Chapter 16 14.painting from evil

When autumn comes, I like to go out to sketch with my drawing board on my back.This is a career that I have not given up on for so many years.During these years of growing up, I kept giving up my beloved things, dancing and singing. My right leg has always been in pain since I was 6 years old. No matter what I was doing, my leg would hurt for no reason. At that time, if I was dancing, I had to stop. Sometimes I was very unwilling, so I endured the pain and continued to dance. As a reward for my waywardness, I suddenly fell on the stage, with my hooked head and bent neck, like a wounded bird. Like a swan, he fell to the ground tragically.I left the primary school dance team. That day I held my delicate and beautiful dance dress like a cicada’s wings and bird feathers, and my embroidered satin dance shoes, from the room full of mirrors and full of sunlight. leave.

"Sister, do you really want to leave here?" Tang Xiao, who was wearing a princess dress and ballet shoes, chased out from the dance room and asked behind me.She didn't know that her sister was now a cripple with only one leg.My leg ached again at this point.I just pretended to be dancing squares lightly and hopped home, without saying anything to Tang Xiao. I can't sing either.Because I was always feeling out of breath, pinned down, grabbed, strangled - my heart was always hurting.I felt my own trembling in the swollen voice of the microphone, and I ran down the dimly lit stage like a fleeing animal with its tail between its legs.That day I was wearing a white princess dress, and there was a white silk rose on the headband that was tilted on my head. The chorus partner next to me was Tang Xiao, who was wearing a pink princess dress and a light pink rose on the headband.I fled off the stage in a panic, panting heavily, leaving Tang Xiao standing on the stage at a loss.However, she soon understood, she ordered herself to calm down, regained that performative happy expression, and continued to sing the song.Tang Xiao has a natural good voice, I like her voice, her voice is so smooth and smooth.Even though our show didn't win because of my abnormality that time, Tang Xiao was elected "Best Young Singer".From then on, she always participated in the singing group of elementary school, middle school, and university, until she left the singing group at university, and formed a small band with drummer, bass player and others.Frankly speaking, I have never expressed any support or concern for Tang Xiao's singing performance.I never go to her shows, I always sit in my room with floor-to-ceiling curtains and draw.I like to paint my curtains, or windows facing dusk.I scattered the paint on the ground profusely. I was barefoot, and I walked on the paint without hesitation. The paint was pressed by my feet until the spray of color soaked my feet, ankles, and even My skirt hanging down.I seem to be dancing on the most beautiful lake.

But in fact, I am still silently concerned about Tang Xiao's achievements. I know that she has won many awards, but she is always worried about hurting me. She never takes out the awards, let alone stick them on the wall of our room to show off , she knew singing was a ruined wish for me.So the kind of singing I am most obsessed with is definitely not Tang Xiao's full and round voice. What I like is the torn voice full of holes.How obsessed I am with Sopor Aternus's mournful and gender-neutral voice, lingering around like rising roses.Whenever I paint, I like to play her song in a closed room, No one is there.Yes, no one is there, and I watch over my precious solitude forever.

The only thing I can do is to draw before my hand breaks.But I haven't seriously participated in art classes for a few days.When I was in elementary school, it was okay. A group of children who liked painting sat around together, holding a painting book with fine paper and drawing seriously.My stick figures are placed on the bulletin board at the door of the classroom - a small, affectionate animal, or a cluster of gorgeous flowers and plants. I often like to draw swings, blue, dangling, restless , the swing of Liushenwuzhu.The thing with my perpetual pain in it always looked extraordinarily moving.But when I was in junior high school, the teacher in the art group didn't like me very much.He took us to sketch, it was a quiet church, full of maternal tenderness - because of the belief in the Virgin Mary, the Catholic Church is always like this.Everyone thinks that this church is very tall and majestic, and we must try our best to express the beauty of the church on the screen.Only me, don't like this church.To be sure, I don't like all cathedrals, I fear them, they are to me the equivalent of enchanted castles.I still remember the small church on West Gengdao Street, and Duan Xiaomu was sandwiched among the large group of old women walking on tiptoe.Her scheming naked eyes, her big, purple head soaked in venomous sap.She walked leisurely among them, and they all chanted incantations frankly, and the incantations blew into my ears like a burst of burning dust.Wrapping my ears layer by layer, like a rekindled fire, it burned my ears.Let them no longer hear the beautiful voices in this world, all spells, all spells.So I don't want to paint that church, I don't like to describe its pretended peace and tranquility.That afternoon I walked around the church and climbed through many sharp thorns, and I came to the back of the church.This is a place that few people come to, and its appearance surprised me.This is a Gothic German building, an ancient building that Luocheng once served as a German colony.Its back has a completely different appearance from the front.It was built one after another with sharp stones, and they combined to form a steep wall, layer after layer, blue-gray, as biting as ice knives planted in the freezing cold.I looked at them, breathless.But I felt pleasure, yes, pleasure.I think I found it, or exposed it. This is the real appearance of the church. It is full of evil spirits, the original appearance occupied by the devil.I like this church because it is exactly the image I hate, and it coincides with my inner imagination of the church.It was already dark, and there were no lights in this area, and the back of the church at this time was terrible and hideous.I sat on the ground, put the drawing board in the weedy bushes, and I was going to draw it, this church stripped of its hypocrisy.Obviously, I was the only one who submitted works that were completely different from everyone else's sketches.Our church is made of reddish bricks, and the auspicious light shines on the ground, and even the shadows of the people who come to pray are straight and pious.But my 8-motif drawing paper is a pile of solidly built stones, they are dark gray without gaps, as dirty as the wrinkled face of the devil.The grass in front of the church is a heavy black, which bends them all, and it is almost unbearable, as if each grass is making a crisp snapping sound.The art teacher looked at my painting in a daze. He couldn't believe that I was painting this church. He thought I had escaped and painted other scenes, such as barren mountains and wild graves.He was very angry and tore up my painting. He said that painting should reflect the beauty of nature and life, but he didn't want to see the ugly and evil things I painted.The next day I was fined to paint the church again.After I had known the ugly back of the church, I felt contemptuous when I faced its gentle and fragile front, which was as gentle as a paper painting, like a small character in a shadow play.In the second painting I still didn't draw its front, I still drew the standing stones, I made them even more disgusting.My art teacher was furious. He said, where did you go to draw?What are these?They are just worthless stones!I knew that my art teacher's next move would be to grab the drawing on my drawing board and tear it off.But I don't allow him to do that. I like these stones. They are my expression and interpretation of what I am afraid of.So before he did anything, I quickly pried off the four thumbtacks that fixed the drawing paper at the four corners of the drawing board, and took my painting down.The art teacher is not a good-tempered man, he is young and energetic, and he is excited by the aesthetic principles he insists on. At this moment, he ordered me to put down this painting, or you will never come to my art group!Then the teacher with all the upturned hair saw me walking out of the art room holding my painting tightly with both hands. I passed through some white plaster, maroon or apple green bottles used for still life sketches, and walked out the door.I heard the art teacher throw a bottle over, how angry this teacher who sings beauty and promotes beauty is.But he shouldn’t have asked me so much. I haven’t gained any understanding of beauty since I was a child. I like to draw things that I hate and fear, as a way of venting.If the art teacher is also possessed by the devil one day, he may understand.

Since then, I have been free to paint. I can paint whatever I like, and paint wherever I like.But I lost all chances to have my drawings appear in public. I lost my professional painting training at the age of 14, which made me fail to learn even the most basic sketching.The lines in my paintings are always thick and strong. They are trembling and sick, destroying the purity of the picture.So I prefer watercolor painting or oil painting, and use thick colors to cover those guilty and hesitant lines.My paintings are always large blocks of silted color, an incomprehensible look.No wonder Tang Xiao always said that I am more suitable for dyeing cloth. She said that maybe the soft texture can better express my perception of color.