A visit to a gallery in Hefei, Anhui, last autumn led me on an unexpected journey. The first half-day after arriving in Hefei was spent entirely immersed in the Anhui Provincial Museum, where the displayed bronze artifacts were astonishing, though they felt distant in time and space. I had no time to visit the neighboring Hefei Art Museum, but my wife, far away, still suggested I find a moment to go. Finally squeezing out a few hours, I briefly visited a friend and then took the subway. With only a few stops left, I suddenly felt the direction was wrong; I was actually heading towards the Anhui Provincial Art Museum. It was already past 3 p.m., so I decided to go with the flow. Quickly checking the exhibition information for both venues, I found the provincial museum had just opened the "Gao Ershi Calligraphy Exhibition" the previous day, which was highly appealing; I couldn't find any information for the city museum. In my hesitation, I still decided to turn back and head to the city museum, driven by an inexplicable impulse, as if compelled by a stubborn thought.
Exiting the subway, I still had to walk a stretch. It was a warm autumn day, and I was the only one hurrying along the street, wiping away a light sweat. Nearing 4 o'clock, I walked purposefully towards the main entrance. Out of the corner of my eye, I vaguely saw a promotional board for a Feng Zikai painting exhibition. Without stopping, I felt a secret delight; perhaps this was the exhibition I had come for.
I started my visit from the first floor, going through each section. The contemporary art section, not yet sifted through, was largely disappointing. The Feng Zikai exhibition was on the fourth floor. Stepping inside and standing before the paintings, I instantly felt a sense of calm. The main subject of one painting was a tall pine tree; outside a tile-roofed house, two people sat under a weeping willow, drinking tea while a breeze blew from behind. Feng Zikai's paintings are generally small in size, easy to appreciate, and immediately transport the viewer into their world. Below the painting, the exhibition label bore the title "Spring Breeze Seems to Have Come." What a wonderful phrase! Feng Zikai truly is a poet! I was doubly moved by the painting's sentiment and this exquisite line. I thought, how fitting that this painting was placed first; Feng Zikai's life and art, and my own hurried comings and goings today, perfectly captured the essence of these five characters! As someone who rarely writes prose, I had already decided to write a travelogue, perhaps concluding it by expanding on these five characters, using poetry to embellish it, as a commemoration of this precious opportunity.
During the viewing, I was repeatedly moved by the natural, unadorned beauty and the captivating意境 (artistic conception) of the paintings. Thinking of Zikai's life story stirred excitement within me, bringing tears to my eyes. This was an experience I, as someone who consistently follows art, had never had before. Perhaps it's because I more often appreciate traditional painting, where the power lies not in impact but in subtlety and implication, allowing one to relax and let go. The experience of viewing oil paintings can be dazzling, even startling, but how could it make me shed tears so easily?
Three years ago, I visited the "Central Plains Painting Style Exhibition" with my wife. Before a realistic oil painting, she, a native of the Central Plains, stood gazing for a long time, tears welling in her eyes. Shocked, she was also surprised by this unprecedented emotion, saying, "Why do I feel upset and want to cry?" I thought, it wasn't upset; it was that she saw the vastness of heaven and earth, the hardships of human life, and the nostalgia for the Central Plains—all of which awakened her原生记忆 (primordial memories). That time, we couldn't shake off the feeling for a long while. The other oil painting exhibitions in the entire art gallery, those so-called arts playing with colors and故作玄虚 (deliberately mystifying), paled in comparison, lacking genuine power. Even looking at traditional landscape paintings afterward felt somewhat thin for a moment. My wife pays far less attention to art than I do, yet she gains deeper, more profound感动 (moved feelings). Perhaps this is real life being awakened by real art, something that experience and theory cannot obscure.
Lost in thought, I had to排除双重干扰 (exclude two interferences): first, the pungent smell of plastic from newly printed exhibition boards behind me. I resisted it, immersing myself in the painting before me, which in turn strengthened my resistance. Second, several girls nearby kept taking photos, treating the place entirely as a打卡地 (check-in spot). I regretted that they were wasting a rare opportunity to领悟艺术与美 (comprehend art and beauty). At that moment, a painting caught my eye: a child leading an old grandmother behind them, pointing ahead, wanting to see the excitement. The title was "The Sound of Gongs and Drums," indeed reflecting curiosity about热闹 (bustle). Neither figure had eyes drawn, yet they were still vivid. I immersed myself in the画意 (painting's sentiment), familiar with this minimalist style, not uncommon in Feng Zikai's cartoon-like works. A couple nearby, likely情侣 (a romantic couple), were walking and chatting in sync. The man said, "Hey, why doesn't this person have eyes?" The woman replied, "It's true. Oh, look, 'The Sound of Gongs and Drums'—it should be listened to with the ears, emphasizing hearing, so maybe they didn't draw the eyes?" I was surprised. Earlier, in front of another painting, the man encountered a character he didn't recognize and was about to look it up when I脱口而出 (blurted out) and told him. I assumed they weren't very familiar with this type of art, lacking at least knowledge and experience. But this conversation showed they had feeling; at least one was good at observing, the other at analyzing. In comparison, I must have been麻木 (numbed) by experience,以至于顺理成章地 (to the point of taking it for granted) neglecting to ponder the painting's sentiment. If someone had asked me, I could have explained the rationale about视觉听觉 (vision and hearing), but when viewing silently by myself, my感觉 (sensations) were粗糙而不甚鲜活 (coarse and not very vivid).
We walked along前后 (one after another). Before the painting "Stethoscope," the woman made another comment, which I didn't catch clearly due to the surrounding干扰 (interference). In the end, I asked this stranger, hoping to hear her见解和感觉 (insights and feelings). Striking up a conversation with a stranger like this was probably something Feng Zikai gave me the courage to do. After completing the circuit, I decided to look again. Prompted by the woman's remark, I should also pay more attention to the relationship between the original inscriptions and the画面 (painting's imagery). So, I started again from "Spring Breeze Seems to Have Come." However, upon仔细一看 (looking carefully), the characters inscribed on the painting actually read: "Only at your house, the old pine tree / The spring breeze came as if it never came." So it wasn't the same line! What a surprise!
Had it come, or had it not come? Seemed to come, or seemed not to have come? I was instantly plunged into bewildered惊讶 (astonishment), even more栩栩然且蘧蘧然 (vivid and startling) than Zhuangzi's confusion between self and butterfly, dream and non-dream. The poet Li Shangyin wrote, "Zhuangzi, at dawn, dreaming, was lost in a butterfly." The character "迷" (lost/mesmerized) is perfect. And the ancients偏偏 (unexpectedly) associated this line with the feeling of "适" (contentment/ease) among the "适怨清和" (four qualities of music). How marvelous! Both lost and content—that was Zhuangzi back then, and it is me now. Between us, is Zikai the butterfly, the dream, the old pine, or the spring breeze?
The original line inscribed by Feng Zikai fits the painting's content more closely, while the exhibition label's "缩句" (condensed sentence) elevates the意境 (artistic conception). I think the person who made this label probably sought convenience, choosing a seven-character line from the fourteen characters, then reducing the seven-character line to five. But this inadvertent简约 (conciseness) created a奇特误差 (peculiar discrepancy), leading to an升华 (elevation) of aesthetic feeling, more in line with Feng Zikai's overall风度 (demeanor/style) and the exhibition's significance. Of course, if this person did it intentionally, I must call him Zikai's知音 (kindred spirit). Even though he altered Zikai's original line, he captured the heart that景仰 (reveres) Zikai and the意 (intent) that赏会 (appreciates) Zikai.
Closing time was approaching. Walking down to the first floor, I suddenly realized I couldn't remember the exhibition's theme. To avoid遗憾 (regret), I returned to the exhibition hall and saw four large characters: "Genuine Human Feelings." Perhaps I hadn't seen them earlier, or perhaps these four太普通的字 (too ordinary characters) failed to attract attention. But likely, few titles could be more appropriate than these four words. Genuine Human Feelings—that which moves us is precisely what Feng Zikai left behind.
踏上归途 (Setting off on the return journey) in the twilight, weary yet constantly looking back. Some say one should often look back at the path taken to gain richer feelings—a道理 (principle) I understood long ago, but this day's gallery visit brought personal verification. This is art's role in life: a prompt for discovery.
Genuine scenes in the human world,
All phenomena naturally unfold.
Just look back at the places passed,
The spring breeze indeed has come.
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