June 9, 2013
January 8, 2013
November 16, 2012
March 27, 2012
October 30, 2011
August 4, 2010
Cafe Hawelka
Cafe Hawelka in Wien
A afternoon in old Hawelka with a cup of coffee,
look at viennese who already lived in this city for last whole century.
Vienna is always a mystery for me.
Tool: black ink, water color
July 16, 2010
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July 13, 2010
July 12, 2010
Sunset of Paris
Sunset of Paris
Tool: black ink, water color
New York is my home, Paris is my hotel.
If every sunset whispers farewell, every street is a soft hug in the darknight, either the city is in dream, or I'm a dreamer.
Always when looking back, the beauty of Paris shines like a river, so bright that I can't open my eyes.
Indeed how many love have to vanish to mature such a city, as how much death is needed to mature a soul.
People soak themselves in wine, as if then one day, the landing could feel softer.
I know no matter where I was, where I will be, I'm always on the way back to Paris.
Kiss
Kiss - Shaka, Aiolia
We don't live for how many moments we breath,
but those moments which took away our breath.
Tool: black ink, water color
Straybird
Straybird - by Tagore
This life is the crossing of a sea,
Where we meet in the same narrow ship.
In death we reach the shore,
and go to our different world.
Tool: water color
July 8, 2010
Horse in red cloak 1- the story
Cavallo
Thousands of horses line up to form an orbit on earth, running like wind.
Thousands of horses line up on the horse-orbit to form a higher orbit, running like thunder.
Horse in red cloak on the top, he is the king of all livings on earth.
No eyes can see the horse in red cloak because he is as fast as light.
By his running, wind is generated for the world, rivers are flowing, stars are raising.
Tool: pencil, watercolor
Thousands of horses line up on the horse-orbit to form a higher orbit, running like thunder.
Horse in red cloak on the top, he is the king of all livings on earth.
No eyes can see the horse in red cloak because he is as fast as light.
By his running, wind is generated for the world, rivers are flowing, stars are raising.
Tool: pencil, watercolor
June 18, 2010
Buddha - Dunhuang, China
Buddha
Tool: water color
西藏有感 - Diary to Tibet, 2007
第一天 林芝
曾经以为高原就是天底下一片望不到边际的 平地，上面长满刺勒勒的草，风一吹，青色的天空像烧透的琉璃。
到了西藏之后才发现自己原来将高原和草原 混淆了，我意愿中的景色不知从何而来，大概是曾经去过的青海与牛奶广告中内蒙古的画面的重叠。
飞机降落的时候下着小雨，云浮在山半腰， 一小块天空露出汝瓷那种淡青色，我才懂得这颜色之所以如此难以煅烧，因为它本是湿润的。一千年前雨后初晴，只在瞬间的窑火中凝固。
高原上的江南在我们疲惫的车窗外掠过，直 到第二天的阳光破除水雾，雅鲁藏布江在逆光中闪闪发亮。我才知道这里就是恒河的源头，蓦然悸动，连连张头朝西望，妄想看见喜马拉雅山另一边冈底斯宁静的死 亡味道，才想起自己正站在它的上游，水还那么清透见底——西一万里，将有亡灵的肉体和新生婴儿的血液混进这水，被熏香和纱丽洗涤成紫色，涌进遥远的海洋。
太阳越来越低，我们被笼罩在山坳巨大的阴 影中缓缓前行，蓦然一束光从山口照进来，眼睛和灵魂被穿透似地一痛，还来不及低头，下一秒夜幕降临。
月亮像朵夜游的白莲盛开在紫黑的天上，原 来拉萨就在河那一边了。
一夜无语，睡得很浅，感觉呼吸离梦很近， 紧紧贴着胸口。
第二天 拉萨
越是贫瘠朴质的地方，宗教越是根深蒂固。 因为一旦失去信仰，他们便看不到什么活着的理由。
我想拉萨很久很久以前就是这么样个贫瘠的 地方，人也是这么样些质朴的人。
但是阳光实在太耀眼。我看见深陷眉骨下的 眼睛，沾着灰土的额头，藏红色衣角，指间的旧佛珠，却都在视网膜上汇成白茫茫一片，灼烧着心底某个空荡荡的地方，才发现自己站在广场上不知所向。我不懂它 有多了不起，看见长跪不起的老人，被手掌和膝盖磨得光亮的石板，大昭寺刹那神秘不可窥视。
对了，一刹那是三分之一秒，古印度计时单 位，我才知道。
随着人流走进寺庙，空气混浊而安静下来， 昔日尼泊尔的城门被当作战利品任人抚摸，酥油灯的气味钻入木头深处，再醇醇散发出来，让我几乎无法呼吸。但是又很快忘记了。
各种语言在耳边纷杂，灯心草晃动，我只想 要一点点时间，让我凝望。可是我真的不懂，心底什么声音都没有，空得可怕。双手合十，从来没有这么慌乱，竟连愿望和烦恼都想不起来了。于是我跟着朋友赶紧 走了出来，和一群鱼贯而入眼神兴奋的游人擦肩而过。
但是恍惚中，佛像的目光依旧温柔，仿佛停 留在背上，平均到每个人不多一丝毫。
我又忽然觉得太感动，不敢回头了，怕要落 泪。
第三天 拉萨
到拉萨的那个晚上我们的车从布达拉宫前路 过，巍巍立在霓红的光里，我们探着身子紧紧望着它，好像第一次看见天安门的感觉。但是一拐弯，我们就被路边一间间酒吧的灯光吸引了，开始讨论晚餐后的问 题。
直到第三天早晨，我又看见了它。这次巍巍 立在清晨的光里，白墙红窗，忽然圣洁不可仰视。原来它果真是美极的，像朝拜者路途终点蓦然看见的雪山。
布达拉宫曾经是达赖喇嘛的住所，现在只剩 三千僧人在这儿讲经修书。我们同样被逼迫着脚步匆匆，走马观花穿越一道道门帐，被桫椤繁花般的经幔壁毯充斥了知觉，以至于昏沉沉不知所闻。唯有主殿佛堂 中，阳光从天井透下，菩萨远远含笑凝望，虔诚的人软弱地匍匐在其脚下，都静默了。我小心翼翼呈上嗔念，希望都化为虚幻。
宫中佛塔和灵塔数座，大大小小，在沉 香寂静中俯视过往。我一一拜过，却心存惘然，也不懂是怎样的感觉，只屏息 跟着脚步穿过狭长走道，看一眼满壁万卷经书，一转拐，就已经出去了。
外面，天青如琉璃，阳光灼白。
第四天 纳木措
我爱水胜过于爱山，爱湖胜过于爱江河。
大概就是柔软安静的东西吸引我躁动不安的 灵魂。
从拉萨到纳木措的路上，窗外的阳光太灼 眼，天蓝得叫人困倦。我一半惺忪一半不安，颠簸着五脏六腑，已经不记得那一路在想些什么事情，哪些人。
我这辈子看过最蓝的水是地中海，纳木措排 第二。
四千七百米的高原湖泊，毫无预兆地横拉在 地平线，像吸收了天空的绀青，那么浓烈。记得那天的云很漂亮，堆积在雪山之巅，被风拉成羽毛一样的薄絮，浮在湖上面，风流云散。我们像喝醉了般奔跑上湖边 的山坡，让肺部承受被轧干的窒息，却继续张嘴大笑，直到站不起来。
悬崖上经幡猎猎，风吹动一次就算念一遍。
而我已经完全忘记了三尺头上的神明，一汪 湖水足矣。
June 17, 2010
Arc of Hadrian, Athens
Arc of Hadrian, Athens
Tool: water color
Diary in Athens, 2006
We explore the world like blind man wanna know the shape of snow, once stretch out fingers, it straws.
I tried to convince myself, that it was an imaginary journey. Ink-blue sky and ivory-white pillar, the world was a dream, like thousands of times of sudden, it was still far far away to the end of sky.
But to have is to lose.
But I certainly felt the moment when touching the rough surface and dry air. There was no way to block memory which was like flowing sand. I had to tell, it could not be found back anymore.
My Athens never returns. It's me who have broken the glass, set it for free, for somewhere never picks back.
Now I understand why Van Gogh committed suicide in his happiest time of life.
I have to continue, unreachable indeed never meant what I thought.
I can, but it's not there anymore.
I tried to convince myself, that it was an imaginary journey. Ink-blue sky and ivory-white pillar, the world was a dream, like thousands of times of sudden, it was still far far away to the end of sky.
But to have is to lose.
But I certainly felt the moment when touching the rough surface and dry air. There was no way to block memory which was like flowing sand. I had to tell, it could not be found back anymore.
My Athens never returns. It's me who have broken the glass, set it for free, for somewhere never picks back.
Now I understand why Van Gogh committed suicide in his happiest time of life.
I have to continue, unreachable indeed never meant what I thought.
I can, but it's not there anymore.
有一天对朋友说，我的旅行总是补偿性的。
比如佛罗伦萨，一条河一片橘红色屋顶，脑子里一片燃烧的幻觉，却只是在城墙上漫不经心地走过， 平静呼吸仿佛有橄榄油味道的空气，然后搭上火车再也没有回头。在离开它几个月后，猛然失落得疯狂，诅咒得不到那片梦中的景色我必定死去，只一眼，痛苦就可 以结束。可我还继续活着，只是午夜梦回看到，它在那颗南边的星下那么遥远，冷幽幽的蓝将想念焚烧，万籁俱寂将狂热淹没，一口洪水灌到嘴边，泪流满面。
比如佛罗伦萨，一条河一片橘红色屋顶，脑子里一片燃烧的幻觉，却只是在城墙上漫不经心地走过， 平静呼吸仿佛有橄榄油味道的空气，然后搭上火车再也没有回头。在离开它几个月后，猛然失落得疯狂，诅咒得不到那片梦中的景色我必定死去，只一眼，痛苦就可 以结束。可我还继续活着，只是午夜梦回看到，它在那颗南边的星下那么遥远，冷幽幽的蓝将想念焚烧，万籁俱寂将狂热淹没，一口洪水灌到嘴边，泪流满面。
雅典。
我不想跟任何人说话，不想对任何人微笑。有些东西在某些时刻你只想将它毁灭。
所以谋杀总是因为最深爱。
当我意识 到自己开始想念它时，两个影子终于慢慢开始重叠，缓慢而优雅而悲哀，仿佛碎裂的多利克石柱碾着我的血肉，被撕扯成无法辨认的狂热，散落一地。我于是在极度 落寞中开始怀疑它的存在，如此美好的灵魂怎么可能曾经近在咫尺，我盯着玻璃瓶中的海水出神，带着仇恨的表情要掀开那片透明后面的深蓝，仿佛就有一片汪洋静 静停泊在另一边，虚幻到眼泪都为之软弱，悲恸到没有一丝叹息。
我不敢回想某个瞬间，天空的蓝，荀麻的白，都化开成一片雾气升腾起来，浓烈得无法睁 眼，在铁轨尽头蓦然消散；我或许回过头，或许并没回头，或许一切都不为真。
只有再见，轻轻地刺痛着喉咙。
原来只有时间明白这个字，在我都 未曾察觉的那一刻，就重重地砍了一刀。
太远太远。
我的雅典，我的雅典。
我不想跟任何人说话，不想对任何人微笑。有些东西在某些时刻你只想将它毁灭。
所以谋杀总是因为最深爱。
当我意识 到自己开始想念它时，两个影子终于慢慢开始重叠，缓慢而优雅而悲哀，仿佛碎裂的多利克石柱碾着我的血肉，被撕扯成无法辨认的狂热，散落一地。我于是在极度 落寞中开始怀疑它的存在，如此美好的灵魂怎么可能曾经近在咫尺，我盯着玻璃瓶中的海水出神，带着仇恨的表情要掀开那片透明后面的深蓝，仿佛就有一片汪洋静 静停泊在另一边，虚幻到眼泪都为之软弱，悲恸到没有一丝叹息。
我不敢回想某个瞬间，天空的蓝，荀麻的白，都化开成一片雾气升腾起来，浓烈得无法睁 眼，在铁轨尽头蓦然消散；我或许回过头，或许并没回头，或许一切都不为真。
只有再见，轻轻地刺痛着喉咙。
原来只有时间明白这个字，在我都 未曾察觉的那一刻，就重重地砍了一刀。
太远太远。
我的雅典，我的雅典。
Temple of Xiang-Mountain of Beijing, China
Temple of Xiang-Mountain of Beijing
Tool: chinese black ink
FerrisWheel in Sunset of Lyon, France
Ferris Wheel in sunset of Lyon, France
Tool: black ink, water color
This picture dedicates to my best friend who used to be the most important person for 15 years in my childhood. Thanks for her presents in my life. For me, she is like the little fox for the little prince.
When I was a little girl, it seemed so easy to get whatever I want. And everything I like tasted sweet and true. I was once sure about all, sure about myself, thus felt good. Even I was refused on getting some spoiled love or spoiled things, I didn't feel that bad, just cried and then forgot it.
Now I'd say, it's hard to grow up. When there's nobody say 'you can't get this', that eventually means nobody is anymore responsible for passing spoiled love or spoiled things to me. I have to get them all on my own, from this world of which the rules I haven't learn well. This turns out being a truth without an always-right way to follow. And even by chance I followed a right way and got what I wished, things are not that simple anymore as before. Now I probably would keep all candies in tea-box instead of eating each one at the moment when I got it. I feel I'm responsible for every little thing I collected around me, I have to tame them, I have to be careful not losing them. There's a fear about ending of life, about losing love, about being abandoned. My world is all about me, I have no time or chance anymore to taste the simple sweetness and truth. Maybe I just forgot it.
I'm tired. I wanna my little fox.
The most tragic thing is not giving up towards love, but not giving up.
But I'm even proud of myself.
Riverside, Paris
Riverside outside Paris
In one afternoon, I left Paris along the river.
Plain sunshine was on my face,
I know I have nowhere to go.
I wished I would laying on the bottom of the river,
looking at empty bottles, leaves floating above me,
taking away my life, my memory, my loneliness.
Tool: black ink, water color
Night bar of Berlin
Berlin night bar
Tool: black ink
Berlin Walking, 2006
Those days I've been muttering that I would definitely not go out even a step after having devoted all passion and emotion to my great Athens. But at meantime as if were showing something lost and got low, I found myself already in Berlin. So I created some sorts of self-persuades like my Schengen VISA expires next week, a plain reason for a great city; and like probably the inner one, I wanna spend some lonely time only with myself, as I've given too much outwards to Parisian greatness those weekends and felt finally exhausted. So I was walking on a Berlin street, with a kind of witness-keen sense, because I knew in this city sheer nothing deal with, no one's life would mess even a tiny linkage with me a passerby. That was safe under skin and amusing. Berlin was great beyond words, but personally I especially adore the atmosphere gloomy, freezing, around a language unknown, and some tiny uncatchable scraps of heaviness, from the history. It was accidentally the memorial day for Germantroops on the day I arrived. Huge-sized German policemen in dark-green uniforms were everywhere. It was strange that I felt kind of nervous when facing them, as their blue eyes under pale skin staring; it came out the same feeling when I visited the Berlin wall, the famous wall. I could feel the scar, even as well as the pain, was something far beyond shape or weight, freezing silently under the peaceful Berlin air. I thought it probably was the time, swiftly past but left more solid, to us. Even I didn't know much about the history pieces after WW2, those pictures in museum really touched my mind. 'The world is too small for a wall', as painted on the wall fragment, and a photograph of people trying to escape the wire netting, a cold rose split in rocky-grey background. Suddenly I felt been penetrated by a sound of greatness of human being, who bear the heavy word, love. And in the last morning in Berlin, I went to the wall again for a last sight; I stood longtime in front of those trial photos and felt full-heart of complexity. I've recently read things about war background, the Jews, the Nazi, the massacres, the postwar trials, the suicides, the USSR, the troops and the whole-nation-mobilization..etc. although we were taught to love or to blame, this moment I gave up the judgment, I only saw individuals of souls hammered on the huge background. What we could own in front of a evil time? Only mercy and pity could likely fit our own uneasy hearts, that's why people put roses while weeping.
Three days in Berlin. There's hardly any way can grasp a moment of spiritual freedom but with myself.
Florence
Sunset from train passing by Florence
Tool: water color
The light of Florence in sunset never leave my head.
It's the softest and warmest orange-color hug to all uneasy souls.
I meet you in my journey, and say goodbye in my journey.
I know that you always wait for me in your valley,
no matter what name people call you,
Florence.
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