-Remember the famous calligrapher Mr. Wang Linger, Situ Niu.
It is difficult to be an artist, especially a calligraphy artist. There are more and more people who can write now, and more and more people are called "calligraphers"; The hype in calligraphy is more and more crazy, and the depreciation of calligraphy art is more and more chilling. However, although fewer and fewer people with lofty ideals really take calligraphy as their career, "sit on the bench for ten years without regret" and "clothes are getting wider and wider", they still stick to their pure land and tirelessly pursue the holiness and innocence of calligraphy. These people are the backbone of China's book circle and the true descendants of this ancient art.
Calligrapher Wang Linger is one of these fewer and fewer people.
As a calligrapher, it is not too early for Wang Linger to debut. In 1980s, he studied under Liang Guang, a calligrapher of Lijiang River. Artists often have a deep artistic foundation. Once Wang Linger is guided by a good teacher, he quickly gets started and his skills are improving day by day. But he knows that there is still a long way to go to turn understanding into artistic creation ability, and only by paying a hard and even painful price can he climb that step. Wang Linger, the second king who studied calligraphy and patriarchal clan system, took line drawing as the basic skill, and reading and pasting became all his spare time activities. Declined all the banquets, declined all the rest, and buried himself in calligraphy and painting. The Preface to Lanting Collection has been read and studied again and again. I often write for a point ten times, dozens of times or even hundreds of times. At the same time, he also studied Zhang Xu's, Huai Su's and Wang Duo's law posts, so as to learn from others and increase his knowledge. At that time, Wang Linger's family was not well off. A family of three lives in an old-fashioned bungalow of less than 50 square meters, which is cramped. It's very hot in summer, even on a windy night, I will write for hours, sweating all over and stepping on the ground wet. It is cold in winter, and the hot water in the thermos cup is the heat source for his heating. The handwriting is frozen, so a cup of hot water warms you up before you write. For artists, suffering is a great motivation. The hardships of material life did not erode Wang Linger's pursuit of calligraphy art, but enriched his spiritual life. Whenever he writes a satisfactory work, he will linger for a long time. It's like staring at the youngest son in the cradle for a long time. To this end, he wrote a testimony of "not afraid of suffering, but seeking suffering".
"Seeking from suffering" is an unforgettable pursuit. Wang Linger learned from the successful experience of the sages that the ultimate pursuit of calligraphy art should not be the capture of fame and fortune, nor should it be just the maturity of skills and forms. Calligraphy pursues the excellent tradition of national culture carried by calligraphy; The accumulation of national culture. Any calligrapher should pursue the profound cultural connotation of his works, that is, the cultural value of calligraphy, while pursuing technical perfection. This requires calligraphers to have high cultural literacy. To this end, Wang Linger also studied under Mr. Zhang Xin, a famous contemporary calligrapher in China. Zhang Xin is a strange man, who is familiar with the Five Classics, good at writing, swearing and studying the history of calligraphy. He repeatedly told Wang Linger: "Learn to write first, then learn to be a man, and use words correctly." "If you want to be good at writing, you must first read a good book, and if you learn to be rich, you will be literary." He asked Wang Linger to read famous copybooks and classical literature. Wang Linger did it one by one. After ten years of cold and heat, the young Wang Linger finally became a master of calligraphy art creation. He has participated in many major international and domestic exhibitions and won many awards. In the 1990s, he made his mark in Jiangxi's book circle, and his works also had a good market prospect. Wang Linger's works not only make readers enjoy beauty with smooth lines and exquisite white cloth, but also make readers truly feel the truth, goodness and beauty conveyed by the contents of the works with a high degree of distinctive personality, form and content. His fighting style "chinese odyssey, only the plum branches are covered with snow" is such a typical work. What calligraphers really care about in their works is "snow", and the word "snow" is extremely elegant, flexible and lively. For example, the details of the two kings are also very free and easy, and the author's own understanding of things. As the saying goes, a grain of rice is a kilometer, and a drop of water reflects the sun. Therefore, this work has profound connotation and lingering artistic appeal.
As a calligrapher, it is an unshirkable task to spread the seeds of traditional calligraphy art and carry forward the excellent traditions of national culture. Wang Linger works in Jiangxi University of Finance and Economics and has worked in the administrative department for a long time. But he cooperated with the school, organized calligraphy activities on campus and established the school book association. On the one hand, he organized lectures and exhibitions to improve students' humanistic quality, and on the other hand, he carefully trained some students with good foundation and high enthusiasm to cultivate new forces for the cause of calligraphy art. He trained a group of calligraphy recruits and never received a penny, not to mention other benefits. For those students who have difficulties in life, they also offer financial assistance. It is precisely because of his sincerity in cultivating new people in the book world that Li and other new book stars have participated in international book fairs many times and won many awards in major calligraphy competitions.
I don't know when the calligrapher's fame and achievements seem to be determined by his various "hats". Mr. Wang Linger still has several hats that he can handle: Executive Vice President and Secretary General of Jiangxi University of Finance and Economics Painting and Calligraphy Institute, member of China Calligraphers Association, executive director of Jiangxi Calligraphers Association, member of Jiangxi Provincial Cultural Committee of Democratic League, and distinguished calligrapher of Jiangxi Painting and Calligraphy Institute. Wang Linger looks down on these "hats"-it's good to have them, but it's sad not to have them. What really excites him is that in 2003, he opened a calligraphy class in the College of Arts and Media of Jiangxi University of Finance and Economics. The lofty university platform made him see his self-worth and feel more responsible. Wang Linger, who is approaching the age of destiny, often spends several times preparing a good lesson. Some people say that a senior calligrapher like him is not proficient in teaching, so why bother? Wang Linger bluntly replied: "I am responsible for students and calligraphy."
Mei Zhixue is the only miracle, just as we always feel nothing great in life, because we don't deliberately pursue miracles, and because miracles are embedded in paintings. Calligraphy, just the shine of Rainbow, can be passed down from generation to generation and carried forward.
Mr. Wang linger
—— Writer Wang Ruiyu
Mr Wang linger is my father. I always believe in my heart that my present situation cannot be separated from the help and support he gave me in the past. Twenty years ago, when I envied those boys who rode at high speed, it was he who helped me ride along the path of Caida University, and he took me to the unknown world-a colorful world I never knew. The picture of falling and getting up, the tree-lined path, the flowers and birds on campus, the boy's sadness and tears. What he gave me was not only the persistence of art, the persistence of dreams, the injustice of reality and the desire for freedom. His personality, thoughts, and even habits and preferences in life have influenced me subtly in the 23-year intimate relationship.
In my father's life, in my life-I think nothing in this world is more precious than life. But I still have to find the next eternal existence. If there is a word great in the world, then I want to use it to represent my memory of my father. I will always be grateful to him.
I have never written about my father, but today I decided to write for him, and I feel sad. I don't know where to start, but it took several months to finally sit at the writing desk. It's hard to say why. Maybe some unacceptable thorn spread in the air, pricked the back of the palm of your hand, and even the memories withered with grief.
My father's persistence in calligraphy is something I admire all my life. More than twenty years ago, I was a short person, less than the size of a thermos. At that time, my father worked in the printing factory of Caida University and dealt with ink every day. Go out early and come back late, because my home is at school, so it's not far from work. As far as I can remember, he worked most of the year, practicing calligraphy on the road, at home and in a small room. My family was not rich at that time. In summer, there is no air conditioning. I lay naked on the mat reading a picture book. Aside, my father wrote calligraphy shirtless. Can't afford to buy ink, soak the pen in clear water and write it on the abandoned newspaper. Sweating, day and night, so write unswervingly. Whenever he writes a satisfactory work, he will stand up straight and look at it for a long time. In the cold winter, my hands are so cold that it is difficult to practice writing. My father boiled water, softened his hands, and then quickly threw himself into writing. When your hands get cold, put your hand into the warm water basin to warm your hands again and again. I am young and ignorant, so is Wang Xizhi. But when I was a child, my father held me in his arms and practiced fine print, which was vivid in my mind. There is still a scene in my memory-practicing calligraphy with a pen in one hand and holding my father in the other. I learned to ride a bike from the first grade of primary school. After work every Friday, my father and I stroll around the student dormitory of Finance College. The knee injury is still faintly visible during the day, and we practice resolutely at night. I am a wayward child. My father holds the faucet in his hand, and I often yell "I'm going to fall-"intentionally or unintentionally, as if the abyss of fear is under my feet. Later, I learned to ride a bike, and the campus of Caida immediately became the performance venue for my flying teenager. After school, I was humming a tune while riding a bicycle, and I saw my younger brothers and sisters riding head-on after class, for fear that others would ignore their existence. Later, I transferred to Nanchang to attend primary school, and my family moved to the urban area. My father is busy taking the shuttle bus to work in Charlotte Finance College in the morning, and at the same time, he insists on practicing calligraphy. My father made a small achievement and won calligraphy awards in and out of the province one after another, smiling. My family and my uncle shared a house with two bedrooms and one living room. Only when my uncle's house was empty, my father quickly moved out of the inkstone, ink, writing brush and rice paper to write in the living room. I'm helping my father grind ink, and the fan on my head keeps turning. We can't be fathers together with our bare hands. I never thought such a scene would be so fleeting. Later, I went to junior high school and changed my residence. The new home is an old house with a limited area, and you can only practice calligraphy in the living room. Later, I moved to the yard on the first floor and finally got a small room. My father was so happy that I looked at his happy face and was at a loss. In junior high school, I was a child who was only 1.5 meters tall and didn't even have the courage to face up to girls. I can't understand my father, many times, for example, when he stares at the wall of a small room, when he sits at an old desk and reads calligraphy appreciation, when he practices cursive Chinese characters in the middle of the night, even though I am asleep. My father used to be a worker, but later he became a teacher at school because of his small fame in calligraphy. At that time, if you want to enter colleges and universities, you can't do it without some real skills. I believe that my father entrusted his life to calligraphy many years ago, without reservation or purpose. He doesn't intend to, and never intended to, give up his dream. That is defined by him as an unreachable dream, but it will definitely come true. I don't know how many light years it is. At this moment, when my father's face appeared in my mind, I found that the reality was so far away. Father is a person who doesn't like to laugh. But whenever he sees his own news and his achievements are affirmed, such as newspaper news, congratulatory letters from friends, unsigned letters and invitations to calligraphy and painting exhibitions, he will be happy for a long time. In China, it is not easy for a calligrapher to maintain his creation. Father persisted, day after day, year after year, and his efforts were rewarded. He seldom goes out. He kept his feet on the ground in this small room surrounded by rice paper, waving his world on bright paper with his right hand-a calligraphy world that constantly improved his identity and transcended the secular world. In the world of calligraphy he created, we saw the new possibilities of calligraphy. Every time I come home from school and see my father writing in a small room, he will stop writing and turn to me and say, look, my father wrote. I'm confused and don't know what to say. I just kept smiling and laughing quietly, for fear of driving away his creative inspiration. I turned to leave, and my father quickly plunged into creation. With his rich experience, humble appreciation, stubborn creative concept, persistent inspiration and desire, he keeps a simple and unchangeable connection with the world, the art of calligraphy, the pursuit of human nature, the traditional aesthetics, the trend of the times and the classics of humanity. It is in such a small world with no windows on all sides that we pay attention to technical strength, balance between lines and rhythm, lack of gorgeous rendering and wanton packaging, no sunshine and flowers, no applause and cheers. For 55 years, he has been knitting works that he likes and I like. This is a journey to pursue personal ideals and challenge the cruel reality. This is not a story, but it is far more true than the story. If life is a farce, then it is a miracle. I can't understand my father's feelings about the words he created, but I doubt how many calligraphers in China can keep creating and constantly improve themselves and their artistic level. It may be because he has nothing but calligraphy, or it may be because his life is boring except calligraphy. In my imagination, calligraphy has long been his necessity. His life, his work, his teaching, his life, what he thinks, stares at, cares about, remembers, expects, waits for, pays, struggles, yearns for, longs for, hopes, demands, unforgettable, gives up and misses are all related to calligraphy, and his thoughts are related to calligraphy. Calligraphy has brought him a state of mind and innocence that people in this world don't have, brought him vitality (others think that he is an old-school academic, but in fact he is an out-and-out technical school at heart), and brought him a unique color in his life (sometimes he strolls around with rice paper in his hand, sometimes he washes ink stones and brushes on the washstand, and sometimes he sleeps in the bathroom to read poems and songs). He is the richest and most considerate father in the world.
His calligraphy obeys his character and belief, not transcends it from all directions. He doesn't like imitation and never wants to surpass anyone. He just wants to be himself and do his own calligraphy art. He also lacks rationality, doesn't like to discuss with others, and likes to make his own decisions, which also makes him more willful and wild. He chose the wild-looking at life, things and calligraphy wildly. He is a person who doesn't like to compare with others. For simple clothes and simple meals, my father's life is a simple life. He is modest and prudent, never engages in tricks in calligraphy, never engages in immoral innovation, and never plays with specious themes in his own words. It is his nature that he wants to write his calligraphy in different ways. It is puzzling that he wants to write his calligraphy casually, just like life. Perhaps contradiction is an essential element for artists. There are too many contradictions and puzzles in my father's life. In his calligraphy world where empiricism, aestheticism and traditional aesthetics are paramount, he carefully selected beautiful poems and songs and reproduced them in his own form as a projection of the world. He knew that his greatest achievement was these projections. He once told me that he could not complete all the projections in his life. I didn't believe it at first either. Projection can appear or disappear, but why can't it be completed? Father, how many projects are you going to finish? During our twenty-three years together, he seldom told me about his life, and the communication between our father and son was not as much as the outside world speculated. He has countless stories, such as going to the countryside, the Cultural Revolution, finding girls, doing good things when he was young, his views on calligraphy, or why you chose calligraphy in your life, and so on. I don't know how to make up these stories that I can't make up, and I know that I can't make up those stories anymore. It's so real that even I can't bear to build it, for fear of destroying a castle with one brick. Over the years, he has been on the lonely road of calligraphy, relying on lonely obsession, progress is everything to him. When I was a child, I planned to write a story based on my father, but I still can't finish it today. I can read my novels, but I can't copy them. Because the characters in novels and calligraphy are written by stories, there is no hypocrisy, jealousy, purpose or even air, only stories, real stories, real stories, and there are real people, real things, real dreams and real thoughts in the stories. Sometimes we may not be able to cross in front of our thoughts, but we all have an innate rationality about stories. Stories can be read, stories can be believed and worth believing. Father's calligraphy is a story. There are always stories that will never happen again. At the moment, I am writing a story that belongs to my father and also belongs to the calligraphy world. Father belongs to calligraphy and also belongs to the world of calligraphy. He is not a genius, nor does he have the humanistic flavor of metaphysics, nor does he like to talk about some fashionable hot topics with others. He is unwilling and unwilling to return to this world. He has fallen in love with the calligraphy world. He amuses himself, and in the blue sky of calligraphy, he has far more magnificent wings of freedom than this world. He spread his wings and accidentally forgot the trivial things at home, the vegetable stalks left on the kitchen chopping board, the garbage baskets that have not been cleaned under the dining table, the mint toothpaste left on the toothbrush, the oil stains on the shirt collar that can't be washed away, the courseware piled up in the drawer, and the artists in the world. If they are all like their father, will they become a mess?
Father is a calligrapher with local characteristics. He likes wandering around. He doesn't like hanging around. When he crisscrossed the north and south, he briefly returned to this world to see the magnificent mountains and rivers, bridges and flowing water. When he doesn't like to travel around the world, he falls into the world of calligraphy, with sharp appearance and rhythmic lines. He reluctantly stepped into the world outside his study. He has a profound and unwilling interpretation of the world outside the room, but such interpretation is not his specialty, so he simply doesn't read it. Fuck it. I have everything I want in my room, a pen, a piece of paper and a bottle of ink. Besides, this is me. He wrote about mountains, water, rivers, rivers, water, snow, fire, spring, autumn, summer and winter, the frozen scenery in the north of Saibei, and the snow on the branches of plum blossoms. He didn't take money to write for many famous buildings in Nanchang (Eye Well, Nanchang Theatre ...). For him, the world is the driving force of writing. His world is everywhere. His calligraphy is an island, an island not on the map, which has never appeared and will never appear again. Only adventurous navigators can find utopia, and the island is another world.
All his words are sketching a picture. It's a picture that can't be perfect all my life. I have never been moved by my father's calligraphy. Now, he is gone. In that world, he may be a strong man, but in this world, he lost to life. Father is a strong man. I was ill, but I never stopped writing. Until the night before my death, I was still studying at my desk-the seal was still on rice paper, like a monument standing in the snow-and I had never seen such a magnificent monument. His world is an immortal world, magnificent and vast. There are father and son, men and women, dreams, reality, even sadness and sunny emotional entanglements. Irrelevant monuments are connected together and become a wall, which isolates the past grief, but it is also inseparable from the thoughts of loved ones. People are close to calligraphy because of the famine of civilization in this real world. The productivity and modernization brought by the civilized world make people gain material surplus, but it is difficult to fill spiritual deficiency. This is an era when civilization is trampled on. My father created an era of his own with his full blood. Thanks to calligraphy, we can still get another visual source of emotional satisfaction and motivation in pain and helplessness. Emotion may be fleeting, but motivation is endless.
Father's life is the life of calligraphy. Father lives in a geometric world full of infinite possibilities. It is full of sunshine and hope. He loves the world deeply, the pen tip falls on the paper, the beauty of space, the lines of space and the world of space. The space he pays attention to and seeks is three-dimensional, symmetrical but extremely asymmetrical, and the balance is often unbalanced. Space made him leave this world, and in another parallel space, he cut through thorns. I can see that when he puts pen to paper, the totems that are always combined in front of him are all presented on paper. Calligraphy is not only a landscape, a story, but also a person's life, the heartbeat of breathing, the way of existence and the purpose of living. Father's calligraphy is written with life.
At this moment, I have the honor to write my father's words in my own words, which were originally two different forms of words. As soon as I turned around and waved my hand, I forgot those years without lingering, but all I could think of was the picture of you lying on the ground and running head-on, and I was reluctant to give up my dream. My room is not gloomy, my lighthouse is not far away, I only feel surging gratitude and endless nostalgia.