Chapter 723: Wisteria Flower Painting

It’s late at night.

At some point, a light rain began to fall, with low and cold rain clouds obscuring the moon in the sky.

The candles and gas lamps in the neighborhood’s shanties extinguished one by one, resembling fireflies devoured by the chaotic, dim evening mist.

The small art studio on the second floor of the Good Fortune Orphanage, facing the street, was still lit.

A heavy misty cold wind blew in from the corner of the window where the screen was left open, gently swaying the plaid curtain by the window.

The average temperature in Yangon in April is about twenty-four or five degrees, appearing to be pleasant weather, but in fact, the temperature difference is significant.

The daytime temperature can soar above forty degrees, while on such rainy days, it can occasionally drop below 15 degrees.

Due to the heavy humidity in the city, the temperature felt is much more pronounced than what the weather forecast indicates.

On nights where the drizzle continues, saying the cold can freeze people might be an exaggeration, but for someone slightly frail, a light blanket is essential to avoid a shiver from the wind and rain.

Gu Weijing, busy painting, didn’t feel the cold at all.

A fragrance wafted in, along with a sense of spring.

The flower branches were vibrant, with purple hues overflowing.

Gu Weijing painted swiftly, as though the swaying flowering tree was blown by the wind and rain outside; in no time, a shower of flowers burst forth on the Xuan paper.

Mrs. Sakai instructed her daughter that a painter should remain calm and composed, even in the most emotionally stirring moments, leaving a small space of tranquility for oneself.

With seventy percent emotion to stir waves, leaving thirty percent calmness allows flourishing brushwork.

Gu Weijing found it a truly wondrous feeling.

His emotion was caught in a Schrödinger state between “still” and “not still”.

He was clearly in the small studio, copying the master Chinese painting hanging on the wall, fully focused and meticulous, with a heart as calm as a placid lake.

Yet his thoughts were highly active, wandering miles away.

Painting, daydreaming.

Neither interrupted the other, existing harmoniously together.

Every time he tried to copy the “Hundred Flowers Painting” before, he put all his effort into calming himself, focusing exclusively on comparing his strokes with those of Lady Tang Ning, aiming to grasp even a fraction of the master’s essence.

It was not like painting at all but rather like a high school student, holding a book of exercise answers, meticulously studying for a physics contest.

Each stroke was pondered repeatedly.

Attempting to capture the “masterful flavor” of Lady Tang Ning’s original work.

Gu Weijing previously created many [Heartfelt] works and even some at the [Sweat and Blood] level.

But either it relied on the instant resonance of emotion and environment,

or it was when the system’s little candle was lit, and he was in a half-dream, half-awake state that piled the emotion up.

It wasn’t until tonight while painting that he had a clearer insight into the emotional state of an artist.

If he wanted to be an artisan, pursuing the creation of [Simple Works], then being fully focused and undistracted was correct.

The most crucial aspect of simple works is seriousness.

Don’t underestimate those two words: seriousness.

Xu Beihong and Qi Baishi also created hasty and perfunctory works.

Being serious already excels over more than eighty percent of his peers.

Works at the [Simple Works] level, placed among the world’s four major art academies, are absolutely reputable works.

However.

If more was desired, such as those one-percent masterpieces, or even an emotionally stirring [Sweat and Blood] emotional artwork, that even a developed country like Singapore would struggle to present at its art biennial for years.

Then simply being serious is far from enough.

One hundred percent seriousness equals one hundred percent craftsmanship; Miss Mona’s works had such issues.

Just focusing on being serious.

Apart from seriousness, nothing else would fill her brushwork.

The mind should be a bit relaxed.

Once relaxed, there’s space for emotions to flow from the heart into the brush.

Recall for a moment.

The reason he could paint the cover of the “Little Prince” so vividly was that his thoughts were traveling in the literary space of Saint-Exupéry, without considering how he should set about painting.

At this moment, Gu Weijing painted with much relaxation.

He no longer tried to eliminate every bit of disturbance in his mind.

Instead, it was as if he were a Baroque violinist tuning the tight strings to loosen by three parts, allowing the fine sheep gut strings to play a bit of playful and nimble dance at his fingertips.

It was like a diver lying face-up at the bottom of a lake, emptying his mind, comfortably lying among the swaying water plants.

Admiring the ripples on the surface of the heart lake.

Previously, many details and strokes that troubled Gu Weijing were now rounded and pleasingly rendered by him.

This time, copying the “Hundred Flowers Painting”.

He even had the leisure to recall the painting stories of many great painters from ancient Dongxia read in childhood, and documents depicting their mental states.

Reaffirming and matching them with his current painting mindset.

Add the finishing touch, flourishing brushwork.

The scholars of ancient Dongxia liked to express their sentiments through ink and brush, integrating their spirit and philosophical views into the path of calligraphy and painting, leaving behind numerous folk tales both real and fantastical, mysterious beyond measure.

The ancestors in Confucian culture are an inseparable religious faith, embedded in the bloodline of every modern person.

Grandfather most revered great painter Zheng Sixiao, who would always face his homeland even when eating or drinking water.