painting

Childhood hou, the adult always kua I draw tiger elephant tiger. My father, who had always been serious and difficult to show us affection, at last showed an interest in my gifts, and found me a teacher for drawing.

That day, my father took me to see my teacher. The teacher, whose name is Huang Iron Works, lives at the end of a winding lane in Changsha. I still vaguely remember the layout of his home, the door is a small yard, yard against a corner of the wall is built with half red brick three-level flower bed, above filled with bonsai and a variety of flowers and plants, late autumn, a few POTS of chrysanthemum open very sheng. Through the small courtyard is the main room, which is the place for receiving guests. On the two sides of the main room are the houses and study rooms for teachers and mothers. The front and sides of the main room are covered with calligraphy and painting banners, with flowers and birds, landscapes and calligraphy works. The teacher was of medium height, very thin, with round copper-framed reading glasses on the bridge of his nose. It reminded me of the old landlord in the movies, or the clerk in the pawnshop. The teacher’s mother, tall thin tall, very capable, kind – looking, let a person feel kind. Perhaps my father had talked with the teacher, and as we sat down without much formality, the teacher asked me to draw a few lines. I can’t remember exactly what it was, but it was cats, dogs, chickens, ducks, etc. The teacher looked at my masterpiece appears very happy, also specially called the teacher’s mother also came over to appreciate. That day, the teacher only explained some drawing and writing essentials, such as “painting a tree is difficult to draw a willow, painting a person is difficult to draw a hand” ah, what “Yan Tendon Willow bone” ah, “pick up a pen” “luck” “hide the end” ah. He also gave me a copy of the inscription “Cao Quan Bei” and a copy of “Sketching Characters and Drawing Charts”, and inscribed a sum of money on the title pages of the two books. Both books are thread-bound, and the thin paper is yellowed. They must be valuable cultural relics left today. Unfortunately, during the Cultural Revolution, I regarded them as the “Four olds” and burned them privately. In the teacher’s home did not sit for long, before leaving, the teacher assigned homework, let me face two pieces of post every day, drawing a picture.

After that, I would go to my teacher’s home every Sunday, hand in my homework for a week, and then write and paint under the teacher’s directions. Stay for half a day. During that time, I may have made a lot of progress in my painting, and I seem to have had some experience in writing brush. Anyway, my father was pleased with my progress. The teacher, however, did not praise me much, except that he put more and more red circles on my words and paintings and occasionally called over his mother, who was busy making matchboxes, to show her my work. But from his more and more careful explanation and occasionally smile, I feel that the teacher is satisfied with my grades.

It was the age of hunger. Every family can with tin can steamed rice to eat, so that there is no rice crust, no waste, and one meal two, no one will eat more. I was in the midst of growing my body, and I could never remember eating enough. For a long time, it is inevitable to grow thin, a look of malnutrition. Sometimes, while listening to the teacher’s lecture, he would fall asleep with his eyes lost and pupil heavily. Perhaps it was because they had no children. My mother gave me special attention, and she would often whip up a handful of nice things out of nowhere, like fava beans or sweet potato chips, to satisfy my appetite. Sometimes I lost track of time when I was drawing. When their meal was ready, the two old people would ask me again and again to stay at their house for dinner. Because my parents have asked me, generally I will not eat in the teacher’s home, they do not have enough to eat. When it was cold, I stamped my feet and rubbed my hands as I wrote, and my mother quietly moved her baking basket (a kind of southern heating object) to my feet.

As My teacher and I became familiar with each other, the impression of “old landlord” and “accountant” when we met for the first time gradually faded. I feel that the two old people are very kind and responsible people. The teacher does not draw easily. Often in the side watching me write, from time to time in the side pointing. There were also times when the teacher put down his pipe and spread out the rice paper on the long paper, as if he were showing off his ink. Not too long, a piece of dragon and snake calligraphy or dripping ink landscape will be shown in front of me. This makes me admire the teacher’s ability.

Teachers seem to have no jobs. The mother is also a housewife, in addition to cooking every day is constantly burning matchboxes. Their house was very quiet, as if there were no relatives, and few people moved about. I only remember a few times when the residents’ committee came and the teacher politely offered her seat to make tea, while the teacher was painting by himself, as if he didn’t see anything. I thought to myself, how can the teacher treat the guests like this?

It lasted only half a year. If it had not been for what happened later, maybe I would have had a longer career in painting, and maybe I would have been better at it. But……

I remember that day all too well. For some reason, the old couple were in a good mood that day. After instructing my homework, the teacher insisted that I stay for dinner at his house. When I was eating, I found that there was an extra meat on the table. I did not know what a good day it was. Although remember the parents of the order, under the constant attention of the teacher’s mother, I was very rude to chew up. Just eating, the people from the neighborhood committee came. As usual, her mother put down her bowl and rose to greet her. That person however very abrupt say: don’t sit don’t sit, you come over for a moment. She called her teacher and mother to the yard, then whispered, not a small voice, vaguely can hear “meeting”… “Four classes of molecules”… Or something. I listen to the heart of some perturbed, with the corner of his eyes secretly took aim at the teacher, he took the rice bowl did not speak, also sideways in listening to. The person of neighborhood committee is still in very not polite of loudly say: don’t say I didn’t notice ah, remember, forbid to be absent — say, a twist buttocks turn round to walk, the gate is behind her “ping –” of a heavy belt.

I still twist the head in blunt doorway hair stare blankly, here “when” of 1, the teacher throw chopstick heavy on the table again play gao. This gave me a good fright. The teacher’s face was as red as if he had drunk wine. He stamped his bowl on the table, then turned and went into the inner room. The teacher’s mother panicked, hurriedly put down the bowl and followed.

I quickly grabbed a few mouthfuls of rice, standing at the door of the teacher’s room timidly said: “Teacher, I go”, also regardless of the other people heard not to hear, then grabbed the bag to escape also like out of the door.

All the way the word kept ringing in my ears “four molecules”… “Four classes of molecules”… What a terrible word. In my eyes, it’s just those black hands squeezing Liu Wenwen’s neck. I am still a cadre of the Young Pioneers. Teachers are four molecules, right? Teachers are four molecules, right? I’m drawing with four molecules… Oh, terrible.

A week went by and it was time to hand in the homework again. I walked around the street with my schoolbag on my back all morning without stepping into the door of my teacher’s house.

Several weeks went by before the family found out. Father barked: why play truant, I do not know how to answer him, only say: don’t want to learn. My father shook his head again and again in despair, and scolded me, “What a useless thing –“

So my painting career came to an end. No one knows why but myself.

However, perhaps because had this paragraph of experience of learning painting, later on in junior high school, but also in the class out of the wall newspaper show one’s hand and two hands, to the cultural center, sometimes follow others on the rice paper daub, there is a bit like that. But after all, it is a hobby, not on the table.

Since then, I have never seen my teacher and mother again. When I went to the countryside to jump the queue, I went back to Changsha and heard my mother tell me that her teacher’s mother had died. My mother had once met my teacher, who looked like a man down and out, picking up cigarette butts left in the street to eat. Looking at her pity, the mother gave him the few dollars she had on her. After a few years, and heard that the teacher also died, died when very desolate, dead for several days was found. Because he has no descendants, also do not know whether he has other relatives, the neighborhood committee decided to his hasty cremation –

Once heard my father said, the teacher is actually a very talented person, stone painting, calligraphy, poetry and fu are very good, the appreciation and collection of ancient painting and calligraphy is a unique vision. He once imitated Qi Baishi’s paintings to the point of authenticity, and the heads of provincial governments at the time were often fooled by his imitations into buying them for collection. It can be seen that the teacher’s painting skills are very good. He had also worked as a clerk in the Kuomintang county government, but because he was aloof and arrogant, he offended people and could not get along. On the eve of liberation, I do not know where a small fortune, he bought some land in the countryside. Before there was time to collect rent, Hunan was liberated. In other words, the teacher had never lived a single day as a landlord, but he assumed the status of a landlord, so his life would not be easy.

Sometimes I think, in the environment surrounded by indifference and white eyes, my appearance may have been… But, in those days, a teenager of the world.

Fortunately, those days are passing us by.