Composition of one-day tour in Daoxugou

My teacher likes undeveloped, artificially carved environment. What he wants is natural and simple scenery. In that place, the only farmhouse we can live in is the dilapidated doorway and different doorways.

When I first went out to sketch a few years ago, I often tripped over the threshold, from the base to the calf. I often walk into a door without warning and stumble. I slapped the bodhisattva on the table of the Eight Immortals on the head. After a lot of boring losses, I finally learned to be smart. Whenever I see a door more than two meters high and more than ten centimeters thick, I will subconsciously do leg lifts.

Only later did I understand the mystery. It turns out that in this remote mountainous area, folk customs are old-fashioned and backward, and thoughts are feudal and conservative. And the height of that threshold is equal to the family's local status and so on. The higher the threshold, the higher the status of the symbol. I was very happy. What if I live in the village head's house?

So I began to pay attention to those thresholds and this closed village.

The weather in July, although the summer heat in the mountains is not heavy, is still dry and sultry. We started painting at five o'clock in the morning and painted until around nine o'clock in the morning. Some people wander in the mountains from time to time, occasionally look back, as if afraid to disturb us, shrink aside and say nothing. There are only some teenagers in the mountains, but they don't go to school and run all over the mountain. When they saw someone drawing, they gathered around and began to be timid and silent. Then a bold child asked, "Is it a golden haystack in the distance?" My answer is that they started talking a lot and asked me how much this painting cost. I smiled and told them that it was just a work, not for sale. A child asked me if I could give it to her. I nodded, took the painting and told her to wait until it was dry before taking it away. In the meantime, I asked them why they didn't go to class. A group of children frankly said that their families were poor, or that there were no scholars in their ancestors, and that the theory that reading was useless came from their parents. Suddenly, I remembered the high threshold and the dark hall inside, as if it had been blocked by doors for thousands of years.

When the painting dried up, it was blown by the wind with a lot of fine dust and embedded in the art paper. The children didn't dislike it and held it like a baby. I'm beginning to find this scene less pleasant.