Streamers are fleeting, at the snap of a finger, vicissitudes. The dust of the past is like the smoke and rain crushed in the wind, scattered to the end of the world. And some memories that refuse to retreat, why do they seem to be turned between the eyebrows of time for a long time? In the end, most of the traces that can be found are left on ink notes. Or it pervades the fragrance of books, or blends into the picture scrolls, so that the feelings of ancient times have been continued in the present dynasty. Large flowers of ink bloom one after another, touching the wind of the season, plucking the strings of the years, singing endlessly, and babbling in the flowing years.
A dark window, a clear moon, and a book of poetry are enough to make people find a pleasant place. Moon eyes, watery clear. The dusty world becomes clear. The gentle wind, through the window ledge, transmits a faint fragrance, which is the smell emitted by the moonlight: or a forest of pine in the deep mountains, or a stream between the empty valleys, or a touch of rhyme in the lotus pond, or a wisp of piano in the basket... Wrapped between the fingers, fused in the swirling ink fragrance, at this time, there are paintings in the poems, there are poems in the paintings, all the hustle and bustle is gone, only the elegant realm of the unity of the human scene.
You can't walk in the world, but between this square inch, you can feel the majesty of the mountains and the agility of the water. And the most evocative thing is the bright moon pine light, the humor of the upper stream of the Clear Spring Stone. Don't think about how indifferent Wang Wei was at that time, and the artistic conception expressed in "Mountain Residence Autumn Breeze" has been forgotten. The pine forest after the rain is spotless, and under the bright moonlight, it is verdant; the streams of clear spring formed by the mountain rain flow on the stone slabs that climb up the stairs, and then meander down the mountain stream, and the sound of the babbling is crisp and pleasant.
The stillness of the moon and the movement of the springs complement a kind of Zen ethereality. Purify the mind of man. There seems to be a song "Mountain Retreat" echoing for a long time, slowly flowing rhythm, if the stream flows through the bamboo forest, small bridge, gently ripple the lotus wind, around the mountain residence, accompanied by the late return of the fishing boat, leisurely and happy. Poetry, paintings of the pin. "It is a poet's handsome language, but it is into the painting of Samadhi." This is the poem of Wang Shizhen, the leader of the Ming Dynasty literary circles, to Wang Wei: "Outside the rivers and the earth, the mountains are in the middle." The evaluation also shows that a good poem can make people see a very beautiful picture and thus indulge in it.
And a successful painting, ink rhymes into poetry. The agility of the rubbing and the intermingling, the multicolor of the illusion between the thick and the light, the charm of the air between the seeming and the unlikely. That ink color is a volume of poetry, if the smoke and rain in Jiangnan, let people fully imagine the space, hazy, wisps, lingering in the eyebrows. A little beauty, a little longing, filled in the ink white space, so as to remember a certain poem, or a certain poem, after a long time, to achieve a kind of spiritual resonance.
I have always liked the artistic conception of ink painting, especially the kind of bone-deep love rhyme of ink Jiangnan, which has a sound outside the painting and is endlessly poetic. The curtain of smoke-like drizzle, with a faint floral fragrance, will always make people hold up an oil-paper umbrella in their hearts, miserably parting from sorrow, but also give a beautiful hope, imagining how leisurely the spring water is blue in the sky, painting the boat and listening to the rain and sleeping life. And the small bridges and flowing water that overflow in the ink color are more humorous and how many moving stories and how many poems and poems are amazing.
If the moon is bright, still on the bridge, listening to the sound of the whistle, the light ripples on the surface of the water, reflecting the return sail of the night berth. The lotus rhyme in the most ink jiangnan, thick ink and light writing, a clear posture, the model is above the smoke wave. The wind blows softly, wafting with a faint fragrance, remembering the familiar sentence "Clear water out of the hibiscus, natural to carve." "Perhaps, ink painting can best render the elegance of the lotus."
Even the ink mid-autumn lotus also exudes a kind of humorous artistic conception of a pond. The moist and ink-stained Jiangnan is so gentle and pure that people are not intoxicated. I know that in the floating world, people can't often linger in poetry, but they can find a secluded place for their souls in the ink. In a burst of ink incense, light lyrical, rich and extravagant, save a copy of the authenticity, to old age. It is Shaohua who has passed away, and what is not old is the feeling.
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