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Chapter 3 2. The Scarecrow

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    ?

    He used to see her often, but every time he was so uncertain.

    But now, after seeing her, he understood that it was this dim-eyed woman who kept appearing in his dreams or hallucinations!

    He kissed those little fingertips one by one, and said: "If I knew you loved me at that time, I would not have left. I would marry you, and then I would have a bunch of children, and let them go to the mountains to pick fruits and eat them."

    "Are you going to make a family planning mistake? Besides, I'm underage."

    "You can go to the police station to change your age. I know that many female writers have changed their age to a younger age. You, in order to marry me, change your age to a higher one."

    Joan smiled: "Do you think it's so easy to buy off those in charge of household registration at the police station? You don't even know what they paid for. Besides, if you had married me then, we would still be in the small town of Wuga now!"

    Luo Zi cried: "That's good! I want to go back now! You come back with me! I can't stay here for a day!"

    "Are you joking, you?" Joan said in Cantonese.

    "It's not a joke, it's true. I hate the city, and I have hated it for a long time. You see, the struggle of many people in their youth is to leave the countryside and come to the city. But when they reach middle age"

    "What's wrong with middle age?"

    "When they reach middle age, they are trying hard to go back to the countryside, don't you think?"

    "Yeah, all of them. They've had enough of being in the city, and they're longing to go back."

    "It's not noisy. Did you see me making noise? No, we didn't make noise, but the city is not fun. Now, all the bad things are in the city, and the countryside may still be the same as before, clean."

    Joan's eyes were hazy, and she fell into memories: "At that time, you suddenly disappeared. When it was time to go to the market, I couldn't find you anymore"

    Luo Zi said: "I graduated from university. I majored in history, but I like drawing, writing and engraving."

    "Who is your teacher?"

    "My uncle, he taught me. He is a calligrapher, painter, master of gold and stone. Unexpectedly, what he taught in college is useless, but I have carried forward what he taught. Hehe."

    "You really regard painting as a way of life?"

    "I think it will be in the future. Now? I still go to work. Your parents are teachers. I have painted many rural female teachers and published them in a literary magazine in Chongqing."

    "I have seen it, and I have kept magazines with your works."

    "Do you know Luo Shihong from Chongqing? A big capitalist, my father's grandfather. In the past, my father was not able to go to college because of his poor family background, and he couldn't even find a wife!"

    Joan gave another foul laugh about his hometown.

    "Then, where are you from?"

    He smiled: "Of course it was born by my mother. My mother is very good. She loves my father, no matter what his background is. She is the best woman in their generation!"

    He added: "Come on, tell me about you! I don't know anything about you."

    "I'm fine. I went to school in Chengdu, went home during the holidays, and read a lot of books. Later, every market day, I wandered around the market, actually to see you."

    "Oh, I'm going to blush when someone looks at me."

    "It's just that there is not much time, so I have to go home on time. You don't know, I don't think there is anyone better than you, how much I want to hide in the crowd and not go back, and take me away after you finish painting"

    Luo Zi said emotionally: "Then, can I take you away now?"

    (Later, many times, Luo Zi would have such illusions in front of his eyes¡ª¡ª

    The dusty road is hot and suffocating.  A little girl stood by the road with a dazed and slightly sad expression.

    Her young, immature body was wrapped in a faded pink muslin dress, her curly yellow braids were like the red tassels of autumn corn in the country, and her lips were like fruit candy that began to melt

    Her thin teeth were biting on those candy-like lips.

    No one knows whose child this is.

    She seems to have no past and no origin.

    Who told her to wait?

    You can see that her expression is in a trance, her eyes are hazy, and she has entered a huge dream since she doesn't know when

    Just on this smoky road, she was waiting for him to appear, waiting for him to lead her away

    Many times afterwards, Luo Zi fantasized about their beginning like this.nbsp; "I call it 'native ink painting'."

    "Um."

    "Then, my local ink painting began to reach its limit again."

    "I do not understand."

    "Little girl, you don't need to know so much."

    "What words!"

    Luo Zi looked at Joan's serious look, thought for a while, and said, "Well, let me tell you, Chinese painting has complete and strict rules, just like using a brush."

    Joan picked up a fork and handed it to him.

    Luo Zi smiled, took it, and regarded it as taking a brush: "Chinese painting talks about using calligraphy brushes to paint, and every stroke must strictly obey the rules of calligraphy brushes"

    He was a little hesitant, whether to say this to this dim-eyed woman.

    "What I want to say is that Chinese painting is a traditional art, and its value lies in its tradition. It is an art that focuses on people rather than painting."

    "how to say?"

    "That is to say, painting has become a way for painters to cultivate their personality. When tasting paintings, it is important to appreciate the nobility and uniqueness of a person's spiritual character, and the charm of personality must be revealed through the painting itself."

    "Why is your local ink painting not like this?" She was a little excited.

    "Rolf Jensen once had a great influence on me. Perhaps it is the creation method and thinking method of Western modernist art that influenced me."

    "That's because you are subjectively willing to be affected."

    "However, form is not my goal. I have been looking for new ways to seek expressions that are freer and closer to my thoughts. Some people also call some of my ink paintings 'conceptual ink'."

    "Is it the conclusion of the theorists?"

    "I still prefer to call it 'native ink', even though it is suspected of narrow nationalism. What I value is the cultural meaning of ink as a medium itself, and its directness and irreplaceability when it is used."

    "oh."

    "To put it bluntly, it is not regarded as a kind of painting, but as a means of expression. I even thought that it is not only two-dimensional, but also three-dimensional"

    He stared at her, forgot where he had said, and simply stopped, not speaking for a long time.

    Embarrassed by his staring, she said embarrassingly, "You taught me a lesson." (Remember the website website: www.hlnovel.com
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