In primary school, the art teacher always put square and conical plaster on the platform for us to draw. Do you have to draw it? Like what? In order to get high marks. I am the kind of student who doesn't like painting. I have a low self-esteem and am considered to have no artistic talent. Art, on the other hand, is a belief I deeply yearn for. Whether it is drama, music or dance, it is actually love.
Just because what I draw in art class is not like anything, my grades are similar to those in mathematics in this class. The art teacher is fierce and earnest, and always punishes his poor students for cleaning his room. That year, I was a fifth-grade primary school student. After school, even if I don't have to clean the classroom on duty, I often carry half a bucket of water with my head down? Wash the floor for the teacher! Because paintings are not like things.
Art class is a kind of pain, like? Chicken and rabbit in the same cage? The same is true of that kind of arithmetic problem. I have always hated why chickens and rabbits should be put in a cage and their feet should be counted. If it is closed separately, isn't this calculation trouble-free? There is art, why do you have to force people to draw exactly the same? If that's what the teacher asked, why not take pictures with a camera? Of course, it's just resentment in my heart. What is beauty? The teacher didn't say. He just said? Surgery? . Children who fail to meet the technical standards are ridiculed as ignorant of beauty and art. My primary school art teacher is an ignorant guy, and I dare not tell him about it until now.
I have a rich imagination. I was strangled in the last art class before I turned to composition? Write a picture with words and stories. This item, which is good in the class, always appears in the wall newspaper.
When it comes to the lifelong love of art, the primary school stage is still in its infancy. At that time, every year in mid-September, southern troops would go north to Taipei and wait for the inevitable military parade on October 10. There were so many soldiers that they had no place to live at the moment, so they borrowed some classrooms in primary schools as temporary accommodation. Soldiers are coming, and we are the most popular children, because in ordinary life, different colors are suddenly added, and school life becomes lively and interesting. After class, veterans will tease children and tell us stories about bullets, blood clots and ghosts. Occasionally, the soldiers tied a whining local dog to a tree in the playground and peeled off the dog's chest with bayonets. When they put their hands in and pulled out their internal organs, the dog was still barking. As children, we are afraid and love to watch this thrilling scene. Life is colorful and complicated.
Every year, the school is stationed in the army, and the atmosphere is just like the New Year, which stirs the hearts of children.
At school, I am also good at sports, especially the horizontal bar. At that time, I ran to school every morning to grab a few limited horizontal bars. The skill is so great that you can swing it upside down with your feet. The bat sleeps upside down until his nose bleeds, then turns over happily, and then rubs the sand with his feet to wipe off the blood. A bleeding with a sense of accomplishment.
I also practiced the horizontal bar when I was stationed in the school as a soldier.
I also had a nosebleed that day. In the quiet campus, the soldiers are squatting to eat porridge and steamed bread. I wiped my nose and was seen by an occasional major; Know the meaning of the plum blossom. The officer saw that there was still blood on my face and was wiping it with his sleeve, so he said, Little sister, don't hang upside down again. Come to my room and wipe your face with a towel! ? I went with him and skipped behind his independent room; In a room behind the auditorium. At that time, the soldiers stationed in the school slept in the classroom. Some juniors give up the classroom and come to school in the afternoon instead of studying all day. Officer, this is a small room.
The officer washed my face and I stood still. At that moment, I saw a sketch as big as a newspaper hanging on his plywood wall. Painting with light and shadow is a girl's face shining like an angel. Can't you tell how beautiful it is? A little girl's face
I stared at the picture and was taken aback. In my heart, it was like the restlessness when I just killed the dog, and a piece of Wang Yang surged out. Killing a live dog is so different from a still picture, but there is no other description to replace it.
This is a kind of fear, more terrible than the dog's whining. It was a slightly lower Tibetan horn that floated from the distant clouds and into the child's heart. At that moment, I saw the true meaning of beauty through a painting.
I completely forgot where it was. I just stared at the photo, looked and looked, looked and looked, and saw that face became myself.
The officer saw my eyes staring straight, and everyone froze. He thought he scared me and was in a hurry to be dragged into the water. He said, Little sister, where is your classroom? Hurry to class! Get out of here! ? I am also a sensitive child. Hearing his hint that I'd better go away, I bowed and walked quickly.
From that day on, every class is looking forward to the bell ringing. As soon as the bell rang, I rushed out of the classroom and ran to the auditorium opposite the playground. The small room behind the auditorium is naturally afraid to go in, but the window is open. Through the window, I stared at the painting and saw a lingering affection in my heart? For the smiling child's face.
I also took my classmates to peek. Everyone thought it was beautiful and chattered outside the window. After seeing it, no one cared about the painting, only me, who ran seven or eight times a day to date the mysterious face.
It was also the night after class, and I went to the window again. The setting sun shone low in the already dark room, the light was misty on the man's face, and the child smiled. Light and shadow are different, and her smile is different from that of the day. I fell in love with her, and with a quiet mood, I naturally shed tears.
I once saw a dream of red mansions and saw Baoyu becoming a monk. I met my father boating in the snow and said goodbye. That time, I shed tears. In the same year, I shed tears for a little girl in a painting. That year, I was eleven and a half.
The art teacher didn't tell me what beauty is because he can't teach children. A man who can only kill children is not beautiful, no wonder he is beautiful. However, the encampment of an army has developed many aspects and feelings of my life. It was originally an educational work, but it was inadvertently taught to me by a group of soldiers.
10/0 has passed, and the army will drive back to the south, which means that it will never see that face again. The officers will roll her up and take her back to the camp. I don't want to ask him for a painting at all. The original knowledge of beauty has penetrated into my heart, and no one can take it away.
I'm a little over twelve years old, and I'm already a junior high school student. I'm still in art class, painting still life: fruit made of wax. For things made of wax, they lack a real fruit luster and life, which are false colors and unnatural light, so they resist in their hearts. Have you ever tried telling yourself? Think of the fruit as a reality, look at the red apple that wants to take a big bite; Melt the wax with your mind and draw the fruit in your heart. Unfortunately, I didn't succeed in the end, but my dream of being an artist was disillusioned again. This frustration later turned into words, writing? Autumn leaves dance like butterflies? Such a sentence, in the composition book, won a full house, plus the teacher's comments have writing potential, so why not do it yourself? You are encouraged to come.
I really love painting, but I was forced to write a composition in case I couldn't express my inner feelings. This matter, my love of painting, made me pay attention to the picture album, although I didn't go to art class again.
My second cousin, Mao Liang, lived with my parents at that time, because my uncle and aunt went to Hongkong for some time. I was still in primary school when my cousin was in the middle school attached to Normal University. I only remember that he fell in love with music in high school and insisted on not going to ordinary schools, but also in front of my father? In front of his uncle, he tore up his student ID card to show his determination. Adults certainly have no choice but to follow him anxiously. He went to the composer Xiao Erhua and became a private school student.
The first picture book I read, a large volume of Picasso's masterpiece, was shown to me by my second brother. He played the piano all day and didn't go to school. My second brother and I are both the second child in the family. He comes from the big room and I come from the second room. We two black sheep became good friends. I was surprised when I saw Picasso's paintings. Hey! This is the life I want to see. In his peach blossom period, blues period, cubist painting, tone sandhi painting and later pottery, I saw the strength and beauty of life after life in my heart.
Soon, I also dropped out of school and followed in the footsteps of my second brother. After dropping out of school, I was taken to see a doctor. The doctor measured my IQ and found that it was only 60, which was close to that of mentally retarded children.
I'm thirteen years old, and I don't know what to do in the future. I'm depressed and unhappy. Second brother said he wanted to be a composer? He is a composer in Vienna today. I also want to make a wish. I said to myself: When I grow up, I want to be another woman of Picasso. I am anxious that he can't wait, and I am anxious that I will grow up. His castle in France was destroyed by my painting, but I don't know how to write to Picasso and tell him that in a distant place, there is a girl who is eager to grow up to eighteen. Please ask him to stay and not die soon until I dedicate myself to him.
In this life, from picture books to painters, only Picasso was treated with affection. He is also beautiful in appearance and loves women very much, which makes me appreciate it. Beauty in the artist's eyes is the real beauty. Picasso's paintings of women are profound, and it is the kind of expression that he has seen through their flesh and blood. At that time, I felt very beautiful, a beauty that only artists can understand.
But people are too young. The desire for rapid growth can't make my figure plump from my mind, but my mind has been eager to absorb everything that can make me more mature. In retrospect, those artificial indirect life experiences are unwilling to come because there are too few direct experiences in real life to be naturally combined. Eager to grow up, I lost my girlhood and will never get it back in my life. I'm sorry, but I don't really regret it.
Picasso died before he met him. When the newspaper published the news that a generation of superstars had disappeared from this world, there were already many other picture books beside my bed, and I began to draw myself. Picasso's death, for me, was also an enlightenment, which made me realize the immortality of art and didn't shed a tear for his death. And I, from then on, never wanted to marry an artist again, and I never thought about it again.
Many years later, Picasso exhibited in West Berlin. Sex sketch? All the works of. I went to the exhibition venue again and again, only to know that the beauty of sex can reach depth in painting. Isn't that justice? Lady Chatterley's lover? The only thing that moved me about this book was another inspiration from Picasso. See you again in this life, it's thrilling, just like the child with wide eyes on the playground of primary school.
A few years later, the Spanish city of Barcelona was founded. Picasso Art Museum? I went there again, wandering in front of one famous painting after another.
Looking back on my lifelong love of art, what comes to my mind is the girl's face in the small room of Chinese studies. I know that Picasso's soul is watching me in the art gallery, and I, standing in front of those masterpieces, thank the officer who took me to wipe my blood with compassion. If it weren't for a painting on his wall, how could he enter a deeper hall door? I guess Picasso will be tempted to know this story. The story of an officer and a little girl.
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