Outer Voice: Wu Guanzhong Volume

Author: Wu Guanzhong / Country: Mainland China
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2000-09-01
Features: On the white spring snow paper, a few drops of thick and thin ink fall, presenting the snow of the earth, the scene of snow, and the emotion of snow. I have seen the entire body of the (Jade Dragon Snow Mountain) under the moon, brilliantly white, as if (stole a glimpse of Susan bathing). In the Daba Mountains, I encountered a sudden snowstorm in spring, and the universe immediately changed color, with only the vast expanse of high mountains remaining. Spring snow comes fiercely and melts quickly. As soon as the snowflakes stop falling, dark patches soon appear in the mountains, which rapidly grow and present a mottled leopard-like pattern, offering a unique visual beauty. It is an outstanding abstract painting, but it lasts only for a moment. At the foothills of the Himalayas, looking up, only the brilliant crystal palace is visible, making it difficult to open one's eyes without sunglasses to appreciate it. Plains, river valleys, small bridges with flowing water—all covered in white, all displaying the beauty of purity and freshness. Snow scenes are a theme that people will always love in photography and painting. I have painted many snows in the wilderness and courtyards. Though all snow is white, their moods and artistic connotations are never the same. This painting, "Spring Snow," focuses on the flow of charm and the slow transformation between the real and the illusory.
Alone, companionless, silent, formless, loneliness lingers for people to savor and appreciate—it is the true taste of life. The departed have left behind loneliness; the future is vast and uncertain, and now there is loneliness. Loneliness has no place in time and space; it drifts, drifts to people's faces, but offers no comfort, then drifts away again, leaving you to feel an even deeper boundless loneliness. In the hazy universe, the endless flow of formless lines suddenly appears with companions—red and green companionship, love. They move through the universe, temporarily forgetting loneliness. They are the ephemeral flowers that loneliness breeds.
During the eight years of the Anti-Japanese War in old Chongqing, I lived in the suburbs of Chongqing for five years. I recalled the landscapes and customs of Shu (Sichuan), as if it were my second hometown, and thus I visited Shu many times to sketch. Every time I visited Shu, my thoughts were filled with nostalgia, as if time had reversed. Standing at the confluence of the Yangtze and Jialing Rivers, the Yangtze River city of Chongqing is majestic and unique in its style. From the perspective of plastic arts, its overlapping, crisscrossing, black-and-white interplay, and the unity of vertical and horizontal lines create an extraordinary sense of architectural sculpture or sculptural architecture. The densely packed houses, scattered colorful spots, and mountain paths carved into labyrinths by time. The mountain city stands on the surging rivers, with sails weaving through the water and masts standing tall. The complexities of life connect from the water to the peaks. Everyone relies on walking, so the people of Shu have strong leg strength, truly (worthy of being called mountain city people).
In the 1970s, I sketched Chongqing with oil and ink, painting the dense forests of ancient (upside-down wooden houses) and the city with black roofs and white walls. My style was between realism and abstraction, giving the impression of realism, but in fact, it relied on abstract techniques. If I had painted each house individually, it would have taken ten years to complete. I haven't returned to Sichuan in twenty years; the world has changed, and today's Chongqing is undoubtedly different from the old days. Looking through my old paintings of Chongqing, I was filled with nostalgia for the past, so I used a large 10-foot canvas to paint the old Chongqing that I had given my youth to. The old appearance of the mountain city thus stood before me once again, becoming a magnificent sight. I hope it remains young, never aging with the author.
Points and lines greet spring. In winter, the old tree in the garden has shed all its leaves, with its entire body of branches curving and hanging like a protective embrace over young lives. But beneath the tree, there is no life, only patches of sunlight filtering through, like eyes half open and half closed, watching the surrounding crowds. A group of old people sit around the tree, basking in warm sunlight, silent and motionless. They are content in nature's warmth, too lazy to speak, indifferent to the swaying tree shadows. When the branches become exceptionally soft and sway like claws, new buds and leaves appear, and the color of the tree cluster changes daily. Last night it was just a hint of green, but today, emerald specks flutter. Spring has arrived quietly? The peach blossoms on the other side have also bloomed, revealing red buds. The old people still come to sit, but fewer and fewer. They are easily susceptible to cold and fear the wind, even the gentle breeze is too lively for them. Young people have replaced the old, couples coming to the shaded branches, but they are not here to admire the beauty of spring.
Where is spring? It appears in the points and lines of the branches and leaves. The painter has created his own language: Points and Lines Greeting Spring.