Dong Jing Jing point art
introduction
These are still notes from 2013. It all started in one summer. All I had was reading, watching movies, listening to music, writing. And, the meditation that loneliness brings.
So I recorded the traces of these lives accordingly. One morning, I was bathing, and in that little bathroom, I felt like a model in front of a painter's eyes, and like an actor on a movie set. I wrote down the imagination and feelings of that brief moment. The whole home is a world. My room was a world. My little bed is a world. My brain is a world. I made friends with those singers. I made friends with those writers. My life was extended in those movies. Everything without social barriers and unhappiness. If you can't avoid loneliness, then embrace art. They are your eternal friends.
On some afternoons when I came back from meeting up with my friends, it occasionally rained. Keep listening to music and reading. I read Bukowski. Read his short stories. He was also documenting his loneliness. I wrote notes about him. I write that when you write these words in solitude, you are holy, clean, as if you were in heaven.
Yes, even in your lowest days, as long as you are at home, have a desk, a lamp, and surrounded by books and discs. And CDs. And a mobile phone. And a quiet night. You are free. You are the little prince. Sitting on a small planet. Shine your own light.
It's like being in heaven.
Miss Dong
It was a cloudy evening. I walked home alone. Went to the clothes store and bought croissants. Drank aloe vera milk tea and looked for magazines. Took a five-dollar tricycle.
Then turn on your computer and write. Write Huang Zhenzhen. Then listen to Song Dongye. "Anhe Bridge North". Hearing "Zebra, Zebra", I cried. It was a weeping and romantic cloudy evening. So gorgeous, I'm constantly growing. I am in love with the world every day. They say they love me. It's only now that I've discovered its affection.
Song Dongye's music is like a pillar. Firmly supported the gap between heaven and earth. It gave me a chance to breathe and smile.
Sometimes I sat, sometimes I lay down, the ground was grassy, and I held hands with him like this, saying nothing, just looking at the sea in front of me and feeling the wind blowing on my cheeks.
His music was also like the light of a flashlight in the night. It illuminates my face in the darkness. It shook a few times, and my face shone like a sunflower.
It was getting dark. The night warmed me like the heat of a hair dryer. It's time for me to close my eyes. It's time to start shedding tears. It's time to start laughing wildly. It's time to blossom into the blossoms of happiness. It's time to be fearless.
It was getting dark. I was almost out of sight. But I will remain in this dark night until I become a statue. Wait for you to melt me into an agate.
So I looked at the world in total darkness. At the same time, grin opened his mouth.
Now, I'm completely in the dark. Only the screen of my computer illuminated me. The music progresses to "Miss Dong".
I take it as a gift to me on this sunny evening. It's because I'm also a female classmate who doesn't have a story.
I am Miss Dong.
Degeneration
I put on my headphones. Zheng Jun's "Blooming". I began to sing. This is an album I listened to in my freshman year in the study room of Huashi Building 7. loner. Heartbroken. Hopeless. Live like a big man with a bad fate. Listen to Zheng Jun. Treat everything around you coldly.
I closed my eyes and hummed fearlessly and engagedly. On this bright and splendid morning. At nine o'clock. The beautiful girl was clean, her hair braided, and her face was beautiful. Hum the song carefully and devotedly.
"I Live Alone". Su Huilun sang. Companionship during college hours. Today, she is still unmarried (on March 19, 2014, Su Huilun married her boyfriend Sun Yimin), grew wrinkles, and is 43 years old. I don't know how to wash my face every night, look at my own face in the mirror, and look at my inner look.
And Rene Liu.
and the Philharmonic Band. "Our Love". I hummed again. That song, gui lun magnesium performance of the MV. She and her boyfriend were hunted down. The boyfriend smashed open the window glass and gave her a new dress. Early in the morning, they wandered to the beach, and in a wooden boat she began to cry.
This is the picture of the "Our Love" MV. At that time, it was still 2004. I watched "Fighting Fish" together at home. Taiwanese idol drama. That kind of time is also pleasant. A little pleasure. Every day I went to the broken tin house in the alley to rent new dishes. The owner is a skinny old woman. In those years, I had been renting discs from her. Once, in 2003, the most helpless, I rented "Orange Red" with her. Watch it on Dad's computer. On New Year's Eve, the community roared with cannon fire. Day after day. There is no hope inside. The future is uncertain. Watch Zhou Xun's "Oranges Are Red".
Winter, then it was always winter. I was wearing a large cotton jacket. Or ugly short hair. And the care of Mom and Dad.
Thank you to them.
Our Remembrance. Li Zhiwei sang. In 2006, I was alone in my room watching "The Stars Of the Sheep". Starring Liu Hena. Lin Zhiying. Liu Hena is pretty pretty. Now I'm getting old. Where do you hide in that time to have a party now? It should have a white porcelain-like smoothness. And the cat's newborn heat. And water droplets rolling down on the blades of grass.
Today, 2013. summer. I was still alone in my room, reading a book alone, watching a film alone, writing alone, eating alone, sleeping alone, dressing alone.
It's just that every night, a man will call. That was my happy time.
So, this room, finally transformed. It is my most restrained and warm girlfriend.
Meet
Listen to Zhou Xun's song, which was her album "Encounter" released in 2006. Like Zhou Xun and think she is very similar to me. Sometimes I feel unlucky too. Last year I began to feel the cruelty of life. For life, do not be too gullible. It never tires you of control and playing.
However, there is one thing in this world: hope. You live with dependence on it, hoping that it is your religion. You are its only important and eternal customer. It falls under your pomegranate skirt. And you're in love. It puts you at ease more than any still or illusory bodhisattva in the world. Like your good sister. Or a kind and wise brother.
Although our lives are full of tribulations, if you think about it, as long as you persist, you will get the favor of fate. There is no injury that will not be good. Those tribulations are a group of spectators who are responsible for cheering you up one day when you stand on stage to receive flowers and praise.
At this moment, the computer is playing Zhou Xun's "Daqi". It was hard to hear. It was a song that seemed meaningless now. Li Daqi had nothing to do with Zhou Xun anymore. Maybe still friends.
Listening to Zhou Xun's voice, it was very warm. It was as if at this moment only she was saying to me: Rest assured, I am your only friend. You are also my only friend at the moment. Let's live with each other.
It was a girl-to-girl love affair. Not passionate, not speculative, without the anxiety and tossing and turning of love between boys and girls. We are not worried about the involvement of a third party. We don't have the temptations and struggles of the ramblings. Such love is noble and very comfortable. Like a glass of orange orange mixed with grapefruit squeezed juice. In the summer, refreshing.
Zhou Xun on the cover of this album is flamboyant and happy. Short. Flying in the wind. There are also photographs she took on the album. At that time, she lived proudly and freely. At that time, she had a boyfriend Li Daqi.
Today, 2013. Her face was already old. Dull skin. The smiles displayed at some events are also reluctant.
Listening to her singing voice in 2006, there was a very serious feeling. That was a conversation between Zhou Xun now and Zhou Xun in 2006. They sat upright and shook hands. When you talk, you will shed tears. One wiped away the tears for the other. It's also summer, and the sky is pure blue. A cat slowly passed by the window. All of this, on this day in the summer of 2013, was a sign. Show that the future will never be too bad. This girl named Zhou Xun will have good luck in the future.
Perhaps, for the rest of her life, she will be quiet and stable like the yellow and white cat basking in the sun.
The sky is always so blue.
Bukowski
Heavy rain, late afternoon. In summer, thunderstorms.
Returning from dinner with cats and cats, I leaned over the bed to read the new book I arrived today. The Postman. Author, Charles Bukowski. American. Before flipping through a boring gossip magazine. It's a bit uncomfortable to watch. I think I was played by the vulgar entertainment stars. The whole body seemed to be touched by them again.
At this time, I flipped through the new book next to me. I went straight to the "Afterword" in the last part. "About ten years ago, I was an international student who traveled to take classes or work on the banks of the River Thames..." This way of translating the epilogue at the beginning attracted me, and I read it.
The translator mentions Hemingway. He compares Hemingway to Bukowski. He believes that they are all truly "bloody" men. Their works also have similarities. Concise language. "Emphasize that the 'energy' between sentences follows like a tidal wave through the text."
Bukowski "never succumbed to American social norms and cursed the "American Dream." He "cared less about politics, music, fashion, ideas. "His work has no heroes and no ladies."
"Bukowski does not belong to any genre. Nor has he been a member of any writers' groups. He is a loner in life and a loner in creation. Someone commented: "Bukowski is independent of modern American literature, difficult to classify and often imitated." ”
Now, anyone who is judged to be living "alone" makes me feel good about it. I'm so Loner. So much so that I felt so relieved just by seeing the line "He was a Londoner in life." That's enough. Yes, I don't focus on political, social events. I just let myself live a little bit more freely and feel better.
I'm a person with so many strengths and weaknesses. Writing became my face. I had to make it clean, neat, and radiant. What I aspire to do every day is to try to keep this face smiling and respectable. Invited to a banquet on the night of the festival. Instead of a person crying at the fireworks outside the window.
Today, I also write. I think my writing is also difficult to classify. Writing is my breath. It's one of my weapons. Bukowski was lonely. I was also lonely. He had only writing in his life. Only writing in my life can get people interested in getting a little closer and saying "hello" to you. And, raise your noble hand and give you a black robe, allowing you to join the ranks of the "Men in Black" and walk side by side with them on the dirty streets.
I know that writing has taught me what a noble gift loneliness is. It was a rare gift, and God put it in my Bukowski stockings on one Christmas night.
It was a coat, different from the suffocating number of men in black in the world. When you get used to loneliness, you are eternal. Because death is nothing more than a lonely person. Even if you die, those days and nights that lie underground may be like when you are alive reading books and movies alone in a lone lamp, talking to your lover on the phone. Then, listen to the rain outside the window, turn off the lights, and close your eyes.
When you write these words in solitude, you are holy, clean, as if you were in heaven.
Tonight, watch Bukowski's The Postman.
Innocence
I suddenly felt that it was nice to be an innocent person. It's beautiful. Pretty cool. It was often a nice pair of braided braids. Plus a pair of white jasmine earrings.
What exactly is "maturity"? Everyone looks at others, what adults do, so they imitate, so people become the same. As a result, that set of rules has been passed down for thousands of years and is advertised as "mature".
It's just that sometimes, I think the world is ridiculous and pale.
I don't want to be the kind of person who is easily assimilated by the people around me.
There is a general principle of dealing with the world in mind. Then, don't bother others. And try to live according to your own wishes. This is really cool in the current world.
Today, watch Nanae Aoyama's "Violet". like. From this, I firmly believed in my own path. Firmly a pure life.
Bath
In the morning, wash your hair and take a shower. In the summer, the bathroom, close the windows, turn off the lights. Just let the natural light of the early morning shine in. The light and shade are soft. Any morning is sexy and charming. Bathing in the early morning is an act of grace and holiness.
Turn off the lights and the bathroom is like a lazy Impressionist movie. I even sensed that Monet had set up his easel, and soon Cézanne was coming. They said hello. After a while, painters flocked to the scene. They hid in the corner of this little bathroom. Introverts they don't talk. You feel that Monet and Degas are like the boys you have had crushes at different times. It's just that they've grown beards. You can feel the painters' eyes jumping on your body like stars twinkling. They depict a woman in the bathroom in the early morning, the enchanting coronation of light on her body. She held her hair in a bun. Woman of the East. In addition to the soft birdsong outside the window, it is the rustle of the sketches in the bathroom. The masters were quiet and focused. The woman maintained a posture for a long time. Half an hour later, she began bathing. She walked under the shower rack, turned on the water stream, and untied the bun. She washed for a moment, then opened her eyes again to find that the painters were gone. But just now, the numbness of standing on the left leg for a long time is still there. Just now, she smiled at a handsome painter. Because he smiled at her. Afterwards, she checked online and concluded that the man was Seurat. A passionate man. But when she drenched her hair and looked up again, she found that the small bathroom had become the movie set. Lazy Impressionist films. Painters are your first love. And movies are your soul mates. Paintings and movies. Oh, you've always preferred these kinds of boys. They are sensitive, melancholy, thin, handsome, anxious, flowery, and prone to hysteria. You tolerate them. Have mercy on them. You meet them in the early morning bathroom. It's the sexiest time of your day. On this day, painters come one after another, and they can be counted as your old lovers. Although they didn't invite you for a cup of coffee. Join us on a rainy evening in the spring of Paris. Chatting about the sky. Compliment your beige trench coat is nice to look at. Jealous because you talk too much about another man, frown. No, none of this happened. They're just painting you. In this bathroom. They sometimes appear and sometimes they don't. You're still excited.
At this moment, the bathroom became the set. It's as if you're picking out a wedding dress. Your love affair with the movie is reaching its climax. You're going to get married. You scratch your head a little shyly. Flirt with him while showering. The film is being filmed. You are the heroine. You're surrounded by the camera's love offensive. They are shooting from multiple angles. There are at least three or more cameras. There weren't many people on the set. All you can hear is the sound of the camera turning. Director Cat in the dark. Rarely speaks. He's pretty happy with your performance. You enjoy it too. This morning is so beautiful. So thrilled. You forget you're just taking a shower alone in a normal bathroom. There is only the sound of the water flowing and the cool silence of a pool. Yet you feel that the bathroom is surrounded by your admirers. They are shy. Does not reveal half an eye or trace. They were more introverted and low-minded than women this morning. Yes, it's an ambiguous Impressionist film. You don't even feel like you've become the heroine of a movie. You don't care how the movie works after it's finished.
You're a bit of a big name. After shooting a few shots, you ask the director to show you the shot replays. You care a lot about you in the shot. Those close-ups. Those on the sides of your face, neck, waist, hands, calves. You find that the photographer takes pictures of you beautifully. Inadvertently, at his feet, there was a lonely Manuscript of Monet. Above you innocent elegance. You are sexy and charming in the shot. After watching the camera replay a few times, you feel that the director's lens language and shooting skills are still naïve and old. You are no different from the female models in those mainland MVs. That painting is still the same as this movie. You have not been able to change the world like a mighty angel. You're a little disappointed. You thought the world was for you alone. Looks like you're wrong. The world seems to remain pale and vulgar at this stage. Painters and directors cannot save the world. Or, you don't have the fate to meet those geniuses. You're just a little girl who likes to be in the bathroom. So much for.
So you completely abandoned the set. You kick the director and the camera out of the bathroom. You're a little annoyed. You feel like none of those men really understand you. Truly respect you. You're tired. You feel lonely. You've tried to end yourself up a few times. You no longer have the strength to play the love game. You are bordering on despair. You feel that you are not beautiful. You're really red-faced. You shed tears again. You can only quietly shed tears for a while. Then maybe go to sleep alone until dawn. It's like being buried in a cold wasteland. Loneliness echoed through the galaxy. The stars fidgeted. They also shed tears. Give more thin-lived girls on this planet adornment. Studded in their red hairpins. Give them a good night's dream. Tell them that in addition to love, there is also the sky. Look up at the blue sky, it is an eternal lover. That blue is the light of the ring on the ring finger of their left hand. Look up at the blue sky, it won't escape. Doesn't let the coffee cool. Won't make you cry all night. Just look up. The stars are twinkling. Yue'er is confessing to you.
You turn on the hot water to the maximum. It's like being on the verge of turmoil. Like a fawn running in the wilderness. You are a great deer. A deer that awe-inspiring the beast. A proud and innocent deer. It has an aura. Nor can the lens of a human photographer exhaust its beauty. It's just that your wilderness is just a small bathroom on one side. Yet it has exhausted all the forests and landmasses of the planet.
You gradually wake up. The onslaught of hot water sends you to Mom's arms around. You pretend to be a baby and suck on your mother's nipples. And remain in the womb posture and twist the body. Try to learn the cat's language like a newborn kitten. On this morning, I slipped into my mother's bed and threw joy at her. Mom is half squinting and glancing at you lazily like a female cat. You hugged Mom's warm body tightly. Gradually crispy. It was raining lightly outside the window. Dad was on a business trip. This Saturday morning. It's a kind of childhood orgasm. Orgasm when hugging Mom's body. At the moment, in this little bathroom. Men have abandoned you. You hugged your mother tightly again. Yes, as long as your mother is still there you are still happy. At the moment, as long as you call out to your mother in the bathroom, your mother will come over. A dark shadow approached. She said, what's wrong. Mom is here. Mom is old, and sometimes you cry too. Her nasolabial lines and the white of her sideburns. Her dark, speckled hands and tired face that would go to sleep at any moment while watching TV. Mom fell asleep. She was motionless. Mom is waking up. I want you.
yes. Mom gave you this world. Another garden was given to you. Mom is the gatekeeper of this paradise on earth. She collects all the fresh honey from this garden every day. Fix the worm eyes on all the leaves. She gets up early every morning. Water flowers and smile. Tie up the apron and grow old. Then wake you up. Tell you that the moon in the garden bloomed today. Then you smell the rice and the portraits on the walls are filled with the sweetness of the moon. Soon, wall-climbing tigers and vines wrapped around the house. You see the sunlight coming in mom's face and her own arms turn a faint green. From time to time, small bees and butterflies fly into your room. When you're asleep, they may treat your face like a flower. Soon, you feel that those beautiful and noble butterflies have become as common as flies. After a while, they become your pets. If the South American phoenix dish doesn't come, you won't be able to read the book well. You divide the day into pieces and date different butterflies in different outfits and hairstyles. Your whole life has been in this garden.
Until one day, Mom said to you, you have to run away. Go build your own garden.
At this moment, you were planning to conceive of your own garden while bathing. It's just that you haven't found a man to share this garden with you. At this moment, there are still waves of green emerald butterflies and rhinocephalus butterflies flying outside the bathroom window. But they will slowly cease to belong to you.
You know, Mom's care and love will slowly fade one day. It's like an oil painting, after seeping into some water droplets, it gradually becomes Impressionist. It's just that the weight of the paints will never change with this garden. When one day, you walk alone on the road. The garden is reduced to a miniature version, hidden in your hairline, ears, pockets, socks, pages, purses, skirt creases, and the rustle of the trees you make a casual stop on the side of the road. Slowly, the garden will gradually transform into a cell of yours, or a gentle hair from your left shoulder. When you need it, your mom will make a meal and turn on the lights to beckon you home.
At this moment, you are in this garden. You don't know it, it's exporting its code, its molecular structure and its architecture. Earthworms and small insects are moving. Butterflies take a break and make love in the damp shade of jasmine. Enjoy a forest bath. Those next-door neighbor boys are adoring you. But they're just mediocre men. Their eyes were attacked by butterflies. So they regressed. So you've been lonely. Can't enjoy being loved. Humans can't find their mate as easily as butterflies. You once witnessed the intertwining of two butterflies. Two. Pink and light blue. Their wings trembled slightly. You can feel their sexual organs intersecting with each other. And you imagine that they have reached their climax. So your body is also slightly numb. You see god. Later, you feel frustrated.
yes. You have been living alone in this garden. Outsiders never understand its beauty. Because the butterflies refuse to fly outside. They think that the garden is like a utopia. It's like you never knew your own beauty. You think that innocence is an obstacle. You feel like you're not mature and sophisticated. It's not like other girls are noisy and make friends. And boyfriends. You feel that this beautiful garden is a disgrace. You think it's so beautiful that you feel suffocated. You're crying. You sit under the garden and cry. Your long hair is slightly curly. The skirt brushed the grass and rubbed it back and forth. You are so divinely cute that you don't know you have a charming charm. You fool around. It's just that the truth will come out one day in the future.
The bath time passed in a moment. In fact, the whole story takes place in only a quarter of an hour. In this quarter of an hour, something may have happened to the world. Maybe luckily nothing happened. Just like the mediocre Sunday afternoons. A cat sleeps for half an hour. Occupy half of the wall where the sun moves. An old man about half a century of nostalgia. A silkworm wraps itself in a pupa. A boy wrote a half-page love letter to a girl. Yes, that's what happened. There were no plane crashes either. Nor were the ships sunk. In the world you can imagine, the Middle East War did not exist. Refugees in Africa are also living well. The earth fell asleep like a baby. When the sun rises in the east, it's time to wash its face and go to school. It wears a plaid shirt. Double eyelids. Converse white sneakers. It excels at biology classes and reading. In two more years, it will reach puberty. Yes, now the earth has reached puberty. Those trifles that happen on earth are nothing more than pimples on its face. When it yawns and rubs its eyes, your life is over.
In this bathroom, in just a quarter of an hour, your happy life will be over. All the pride and the climax, all the love and shame, all the carnal desires and sorrows, had to come to an end. This summer, in the daily bathroom sex, you mature and understand the mystery of women. This is really something to celebrate. You smile, it's like you've won the lottery.
You put on your clothes and start another life. You blow dry your hair and your face blushes. It was hot again, and the sweat was coming out again. Wet your enchanting body. Noble and clumsy. These are the beauty that you cannot perceive to others. Your body speaks to you in contrast to the nobility that skinny girls can't have. They tend to chirp, and you're smiling, spreading out a book, or wearing headphones and turning your head to look out the window at the setting sun. Not gregarious and not aggressive. Gently and slowly light the sword.
The hair was dry, the weather was hot, and it was tied up into a random bun. The face shape is perfect. Like the gentle woman in Ming and Qing paintings. The face was still red. Then you turn off the lights and go out, and on this day, maybe lucky, maybe tribulations, and never see each other again with that passing time.
Dong Jing
Columnist and film critic
Composition
"80% Perfect Dad"
"The Sorrowful Wild Lily"
"Midnight of Miss Paris"
"Carrying my daughter across the river"
Butterfly Chrysalis