On the second ring road, near the embassy district, there are more and more foreigners recently. They are not the typical blond-haired, blue-eyed white people, but rather they look more like people from Central Asia, Mongolia, or Russia. On weekends, when I go downstairs to Ritan Park or U-Town, I often see foreigners trying to hail a taxi on the street, only to be ignored as the taxis speed by. They don't seem to know that Beijing is already a world of ride-hailing cars, which is not very friendly for foreigners or elderly people.
I have been spending my weekends doing sketches. I actually wanted to draw Buddha statues or the human body. Recently, I watched a documentary about Faxian's journey to the East, where he stayed in one place for two years to copy Buddha statues. I couldn't help but want to try it myself. In addition, I have also drawn a few portraits from life (a general, a pensive girl, Xiao Wei, and an unfinished Qin girl), and I wanted to try a different form. I have always remembered the image of an old man sketching in the sculpture area of the Metropolitan Museum of Art in the United States. I also want to retire and go to the museum to draw David and Venus. However, my focus is on preparing for the art exam, and I lack materials, so in the end, I conservatively copied a scene sketch, but it has a cat, which is also very cute. In addition, the lighting in the picture is against the light, and the method of finding the boundary between light and shadow does not seem to work well, so I am still adjusting and exploring. My lower back has been hurting recently, and I have tried massage, heat pads, and yoga. Currently, my plan is to attend three sketching classes per week, which means sitting for about three hours each time. The stools in the studio cannot be adjusted, so my lower back suffers and I can't sit for long. It is true that learning skills should be done when young, but I am also satisfied because I have my own undisturbed time.
I am a slow painter, and I often hear the teacher telling students in the studio: "You need to paint faster, the exam is only three hours." Parents also ask me: "You paint well, do you plan to take the exam?" I say: "No, I don't plan to take the exam." The parents then ask again: "Then what do you plan to do with your art education?" I answer: "I don't plan to do anything." For me, the time spent painting is like enjoying a delicious steak or a sweet tiramisu. I am not in a hurry to devour it just to satisfy my hunger. Instead, I want to savor it slowly. The process is what I want, and the brush is my eternal lover.
Last week, I felt tired for no reason, suspecting that I might have overexerted myself. When I returned home on Friday, my phone ran out of battery and I decided to turn it off. Finally, I had a long and good sleep. I woke up around 8 o'clock in the morning, with the cat by my side, the kitten's head and little jiojio lying in the palm of my hand, warm and comforting. I got up slowly and went through my morning routine, only turning on my phone after a while, and everything was fine. Saying goodbye to social media is an effective way for me to recharge. Because turning off my phone means freedom, it means shutting down my social identity and family identity. After turning off my phone, I finally belong only to myself, retreating into my own cave, no longer responding to others' demands, even if it's just for a short time.
Time passes like flowing water, never to return. In this present moment, it is also a good time, looking back in the future.