The director may be aware of loneliness, but he dare not act lonely (Charlie Kaufman expresses his anger). Wang Bo, who died before his death, wrote cruelly: “Guaranteed mountain is difficult to pass, and those who have lost their way; meet by the water, they are all guests from other countries.” (Wang Bo, Preface to the Pavilion of the King of Teng).
But loneliness is actually a false proposition. First of all, loneliness is not isolated. It is rooted in communities and links. This is why the most self-conscious and loneliest artist in art history can be understood and touted (not necessarily the public, sometimes It's a few or even a single person, another person, but always searching, isn't it?), the paradox is, in this way, can loneliness be called loneliness? Even what Blanchot calls "essential loneliness"? So Brownshaw would write: "When I am alone, it is not that I am there, it is not you, nor other people and the outside world that I am far away from" (Blanshaw, literary space)-loneliness is a hypocritical concept, let alone Originally, like art, loneliness was a grandstanding performance, and this is its root, because together with "I" is also a false concept, "I" must have the existence of the other, that is to say, I am just a fake Echoes of, when I ask me, I will only see you, and then (if lucky) I will only see nothing: loneliness is always social, not loneliness, the generation and resolution of loneliness points to the other, to After another, loneliness is no longer pain and misfortune, so art, if art is no longer the art of seeking others, what will art be?
Quinn said, "All languages are public." As long as you think (and thinking is words and nothing else), you enter the public space. Wittgenstein said, “the real private language does not exist.” Then, what should be pursued is this non-existence, and the pursuit of this “nothingness”. When I start to say “nothingness”, the “nothingness” has already entered. Exist, this paradox is the true loneliness of man, the loneliness of man, "We read that God is/a part and a moment, a scattered person" (Paul Celan, "Where Are You Tonight" ), God is not a holistic person, let alone a man made by tufted soil? (Not to mention the person made by the sperm and egg), "When I become dust, you will see my smile" (Lu Xun, Weeds·Grave Jiewen), so the real question is: Before you turn into dust (" Before", but time has been cancelled here, that is, history/time), you have to question yourself, why do you paint? Why do you want to write? You-already exist (is that sure?), but-you, why do you want to exist? "
From (the real at the end of the film) Other:
"In my yellow house, a purple-hearted sunflower jumps on a yellow background, stretching its branches in a yellow flowerpot on the yellow table. In the corner of the painting, the artist's name is signed: Vincent. Yellow. The sunlight through the yellow curtains dyed the whole room golden. In the morning, when I woke up from bed, it all smelled great. Oh, yes, he likes yellow, this lovely Vincent, a The artist from the Netherlands, those dazzling lights ignited his soul, far away from the fog, longing for warmth, in those days when we were in Al, we were both crazy, we were fighting side by side with beautiful colors, and I fell in love with red, I Where should I look for my bright red? He used the yellowest paintbrush on the wall with a vigorous wave, and suddenly turned into purple. I am God, and I am the voice of God.” (Paul Gauguin, 1894)
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