Who gave me the original "primary color"

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20 10 I was in Beijing in July.

You wrote to tell me:

"I saw a dream, but I woke up halfway."

I stood in the shade of acacia with this thin piece of writing paper and shed tears.

For dreams, we are like Kuafu chasing the sun, but when we fall, we are not even qualified to become a peach garden.

Two years ago, I was wandering in an unknown town. I'm not tired of walking repeatedly on the track of two points and one line at home and in the studio. The summer here is sultry and humid, and the asphalt road smells of plastic warming everywhere. This small town is too self-centered, so noisy that my voice is hoarse, but I still can't see vitality. At that time, I learned an Irish folk song, the tune was light and ethereal, and I was used to humming it until dawn.

"What are you pursuing? Please don't stop, there is no beginning and no end ... "

At dawn, I whispered to the first light that jumped into the room: good night.

In July, acacia flowers always get carried away and flourish. The pink cattail leaf fan stands on the green leaves as a support, which has a layered feeling and a simple rhythm. On the way to the studio, I looked up, but I didn't stop and walked as usual. Pink flowers will jump and flow under the eyes. Therefore, it always excites me for a long time. Like a tunnel in an ocean park, there are fish swimming overhead. What a beautiful, huge heart.

I tried to find van Gogh's right ear. Does it hurt when it is cut off? Van Gogh's right ear bears the artist's melancholy, melancholy and innocence. I like it very much. Where does it live? I never believed that it would give off a rotten smell. Because it's Van Gogh's right ear.

My right ear heard me say this and sighed, "Son, you are a strange man." I put the picture clip on my leg and ignored her. Dedicated to my black and white mirror with lines. I think I like painting. Everything with light has shadows, so it can be composed. There can't be two identical paintings. Dark but unique beauty. Painting is a personal feeling, and it is not necessary to have no skills. I am more addicted to the subtle and smooth sound of 2B pencil rubbing sketch paper. As if the torrent of time rolled in and took us away easily. More often, it is a way to fill the emptiness. White paper is occupied by black, white and gray. Just like a lonely heart, there are only two endings: overflow and emptiness.

After all, I like quiet, unlike my right ear, and I am a free woman. Sometimes I can sit in the studio for a whole day, and when the sunlight comes in obliquely, the drawing paper will glow with sparkling luster, and the tiny lead foam will spread out, as if it were a flowing but undercurrent lake. At this moment, I am so cautious about happiness.

I still remember the afternoon when I met my right ear. The town went into hibernation for the first time. A few cars pass by sporadically, rolling up the fast wind and being as cool as mint. The sunshine is surprisingly gentle, as if it has been filtered several times, soft and soft, reaching the stiff heart. On the way home, I saw her carrying a picture folder with a black silk face, shielding the light left by the leaves with the back of her hand, and admiring the acacia flowers wholeheartedly. A few strands of hair floating in the air, with the fragrance of early summer, feel like a beautiful MV. I seem to have seen another self through time. Long hair, white shirt, blue skirt, blurred eyes. She is smarter. I stood on the other side and soon realized that I was old.

"Who are you?"

"Right ear."

"Is it Van Gogh's right ear?"

This is our beginning, a childish and funny conversation. Later, she told me that she was surprised why my eyes were so clear that I couldn't see the future, the past and only the bloody present. "Maybe we can't even catch it now." I responded to her. When I said these words, my right ear and I were sitting on the roof of her attic. The wind has forcibly penetrated our bodies, and the biting cold is flowing in every corner of our bodies with blood, just like the belief that we are ready to go can't find an exit.

My right ear and I like Van Gogh. I like this lonely man, who sat in the field all afternoon just to draw an ear of rice, cut off his right ear, and then shot himself and died in his brother's arms. Vincent Van Gogh's artistic language not only has unrestrained passion and mania, but also has grandpa's tragic consciousness of depression and despair. My right ear and I used to fantasize about going to the museum at night to steal the original Van Gogh. Finally, after studying the route, equipment, fares and many other issues, we think it is better to rob the bank directly. After the theft scheme was declared bankrupt, we had to spend dozens of dollars to buy a batch of Van Gogh paintings. Bright yellow, indigo, turquoise and ochre are colors that hit your heart again and again like daggers, and you can feel hot and uncontrollable emotions. Those still lives have the burning vitality. Although it is a miniature version of the original painting, my right ear and I are also very satisfied. When I saw Sunflower, the child's hand paid a full and pure yellow tone, and vowed to tell me that one day she would also smear her illusion on the canvas with strong rape flower foam. I know right ear wants to release, release her youth, completely. My right ear suddenly turned to ask me? I secretly took a look at her fiery pupils, but chose to smile without saying a word. Don't reveal, don't talk. Because I am afraid that all beautiful things will rot and break when they come into contact with air. Those beautiful things that my right ear and I expect are too thin and fragile to be contaminated with dust. My right ear had to repeat my silence: "Son, you are a strange man." With a sigh, she continued to read the album, and there was a kind of indignation that she hated iron and did not produce.

Maybe my right ear is right. I am a strange person.

I can't explain the sadness and tears that come out of thin air. I gathered tears in my palm, reflecting bright light like a diamond, but it broke when I pinched it. They flow through my lifeline, my career line and my love line in the form of rivers, drowning all kinds of fate reflected by palm prints.

A life may really have two branches, which are diametrically opposite but exist peacefully. I feel that there are two split souls in my body, snuggling up to each other and feeding each other with the same spoon. In the dark, I always stay awake and look at the pale ceiling disconsolately. As a result, more time hidden in the dark was lit by the cigarette butt in my left hand, burning rapidly and jumping with decadent sparks. I like the taste of tobacco, light and slightly bitter. Smoke walks between my lips and teeth, soft and smooth as silk, just like the picture I painted on it with cloth. Also, my right hand is a perpetual motion machine that subverts physical theory, holding a pine pen and refusing to stop. It carries my dream, and it is depicted on white paper again and again in a continuous time. It seems that all the sun, moon and stars, all kinds of creatures in Qian Qian and even the whole universe will disappear in one line.

I keep the same posture at night: pen in my right hand and cigarette in my left. I don't know how many pictures I have drawn. I put them all in the first drawer on the right hand side and piled them in a thick pile. When I opened the drawer, I could see the light shining, just like a pirate's eyes stung beautifully when he finally found the treasure.

At dawn, I hid the light beam bewitched by the night, lifted my hair and put on a clean school uniform. Smile at everyone you know. Chew betel nut, not bitter mouth because of smoking. I can dissect the tall and vigorous tree into cells waiting for death, I can analyze the force of the oncoming football, and I can look at the pale light when the magnesium rod burns without fear. I swear clearly: Look, I am happy, I am a good boy. Peel a betel nut from my right ear and put it in my mouth, moving gently like taking care of a patient. She said, "You are unhappy." Only my right ear said I was unhappy, but I still kept a calm smile and kept shaking in my heart.

Happy hour is a little girl in a skirt, tiptoeing around us. Senior three came, and suddenly the quiet and happy days of my right ear and I were tampered with. My parents stopped my painting class in lightning speed and quickly filled it up with a cram school for senior three. They have arranged everything properly, and I just have to follow their plan step by step. The original life was suddenly unrecognizable, like the moment when the dinosaur era ended, cruel and decisive, and this vigorous prosperity ended.

One afternoon a month before the college entrance examination, my right ear and I skipped class. We ran along the road like escaped prisoners with picture clips on our backs, and our insides seemed to explode. We were crazy.

Finally, we arrived in the suburbs. There are vast fields waiting to be abandoned and the horizon is like a sleeping animal. Curled in the distance, dignified and solemn. We can't see the edge of the sun. Everyone has his own world, and so does the sun. In this lonely and empty moment, she immersed herself in her gentleness and slowly withdrew from our field of vision. I stood with a picture clip on my right ear and didn't say a word. A pure force wraps us up, and all emotions are diluted and spread. Wildflowers appear innocent white and are scattered mercilessly and irregularly. The inhaled air circulates in the lungs, permeates the weeds, and absorbs the faint fragrance of dew.

My right ear seems to be talking to myself, but it also makes me hear it.

"There are only three colors in the whole world: blue, red and yellow. They are primary colors, existing in a fixed form, but developing in the opposite direction. Even if the final results are complicated and colorful, they can all be traced back to the source, and the primary colors are still the original ones. Son, it is our dream to squander color. No matter what happens in the future, dreams will not change. "

My hand touched the angular outline of the photo folder, and the solid touch gave me a gentle sense of security. Standing by her right ear, the fluttering skirt slapped her naked calf and made a rustling sound. Her mouth is upturned, her cheeks are bulging with small muscles, and her smile is as bright as spring in March, showing vigorous vitality.

I can see sunflowers in her bright eyes. I froze the picture at this moment and captured us peacefully and easily. I hope this moment can last forever. My right ear and I, two children who are afraid of growing up but are growing up, have been standing like this. No waves, no joys and sorrows, no senior three, no piles of exercises and homework. We will always stand in a posture of comforting each other, carrying our pictures on our backs, until the world is yellow and the universe is boundless.

Afterwards, we broke up. They are very busy, trying to make their future as reliable and huge as dung beetles. However, when I met your right ear for the second time, we looked at each other and the scene was embarrassing. My right ear is messy and I'm a little embarrassed. I stood at the door with my luggage. I dare not bring my right ear into the house, so I have to go out and ask her in a low voice what's wrong. The right ear said that she wanted to enter the Academy of Fine Arts, and her mother tore up the volunteer form. She left home after a big fight. I asked her what she was going to do, and she was silent for a long time, saying that she would find a temporary job to earn money to save her tuition. She said she wouldn't give up. I pulled her forehead hair and my heart twitched slightly.

"Are you admitted to the Academy of Fine Arts?" When my right ear asked me, her voice trembled a little. She kept staring at me and refused to relax.

She understands me and our obsession with painting. Although I usually try to suppress my feelings. I want to nod. I can nod. Maybe, I can dominate myself. However, it is only possible.

The voice in the right ear just fell, but my father rushed out from behind the door, jumped on me, slapped my left face hard, and suddenly became irritable. He almost growled and ordered, "Don't go to the Academy of Fine Arts!" My right ear was deafened by my father's beating. For a moment, I was as light as floating, and for another moment, I was too heavy to breathe. I know that my parents have raised me hard for more than ten years and have high hopes for me. The artist's journey is too rough for them. This is reality, naked, subverting us again and again.

Finally, I nodded. Give it to the father instead of the right ear. My heart began to crack and hiss, waiting to fall apart. I'm expressionless, and I'm well disguised. I said, "Dad, it's a little cold outside. Go in. "

I stepped forward and hugged my right ear. She leaned her head firmly on her shoulder, as if she had found something to lean on, and her body collapsed. I smell the fragrance from the root of my right ear, just like the fragrance in the field that day, strong and flamboyant. Through the college entrance examination, through parents, through the concrete forest, through dreams, I saw the starry sky and thought of Van Gogh. Smooth and quiet blue background. I am immersed in Van Gogh's starry sky. Tonight, the stars are dim. Where is Van Gogh? Where is the right ear? At this time, I am a terminally ill patient and forgot the sadness and joy when I saw the critically ill notice.

My right ear hesitated, and she touched my head.

"Son, you have always been so calm, even if the ideal city subverts in front of you. You matured too early and learned to control your desires rationally. "

Crying and coquetry can win the sympathy of adults, but unfortunately we can't. Because we're not kids anymore. So my right ear chose to leave obstinately, and I chose to obey silently. The moment I put down the photo folder, I hated my cowardice I used to be cautious about happiness, but now I am not qualified to be cautious. I should have used tears to pay homage to the primary colors that have shone in my life. Finally, I was brutally discovered, and I was so tired that I cried.

Right ear went to Canada and began to study her oil paintings. The parents of the right ear did not completely compromise the resistance of the right ear, but only deducted the insufficient living expenses. And I have been walking on the campus of a university in Beijing, studying and living step by step according to the future planned by my parents. Ironically, acacia is planted everywhere on campus. I saw the pink curved flowers and learned to tolerate memories. I read the letter from my right ear under the acacia tree with a straight face. On the envelope is a long breath across the ocean. I picked it up and put it on the tip of my nose and sniffed it gently. I smell colorful, flashy and warm, heartless and tragic dreams.

Sometimes, we are prepared with enthusiasm, perseverance and courage, and we think we can continue to advance towards our dreams. However, reality does not give us opportunities. I haven't thought about begging for its pity yet. I'm still waiting for that touch of primary color, which will precipitate richer colors over time.

In fact, no one was knocked down.

The previous one and the next one.

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