In the spring of the year before last, I went on a business trip to the Inner Mongolia Painting Institute at the invitation of a friend. This academy gathers dozens of oil painters, and the paintings mainly show the life scenes of the Mongolian people. I looked at dozens of paintings depicting grasslands, yurts, and herders, and I felt that each one had a profound foundation and extraordinary expressiveness, and I was amazed as I walked. In front of a painting of a northern dwelling, I looked at it a few times and couldn't walk anymore. I just looked at this painting like this, and I don't know how long it took, but my eye sockets were unconsciously hot and hot, and my heart seemed to have a thousand waves.

Mr. Dean came over and introduced me that this painting had just participated in the Beijing Oil Painting Exhibition and had been well received. After saying that, he and I stared at the painting for a long time and never said a word again. When I was leaving, I was reluctant, as if my heart had stayed on the painting.

Two years have passed?., the morning before yesterday, the director of the art academy suddenly called me and said, "I like your favorite painting too." However, I feel that you understand and feel it more deeply, so I think that this painting is still the most valuable to keep with you. Although I am reluctant. I have already asked someone to send it to Beijing for you, so please pay attention to contact the person who came to pick up the painting. ”

Half a day after answering the phone, my heart was still beating suddenly, in the words of the moment, it was "called". It's really strange, the sky that was still overcast just now is now clear, and the golden sun spreads all over the earth.

This painting of the northern countryside is very similar to the one I lived in a few decades ago, and perhaps that's why it captured my heart at once. To put it in a slightly more technical way: it is a figurative genre, a realistic style of painting. Although the scene is fixed, I can see the sun pouring down like an unobstructed and unhindered empowering, and the whole painting is like floating in the floodlight, giving people the warmth of the soul. The lines are both rough and delicate, free and easy in the rough, vivid and deep in the delicate. The color contrast is strong, the earthy yellow and the warm red set off each other, a kind of collision and wrestling beauty that is both thrilling and natural.

What really shocked my heart was the painter's seemingly inadvertent smearing, which made the work express a strong pursuit that suddenly emerged in the midst of struggle, and it was deafening and shocking. Look at the mud house, its dirt skin has fallen off, leaking out of the adobe core. It is an adobe made of clay that has not been burned by fire, but it has the strength of steel, supporting the whole house proudly. It resembles a father's bones, and its weight is straight, and it doesn't even sigh. The two red lanterns hanging at the door, although they had been destroyed by the cold wind, the keel was twisted, and one of them was still collapsed and half-pulled, but they still swayed wantonly with the remnants of the style, using the mutilation to interpret the fire and light of the past. (Article Reading Network: .net)

At the heart of the picture are three roosters, the midday sun hanging over their heads, and they consider themselves the masters of the land, confident to the point of arrogance. The one that hit the head, majestic and high, strode forward as if no one was around, its fluttering feathers like the mane of a lion, and seemed to hear the rattling of its bones and joints. The other two are either vigilant and looking around, or leisurely chattering, combining movement and static, commensurate with civil and military, showing the primitive tension of life without pretentiousness.

In the painter's brush, the existence of residual snow seems to be only to set off the warmth of the sun, to penetrate the earth with trickling snow water, and also as an introduction to the revival of all things. The mottled and remnants of the couplet, the strokes are mysterious and sacred, like the proverbs of a wizard, vaguely but tenaciously recording the traces of the past,

A trajectory that heralds the future. Seeing these remnants, I thought of those mysterious bronzes in Sanxingdui.

The two fenced gates in the center of the picture drew my attention to the dilapidated hut. There must be an old cow grazing and an old farmer smacking a tobacco pouch. Oxen plough the earth, and man ploughs the world. None of them showed up, but they existed objectively. Such an objective existence can only be reflected by people's subjective imagination.

The sky is blue, and the earth is yellow. Blue and yellow are blended, and it is green. The thick and cruel earthy yellow and the ethereal gray sky blue in this painting can cultivate the green that can actually be cultivated in the hearts of the people who look at the painting.

As long as I can see the implicit green in this painting, I will not be old. As long as you bury this touch of green deep in your heart, the spirit will not die.

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