Feng Zikai's Prose

Author: Cao Zikai
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2002-12-01
Features: School. This had made me endure long periods of frustration, and I always harbored hostility toward this school. I entered a normal school with the purpose of acquiring knowledge, and my frustration was justified. Fortunately, after the preparatory course, the knowledge-based subjects in the school became more advanced. As long as my desire for knowledge was satisfied, like a child who calmed down after getting candy, I would bury myself in studies and diligently work on all my subjects. My academic performance in exams was often among the top. When I returned home during holidays, my mother was also very pleased. Every time I left home to go back to school, my mother would give me cakes and zongzi to take with me. However, the effects of the cakes and zongzi eventually wore off. After my third year, my grades plummeted, and my average ranking at graduation was 20th. The reason was as follows: After the third year, the curriculum gradually focused more on education and teaching methods. These were subjects I had no interest in learning. At that time, I was dreaming of my future—perhaps studying classical Chinese under the knowledgeable Chinese literature teacher I admired, or entering a science university to study physics, or attending a church school to study foreign languages. I considered education and teaching methods to be obstacles to my future progress. Yet, I was ultimately controlled by this school, and I cursed myself for not being able to spread my wings and fly. This period brought me long-term frustration. In addition to reducing knowledge-based subjects and increasing education and teaching methods, a new change occurred in our curriculum. Our drawing class was now taught by Li Shutong, the music teacher who was often absent. Li’s teaching methods felt very novel to me: We had been copying from the "Pencil Drawing Manual" and "Watercolor Drawing Manual" published by Commercial Press. Li, however, taught us not to use books—instead, he had us come to class empty-handed. There were no four-legged tables in the classroom, only three-legged easels. On the easels stood plaster sculptures of heads. We sat in front of the easels empty-handed, and the class monitor was instructed to distribute a textured paper and a thin charcoal stick to each student, along with four thumbtacks (all our learning supplies were provided by the school, not brought by ourselves). Later, the teacher took out a basket of steamed buns from under the lecture desk, much to our astonishment. We wondered if everyone had to eat buns during drawing class. Later, the buns were indeed distributed to each of us, but we were not taught to eat them. Instead, we were instructed to use them as erasers. Then, the teacher pushed the blackboard aside (our blackboards were hinged, allowing one to slide over the other. Li would always write down all the key points he wanted to cover on the blackboard before class, covering them with the other one. When needed, he would push it aside), and taught us how to sketch the plaster sculptures with charcoal. I found this novel drawing method very interesting. Previously, when I had free time, I would observe objects around me, such as the clouds in the sky, moss on the walls, objects on the table, or people’s faces. My heart would follow the lines and shades, and I would feel an indescribable sense of charm. I often felt that all shapes had very complex and orderly organizations in their lines and shadows. Studying them closely was quite fascinating, but this was too trivial and unimportant, serving no other practical purpose except for that charm. I thought there must not be a specific field of study dedicated to such matters. But at that time, as I sketched the plaster sculptures with charcoal and listened to the teacher’s guidance, I suddenly realized