[Drawing] the Break of Peace

[Essay] You see, the flowers have bloomed

When I was a graduate student in Maryland, I met a family of Wrigleys. Mr. Wrigley taught Eastern Aesthetic Theory in the University and Mrs. Wrigley was a writer of children’s books. I had many fond memories borrowing books from them and exchanging my reading list with theirs. The Wrigleys had many good books, books they carried back from Madrid, Berlin, Firenze, London, New Delhi and Beijing……I switched from full scholarship to half on my second year, and decided to move into a student’s apartment 5 miles away off the campus shared with 3 other international students. Seeing that I had a little teachable quality in me perhaps and was a quiet, not too unpleasant of a being, one day Mrs. Wrigley said, “don’t go. We have a spare room, and many books.” 

I stayed at the Wrigley’s for a year rent free since that September. Mrs. Wrigley worked from home. Apart from her skills of turning every ordinary daily event into an inspiring conversation full of bon mots, she was also an enthusiastic gourmet chef, and I, a passionate consumer of both. Through the year of 2002, I was fed with countless tasty home-cooked meals, cakes, cookies, pies of all sorts, and gained 5 kg in less than half a year. Mr. Wrigley used to write scripts and direct stage plays on the side. When his regular engagement broke off, he started his own little non-commercial troop, paying actors to play in his own shows. 

“You’ll just help me draw those posters.” He said. Therefore, I continued to stay at their house, read many interesting books, had loads fun drawing posters whist playing with the Wrigleys and their 3 ginger cats. Another September had come. I took on a research job in San Francisco, and some freelance journalism gigs with some local papers on the west coast. Days went by just like that. But I always went back to the Wrigley’s before Christmas, played with them and their 3 ginger cats, and gulped down Mrs. Wrigley’s home-cooked meals, cakes, cookies and pies of all sorts. They had a Winter-sweet tree at home that someone brought to them from China. It bloomed so well every Christmas and new year. One year, my flight was cancelled at the last minute and I couldn’t make to the Christmas. Mrs. Wrigley sent me a picture of the winter-sweet flowers – red, exuberant blossoms unfolding gracefully under the cold snowy sky. On the phone later that evening, she said “you see, the flowers have bloomed. We waited for you at dinner. Thought you’d be able to make it. You see, the flowers have all bloomed……yet you couldn’t come.”

In my life, I’ve met many good people like the Wrigleys. They treated me with such generosity it helped me immensely in cultivating my own emotions. Sometimes I think the word “charm” seems to have lost its all charm in comparison to such opulent tolerance and humanity. Even until today when half of my life has been left to memories, I’m still showered with and have much relied on the selfless acts many friends have extended to me.  And with that, many winters have passed with ease and warmth. 

[Drawing] Once Mate, Later Prey

nature over size

[Drawing] Fished A Cat that Fished A Fish

Just as sometimes in life
what you want doesn't come in the form you have imagined
A reality
no better
no worse
merely life as it is

[Drawing] A Bird's Meow

Cat

In the old downtown apartment
the cat had her own histories of life
On the red wooden floor she danced
Against the bedroom furniture she rubbed
on the window frames she touched and loved

she'd been to several places
looking for me

[Drawing] the Big Meow

So I was at Bar Centrale on Yanping Road yesterday afternoon, drawing this picture. There was an American man and a French girl sitting by the table next to mine. It seemed they'd just met as he was trying to get a hang at the precise pronunciation of her name and also in between conversations she was asking him if he'd got a dog. the guy then went on talking about how expensive it was to live in Shanghai these days and how it drove most people to realism and materialism, and the local Shanghai girls he dated had proved just so - I wasn't really eavesdropping but it was sorta hard not to hear - when you randomly sketch on a paper, your mind just naturally drift away and your ears acute, plus it was the rush lunch hour and everyone was loud in order to be heard.

So anyway, that's when I heard him asking: "are you material?"
then I heard her replying: "I don't suppose I am. A good quality none-branded bag often feels the same to me as a Gucci one."
"that's great." he commented, with an acoustic equivalent to a pat on the shoulder.
"But I can afford to be materialistic if I wanted to. So I guess the question is whether you have to be unmaterialistic or is it a choice?"

he did not know how to answer that.

I love her :P

[Poem] A Communication Problem (Xinlei)

A Communication Problem 

THE big Cole Pile is a small Cole Pile that THE small Cole Pile doesn’t recognize 

THE small Cole Pile is a big Cole Pile that THE big Cole Pile doesn’t recognize

Their smokes tightly weaving

Tangling

Merging

Finally disappearing into the thin air 

of this beautiful autumn