After the afternoon project work resud to normal, the crowd reluctantly wanting to watch was cleared away by Lin Tao beside the mural No.17.
"Master Cao is about to paint, idle folks, please go back." Lin Tao said.
"Old Lin, we’ll stay quietly on the side, promise not to speak, we won’t distract the master from painting."
"Professor Lin, give us so face, your teacher hasn’t said anything." Soone joked with a smile.
Familiar old professors with Lin Tao kept their toes glued to the spot, shalessly wanting to stay to listen to Master Cao’s lecture.
Emperor Taizong of Song said, "Opening a book brings benefits."
It’s hard to get a chance to see Master Cao decide to personally pass on his skills.
Even if the content might be shallow because of Gu Weijing, hearing it is gaining, being shaless at this ti doesn’t count at all.
In front of Master Cao, who is not a student? Whether learning or not, the re act of Cao Xuan painting is worth the industry’s practitioners stopping to watch.
"Sorry, the teacher prefers quiet when painting, please everyone return to your work."
Lin Tao was unwilling to let these old guys freeload the teacher’s guidance.
He knows these guys’ nature too well.
On the tip of a hundred-foot pole, wanting to advance further is extrely difficult.
Everyone’s heart holds their own painting confusions, hoping masters like Cao could shed light, given the chance, they would latch on.
Just let these shaless old folks stay, guarantee it turns into a specialized seminar soon.
Why let them take advantage?
Many tis, I want Master Cao to guide a bit but don’t have the ti, and he’s my teacher.
He even politely asked Gu Weijing’s grandfather, Gu Tongxiang, to leave.
Gu Weijing is gazing up, admiring little old man Cao Xuan paint, his eyes unblinking.
He watches the tip of the brush leap on the mural, like watching a grand, fiery silent performance.
"Such skill, already nearing the Dao."
This is Gu Weijing’s most direct feeling in his mind.
Master Cao wielded the brush, the tip never wobbled, pick, sar, dot, blend, making one pleasing to the eye and yet having an ethereal, lively feel.
"At this age, the teacher still paints like a dragon, really makes us juniors ashad."
After Lin Tao completely drove away the idle crowd, he walked back to stand beside Gu Weijing carrying the palette, his tone filled with genuine admiration.
Mr. Cao Xuan’s artistic life is indeed astoundingly long.
"I told you to drink less, but you wouldn’t listen. Can’t even control your own body, how can you hold a good brush, useless thing."
Cao Xuan showed no rcy.
The little old man glared sideways at his second apprentice, criticizing him relentlessly.
"If you can hold a steady brush at my age, maybe your artistic achievents can reach a higher level, but do you have that ability?"
"Dare not compare with the teacher. The teacher is a once-in-five-hundred-years artistic genius."
Lin Tao, an elder himself, casually ca wanting to flatter, unexpectedly got scolded harshly, blushed, embarrassedly lowered his head. If Mr. Lin’s students saw the usually stern Central Academy of Fine Arts professor scolded like a schoolboy, they’d probably be shocked speechless.
Being accepted as the second disciple by Master Cao, he was young and promising, a notable erging painter in his youth.
In youth success, naturally, indulgence in banquets was inevitable.
Lin Tao doesn’t smoke but loves drinking yellow wine, been scolded many tis by the teacher, yet couldn’t completely quit this hobby.
"Dogshit’s once-in-five-hundred-years artistic genius." Cao shook his head, "I’m just more diligent than my peers, luckier, lived longer, that’s all."
Not sure if it’s due to the private setting, Gu Weijing felt Master Cao was full of sincerity.
In the short teacher-student exchange, the renowned dia-covered artist transford into a living person.
"Young Gu, you’re a good seedling. But wanting to go far in the art path, being a good seedling isn’t enough; best to stay away from alcohol, lust, riches, temper - it’s best not to indulge in any. The artistic path is complex yet simple. You must live long enough, outlast the bastards stronger than you, then you’ll be a master."
Cao paused the brush, looked at Gu Weijing, his tone very earnest: "Self-discipline, that’s a lesson every art student should learn, and I think it’s more important than the painting itself."
"I understand."
Gu Weijing replied.
Cao Xuan painted on the wall, various paints, pignt scents mingled with air, neither pleasant nor unpleasant, emitting a unique breath of artistic life.
It surged towards the young man.
A young man not yet nineteen, almost subrged in the vigorous vitality surrounding a ninety-year-old elder creating art.
Cao Xuan displayed his way of unfolding the artistic life to Gu Weijing.
Lin Tao smiled and said, "Dongxia’s calligraphy master, Mr. Qi Gong, who is the ninth generation descendant of Emperor Yongzheng, paid great attention to health. Even in his later years, he could wield the pen like a dragon, effortlessly producing a piece of calligraphy without trembling hands, a flushed face, or gasping breath—even when he wrote a three hundred-character piece with his arm raised."
"The teacher is no worse."
Gu Weijing observed, and Mr. Cao Xuan indeed was as described.
He had not seen Qi Gong practice calligraphy, but seeing Cao Xuan paint today... it was more than just comparable.
His hand holding the brush was extrely steady and powerful.
The old man’s arm was as lean as a stick, yet the brush, wrist, and muscles of his arm ford a very stable triangle for gripping the brush, terrifyingly steady while painting.
Only years of accumulated practice and absolute self-discipline in caring for the body could maintain such a physical state at such an advanced age.
"My teacher told when I was about your age," Cao Xuan said: "Painting is a virtue, and a good painter should cultivate painting in the heart, and also virtue in the heart."
In contrast, his grandfather Gu Tongxiang did not possess this level of artistic prowess, even though Gu Tongxiang was about the sa age as Lin Tao.
Gu Weijing had heard his grandfather lant years ago that his grip on the brush was no longer steady.
There was no way around it.
Everyone has their own way of life; life is not only about art, but also resignation.
Gu Tongxiang was a man who had suffered.
Especially during turbulent tis, wanting to unify his small world quietly doing his small calligraphy and painting business by the Yangon River was difficult. The fact that Gu Weijing could paint quietly in school was not his achievent, not due to his artistic talent, but because his grandfather provided him with as stable an environnt as possible.
Running a small shop certainly had many untold difficulties.
Gu Tongxiang smoked, drank, and perd... uh, Mr. Gu had a bald spot on his forehead, so he couldn’t perm his hair even if he wanted to, but there was always so smoking and drinking throughout the year.
Nicotine and alcohol not only cause cancer but also damage the brain. Many long-ti drinkers on the street have small issues like trembling hands.
For artists, that’s a big problem.
After fifty, Mr. Gu’s hands grew less steady.
"Have you ever thought about what a professional painter should possess when painting?" Cao Xuan asked.
What elents?
Gu Weijing shook his head.
"Skill, knowledge, and emotion."
Standing to one side, Lin Tao solemnly chid in.
"These are the three elents my teacher taught upon introducing to painting, which are also the foundation of all my current achievents."
Skill?
Knowledge?
Emotion?
He had heard about six categories, or three aspects of painters, but this three-elent theory was sothing Gu Weijing was hearing for the first ti.
"A personal summary, given there are countless theories, so things never change," said Cao Xuan.
"Skill, as it is said, is the foundation of creating a painting, the source of water, the root of wood. Without the addition of skill, no matter how much knowledge you have or how surging your emotions are, without the foundation of painting as a dium, it’s just the moon in the water, a flower in the mirror."
Lin Tao explained to Gu Weijing: "In this aspect, you are doing quite well. For your age, at least your sketching foundation is already very close to a professional painter, which is very good, clearly a result of hard work."
These old painters judged very accurately.
Gu Weijing sighed. According to the system panel, his sketching was also at a semi-professional level, nearly perfect.
"But in terms of knowledge, you didn’t do so well. I could see that when you were drawing pen drawings a few days ago, you were just simply copying. Can you tell how high the Great Golden Pagoda is, how many bells are on top, which parts have thicker gold leaf, and what kind of construction techniques were used?"
"You know?"
Gu Weijing felt that although he didn’t know, the other party couldn’t know more than him as a local of Myanmar.
Lin Tao nodded, took out a small notebook filled with dense records from his pocket.
"Since the day I started learning to paint, my teacher asked to record any background knowledge of the architecture, people, or scenes I was considering incorporating into my paintings. Before coming to Yangon, I had researched the Great Golden Pagoda. You can never paint well sothing you don’t understand. This habit has persisted for fifty years. Notebooks filled with notes could pile up and fill an entire house."
Gu Weijing was convinced. "Is this knowledge?"
"This is knowledge."
"Ancient painters like Raphael or Titian, no matter how outstanding, couldn’t paint airplanes well because they would only regard it as a miracle and add a religious aura to it rather than pursue chanical precision. Knowledge is power. Don’t think that Impressionism is abstract to death. When Monet painted buildings, whether it’s ’Sunset on the Congress Building’ or the ’Governor’s Palace,’ he did so on the basis of being incredibly familiar with the architecture itself."
"So, young man, don’t be discontented about losing to that girl Koizumi Katsuko. I’ve heard she’s paid great attention to this kind of accumulation from a young age. I’ve talked with others and heard her famous work ’Sea Bird’ once impressed professional marine biologists with the ticulous details of the bird feathers," Lin Tao added.
"As for the last and most difficult part, it’s emotion."
The old gentleman spoke up, switched to another brush, and dipped into the palette.
"Watch closely. Unlike oil painting, when I was learning to paint as a child, they often talked about the ’finishing touch,’ the ’finishing touch.’ Let show you what is ant by the ’finishing touch.’"
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