Your red beauty, our hands (Shen Lang's words)

Author: Shen Shengyi
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2005-05-01
Features: The painter Leng Bingguang has a black-and-white painting called "Balcony." In one corner of the balcony, the plants are lush and adorable, clustering around two or three round and plump chairs. The painting is empty, but one can imagine the comfort of sitting there doing something or nothing at all. My friend Shen Jun says his balcony is just like that. During the blooming season of flowers, he meticulously describes in his notes: "On the fourteenth day of the third month, a cloudy afternoon, 109 azaleas bloomed"; the newly bought lilies "the large and fragrant white flowers faded and bloomed again, and now there are two flowers and one bud"; and a pot of dense and vigorous unknown plants "like the lingering charm of the late Tang after the mid-Tang, but more so like the resounding echoes of the past, apart from the lush stems and flower pots, which are worth admiring, the tiny leaves and flowers bring a lively and delightful vitality." Some flowers were even photographed for keepsakes. I wonder how Shen Jun manages to maintain his leisurely and carefree spirit. Like most people, after school, he holds a regular job, cares for his parents, socializes with friends and relatives, gets married, and raises children. In recent years, he has bought and renovated two houses and moved twice. He carries the same burdens and trivialities as ordinary household men. Yet he hasn’t gradually become someone who is overweight, bald, and has a dull manner of speaking, sitting in front of the TV after putting the children to bed. Shen Jun continues to buy and read books, writing pile upon pile of reading notes, mostly about his book purchases and reflections on reading, as well as commentary on current affairs and daily joys and sorrows. The notes are accompanied by corresponding images, photographs, prints of his favorite paintings and calligraphy, and bookplates, making them very pleasing to the eye. Shen Jun calls this "the work of his study." Periodically, he shares with us thick notes from his study, those densely packed words—even if written without much thought—require a great deal of time and effort. Moreover, Shen Jun makes this "work" both emotionally and intellectually rich, which is no easy feat for someone who works a desk job during the day and has household responsibilities in the evening. Shen Jun balances the of reality and the world in his heart very well, making it seem effortless to others. But surely he must have his own struggles that remain unknown to others. I’ve never heard him complain, only that he often mentions reading a good book, planting a few beautiful flowers, or hearing comforting words from friends. His notes are repeatedly filled with his feelings of gratitude for good people and beautiful words, as well as his ever-widening heart toward life. Some say that once one gets married and starts a career, entangled in worldly affairs, they become birds with broken wings, no longer able to dream of flying. But in reality, that’s because they become complacent and, over time, forget the days when their wings fluttered and the wind and clouds whistled past their ears. Shen Jun is no exception; he is grounded and practical, and you don’t see his wings. Yet, in those rare moments when he sheds the burdens of daily life, he takes flight, soaring with the wings in his heart—through the pages of a book, in the time it takes to smoke a cigarette. Birds with broken wings can still fly with their hearts. This is a colorful book. A colorful South: The shade of trees in South Asia and Southern Europe, light wine, fish that glow in the sea, small flowers in the rain, blue sunlight that smells of butterflies, and lightning clothe the soul in bright yet hazy hues. A colorful art: The West Wind, winter sunshine, connecting with the windows of spring; when blue meets red, you can hear the soul being gently struck beneath the cold moon of this life. Colorful scattered leaves: Loneliness and warmth in the changing seasons, shadows and nights meeting at the ends of the earth, leaving behind some disappointed letters, some memories too dark or too vivid to write, all intertwining to create moving light and color.