1985年冬天朋友送了我一本《芥子園畫傳》，如獲至寶，依葫蘆畫瓢，畫幾筆居然覺得還有點兒神似。
從小就喜歡畫畫，但苦於沒處學，學校裏沒有繪畫課，任何純粹為了「審美、興趣、抒發個人情感」的繪畫課，在當時都會被批判為「資產階級情調」。社會上也沒有個人在家開班授徒、收取學費的私教，那是非法的行為，會被扣上「走資本主義道路」「非法經營」甚至「腐蝕青少年」的罪名。哪怕不收錢，只是因為私交好，私下裏跟著某位老藝術家學畫，也是極其危險的。因為在文革中，絕大數有水平的畫家、美術教師都被打成了「反動學術權威」或「牛鬼蛇神」，他們都已經自身難保。
1968年我三哥教我們還有鄰家的幾個小男孩兒學畫畫，他教我們先把將要臨摹的畫面打上小格子，橫豎標上編號，再在白紙上畫同樣比例的小格子寫上編號。然後就是找到對應的格子畫同樣的線條。當時除了政治宣傳畫，就沒有見過其他的畫。於是我們就畫馬恩列斯毛的畫像。
曹楊二中有個「紅畫筆」興趣小組，由潘老師指導，很難加入。初二那年的暑假，我拿了自己畫的毛主席像去找潘老師。那天潘老師在校門房兒裏看了我的畫，同意我加入紅畫筆。據說潘老師也曾是右派，很有才華，校園裏的宣傳字畫、毛主席的巨幅畫像等都出自他的手。那天門房裏還有一位看上去跟潘老師關係很不錯的年輕教工，看了我的畫說：「畫得很不錯，就是臉畫胖了一點兒。」說著，抄起一支鉛筆就在主席臉上「欻、欻、欻」隨手改了幾下。我當時心裏一驚，一般人是不敢隨手在主席畫像的臉上畫道道的。後來聽說他哥也曾是二中的教師，文革初挨批鬥跳進了學校邊上的那條河自盡了，他是頂替他哥進校的。我心想，他在我畫的主席像的臉上「欻、欻、欻」幾筆，那一定是帶有怨氣，泄私憤的成分的。
潘老師給我們上了一堂怎樣寫美術字的課。他教我們寫美術字的要點是上緊下松，左窄右寬。從此便讓我們在校園裏拎著個鉛桶拿把鐵絲刷子，小鏟刀和抹布清除刷洗牆壁上的舊標語。
我們紅畫筆小組裏只有兩個女生。另外一個女生姓蘇，高我一年級，聰慧開朗，穿著收腰合體的衣服，襯托出她妙曼的身姿。潘老師對她很寬容，她很少來參加我們的活動，也沒有跟我們一起洗洗刷刷。有一天，我倆一起回家，她問：「芬，你的血型是不是AB型噠？」得到肯定的答覆後，她又說：「我哥哥和我爸爸都是畫家，我們都是AB型的，藝術家大多數是AB型的。」這就解釋了潘老師為什麼對她網開一面，估計她的哥哥和父親是能夠讓至少潘老師佩服的。
那是我第一次知道AB血型還有這一層含義。那個年代被稱為什麼什麼家的都屬於反動學術權威。但是從小蘇身上並沒有體現出那種「應有」的消沉與沮喪，有的卻是抑制不住的優越感。在不愛紅妝愛武裝的年代她卻穿收腰身的衣服。估計她父母對她比較寵愛，沒有將負面的因素傳到她身上。幾年後我們在路上又遇到過一次，她好像被分配去了崇明農場。
再說初二那個大夏天的，在紅畫筆潘老師只給我們上了一節知識課，便天天洗洗刷刷，再也學不到東西，正好有幾天我發燒40度生病了，也就沒堅持在紅畫筆呆下去。多年後在校園裏遇到潘老師，他說：「芬，你可惜了，沒堅持下去，那個誰誰誰當時跟你也差不多的，現在他已經是小有名氣的畫家了。」估計潘老師是利用讓我們幹活的表現，看能不能、值不值得培養。那是師傅在挑選徒弟呢，我沒達標。
沒辦法，心血來潮時就胡亂畫幾筆，這是1980年8月14日星期四下午，屋外下著雨，雨點兒敲在東窗前的小石塊兒路上滴答作響，梧桐樹下有一灘灘淺淺的水塘，從樹葉尖兒滴下的水珠掉到水塘裏濺起一個個隨即消失的小水泡泡。在這個可稱為我的文學啟蒙之窗前，用鋼筆記錄著窗外的景致，靜靜地我畫了很久，正應了那句「梧桐更兼細雨，到黃昏、點點滴滴」。
那扇窗之所以被我稱之為「文學啟蒙之窗」？因為大約是1974年間，幾十本當時還被視為「毒草」禁書的世界名著，通過這扇窗，被遞進遞出，那些書開闊了我的視野，極大地豐富了我的內心世界。
這是1981年5月24日星期天黃昏，我站在家裏的五屜櫃旁，背對著東窗臨摹的一幅《德伯家的苔絲》小說插圖。那時的我用鋼筆一道一劃地消磨了大把大把的青春年華。
直到1989年6月27日，在日本東海大學的日語班課間閒聊時，驚喜地得知王桑是大陸某知名美院畢業的。我和另一位感興趣的女生便向他請教。
他用鉛筆在我帶去的畫畫練習本子上畫了一朵繡球花，他一邊畫，一邊解說先畫最近的一瓣，然後一點一點往後畫。在本子裏先畫在第二張紙上，然後把第一張空白紙蓋上再描一邊，描的時候注意線條的輕重緩急，要有留白，要「線斷意連」。哇，從此我就迷上了畫畫。花花草草的畫了不少。
王桑還送了我一張他老師季世長先生在乙丑年畫的國色天香。還給我介紹了一位他的美院同學Y教我畫畫，2000日元一個小時，每次去他家學畫2小時。當時在日本打工，一般每小時的工資是500～600日元，在パチンコ（彈珠機賭場）打工是800日元。去學了大約七八次繪畫，之後我就離開了日本。
在日本時，就在這張桌子上畫畫，後來彩色的畫也都是在這兒畫的。多數是照著實物畫的，也有一些臨摹。
那時自己沒有印章，正好J有一個，也不知是他在中國時哪一位朋友給刻的，我就拿來往畫紙上摁。
後來我哥給我從上海寄來了幾本畫譜，我照著臨。發覺我不善於臨摹，不可能照著樣本畫出很像的東西。寫生的時候心情很專注，也很勤奮、但臨摹時就心不在焉。
這卷兒舊一點的宣紙是我哥從上海給我寄到日本的，沒用過幾張，也沒好好擺放，有破損了。那小竹簾和氈墊也是我哥給我寄去日本的，沒用過，怕弄髒了。白一點的那卷兒是我北京的一位堂兄，我大伯的小兒子，1995年或96年來美國開會時從北京給我帶來的，當時我在SU讀書，功課忙也沒請個假去新澤西跟他見個面，他就把這紙卷從新澤西給我寄來了。為拍照片，第一次將外面的牛皮紙徹底打開。
1989年暑假在紐約J的父母家，前前後後院子裏花草樹木繁盛，東邊的小溪潺潺，正好給又一次迷上畫畫的我提供了天然素材。J的母親對院子裏的所有樹木、花草、飛鳥、以及地上跑的小動物都能順口說出它們的名稱、種類。我幾乎每張寫生都請她把那些植物的英文名字給寫下來。這次繪畫「發燒」持續了一段時間，一共也只畫了兩本練習簿，我這人沒常性，沒常性的人與成功、成才不會沾邊兒。
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The Rain Outside the East Window, and Xuan Paper from Thirty Years Ago
In the winter of 1985, a friend gave me a copy of The Mustard Seed Garden Painting Manual. I treasured it like a priceless possession. Following it stroke by stroke, I drew a few lines and, to my surprise, felt they actually captured a bit of the spirit.
I had loved drawing since childhood, but I suffered from having nowhere to learn. There were no art classes at school. At that time, any art class purely for the sake of "aesthetics, interest, or expressing personal emotions" would be criticized as "bourgeois sentimentality." There were no private tutors running classes at home and charging tuition either; that was an illegal activity and would be labeled as "taking the capitalist road," "illegal business operations," or even "corrupting the youth." Even if no money was exchanged and one simply studied privately under an old artist out of personal friendship, it was extremely dangerous. During the Cultural Revolution, the vast majority of skilled painters and art teachers had been labeled as "reactionary academic authorities" or "monsters and demons," and they could barely protect themselves.
In 1968, my third older brother taught us, along with a few young boys from the neighborhood, how to draw. He taught us to first draw small grids over the picture we wanted to copy and number them horizontally and vertically. Then, we would draw grids of the same proportion on blank paper and number them as well. After that, it was a matter of finding the corresponding grid and drawing the exact same lines. Back then, we had never seen any art other than political propaganda posters. So, we drew portraits of Marx, Engels, Lenin, Stalin, and Mao.
At Caoyang No. 2 High School, there was an interest group called "Red Paintbrush," guided by Teacher Pan. It was very difficult to join. During the summer vacation of my second year in junior high, I took a portrait of Chairman Mao that I had drawn myself to find Teacher Pan. That day, Teacher Pan looked at my drawing in the school gatehouse and agreed to let me join the Red Paintbrush. It was said that Teacher Pan had also been a Rightist; he was very talented, and the promotional calligraphy, paintings, and giant portraits of Chairman Mao on campus all came from his hands. There was also a young staff member in the gatehouse that day who seemed to have a very good relationship with Teacher Pan. Looking at my drawing, he said, "It’s very well drawn, but the face is a bit too fat." As he spoke, he picked up a pencil and made a few quick, casual strokes—"chua, chua, chua"—directly on the Chairman's face to alter it. My heart skipped a beat; ordinary people would never dare to casually draw lines on the face of a portrait of Chairman Mao. Later, I heard that his older brother had also been a teacher at No. 2 High School, but at the beginning of the Cultural Revolution, he had been persecuted and drowned himself by jumping into the river next to the school. This young man had taken his brother's place at the school. I thought to myself that those quick "chua, chua, chua" strokes on the Chairman's portrait I drew must have carried resentment, a way of venting personal grievances.
Teacher Pan gave us a lesson on how to write artistic characters. The key point he taught us was "tight at the top, loose at the bottom; narrow on the left, wide on the right." From then on, he had us carry lead buckets, wire brushes, small scrapers, and rags around the campus to clear and wash away old slogans on the walls.
There were only two girls in our Red Paintbrush group. The other girl’s surname was Su. She was one grade above me, intelligent and cheerful, and she wore tailored, fitted clothes that accentuated her graceful figure. Teacher Pan was very lenient with her; she rarely participated in our activities and never joined us in the washing and scrubbing. One day, when the two of us were walking home together, she asked, "Fen, is your blood type AB?" After receiving an affirmative answer, she said, "My brother and my father are both painters, and we are all type AB. Most artists are type AB." This explained why Teacher Pan cut her some slack; presumably, her brother and father were people Teacher Pan at least admired.
That was the first time I learned that type AB blood carried such a meaning. In that era, anyone called an "artist" or "expert" belonged to the category of reactionary academic authorities. Yet, Xiao Su showed none of the despondency or dejection that was "expected." Instead, she possessed an irrepressible sense of superiority. In an era that "loved military uniforms rather than makeup," she wore form-fitting clothes. I assumed her parents doted on her and did not pass their negative circumstances down to her. We ran into each other on the road again a few years later; it seemed she had been assigned to the Chongming Agricultural Farm.
Returning to that scorching summer of my second year in junior high, Teacher Pan only gave us that one knowledge-based lesson in the Red Paintbrush. After that, it was daily washing and scrubbing, and we couldn't learn anything else. Just then, I fell ill with a 40-degree fever for a few days, so I didn't stick with the Red Paintbrush group. Years later, I ran into Teacher Pan on campus. He said, "Fen, what a pity you didn't persist. So-and-so was at about the same level as you back then, and now he is quite a well-known painter." I suppose Teacher Pan was using our performance during the chores to see if we were capable or worth cultivating. Back then, the master was choosing apprentices, and I didn't meet the standard.
With no other choice, I would just draw a few strokes whenever the whim struck. This was the afternoon of Thursday, August 14, 1980. It was raining outside. The raindrops tapped on the small stone path in front of the east window, making a ticking sound. Under the planet trees, there were shallow puddles; water droplets falling from the tips of the leaves hit the puddles, creating small bubbles that instantly vanished. In front of this window, which I could call my window of literary enlightenment, I used a fountain pen to record the scenery outside. Quietly, I drew for a long time, perfectly matching the line: "The planet trees are accompanied by fine rain, and at dusk, it drips and drops." Why did I call that window the "window of literary enlightenment"? Because around 1974, dozens of world masterpieces—which were considered banned "poisonous weeds" at the time—were passed in and out through this window. Those books broadened my horizons and immensely enriched my inner world.
This was the dusk of Sunday, May 24, 1981. I was standing beside the five-drawer chest at home, facing away from the east window, copying an illustration from the novel Tess of the d'Urbervilles. Back then, stroke by stroke with my fountain pen, I passed a vast amount of my youth.
It wasn't until June 27, 1989, during a break in our Japanese class at Tokai University in Japan, that I was pleasantly surprised to learn Wang-san had graduated from a well-known art academy in mainland China. Another interested girl and I asked him for guidance. Using a pencil, he drew a hydrangea in the drawing sketchbook I had brought. As he drew, he explained that one should draw the closest petal first, and then gradually move backward. He drew it on the second page of the book first, then covered it with the first blank page and traced it again. He noted that while tracing, one must pay attention to the weight and pace of the lines, leave blank spaces, and keep the "lines broken but the meaning connected."
Wow, from then on, I became obsessed with drawing. I drew quite a few flowers and plants. Wang-san also gave me a painting of peonies titled "National Grace and Heavenly Fragrance," painted by his teacher, Mr. Ji Shichang, in the Yichou year. He also introduced me to his art academy classmate, Y, to teach me drawing for 2,000 yen an hour, with each lesson lasting two hours at his home. At that time, when working part-time in Japan, the average hourly wage was 500 to 600 yen, and working in a Pachinko parlor paid 800 yen. I went to about seven or eight drawing lessons, and after that, I left Japan.
When I was in Japan, I drew on this very table, and the colored paintings later on were all done here as well. Most of them were drawn from real objects, though there were also some copies. At that time, I didn't have a seal of my own. It just so happened that J had one—I don't know which friend in China had carved it for him—so I took it and pressed it onto my drawing paper.
Later, my brother sent me several painting manuals from Shanghai, and I copied from them. I discovered that I am not good at copying; it is impossible for me to draw something that looks exactly like the sample. When sketching from life, my mind is very focused and I am very diligent, but when copying, I am absent-minded.
This somewhat older roll of Xuan paper was sent to me in Japan by my brother from Shanghai. I haven't used many sheets, and because it wasn't stored properly, it has some damage. The small bamboo mat and the felt pad were also sent to me in Japan by my brother; I never used them, fearing they would get dirty. The whiter roll was brought to me from Beijing by a cousin of mine—my oldest uncle's youngest son—when he came to the United States for a conference in 1995 or 1996. At that time, I was studying at SU, and my schoolwork was so busy that I couldn't even take time off to meet him in New Jersey. So, he mailed this paper roll to me from New Jersey. To take these photos, I completely opened the outer brown wrapping paper for the very first time.
During the summer vacation of 1989, at the home of J's parents in New York, the front and back yards were lush with flowers, plants, and trees, and a small creek babbled to the east. This provided perfect natural material for me, as I had once again fallen in love with drawing. J's mother could effortlessly name the species and types of all the trees, plants, birds, and small animals running on the ground in the yard. For almost every sketch I did, I asked her to write down the English names of those plants. This drawing "fever" lasted for a period of time, but in total, I only filled two sketchbooks. I am someone who lacks perseverance, and people who lack perseverance will never have anything to do with success or making something of themselves in the conventional sense.
特別感謝 Gemini AI 提供充滿活力的翻譯和文本潤色。
Special thanks to Gemini AI for providing the spirited translation and text refinement.
第四百四十篇
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