckling who was expelled from the group and felt inferior because of not fitting in. It was not until one day when Cinderella got on the pumpkin carriage, put on the crystal shoes, and grew white feathers that she realized that she was actually a white swan. This is an inspirational story in youth literature about a girl breaking out of her cocoon and becoming a butterfly to overcome her inferiority.

It is not what Prince William wrote in his memoirs that when he was in school, he was often kicked because he was a little thin. Everyone said that they kicked his butt, the kind of organized school bullying that kicked the future King of England.

Anna has always been very clear about how beautiful she is and how good her family background is since she was a child.

Even if she is a cripple, she is the luckiest cripple in the world.

Who can bully her?
With just a slight smile from her, those screaming little boys would gather together and "duel" with each other.

She has never been self-deprecating.

Anna just doesn't fit in.

If you want to describe it specifically.

It's not so much the ugly duckling and the white swan.

It would be better to say that when she was very young, Miss Elena felt like a sloth.

She sat quietly on the branch, watching the monkeys chirping all around her, jumping in pairs from one side to another, and then jumping back from one side to another.

They held up bananas and peaches and wiggled their red buttocks to show her under the tree.

She didn't feel excited, nor did she feel powerful.

I just feel like laughing.

This is also the reason why when she anonymously opened her own podcast salon, she casually named it "Mr. Sloth".

She lives alone in the bustling city, with a pace different from everyone else.

Miss Elena's personality... to put it nicely, she has a unique calmness; to put it more weirdly, she can be said to have a unique pretentiousness.

It's ok.

Anna is Anna, no matter how others call her, she can accept it calmly.

Miss Elena spent five billion dollars to buy the position of the youngest manager in the history of Oil Painting magazine. In theory, this was the first step for her to take back her own magazine from Sir Brown.

Even Miss Anna herself felt that she should come here to achieve her ambitions.

Judging from the results, she coped well.

From the process point of view, Miss Elena felt a strong sense of alienation.

An unconcealable boredom.

There are interesting parts in the work, such as the interview with Cao Xuan, and the process of forcing one great painter after another to open their mouths, waving a small whip, and forcing them to tell her the most hidden desires in their hearts.

But what we see more often are still fake faces.

The tranquility that a woman sitting in the eye of the wind can feel is a very strange tranquility.

She could find a roadside coffee shop and chat and interview the other person like an ordinary friend.

You can go to the artist's private party table and interview him over a family dinner with his wife and children.

You may also be allowed into the other person's studio to interview them while admiring their new works that they are preparing for the London Art Fair or their personal art exhibition in Florence, which they "hope will shock the world."

Interviews at any time, anywhere.

Committed to showing readers the most natural, authentic and vivid review articles that are close to the living conditions of top artists and the preparation process of top art exhibitions - this is the exclusive honor and special authority of Oil Painting magazine.

the strange thing is.

The more I want to get closer to this "nature" in the interview, the more I want to restore this "reality" in my writing.

The more Anna felt it, the more she felt it.

In most cases, this is a false reality and a deliberately made-up nature.

This may not be intentional on the part of the artists.

When you hold the enormous power to control the other person's destiny.

Everyone wants to be different.

Like a blooming peacock, he showed her his most "artistic" side.

Even if you are just standing in a private studio, silently observing the other person's creation without saying a word.

The other party will also show extra nervousness and unnaturalness.

The unnatural results are similar, but the specific presentation states vary greatly.

Perhaps it is the harmonious and warm atmosphere deliberately created by the family that was not harmonious in the past.

Maybe it's for the sake of appearance that I force my kids, who want to play games, to read storybooks after dinner.

Maybe it's because he wears a bucket hat with rainbow lace on his head to express his support for political correctness.

In short.

Seeking fame and fortune, everyone wants something from her as an art manager.

So Anna knew it very well.

What she sees is often what the other party deliberately wants her to see.

Life has returned to the feeling of alienation and boredom when I was in school, sitting on a branch, watching a bunch of monkeys twisting their butts, as if I was standing on the bottom of the sea looking at the sky through a layer of water.

just now.

Those who shook their buttocks towards her changed from young people with raging hormones to gray-haired, respected pillars of the European art world.

Once Miss Irina even noticed.

The master who will open a personal art gallery in the Uffizi Gallery in the second half of this year, in the most magnificent rose of Florence, the "City of Flowers", has an obvious rough mistake in the transition of the light and dark boundary in the upper right corner of the portrait in the exhibited drawing in her studio.

A better treatment would be something like that used in Adolf Menzel's Studio Wall "The Cane".

That is, to show the changes in the gloss of the body along the character's arms, so that the work gradually changes from dark to light.

Instead of this kind of stereotyped connection without any intervals.

Anna's first reaction was that this was an "art academy student-level" mistake that should not appear in the work of such a world-class art master.

Is she trying to express some unique creative concept to the audience? Not really.

Between thoughts.

Anna saw the master painter, whose net worth ranks among the top ten female artists in the world, looking at her quietly. She smiled and asked, "Ms. Elena, can you give me some advice on my creation?"

In an instant.

Miss Elena understood the other party's thoughts.

That's right.

The other party really wants to convey something different to the audience.

But the only audience was her, Anna Elena.

The other party deliberately left an easily visible flaw in the work and then asked for her advice.

Anna understood.

The other party must be waiting for her to point out the problem, and then "surprise"ly correct it.

This provided Anna with the emotional value of showing her majesty, and when the work was officially exhibited, she also felt a sense of participation in the work.

She will feel that she has participated in the creation of this painting.

Naturally, from a subjective standpoint, one will be willing to lean towards the other party, and will even not hesitate to write articles to praise and commend them.

She got the face, and the other party got the substance.

What a brilliant idea.

So Miss Elena just smiled, nodded, and said nothing. The other party continued to deliberately guide her to notice the flaws in the picture, and was almost about to give her the answer.

Anna never got an interface.

(End of this chapter)