Almighty painter

Chapter 751 Adaptation
“I wrote email after email, drank coffee in the early morning to revise the curatorial plan again and again, and then received formulaic replies one after another. In the end, I no longer expected to receive the approval news. My only hope was to be scolded. God, no matter what reply I gave me, even if it was an email to criticize the exhibition I curated as just a bunch of children playing house-like shit?”

The middle-aged curator sipped his champagne glass.

"That would at least let me know where the problem is."

"As long as it doesn't start with those 506 words, an email that is completely polite and nothing but polite. Anything is fine...anything is fine. Really."

Micah Tonks leaned over, resting her belly on the railing of the hotel balcony, and ran her fingers over the delicate water-pattern carvings on the wooden handrail that had been renovated a few years earlier at the Raffles Hotel.

He looked at the sea illuminated by lights in Singapore, and the art center in the distance that looked like the brightest lantern on the coast.

For the next two weeks, the art center will “belong” only to him.

"I waited for three full months, during which time I also tried other ways to attract sponsors, needless to say, all of which failed. When I received the seventh reply with the same content, I finally couldn't stand it anymore. If I kept waiting like this, my first independent curatorial project in my life would end in a miserable failure, if I wasn't sued as a fraudster... The only sponsor I successfully brought in began to threaten to sue me. He gave me half of the money for the tax refund policy and had already submitted tax documents. And if I promised that the entire exhibition would come to nothing, there might be some legal risks, and I didn't think about this at all... In short, that was my first independent curatorial project in my life, without insurance, curatorial assistants, lawyers, marketing consultants, and most importantly - no experience."

"In short, I have nothing except dreams about art."

Tonks took another sip of her champagne.

Behind the blue curtain behind him, a faint burst of joyful laughter came. Gu Weijing didn't know if it was because Lao Yang had just told some humorous anecdote.

The noise in the banquet hall was partially blocked by the thick curtains, but the lower-frequency sound that was able to penetrate the walls and curtains was heard far away in the Singapore night.

The curator was immersed in the laughter behind him. Against this joyful background, his blue eyes, which seemed a little spooky, showed unprecedented fatigue.

He seemed completely immersed in the unbearable memories of his twenties.

"It's a mess," Tonks said softly.

"After lying in bed and staring at the ceiling for three hours one night, I changed my coat, packed my exhibition design book and printed PPT in my suitcase, and rushed to the train station. I spent a few more hours on a bench outside the train station before sunrise, and at dawn, I jumped on the earliest train to Edinburgh. I found the address of their office on the official website, but I couldn't get into their small three-story office building. The staff never communicated with visitors without an appointment."

"Do you know how I do that?" Tonks asked.

Gu Weijing shook his head.

"Wait," Tonks said.

"I arrived at the door of the office building at seven in the morning and waited for twelve hours. When they came to work, I stood there waiting. When they had lunch at noon, I stood there waiting. When they got off work in the evening, I continued to wait there. Then I stayed in the nearest youth hostel at night. I continued the next day. No one would talk to me. If I took the initiative to pester them, I would be asked to leave by the security guard. I knew the rules, so I didn't say anything and just waited there, like a strange visitor whose name was not on the appointment list, so his waiting would never end."

“I just waited for three days.”

"On the fourth night, when the office was closed and most people had left, a middle-aged man walked out of the office. He looked like a successful person with power and a wealthy family." Tonks shrugged. "He was in his forties or fifties, wearing high-end leather shoes, a Rolex watch, and driving a Jaguar."

"He walked across the street and got into the car, but didn't start it immediately. After hesitating for a while, he opened the door and walked towards me."

"He seemed to know what I was here for at first sight. Applying for sponsorship? He asked. I nodded. He smiled at me and said sorry, we have a complete review and evaluation process here, but you can give me your information and contact information. I handed him all the documents prepared in my briefcase, and immediately said, sir, this is the case, I have an exhibition plan about..."

Tonks shook her head.

"He waved his hand and said there was no need to talk anymore. I could go home first. Professional staff would review and evaluate my project. I just need to wait for notification. If -"

"If no further notice is received within 12 working days, it will be deemed that the project has not passed the review." Tonks smiled bitterly. "He was halfway through his words when I interrupted him. I said, I have memorized all this, sir, please, give me a chance, don't give me a perfunctory answer, please. I know you may throw it into the trash can as soon as you turn around. Please, I am really serious about this exhibition. Please... give me a chance, I just want a chance to be taken seriously."

“I’m not a liar. I’m more serious than those curators and I have more ideas. I only need very little money to do better than them.”

Tonks turned her head and looked at Gu Weijing beside her.

He stretched out two fingers, pointed at his own eyes with his index and middle fingers, and then pointed at Gu Weijing's eyes, his voice serious and low.

"I said, please, sir."

"That guy still looked like he didn't really care, so I was a little angry. I felt that these people never really cared about art. I don't know where the courage came from, I suddenly yelled at him, you can get tens of millions of pounds of special art grants from the British government, but you are never willing to look down and take a look at what kind of life the grassroots artists are leading! You drive a Jaguar, wear an expensive watch, get free tickets, sit in the first row of the opera house to watch musicals, sit under the spotlight and receive applause from the audience and thanks from the actors, and regard yourself as a patron of art. But it is obvious that a little bit of resources from your fingers can change the fate of some grassroots practitioners, but you are unwilling to do it. I am almost going crazy in order to make exhibition plans! You took it in your hands, but you didn't even give me a chance to take a look. I am really fed up with this whole set of bureaucratic style, I understand your thoughts. I said-"

Tonks supported herself on the balcony of the hotel with her hands, and two streams of hot air seemed to come out of her nose. Under the light of the hotel behind her, the side of her face was almost coated with a hard and bright luminous light like the hands of a military watch.

Gu Weijing looked at the curator's profile and wondered in his heart if he was so angry that day that he smashed the briefcase in his hand on the head of the person opposite him.

Who knows.

Soon, Tonks lowered her head, and the hard lines on her face shrank into the shadow of her body, becoming dim.

Today's big shot in the art world, the middle-aged curator with a small belly, has become, in the lightless darkness, the young man who stands in front of other people's office doors day after day just to seek a few thousand pounds in exhibition subsidies.

"I say - please, sir. Take a look at my exhibition plan. If there is anything you are not satisfied with, I can change it. I can change everything."

It clearly started out as an angry and passionate outburst, but by the end, it turned into a low and humble “Please, sir”.

It seemed as if this was a true reflection of his emotions at that time, as if all of this was a rhetoric carefully designed by Tonks to attract the other party's attention, and it also seemed as if all of this was nothing.

It doesn't make any sense.

It is merely the powerlessness and helplessness brewing in people's hearts that are combined together and transformed into a sigh.

"Did you impress him?" Gu Weijing asked.

"Impressed? Well, I guess I caught his attention. I don't know if the gentleman has seen many people like me, or he has never seen anyone like me, but he must have found it interesting and smiled softly. It was the kind of smile that an adult would give to an angry child who is ignorant." Tonks also smiled softly, "He turned around and walked back to the office, waved his hand, and motioned that I could follow him."

"My guess was right. The man was one of the senior managers of the Art Foundation. I followed him into the room. It was a fairly large office, but it was not spacious at all. It was filled with several huge filing cabinets. Each of those filing cabinets was nearly three meters high. In order to reach the top layer of space, you needed to use a special small ladder standing next to it." Tonks raised her left hand high above her head and gestured to Gu Weijing that it was a very large and tall filing cabinet anyway.

"He asked me if I knew how many applications for arts grants they receive every year. I said I didn't know, and he replied that there were tens of thousands. In theory, all Scottish artists, all art exhibitions held on Scottish soil, and all art exhibitions related to Scottish culture were covered by their grants. Whether it was a tour of a national treasure-level opera singer or a young man who wanted to curate an exhibition about sheep. I said it was dairy products, and he said it didn't matter what it was. Anyway, if the money in the fund was distributed equally to each grant application received, even if they had 150 million pounds, maybe each one wouldn't even be enough to buy a fish fillet." "Now that offices are already internet-based, the man told me that the project applications I could see on these filing cabinets were only a small part of the applications received by the foundation in the past few years, not all of them. He casually pulled out a folder and handed it to me. It was an application for a subsidy from the Scottish Opera for the renovation of the theater, for million pounds. He said that the general manager of the opera house told him that many of the furnishings in the opera house were from the s and s. Now even the ceiling is leaking constantly. If the money is not obtained, the opera house is likely to close down in the next few years."

"The Scottish Opera should be a very good opera house, right?" Gu Weijing asked.

"The best. To be exact, the second best in the UK. In various local rankings, it's second only to the Royal Opera House," Tonks replied.

"Is it true that the second best opera house in the UK was forced to close because of a leaking ceiling?" asked Gu Weijing.

"I think there should be some exaggeration, right? An opera house of this level always gets a lot of government funding every year, and there are also sponsors from the Oldmoney family. Maybe the opera house's furnishings are really half a century old and look old and shabby. But the annual use rights of a VIP box are sold for 1000 pounds, which should not be a big problem. It is more of a symbol of upper-class status. But the content written in the application may not be all false. The classical art industry is short of money. A top-quality violin may be worth million pounds, but in difficult years, some well-known symphony orchestras may not be able to pay their backup musicians. Surviving and living well are completely different things."

The curator nodded and shook his head.

"At least the application document in my hand was written with great sincerity. It contained renovation plans, engineering design documents, photos of the furnishings in the opera house that were soaked and moldy by rain, and a joint letter from the opera house's manager, artistic director, conductor, and more than 150 musicians, performers, and staff. I flipped through two pages of the letter, which was really heartfelt and tearful. It looked as if without this subsidy, Scotland's cultural undertakings would suffer an irreparable and devastating blow. I also saw the signatures of several world-class performers on it."

"None of this is the point. The point is - the man showed me the folder and said... young man, you see, the truth is always simple. We only have one glass of water, but all the artists in Scotland are stretching their necks to find water in this glass. Whoever drinks one more drop, others will drink one less drop."

"There are always people who die of thirst." The man said to me, "There are always people who die of thirst. Most artists in this world are unsuccessful, and so are most curators. This is a fact. Those who die of thirst are those who are proven to be unsuitable for this industry. Those who are suitable for this industry will desperately find water to drink. I'm sorry, but this world is so cruel."

"You said you worked very hard, harder than anyone else. You may think you did better than anyone else and deserved the subsidy more than anyone else. But every application you saw in this cabinet is written in this way. Everyone who wrote this application thought the same way? You are standing here today with dissatisfaction and anger. As a senior, I only have one question for you -"

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Tonks stared hard into Gu Weijing's eyes.

He seemed to be repeating what someone had said to him many years ago, and also seemed to be asking Gu Weijing for an answer.

"There is only so much money. If you get it, others won't even have money to buy fish fillets. Opportunities are only so much. If you get it, others won't have it either, and their expectations will be in vain. Why? Why should I give you the opportunity? Why do you think your artistic dream is more important than others' artistic dreams?"

"We can grant you several thousand pounds to save your sheep or cheese show. The foundation can also grant a grant of 150 million pounds to the Scottish Opera to save the jobs of hundreds of artists and staff in related fields. The latter can make the headlines of the evening papers and receive unanimous praise from famous classical art masters when interviewed by TV reporters."

“It could even allow the culture secretary, who has pushed for funding for Creative Scotland, to win praise from critics and more votes for his party at the next election, which would often mean no reduction in government funding next year. Or even more funding.”

"At least..." Tonks imitated the other person's tone that day, "Young man, let's do as you say. That's right, by doing this, we can at least get free tickets, sit in the first row of the opera house to watch the musical, enjoy the standing ovation of the audience and the bows of thanks from the performers on the stage, and regard ourselves as the patrons of art."

"And you - you talked a lot about what the exhibition is about. Have you ever thought about one question?"

The curator tapped the wall of the wine glass with his fingers.

"What can you bring to us? Before asking for help, one should understand the value that one can bring to the other party."

Gu Weijing and the curator stood on the balcony, the young artist and the famous curator looked at each other in silence, they were bathed in the humid night at the Singapore beach. Just like many years ago, in the humid night at the Scottish beach, the young curator and the famous art fund account manager in the office looked at each other in silence.

Tonks probably felt that Gu Weijing had grasped the spirit of the story he told.

The British uncle placed the empty champagne glass on the windowsill beside him and supported the railing with both hands.

"Two days later I was on the train back to Dundee with an envelope in my arms. Inside was a cheque for £5000 from Westminster Bank and a promise to redesign the exhibition to devote half of the space to Scottish wool textiles."

Later, Tonks learned that the other party had a long-term cooperative relationship with the local Scottish Sheep Farming Association. The latter was also one of the foundation's major sponsors and hoped to promote its wool products in various projects.

"Kimi, that's the name of the uncle I met that day. We kept in touch afterwards, and later, we became good friends. I didn't feel threatened by Kimi that day and gave up the dignity of art. I knew that he didn't need my exhibition. Really, that kind of small exhibition is insignificant to the scale of the foundation. It may not even make it to the last page of the local street evening newspaper. But I need his money."

Tonks' voice was quiet.

"More importantly, that day, that ten-minute conversation, made me realize one thing. Everything has a price, including a drop of water. There is no such thing as a gift without reason in the world. You have to pay a corresponding price for what you want. You need to bring others what they want, and then others will be willing to provide you with what you need."

Curator Tonks was humming a song with her head down, tapping the empty wine glass rhythmically with her fingers, like a Scottish folk song with a slightly distorted rhythm.

"Four years ago in July, almost on the same day, Kimi passed away. I have been sad ever since. It was his guidance and questioning that day that enabled me to step by step in this industry and become the co-overseas curator of the International Biennale."

"Every young man in the world with a dirty, torn shirt should be able to meet an older man in a decent suit driving a Jaguar and teach him some irrefutable truths in life."

"I spent three months sleeping outside an office building on the Edinburgh waterfront, standing in the sun. I stood there for 50 hours to hear these words."

Tonks shrugged.

"Gu, I told you this story for free. Maybe you should listen carefully. People always need to adapt to everything."

"It's a good story, but getting used to this kind of thing is always much more difficult to actually do it than to hear others talk about it." Gu Weijing was lost in thought.

Tonks turned around, leaned on the fence behind him, and looked at Gu Weijing.

"The total funding for all the exhibitions I have held is more than 5000 million pounds. The funding for various activities of the Taylor Gallery may also be several million pounds or even tens of millions of pounds per year. However, all of this is not as much as the weight of the 26 pounds check in my arms when I was 5000 years old. Coincidentally, this figure is almost the same as the price of a sponsor ticket to the artist dinner for the public."

The curator said.

“People who can spend 5000 pounds to buy a dinner ticket, no matter what their purpose is to come here, as long as you can convince them, as long as you have a reason that can impress them, they will often not be stingy to give another 5000 pounds or more to sponsor your art career. A few wealthy businessmen among them may not even mind writing a check for 5 pounds, just to gain some false reputation, just to show that they are people who love art.”

5 pounds, just for some false fame?
Gu Weijing thought of the check worth 300 million euros that had been placed on the coffee table in front of him not long ago.

It's more than 50,000 pounds.

Gu Weijing smiled in his heart. He wanted to tell the curator beside him that just fifteen minutes ago, he had placed in front of him a number dozens or hundreds of times larger, just to show that the Elena family was a family that loved art, and just to buy the reputation that the Elena family had once produced an outstanding female painter.

"Now, do you still feel uncomfortable here?" Tonks asked back.

(End of this chapter)