Amaya Lake -The Sky(4)

The Sky(4)

The Sky(4)

A dog yelling at a wolf or a hen jumping to a dog?(#SriLanka)


 

I’m so grateful that I’ve seen this at Amaya Lake in Sri Lanka.  You might imagine how fast I clicked the button of my camera and how wonderful I felt. Just standing there, watching the colors changing almost every single half a minute. This one is powerful. It just makes me believe more that nature is the real artist!

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Drawing#12: Friends or Enemies

Friends or Enemies

Friends or Enemies

They seem to know each other. Imagine what relationship and what conversation could they possibly have. Or just walk away in silence? Or even with something more than just silence?


From now on, I’ll post my drawings weekly, or maybe twice a week. To share the below auto-biographic stories, I’ll keep being creative, transforming my thoughts into words and images.

I started school when I was ten. In primary school, there was no lessons other than Maths and Chinese. The rest were merely reading on your own and doing homework. So basically, I had to skip the rest of the classes to do housework or farmwork. And the teacher used charcoal to write on the wooden board. Not to mention that I never owned any proper paper. One evening after dinner, I invited my best playmate to visit my room. We sat up on the bed face to face, looking into each other. Then we came up with an idea to draw each other’s face. So we used the back page of my Chinese and Math books, which were blank and white. In the end, we looked again and again at the drawings, laughing with pride. Too bad, soon the pictures faded away naturally. Now the drawn face has become vague, but the memory of my very first drawing with a pencil is still vivid. Continue reading

The Bloody Butterfly -7

The Bloody Butterfly

The Bloody Butterfly

Almost as red as the flowers,the butterfly seems like a drummer with its legs rocking on the petals. So cool…


Theme 1: Beautiful Creatures.

For this theme, the 1st project is to share about 50 butterflies.

Why butterfly? Because when I was young, I have had supernatural experience with a super big butterfly, which has become a part of my first Chinglish novel . Since then, I have been into the mystery of all different butterflies and their short lives. 

Drawing#11: Perfection of Mask

Perfection of Mask

Perfection of Mask

If a man is perfect, what is perfection? – from A Perfect Man by Heather Cai.

Yet a mask could be perfection. 


From now on, I’ll post my drawings weekly, or maybe twice a week. To share the below auto-biographic stories, I’ll keep being creative, transforming my thoughts into words and images.

I started school when I was ten. In primary school, there was no lessons other than Maths and Chinese. The rest were merely reading on your own and doing homework. So basically, I had to skip the rest of the classes to do housework or farmwork. And the teacher used charcoal to write on the wooden board. Not to mention that I never owned any proper paper. One evening after dinner, I invited my best playmate to visit my room. We sat up on the bed face to face, looking into each other. Then we came up with an idea to draw each other’s face. So we used the back page of my Chinese and Math books, which were blank and white. In the end, we looked again and again at the drawings, laughing with pride. Too bad, soon the pictures faded away naturally. Now the drawn face has become vague, but the memory of my very first drawing with a pencil is still vivid. Continue reading

Amaya Lake -The Sky(3)

The Sky behind the trees.

The Sky behind the trees.

Seen through the trees, the colors of the sky are creamy and dreamy…


 

I’m so grateful that I’ve seen this at Amaya Lake in Sri Lanka.  You might imagine how fast I clicked the button of my camera and how wonderful I felt. Just standing there, watching the colors changing almost every single half a minute. This one is powerful. It just makes me believe more that nature is the real artist!

The Quiet Butterfly -6

The Quiet Butterfly

The Quiet Butterfly

The butterfly plays hide and stays quiet with its wings wide open, no matter what.


Theme 1: Beautiful Creatures.

For this theme, the 1st project is to share about 50 butterflies.

Why butterfly? Because when I was young, I have had supernatural experience with a super big butterfly, which has become a part of my first Chinglish novel . Since then, I have been into the mystery of all different butterflies and their short lives. 

Rain Girl

White and Blue

White and Blue

The girl in the rain, once was a sort of boy who only hung out with boys. A number of times, she would do all different things in the rain, alone or with someone. The midnight before graduating from high school, she couldn’t control herself but led a bunch of boys running in the rain on the road. It was all dark. But she wasn’t afraid of the darkness. she was suddenly afraid of growing up and leaving an old place.

In the darkness, along with the boys, she laughed, cried and screamed; she lifted her face up, welcomed the rain pouring down; she kissed and tasted the rain; she sensed the freedom of the rain; she felt behind such freedom was sadness. The rain comes and goes, just like people coming and going. She really enjoyed how the rain washed something away from her heart and added something else to her mind. It was exactly the same feeling as how people gave her memories and she was afraid to lose them.

When leaving a place, she was always the last one to leave. She sent off everyone. She then quietly left alone. She even pictured her future without people coming and going. But she knew it was her sheer illusion.

Later she became a woman. The feeling never changed. One late night, thinking of leaving another place, with an impulsion she couldn’t help walking in the rain, alone. It was a dark street. The rain made her wet all over.  Even her brain was soaked. This time, she didn’t laugh or scream. But she did cry in silence. She tasted the rain more deeply. She opened her mouth, let the rain fill in naturally. She then would swallow a mouthful of rain, as though the rain was not rain but beer. She drank one mouthful and another. Until there was a motorcycle coming towards her. The driver waved, whistled and asked if she wanted a ride. She shook her head continuously without looking at him. Apparently, he was disappointed. As a result, he suddenly sped up, drove a circle around her with one hand touching her tits roughly. For the moment, he was a ghostly dark shadow and she was so horribly terrified that she couldn’t see anything. The only sound she could hear was the engine from the motorcycle. The only thing she could smell was the cigarette from his nostril. The only thing she could feel was the dirty hand that she was not fast enough to push away. Once she could see something, he already disappeared in the darkness with only the sound left. She wished she could cut off that hand and have it feed the pig.

Since that night, she stopped walking in the rain in the darkness by herself. But tonight, she had the same feeling. She walked alone in the dim light, missing the rain. Passing through the crowds, she felt as though she was the only one moving. Stealing a glance at the others whose eyes were as emotionless as a dead fish, she wished she could take a cold shower in the rain.


This blog is to remember a great Penguin in a particular way. 

Drawing#10: The Dream Police

The Dream Police

The Dream Police

Who’s afraid of the police?


From now on, I’ll post my drawings weekly, or maybe twice a week. To share the below auto-biographic stories, I’ll keep being creative, transforming my thoughts into words and images.

I started school when I was ten. In primary school, there was no lessons other than Maths and Chinese. The rest were merely reading on your own and doing homework. So basically, I had to skip the rest of the classes to do housework or farmwork. And the teacher used charcoal to write on the wooden board. Not to mention that I never owned any proper paper. One evening after dinner, I invited my best playmate to visit my room. We sat up on the bed face to face, looking into each other. Then we came up with an idea to draw each other’s face. So we used the back page of my Chinese and Math books, which were blank and white. In the end, we looked again and again at the drawings, laughing with pride. Too bad, soon the pictures faded away naturally. Now the drawn face has become vague, but the memory of my very first drawing with a pencil is still vivid. Continue reading

Amaya Lake -The Sky(2)

The color is lighter but more shapes now.

The color is lighter but more shapes now.

I’m so grateful that I’ve seen this at Amaya Lake in Sri Lanka.  You might imagine how fast I clicked the button of my camera and how wonderful I felt. Just standing there, watching the colors changing almost every single half a minute. This one is powerful. It just makes me believe more that nature is the real artist!

About Art & Money

The Lotus Eye@Heather Cai

The Lotus Eye – Born in dirt but not dirty, grows up with ripples of water but straightens up gracefully. (出淤泥而不染,濯清涟而不妖)

By Picasso, currently sold out for $179m. (Source:Google)

Women of Algiers by Picasso, currently sold for $179m to set new world auction record. (Source:Google)

If an art can be measured by money, would you still call it art? Does art have to do with money?

My Chinese name is Lotus in Peace. I drew The Lotus Eye once I heard the news of Picasso’s Women of Algiers sold for an amount of money almost as big as the sky. I can’t remember how much exactly but I shall never forget the fact. It just disgusts me.

According to Wikipedia-The Arts, “In its most basic abstract definition, art is a documented expression of a sentient being through or on an accessible medium so that anyone can view, hear or experience it.” Obviously, the definition of the Arts doesn’t mention anything to do with money. So should I say, art is there for people to view, hear, appreciate, experience or make the world a better place, but not for sale?

$179m, so what? How exactly does the $179m do good to the people, to the world? Personally,as a matter of fact, whether you admit it or not, it just makes the arts cheaper and cheaper. For the sake of art, I dare ask, what will they do with the money and what will they do with the painting?

Nowadays, nothing is not that cheap. Hearing the voices of majority people on earth, everything is not cheap but expensive. You’ve earned more, but you would spend far more. Your basic salary improves little by little, but even the price of a proper Chinese soup goes higher and faster than you might imagine. There is nothing absolute. You can afford something like Picasso’s Women of Algiers, give it a superb price, break some record, so what? The painting is still a painting. How many people can really view, hear, appreciate and experience the art of the painting itself that way?

Why everything is so cheap? Nothing is really priceless. Everything has a good price. If anything has got a price to sell or buy, is it still so precious or priceless? Is it?

Anything you can buy with money is not priceless or rather not precious. Before, a medal could be priceless or precious, but now you can buy one cheaply; a life could be precious or priceless, but now you too can buy one secretly; a love could be priceless or precious, but too you now can buy one on the street or through the internet; a piece of art could be very precious and priceless, but now it seems not. It only weighs for the weight of money and values for the meaning of money. It is swinging between the edge of pure art and the commercially corrupt. And it’s people who make it so…

I believe pursuing art should be the final lifestyle. Only creating our world with a pure heart can make us against any forms of lowness, live for the meaning of life and the sense of human dignity.

I doubt any real artists want their art to concern money. After all, they don’t create any art for money, but for the sake of art itself. Otherwise, they are no different from those art dealers.

I believe Van Gogh already suffered the pain long before he cut his ear and suffered more before he shot himself. His Sunflowers can tell how much he wanted the pure life. I also believe Pablo Picasso wouldn’t mind how much his paintings were being sold for today if he were still alive. He already grinned at us even after his death.