Just watched the first paragraph of Martin. It would have been better if the shot was a little tighter. It can be seen that Lao Ma still has a bit of a blind admiration for the artist in his heart. It feels like the look in Shen Xing's interview with Pu Shu. I don't understand, but make reverence.
The paint at the beginning was so appealing to me. Muddy, dirty, warm. Pretty much the same as my previous palette and sucked me into this one in one fell swoop. But when I paint, I don't listen to rock metal shit. I'm going to offend people again. At most I listen to a little classical before painting, or nothing at all. Rock, folk, metal, etc. these modern and post-modern things I despise in my heart. Including Dou Wei. But I respect their art form. I just want to express my pursuit and ambition. People like Dou Wei, or those intense, gentle, weird rock, folk, metal, etc., but they like warm flowers on a tree, quiet leaves, staggered branches, something obvious. I just love its roots. I'm a root for art. I am a creator of art. I only like essential things. Essential flesh, essential air, essential notes, stems, and tails. I don't rely on the great enthusiasm that these false noises spew out, I don't rely on these to move me and inspire me. I rely only on the essence, the essence of me.
This artist that Martin photographed is pathetic. Artists are really poor. In the face of beauty, surrender to her; in the face of love, surrender to her. In the face of pistols and cannons, they were shaped like ants and rushed towards them fiery. In the face of incitement, pounce on it. Face the truth and jump on it. In the face of inspiration, also pounce on it. I no longer have myself. too pitiful.
I just want to jump out of this circle of fire. I am the king of art.
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