《我的画》  

现代的意义，不必从经典找；现代就是：今日不同昨日，明日又和今日不一样；当你抓住现代时，它已经不是现代；因为现代是一个永远向前移动的 “飞鸟之影”¹,  你所见的 “飞鸟之影”，即是旧的消失，而新的即将来取代。

我的画在捕捉“飞鸟之影”，力求今不同于昨，演变又演变，企望着的是未知的将来。 

我很注重结构的新奇性，力求每幅作品有所不同。凌空结构，或建筑物般的构造是我所乐取；线条是自由的流线，上下左右倾斜画布，以期达到我所要的趋向和长度。线求灵活，笔触求豪放，有时泼色代替笔扫的运用，顺其自然，不加修饰。从底色发展到最后一层，没有事先的腹稿，顺应着即现的图纹发展，至到最后满意为止。若有不满意的现象则涂掉，重新再来。时间多久才可完成一幅？须着顺手不顺手而定。整个画在视觉上要求是一个 “活” 字，若有生命存在是我所祈。

即发性和巧合性是我所珍惜，我觉得画中呈现此二因素，才会产生超脱性。

画布是平铺在地板上开始作画，泼色、刷色兼用，要流线时才把画布竖立，未干的色彩流至所认可的位置，放平等干。色调的产生是就画布上色与色之间的自由协和；一层未干加上一层，往往有自然漫散的迷人趣味。我的画不能修改，一改即糟，画不好只有重新再作。我的画也不可能再造相同的第二幅，除非制版即刷；所以一幅就是一幅，相类似的造形，是我所不愿意。 

我的画是情浓于意，题名是完成之后，就结构与色调气氛可能的意向而斟酌取定。其实无题是适当， ²让观赏者去自由遐思，参与求意。有人责难我，问道：“无意境于先，也无腹稿于前，而如此作画；最后才见形命名，岂不是很荒唐!”

我尝答道：“天之成，地之生，何所意哉？腹中胎儿，何以名？还是待婴孩呱呱落地，见其男女样相，始命名，岂不更逻辑。”

我的画有些是可以作任何方位挂，而不碍视觉上的均衡感。一个纯几何形的结构是不拒你作何种的倒置，圆、直线与方，不论你倒置何方位，³它的本质在视觉或意觉上都不变。我所确定的方位，是经过长时的各方位推敲后，认为是最好的挂向，始定下。但欢迎他人去研究更适当的挂法。

人笑倒挂画，那只是具象画才怕倒挂，纯抽象如我的作品，能给我倒挂得好，我是欢迎之至。

具象绘画非我不能，而是我不要；在五十年代早期我的画都是具象。自从渡过六十年代，当我觉悟到要创新，必须放弃一切可依的形象，以及即存在的技巧与手段，唯有向无人落脚的地方去开拓，方才无所顾忌地摒弃具象，朝向自由奔放的抽象境界挪步。

为创新，我可说是不择手段，手擦掌抹、布涂、混筒、刀、刷、扫，都试用过；从水彩、油彩、胶彩至油漆；还是现在的颠倒画布，油漆自由流动，最具我的特征。

我不在乎别人称我的画为标新立异，老实说我确是在标新立异，因为我有个迷信：“在艺术上能标出新，且又能立其异，是奇才，我最钦佩。”

在艺术创作的道路上，应容人各有志；我贵我所贵，并不意谓反对他人所好。 

何和应 
一九七八年

¹ 辩家公孙龙等辩题 “飞鸟之影不动” 与 “白马非马” 齐名；“飞鸟之影不动” 的证果是：影子之所以移动，是错觉现象，其实是旧的影子在飞鸟飞行时不断消失，而前进的新影子不断出现；并非旧的影子向前移动。电影的底片经过光射，一格又一格的移动，产生银幕上动作，最易旁证此理。 

² 老子道德经：“道可道非常道；名可名非常名”。据此引伸， 我画上的题名是出于不得已，为方便观赏的一种指示而己。

³ 正方形，可移倒为棱形，但此种棱形的左下角度仍然是 90 度，所以说本质不变。

My Paintings

The essence of modernism need not be sought in the classics; to be modern is to be different from the day before and to ensure that tomorrow will be different from today. When you manage to grasp the modern, it has ceased to be modern. The modern is the ‘shadow of a bird in flight’¹,  always moving forward; the ‘shadow of a bird in flight’ you see is the vanishing of the old and the new coming forth to take its place.

My paintings capture the ‘shadow of a bird in flight’, striving to be different from yesterday, to change and change in anticipation of the unknown future.

I place a lot of emphasis on the originality of my compositions and make an effort to ensure that none of my paintings are alike. I am partial to compositions with a bird's eye view or evoking architectural sensibilities. Linear expressions are free lines, crisscrossing the canvas in all directions in order to move in the direction and length I desire. Linear expressions need to be lively, brushstrokes need to be bold, and at times paint can be applied in splashes rather than with a brush, following natural rhythms and without interventions. From the priming layer to the final one, I do not follow any drafts and paint in conversation with the image as it is until I am satisfied with what is before me. If there are elements I do not like, I will remove them and start again. How long does it take for me to complete a painting? It depends on how I feel when I am painting. The picture as a whole needs to evoke a sense of liveliness, and life within the image is what I desire.

I value spontaneity and serendipity. I believe that a painting needs to have these two elements before it can have a sense of transcendence.

When I paint, I lay the canvas flat on the floor. I apply paint both by splashing them onto the canvas and with a brush. If I require the effect caused by free-flowing paint, I move the canvas to a vertical position and, when I am satisfied with the effect, I lay it flat again to dry. Tonality is produced by the free synthesis of different pigments on the canvas, adding layers of colour above still-wet layers often evokes a natural, diffusive and mesmerising charm. My paintings cannot be corrected—when corrected, it spoils. I have no choice but to repaint if the image is not satisfactory. It is also impossible for me to create an identical copy unless I use a printing plate. Therefore, each work is singular, and I am not willing to create paintings that are similar to each other.

In my paintings, emotions are more important than intentions. I name the painting only after it is completed, based on my impression of its character derived from the painting's structure and tonality. In fact, it is more appropriate for the paintings to have no titles², to allow the viewer to explore the image and intervene in the process of according the painting a meaning. I have been accused thus: ‘to paint without a pre-determined mood or plan of action and to title the painting after the image has been produced, is that not preposterous?!’

I reply, ‘when the heaven and the earth was formed, what intention was there? When the foetus is still within the womb, how do you name her/him? Is it not more logical to wait for the child to be born and to name it according to her/his gender and countenance?’

Some of my paintings can be hung in any direction so long it does not create a sense of visual imbalance. A purely geometric composition places no restrictions on the way you display it; no matter which way up you present circles, lines and quadrilaterals³, its essential visual meaning does not change. The direction is chosen only after a long period of consideration and reflects what I think as the best way to present the painting. However, I encourage others to find a more suitable hanging direction.

Some would laugh at a painting hung the wrong way up. This is only taboo in the case of figurative paintings. If purely abstract works like mine are improved by hanging it differently, I readily welcome it.

It is not that I cannot paint figurative paintings, just that I do not wish to; my paintings in the early 1950s are all figurative. After the 1960s, I realised that to be innovative was to abandon all figuration and existing painting techniques. It was only when I moved toward areas where no one else had tread could I then emancipate myself from figuration and advance freely into the realm of abstraction.

I utilised any means possible in my quest for innovation. I have applied pigments with my hands, a cloth, with a roller, with a knife, with a brush and by sweeping it over the canvas. I have gone from using watercolours to oils to acrylics to emulsion paint. Now, I rotate the canvas to allow the emulsion paint to flow freely—this is the most characteristic of my practice.

I am not bothered when others say that my paintings are unconventional; to be honest I am indeed being unconventional, in accordance with this belief of mine: ‘only geniuses can be unconventional in art, and I admire them the most.’

On the road of artistic production, everyone should have their own ideals. I value what I value and do not oppose other's preferences.

Ho Ho Ying
1978

¹ Logicians such as Gongsun Long discoursed on the paradox 'the shadow of a flying bird does not move' to similar acclaim as 'a white horse is not a horse'. The logical proof that 'the shadow of a flying bird does not move' is as such: it is an optical illusion that shadows move—the old shadows of the flying bird continually disappears while the new shadows continually appear. Therefore, it is not the old shadow that is moving forward. This conclusion is easily supported by films in cinemas, where frame after frame is projected onto the screen by a source of light and results in the illusion of action.

² Laozi wrote in the Daodejing: "the Dao that can be followed is not the eternal Dao; the name that can be named is not the eternal name." Extrapolating accordingly, I am compelled to give my paintings their titles in order to convenience their viewers and to give a sort of signal.

³ A quadrilateral can be shifted to become a diamond. However, these diamonds are still angled at 90°, and thus I say that their essence has not changed.

《我的路向》

路漫漫其修远兮，
吾将上下而求索。
— 屈原

自从读过离骚之后，我便时常记取这诗句；背书的能力，我很差，离骚中其他精彩的诗句，多都忘记，惟有此句牢牢刻在脑上。不是无因，它给我指示人生理想路途的难于达到，务必不屈不挠的毅力始可完成，艺术生涯何尝不是这样！每当在生活的簸箕上感到惴惴不安时，念起这诗句，精神得到重新振作。啊，就是这样的，我一步步在绘画的道路上爬，既不问成功之路途多远，自求信心之坚强。

回想十五年前，我初度和画结下缘分的时刻：进入华侨中学念书，美术老师陈文希的教画精神，以及他对学生的鼓励性，真真把我这个心多意繁的人吸进画的行列中。除了每星期两节必上的美术课外，我还参加周末由他指导的写生班。由于他的口爽心直的指点，以身作则的感化法，我学画的兴趣蒸蒸日上。从铅笔木炭，到粉画水彩，专而油画；由静物到写生，进而写意想象。毕业那年初次作品入选艺协主办的校际美术展览，颇博佳评，自信画画能力不落人后，于是更加努力，脑海出现憧憬。哪知道离校门后，为工作忙，教书上课，剩下可用作画的时间无几。偷闲之作仅是周遭的村景，多半是粉画，当时对艺术的认识浅薄，一昧求与自然相似，造不出新意与形，然而尚沾沾自喜。后来由陈老师的画室里，翻阅许多世界现代画名家的画册，被那种神秘不可测的色彩、线条、构图所警醒，始知画艺的高境，非在于像，而是在于线条的生命，笔触的精神，色调的奥妙，结构的超脱；举凡名家杰作，莫不是造意新，结构奇，笔生，色调眯；既耐看又发人深省。遂搜购现代名画家，基利、康定斯基、毕卡索、卢渥、雪戈、布拉克等画册，日观夜睹，眼界大开。人家既可以画得这样好，为何我不可？人家会想象到如此特别的构图，为什么我想不到？思索又思索，得到结论：自己努力不及人，人家每天作画，我则闲来乘兴而画；人家整天思索画材创新意，我则没用脑汁去构思，只图轻易见到的景色之表面，不做深一步揣摸它的艺术灵性。求物之艺术灵性，须有卓觉的观察力，初看不见，再三玩赏始可觉。譬如牟地莱尼的天鹅颈的人像造型，毕卡索的几何构图，梵诃的火炎画面，基利的童话奇幻，乃至赖觉的钢铁水泥，无不是对物景的较特殊的一面提拔出来加以提炼，强调，蔚而成格。太过信于物景之自然的美，不假于格性之创造，那么千年来的美术只有一大抄。抄什么？抄自然也，又何复有人类文化进步之可言呢？打个比喻，第一代画家画自然景物，是理所当然；但第二代画家仍是画自然景物，不算是推进艺术，虽然其范围可能扩大，但其境界仍是一，故第二代必须走上修整自然景物之途径；第三代势必踏上意象中之自然，第四代必渡进创造景物，第五代逼得走上无景无物之纯抽象境界。这是美术进展的简单逻辑顺序，也就是人类艺术思维演进的顺序。虽然历史上关于美术的演进未必如我所比喻般简单，但它的原则是不变，可能二三代始有一演进。

进入大学后，读文学与哲学思想的书多了，得到佐证更强；因此我画路搞通，勇气百倍，不再犹疑地跨入现代新画领域，画那些常被人讥为不知所云的抽象画。大学里的功课忙，考关总没法过，当然不能随心所欲抛开课本，画新派画去。我自量家无屯金，与其挺而走遥遥的艺术崎路，在此时此地，沦而成为大种乞丐不算稀奇。三思而后行，还是取进可攻，退可守的稳当路线，先取得文凭要紧，以画画为业余，待将来可以持画过生活，始专忱以赴。

人算不必天算，大学文凭到手，但它不是一张确保饭食的票子。失业经年又半，物质生活困极。在加冕路村落的一间简陋的亚答屋住下，常常作白日梦。时间是属于自己的，作画、写文、或和三二知己，天南地北谈个通宵，自由自在，精神领域颇洒脱。画作大增，但没有一幅可换到饭钱。那时来往较密的多是“无业游民”，差不多和我一样的白日梦者。彼此由于兴趣相投，环境相仿佛，思想也多不谋而合，现代画会的七位发起人，便在此种共同兴趣与基础下牵起手。

经过三年五次的现代画展，有的画友已经远渡重洋求深造去，我个人仍处在工作重压，偶然作画的寡产情况中，谈不上有什么显著的进步。现在由于朋友多般的激励，勉强挑选卅多幅作品展出，说来惭愧。

我这个画展中卅多幅作品，风格不一致，这是包括数年来的作品，变了又变，去年与今年自是不同，这正可说明我是上下求索；不管如何的求索，都循着新艺术形式的途径。

何和应
一九六六 年十一月十六日

My Way

Ah! The road ahead is long and winding—
I shall explore every inch of it.
– Qu Yuan

Ever since I first read the Li Sao¹,  this couplet has stuck with me. I do not have the aptitude to memorise texts and have since forgotten most of Li Sao's wonderful lines—with the exception of this couplet, firmly lodged in my mind. This is not without reason. These lines have showed me that the route towards an ideal state of being is strewn with difficulties and can only be overcome with unyielding persistence—such is also true in my art practice! Whenever I feel unsettled and fearful in the face of life's challenges, I regain my strength when I recite this couplet. Ah, just like this, I slowly make my way through the painter's winding road, not pondering how far ahead lies success, only requiring of myself confidence and fortitude.

I can still recall how, fifteen years ago, art became a part of my life: when I enrolled in The Chinese High School². I, contemplative by nature, became attracted to painting because of my art teacher Chen Wen Hsi's inspiring pedagogical spirit and encouraging tenor. Besides the compulsory art classes conducted twice a week, I also attended his weekend sketching sessions. His direct criticisms and demonstrative methods strengthened my interests in painting. I progressed from graphite and charcoal to pastels to a focus on oils; from still lifes to painting en plein air to imaginative expressionism. The year I graduated was when my paintings were first selected for an inter-school art exhibition organised by the Singapore Art Society. The painting was well received and I, now confident that I was at least on par with other painters, strived even harder with great idealism. I did not foresee that when I left school, my hectic teaching schedule would leave me with precious few hours for painting. The few paintings I managed to find time for were of the surrounding villages, mostly executed in pastels. My knowledge of art was then superficial, and I only strived to mimic nature; though I was not able to produce anything new, I was still very satisfied with my work. Later, in Mr Chen’s studio, I had the opportunity to peruse artbooks featuring the paintings of many leading modernist artists and was suddenly awakened by the mysterious colours, lines and compositions of these paintings. Thereafter, I started to realise that mastery in painting lies not within mimicry but in vibrant lines, expressive strokes, sophisticated use of colours and unconventional compositions. All masterful paintings are defined by innovative forms, extraordinary compositions, vivid strokes and captivating colours. They intrigue the viewer and invite contemplation.

I subsequently purchased artbooks of modernist masters, including that of Klee, Kandinsky, Picasso, Rouault, Chagall and Braque. I perused them day and night, broadening my horizons. Since other painters could produce such good works, why could I not do the same? Since other painters could think of such interesting compositions, why did I not think of that? I pondered and thus concluded: I did not put in as much effort as these painters who painted every day. I only painted when I was in the mood. While other painters spent most of their energy innovating, I did not give much thought to my paintings and only produced a superficial scene without a deeper engagement with the subject’s aesthetic spirit. To evoke the aesthetic spirit of your subject matter, you need to have exceptional powers of observation. Though you may not initially perceive this, it becomes clear after some time. For example, take Modigliani’s human figures with swan-like necks, Picasso’s geometric compositions, Van Gogh’s fiery paintings, Klee’s fairy-tale fantasies, even Leger’s steel beams and concrete. All of them honed in on a specific remarkable aspect of the subject matter and distilled it before emphasising them, eventually allowing this mode to become emblematic of the artist’s practice. To be too fawning of your subject matter’s natural beauty and not utilise the subject matter’s character as your point of creation is to reduce millennia of artistic production to a single idea: to copy. What is being copied? Nature, and if this is so how can human culture seek to improve? To give an analogy, it is natural for the first generation of artists to represent nature. However, if a second-generation artist continues to represent nature, s/he cannot be said to be allowing art to develop. Though her/his boundaries may broaden, the painting’s essence is still first-generational. Therefore, the second-generation artist needs to move towards a deliberate treatment of nature. A third-generation artist needs to seek nature in her/his own mind, a fourth-generation artist needs to create nature, and a fifth-generation artist would be pushed towards a purely abstract image without a clear subject matter. This is the logical progression of artistic development and also the way humanity’s aesthetic philosophy should evolve. Although, in reality, art historical development is never as simple as my analogy frames, its basic tenets are the same. Sometimes it takes two or three generations for a progressive step to be made.

In university, I had the opportunity to read more on literature and philosophy, which provided more evidence for my conjectures. Henceforth, my practice has become clear and with mustered courage, I readily threw myself into the new field of modernist painting, producing abstract paintings that are often mocked as incomprehensible expressions. I was inundated with work in university and often failed my exams. Naturally, I was unable to free myself from my studies and dedicate myself to this new form of painting. I knew clearly that I could not count on much financial support from my family, and at this point, to embark on the long and arduous route of becoming an artist was no different from becoming a beggar. After much consideration, I adopted a strategy that gave me stability and flexibility—I concentrated on my undergraduate degree and treated painting as an after-hours activity. All the while, I would wait for an opportunity where I could support myself by painting before I dedicated all my energy to it.

However hard we try, we cannot plan the future. I was awarded my undergraduate degree, but it was not the ticket to a stable life that I imagined it to be. I was without a job for a year and a half and my quality of life was impacted. I could do nothing but daydream in my spartan attap abode in a Coronation Road kampung. No one else had a claim on my time, and I spent it painting, writing and chatting with my close friends deep into the night. This freedom allowed me a carefree and unrestrained spirit. I painted significantly more but none of them eased my living expenses. Then, I associated closely with fellow ‘unemployed nomads’, most of them daydreamers as well. Because we had similar interests and lived in similar conditions, our thoughts were also alike. Under these conditions, the seven founding members of the Modern Art Society Singapore began our formal association.

After three years and five Modern Art exhibitions, some of these friends had ventured overseas to further their practice. I remain buried under the pressure of work and, because I paint infrequently and produce few works, have not seen much improvement. Under the encouragement of my friends, I have selected, with much strain and shame, slightly over thirty paintings for this exhibition³.

The over thirty paintings exhibited here are of different styles, and include works completed over a number of years. My practice underwent a series of changes, even so for works completed just last year. This proves that I have been exploring all aspects of painting and, no matter how much I survey various art styles, I have been dedicated to new forms of art.

Ho Ho Ying
16 November 1966

² (Trans.) Present-day Hwa Chung Institution.

³ Ho’s first solo exhibition at National Library of Singapore. 

《苦闷的日子》

一

他家里从来没有订报纸，每天要看报纸，就得到交叉路口菜市那边的咖啡摊去看。他现在已经养成天天看报纸的习惯，这习惯的形成是有目的的：一是报上登的征聘启事，往往带给他一线希望；一是可以把时间慢慢消磨，一种并不会无聊的打发时间。时间太多也不是很好受，他本可以把大把的时间放在画布上，可是由于缺少钱，油彩、画布无从补充。画油画是需要很多的本钱，他偏偏很穷，又偏偏爱上这行准是吃苦的艺术。如果他家有财产，那情形可又不同，很可能他现在已经名扬海外。一平如洗的他，只靠着自信和傻劲搞画。他父亲对他爱莫能助，当然一日三餐，可以在家里用。他父亲是一位没有特别技术的家庭佣人，每月领一百五十元薪金，一家六口，四个孩子都在读书，天呀，怎来钱给他搞那不着边际的艺术呢！他从大学里半途出来之后，仅靠几个要好的朋友贷借，维持他那种狼狈的生活。向朋友贷借太多，再也很难开口，他非快点找一份职业不可，报纸上的征聘启事，提供他一线希望。

“珂德兄，找到工作了没有？” 和他十分熟悉的咖啡摊老板向他问候。

他摇头做一个苦笑的表情，找报纸，坐在角落位置，叫了一杯咖啡乌。

“今天报上有一则征聘美术教师的启事，好像是X中学登的。” 老板端上咖啡，对珂德说道，一面找那则启事给珂德看，“这是一个机会，你不妨去试试。”

他顺着咖啡摊老板的手指一看，的确是一则征聘美术教师的启事。

“我去碰碰运气。” 他不待看完其他的新闻，就溜回家。他赶快把经久失修的蓬发，加上蜡油镇压，梳出一条界线，拣一件比较像样的衣服穿上，带上一份履历即往X中学的办公室。在楼下进门去，他很容易找到校长室。他说明来意之后，X中学校长请他坐下，然后问道：

“杨先生是哪一间美术学院毕业的？”

“没有经过什么美术学院。” 他微摇头，随即补充，“但我曾经担任过联邦某中学的美术教员，从我念初中起就对美术感到兴趣，可以说是自学，作品曾经拿过奖……”

“你是自修美术，我们学校希望找到一位有正式文凭的美术教员。” 校长的表情严肃，看样子珂德的希望渺茫。

但他必须尽最大的努力，凡有一线希望，他一定不放过，于是他说：

“我自信可以胜任贵校的美术课程，我……”

“杨先生的自学美术，诚是难得——但，现在持有美术专科文凭的人多着，如果我们不用他们，而让机会给没有文凭的，对社会和我们的学校都难以交代，希望杨先生能谅解这点！”

珂德勉强露出一个笑容，和X校长握别。眼巴巴的看着机会溜走，他感到一阵厌恶，他不怨谁，怨这种公式化的社会：文凭重于真实本领。

回到家里，有一位姓李的朋友在等他。李是他中学时代的同学，现在在某小学教书。他曾托李代找职业。

“当家庭教师，你要吗？”李和他寒暄后，即这么问道。

“饥不择食，有谁要请我？” 他反问。

“我们学校里有一位同事，想找家庭教师指导他四个孩子的功课。我还没有问清楚待遇多少。如果你要，我可以找他详细问问。”

“就劳你走一趟，事成我请。” 他露出笑容。

“咱们用不着客气。” 李开始观赏他壁上挂的画，改换话题说道：“近来有作画吗？”

“很少” 略停，低沉语气接下说：“因为心情不好。”

“看开一点，干这行不如意的人，不只老兄一个。”

“我早就学会达观，不然，我还不会这么愉快地活着。”

第二天，李再来找他。他满以为李会带来好消息。谁知李看门见山就这么说：“他要请的是女家庭教师——没办法”李做一个无能为力的表情。

“难道男的缺乏教导之方吗？” 珂德颇感奇怪地问。

“四位都是他的千金，他不放心让尤其是单身青年的教师指导。”

“我的天呀！又是呀！又是一个十八世纪思想的人物。社会上再多几个这种人物，我想，单身青年汉休想教书了。”

“老一辈的思想，总和我们有一段距离。”

“老兄，你何不对他说：‘如果你的女儿被他看上，那才是你的福气呢！’” 珂德由于近来碰壁事多，言语颇多刻薄。

“相熟人，怎好讽刺。”

“正因为相熟，才好幽默呀！”

珂德在报上又见到一则聘请教师启事，郊外某间小学发的。中学的教职，他差不多已经失去申请的雄心，在这个困难处境的时候，退而求其次，倒是明智，所以他写封毛遂自荐的心，夹上一份履历寄去。看看一个月将尽，信如石沉大海。他很想冒昧去找该校校长问个下落，到底他会不会有希望，即使学校用不着他，也得通知一声，如此让人闷等实在罪过。他再翻那则征聘启事，末尾有“适则函约面晤”数字，“怪不得人家呀，自己大概不适合，所以这么久没有来约。” 他对着报纸自言自语。

不久，他的市区里遇到李，两人在咖啡店消磨将近两个钟头聊天和发牢骚。他的牢骚当然比李多。李只是在找对象上碰壁时生几句怨语，他则由于生活的折磨几乎把怨语变成愤怒的社会攻击。尤其当他听到李告诉他，据可靠的消息，大多数津贴学校征聘教师的启事，只是一种装模作样的文章，实际上早已幕后定了人，才发出。

“真他妈的，神圣的教育界，也搞这类无聊的事。” 珂德声色俱厉地说，脸色铁青，好像自己遭受了莫大侮辱。

“教育圈中神圣吗，我早就怀疑了。” 李轻蔑地说。

二

多雨的十月来临，珂德照旧落魄，他几乎已经完全不相信报上的征聘启事，连托朋友介绍职业的兴趣也逐渐低落。他现在尽可能省掉出门这回事，雨水帮助他关在家里看书，或者用铅笔素描中的幻想，成他为每天的功课。

他的家仅是租的白锌木板矮屋子中的一个房间，弟妹和他五人塞在一起。他父亲住在头家的佣人屋子，离家有五英里，一星期才回家一次。

他的房间隔热板低，一窗一门。窗外约十尺，便是隔壁的墙壁，因此房里闷不通风，遇到热季，白天烈日无情地晒在锌片盖和板墙上，热气回旋不去，和热锅差不多，很难在屋里面呆。晚上，十时左右才感觉窗口有凉风，可惜这些凉风从屋子后面转来，带着“美丽花园”粪料的臭味，往往要掩鼻或关住窗子，才稍可免除。雨季，房子里凉爽，雨点打在锌片上的音乐，倒是可以引起遐想。

他的房间里没有一件像样的家具：写字桌是用罐头木箱凑成。坐用的，仅有两个牛奶箱子，而且已经开始左右动摇；这是他的弟妹们坐得太大意，常是东倒西歪着身子造成的局面，他曾指责他们好几次，总是徒然，两个牛奶箱恐怕坐不了年底。两张睡床占了房间大半面积，弟妹们睡的是用几种尺寸不同的板片合成；他睡的是他父亲头家丢的单人铁床，铺上床褥，虽然陈旧，却有被窝所具备的温暖。

许多不值钱的玻璃瓶、铁罐、旧报纸、杂志、旧衣服等等，充塞在角落和床底下的空间。这些废物，他父亲当宝贝般保存，不肯让他丢掉。

“将来会用得着，现在丢掉，将来要用去哪里找？” 他父亲经常向他这么交代。父亲回来，每次总要检查一下他的宝藏，会不会被珂德丢掉，或者老鼠咬破了书报。珂德平生最讨厌的生物：臭虫、蚊子、老鼠三样，好像互相协定似的，一起扰乱他的睡眠，买了一瓶杀虫王来对付臭虫，臭虫最近渐渐绝迹，只是那渺小飞机似的蚊子依然在他的睡眠中高歌。时常逼得他从酣睡中醒来和他们作战。白天在房里画画或看书时，不耐烦地要见到那四出漫游，偷偷摸摸的老鼠，抓根小棍在手想打，可是稍微一动，他们就敏捷地窜入地板和墙板的接壤处洞隙很多的地方，不见了。夜深人静，他们很耐心地咬米箱——盛米的牛奶箱。米箱周边都刻上老鼠的齿印。

空中两条铁线分房间为二半，晒半干或者遇雨收回的衣服，都晾在铁线上。珂德在房里走动，常常被这些半湿的衣服搔乱头发。

四壁的装饰，除零碎的报纸上、杂志上、日历上剪的照片外，便是他的画。眼睛在书本里钻倦之后，他常转移视线欣赏自己的作品，调剂精神。他觉得画对人生心灵与精神上有莫大的好处，处身在悬挂画的房间里，会有兴奋和高雅的感觉，高尚的人格，洁净的心情，往往在这种气氛中养成。

他的房间虽然设备丑陋，然而它枯竭的壁上挂着不少画，这是一般贫民房里所没有的。好多邻居的小朋友，为了欣赏他的画，向他请准进房里观赏。此外，它的杂乱与丑陋，足使一般爱好整洁的人绝步。起初搬进来的时候，天气酷热，房里不能久呆，他常带书本到别地方去读，现在是雨季，他可以躲在房里半天。

三

下午，雨稍歇，珂德躺在床上看小说已经多时，屋顶的白锌片细细地还有几点雨声。

“阿德哥，外面有一个红毛要找你。”

“谁来的？” 珂德搜索记忆，来往的朋友中可没有一位外国人，“大概是找错了人吧。但总得出去见一见才说。”

他心里说道，随即整理一下衣裤跑出去。

外面站着一位棕色头发，浅蓝眼睛，高鼻子，长袖且系着短领带的西洋人。那人看见珂徳，脸上露出招呼般的微笑，用英语说道：

“密斯特杨，我很高兴见到你在家。你认得我吗？克·禧尔曼。”

禧尔曼这个姓名引起他想起在某次画展中，一位老前辈画家的介绍他认识；这人当时买过他的一幅画，但时隔经年，珂徳记不起，见了禧尔曼才认识。

“请进来！” 珂徳手做欢迎的姿态，用英语说。

禧尔曼跨进门槛，说道：

“我想来看看你的油画——你最近是否有新作品？”

“有三二幅在房间里” 珂徳在前，禧尔曼在后，一边走向房间，一边说道，“进来看看，如果你不嫌脏。”

“我不会客气。” 禧尔曼穿着皮鞋踏进房，显然他是不懂脱鞋进房子的规矩。珂徳也不提醒他。

禧尔曼一进来，便注意画架上油彩未干的那幅风景画。画里有两颗弯曲的树，长在左右边，中间是海堤，五六个人坐的坐，站的站，都在垂钓。左边的树下有一张长椅，一对情人在谈心。整幅的色调十分和谐。

“你画的是哪里？” 禧尔曼观赏良久，方问道。

“这是我凭印象画的新山海边。” 珂徳指着画说。

“干了没有？”

“还没有。”

“我要这一幅，多少钱？” 禧尔曼移开注视的眼睛，转向旁边的珂徳。

“一百五十元。”

“好的。我想再选一幅。”

禧尔曼开始观赏壁上的挂画，珂徳拉开铁线上未干的衣服，让禧尔曼可以远近移动位置观赏，视线不至受到阻碍。

“这一幅，我见过。” 禧尔曼靠住书桌，注视壁上一幅割草图。珂徳有一次到山芭写生，途中看见无线电台的园坵里，有一批穿红、黄、绿的印度妇女在挥镰刀割草，姿态十分美好，他即时素描几个，回来再修整构图，觉得满意之后，才把此景移上画布，三天后画成。

“你觉得怎样？” 珂徳想听听这位喜欢画，而本身不作画的人的意见。

“你的构图手法和铺色，非常奇特。你有自己的风格。” 禧尔曼停顿一下，接下问道：“只这几幅？还有作品吗？”他好像渴望珂徳搬出藏在什么地方的作品。

“没有了，其他的因为不满意都涂掉。我是寡产，说得好听点，就是重质不重量。”

“青年人，你会有前途，你应该多多画。” 禧尔曼拍拍珂徳的肩膀说道。

“谢谢你的赞赏。” 珂徳陪个感激的笑容。

“我想，我应该告辞了。你的割草图也卖给我，好吗？和新山海边一起算，价钱如何？” 禧尔曼掏出一册支票，坐在床上，开始要写上数目。

“三百元，拿去吧！” 珂徳乐意地说。

珂徳把画送到禧尔曼的车上，禧尔曼忽然想起一件事似的，把手指伸入衣袋，摸了许久，掏出一张名片，从车里交给站在车外的珂徳。

“星期天，你喜欢，可以来找我。平常的日子我很忙，恐怕不在家。”

“谢谢你。”

禧尔曼车走后，房东太太好奇地看着珂徳进屋子里来。

“那个红毛人把你的画拿去做什么？” 房东太太问。

“他买去的。”

“卖多少钱？”

“三百两幅，穷了便宜卖。”

“哇！卖了这么多钱，你简直不必找工作啦。” 房东太太睁大眼睛，伸长舌头说。

“这是钱找我——钱找人的机会你想会多吗！？” 他对大惊小怪的房东太太说。

邻居的小朋友听了珂徳的两幅画得了三百元的消息，都先后围来道喜。他们有点不相信，那两幅他们见过，既不很像，又不好看的画，居然有人出三百元买去，准是那个红毛脑子有毛病。

珂徳的小妹妹更天真的对他说：

“哥哥，你把这些画统统卖给他，不是得到很多的钱吗？”

“小妹妹，你还不懂事呀。画是人家看上了才值钱，人家不喜欢，哥哥就是送给他，他也不要呀！”

“呵，原来是这样。” 小妹妹有所领悟。

傍晚，珂徳的三个读书下午班的弟妹回来，听到哥哥捞了钱，七嘴八舌要大家请看电影，买这个买那个。当然，珂徳不让他们失望。

四

职业尚无著着落，钱找他的机会不再来，他尽量避免出门，因为一出门总得要花钱。在家里画画，看书；画画，即使天塌下来，他也休管它。星期天，珂徳的老子回来，看见珂徳正对着墙壁冥想，连他老子进来也未尝留意。

“德，你整天躲在房里，怎会有工作来找你呢？你应该出去找找朋友，看看有什门路没有呀！”

珂徳从冥想中醒过来，看见是老子进来，忙站起身，接过老子手中的纸袋，纸袋里盛有过日的报纸和过期的杂志，这些都是老子的主人不要的东西，老子带回家给孩子们看。

“我在等好运来敲大门。” 珂徳向老子装一个达观的笑脸。

“你有屁运！” 老子不满意他那种逍遥自在的态度。“何不去找找志昌伯，他认识人多，你找他谈谈，恐怕会有门路。”

志昌伯是珂徳的远亲，他也不知道是几代前同祖，比他老子大几岁，论辈分，他应该称志昌伯伯。此伯伯在市区里开酒吧，兼做点小门生意。他们很少来往，珂徳足足有三年没有找过志昌伯，要不是老子提起，他不会想到这个人。

老子的话不得不依。第二天，他到X酒吧找志昌伯。里面有冷气，顾客只有三二人，妖精似的吧女见他进来，以为是一块肥肉，齐把秋波送。志昌伯正在柜台那边，看见珂徳，即认出。彼此陪个招呼微笑。

“珂徳，什么风把你吹来？”

“西北风。” 珂徳幽默地说。

志昌伯就近柜台的座位拉两把椅子，叫珂徳坐下，自己也坐下。电唱机传来披头四的《热日夜晚》，两人相对微笑片刻，志昌伯问道：

“你瘦了好多。”

“这是西北风太冷的缘故。”

“你真会说笑话——还在大学读书吗？”

“早离开了。”

“你毕业了？”

“中途停学。”

“为什么不继续读？” 志昌伯十分关心地问。

“理由简单，没有钱。”

“现在有工作吗？”

“量马路。”

仆役端上两杯咖啡。

“你想吃些蛋糕吗？我这里的蛋糕很不错。”

“我刚用过午餐，请不必麻烦。”

但，志昌伯仍然吩咐仆役拿一碟蛋糕放在座上。

“请吃，免客气。”

“生意不错吧？” 珂徳择一块蛋糕在手，喝一口咖啡，然后问。

“前几年还不错，现在好消遣的地方多，这种小生意很难维持。”志昌伯接下该换话题说，“现在你有什么打算？”

“有打算，没有钱去实行，也没用。现在想找份工作，伯爹这里可用得着我这么一个人吗？” 珂德抓紧机会把心事说出。

志昌伯沉思一下，皱起眉头，郑重地回答：

“我这里，怎用得起你，而且酒吧工作对你也没有前途。”

“英雄不问出身低，我只是想暂时做做，不管是什么低微的工作，先渡过生活难关，以后有机会再说。”

志昌伯看见他这位远房侄儿，那副委曲求全的表情，心中动起怜悯，然而他的酒吧并不缺人手，现在生意又不见好，多用一个人，实在是不智之举；再说珂徳是受过高等教育的人，多少总会有点傲骨，怎么习惯酒吧的工作。虽说是亲戚，理应相助，但目前自己并未豁达，兼顾穷亲是没办法，但也不好给对方过于扫兴，他再三思索委婉的词句，回答珂徳：

“我看你还是耐心等待，一时找不到工作是常事——你来我这里当个仆役，实在是毁你的前途，将来你的朋友、同学晓得你是酒吧的仆役，他们会怎样谈论你，你自己虽然不觉得做仆役有失身份，但社会上会看轻你，会取笑你，一个受过大学二年教育的人，‘既然做了酒吧的仆役’。你想想看，我的话是不会错的。”

“我有我的看法，我有我的打算，他人闲话，我向来不管。” 珂徳吐露他坚强的个性。

志昌伯颇感棘手，这个侄儿竟是不容哄骗的，骗他再想办法，于是说道：

“你会讲英语吗？”

“我是念英文系的。”

“我看你担任商行书记比较适合；我认识几个商行头家，改天我找他们商量，可能用得着你。”

他们相对喝咖啡，谈话中断片刻，志昌伯再问：

“此外，你还有什么技能？”

“画画。”

“喔，我听过人说你学画，有作品参加展览，也想到巴黎去学画。很好，年轻人多方面学习，前途才宽阔——你会打字吗？”

“没有学。”

“应该学，商行很用得打字人材。”

珂徳有点不耐烦志昌伯的衍辞，起身向志昌伯告辞。

“不多坐，这样快就走？”

“我想找朋友。”

“有机会我再通知你——还是住在老地方？弟妹们都好？”

珂徳频频点头。

志昌伯送珂徳到门口，拉开蝴蝶门，不知什么时候已经掏出两张红钞票，正要塞在珂徳手里。珂徳坚持不要，说道：

“我还有钱用，谢谢伯爹的好意！” 他推开志昌伯的手，即拔步走了。

五

志昌伯驾汽车来找珂徳，问过房东太太，知道珂徳在家，他迳自走到珂徳那睡房兼画室兼客厅里。时间早上十一点左右，珂徳刚从床上醒来，穿着背衬睡裤，正在对着一张画布，动脑筋。他背对房门，不知道志昌伯已经站在他的背后。

“珂徳，你在画画？” 志昌伯轻声对正在凝神的珂徳说。

“喔，是志昌伯爹，请坐！” 说着，珂徳把那把买不久的藤椅让志昌伯坐。

志昌伯坐下，眼睛扫射四壁一周，说道：

“这房间，你应该收拾收拾。”

“我是不修边幅的人，弟妹也不大管，习惯了也不感觉怎样。”

“外人看见不好。”

“外人由他去批评。反正地方小，物件多，也无从收拾起，将来有钱买房子，我会布置好看。” 珂徳讲完，走出门口，吩咐正在厨房里煮饭的妹妹泡茶给志昌伯，即回头进房，坐在床上。床上枕被还没有收摺。

“我有好消息带给你。”志昌伯高兴地说。

“喔，是哪方面的？” 珂徳有点惊奇地问。

“有一位经理，我相熟的朋友，他想见见你和你的画。他可能要帮助你开个画展，或者到巴黎去学画。”

“这，确是好消息，是伯爹代我疏通的吗？”

“我本来只向他提起有位侄儿正想找份工作，问他的公司可有个什么空位。他问我：‘你的侄儿有什么才能？’我照实告诉他你的情况，他说：‘带她来了见见我，别忘记带他的画一起来，我对画也很感兴趣的，如果你的侄儿真有造就的天分，我会尽我的能力伸出援助的手。’”志昌伯作长述之后，稍歇，接着问道：“你现在有多少幅作品？”

“可以拿出见人的，只有十多幅。”

“就一起带去让他看——你快换件像样的衣服，我们现在就去见他，我已经打电话跟他联络好，今天可以带你见他——你不绑条领带？”

“我没有领带。”

“应该买一条，出外见上层社会人物，绑条领带才像样。”

志昌伯带珂徳到市区一间大厦的七层楼。珂徳抱着大迭画件，志昌伯帮他拿小迭。在电梯里，志昌伯关心问珂徳：

“你英语准是说得通？”

“我不至于所问非所答，请放心。”

进入X公司的书房，志昌伯向门旁的接线女郎说明来意之后，那女接线员拿起电话筒，低声说几句，然后想志昌伯用英语说：“你们可以进去，经理在。”

志昌伯和珂徳一前一后走向经理室，书房里的职员投以好奇的眼光，因为他们俩一老一少，抱着太多的画件，走着吃力的脚步。

经理是壮年人，看去只有四十出，脸色润红，圆胖的脸横着镶黑边眼睛，他正在翻阅文件。待志昌伯和珂徳走进书台，他方抬起头用英语打个招呼：

“欢迎，密斯特杨。” 又转眼瞧珂徳一下，“这位就是你向我提起的侄儿吗？”

“是的，方经理——我的侄儿珂徳。” 志昌伯恭敬地向他们介绍，并且教珂徳把画件放在地板上。

“请坐！”

宾客坐下之后，方经理随即向珂徳说：“你的昂克已经告诉我你的情况。你相当勤学，我喜欢这样的青年人，青年人要勤学才有前途——你以为然否？”

“是的，你说得不错。” 珂徳也以英语回答。

“你带多少件作品来？”

“十件小的。”

“好的，请你解开绳子，让我看看。”

志昌伯和珂徳开始把放在地板上的画件解开，一幅一幅排到墙边。方经理抽起屁股，移动脚步，开始一幅一幅观赏。他的表情严肃，好像是一个知画者，看了好久，方开口问珂徳：

“你有画写实的东西吗？”

“从前有，我初学画的时候，我写实；不过现在我喜欢表现，和画抽象派的东西。”

“你是否可以告诉我，为什么你要画表现和抽象的东西？”

“我觉得写实呆板，不如表现豪放，和抽象派的耐人寻味。”

“如此说，你是喜欢摩登美术。”

“是的，它迎合我的脾胃。”

“但我总不明白，所谓摩登画家，总喜欢涂那种令人费解的东西；画是要人家看了明白，人家不明白，多好也是徒然。”

从这些口气中，珂徳已经看出方经理所谓对画艺的兴趣，只不过是一种传统的陋趣。珂徳造就超脱了一般古老的美术观念。他可以找出一百个理由来驳斥这种论点的荒谬，但在方经理这个初交之前，语必不伤和气为主，于是他解释道：

“观众看不懂画家的画，怪画家糊涂，或者说标新立异，诸如此类；但观众很少能反省一下，自己对摩登画是否花过一番苦心去研究，是否对他面前那幅画的作者的创作意念有多少的了解，对美术演变过程有多少的认识。他是否考虑到一片白色和一条粗黑的直线所可表现的意义有多少？”

“依你的话说，观众唯艺术家是从。”

“我的话没有意味着观众要盲从艺术家，我觉得无论如何，观众想要了解艺术，非本身钻进艺术中不可。”

“你很有大众艺术化的观念。”

“一点也不错，我觉得大众非艺术化，实难了解艺术。举个例子来说，密斯特方，你的英语讲得这样流利，措词遣句这么达意，道理在于你受过相当深的英文教育。换在一个没受过英文教育的人，恐怕就抓不住你词句的意义，对不对？”

“我看你受毕卡索影响，但毕卡索的写实基础是非常好的。”

“我不否认毕卡索的写实基础，但为什么毕卡索要搁置写实而创作立体呢？密斯特方，你考虑一下，一个勇于进取的艺术家，难道过去的成就会令他满足吗？时代是无情地前进着，艺术家的作品追不上时代的节拍其艺术生命将告终。” 珂徳口若悬河，看见方经理抽出香烟，他才略停片刻，接下再说：“至于说我受毕卡索影响，是指我的作品吗？”

“这些画不都是毕卡索路线” 方经理用手略略概括墙边的画。

珂徳知道方经理对新画的认识不够，毕卡索的创作路线怎样，他的作品又是怎样的风格，方经理竟辨别不清，其他从何论起，他又不是一位美术教授，善于深入浅出道出来。他静思片刻，才微笑地说道：

“密斯特方，你看错了。一个有志气的画家是不穿别人的夹皮克。”

方经理露出一种颟顸的表情，用手抚摸下巴，好像一个猜错了答案的学生，发觉老师正在挖他的草率所露出的那种神情。

“你想到巴黎学画？” 良久，方经理又问。

“我有这样的梦。”

“巴黎是艺术之都，我国学画的人多想到那里去碰运气。”

“我是想乘年轻的时候去见识见识。”

“听你昂克说，你在大学读了两年书——为什么你不一心学画？”

“我在未进大学前，我曾考虑过一心一意学画，但，我发现我的背景不利于干脆混在色彩和线条中，我最好绕一道曲路走，进大学去取一个资格，将来容易谋份待遇比较高的工作，专心一志学画。谁知道我的计划中途受阻，大学既不能毕业，工作又找不到。”

“如果现在有一个机会让你继续念大学，另一个让你专心学画，你将如何选择？”

“我宁可取后者，因为后者是我的目的，前者是我的跳板。” 珂徳不假思索地说。

“这样好了，密斯特杨。在我未做决定帮助你之前，我须请位专家来看看你的作品。这些作品，你留在这里，改天我会通知你的昂克。我还有些工作，恕不能多奉陪！” 方经理和他们握别。

六

一星期后，志昌伯再来找珂徳，说方经理要见他。

“方经理有跟你谈起什么吗？” 珂徳急想答案。

“他没有说别的，只说带你去见他再说。”

珂徳怀着一种得失未卜的心情往见方经理。方经理依旧一幅严肃的脸孔，主宾公式化地坐定之后，方经理开口了：

“密斯特杨，我很抱歉，我要说出逆耳的话。我所请的专家详细看过你的作品之后，他说像你这样水准的画家本地多得很。”

这是令人失望的判词，言外之意不用问，稍为明白的人都知道幸运之神弃珂徳于不顾。珂徳心中失望，表情沉郁，有些不服气地说道：

“密斯特方，你所请的专家是谁？可以让我知道吗？”

“这个你用不着知道。”

“也许他是虚有其名的专家。”

“密斯特杨，你口气太大。” 方经理板起脸孔说。

“密斯特方，请你原谅，我的侄儿是一位未经世故的青年，他不会讲话。”志昌伯随即向珂徳做一个安分守己的眼色。

“对不起，我说得太爽直了。”珂徳勉强对方经理说。

“你不仅是直率，你的话甚至有侮辱我所请的专家。”

“如果你觉得有这样的意思，请代我向你所请的专家道歉！”

珂徳迳自收集还在墙边的画件，心中颇懊悔自己要走捷径，听从志昌伯的话，让自己的作品在未必懂得艺术的人面前受辱。他尽量控制着自己易于冲动的情绪。志昌伯也弯下身帮他收拾。

“你留下一幅油画在这里好吗？” 方经理走近显然在生气的珂徳，说道。

“为什么？” 珂徳抬头反问。

“多少钱，我买。”

“真对不起，这一幅是我的非卖品。”

“那么，另一幅呢？” 方经理再指一幅。

“也是非卖品。”

“其他的我相信都是你的非卖杰作。” 方经理语气温和话带讽刺地说。

“一点也不错。” 珂徳毫不顾忌地说。

“密斯特杨，你太过重视自己的作品！”

“在这社会里，画家本身不重视自己的作品，还有谁重视呢？”

“好吧！再见，密斯特杨，烦你们两位白走一趟，我非常抱歉。” 方经理礼貌周全地说。

在电梯里，志昌伯向沉默的侄儿说道：

“你为什么不卖一幅作品给他？你可以开三两百块钱的价呀！”

“我不能委屈求荣，卖给一个不懂得欣赏我的作品的人，等于虐待我自己。”

子木
一九六四年

Days of Dejection

I

His family did not subscribe to the newspapers. For his daily reading, he would head down to the kopitiam at the market near the crossroads. He developed the habit of perusing the papers daily because of these reasons: firstly, the job advertisements on the newspapers offered him a sliver of hope; secondly, reading allows time to pass in a way that is not inert, and it does not feel good to have too much time on one’s hand. He could have spent much of his time painting but his finances did not allow him to purchase the required oil paints and canvases. Oil painting is a costly affair. He was poor and he fell in love, unfortunately, with a line of work destined to hardship. If he had the support of familial resources, things would have been different—he might be an internationally famous artist by now. Riddled with poverty, he could only rely on his own confidence and dogged determination to bring his artistic practice to fruition. His father could render support only in spirit. Of course, he could have his three meals a day at home. A domestic servant without any special skills, his father’s monthly salary of $150 has to support a family of six, four of whom are in their schooling years. He could not have come up with the money to support the impractical career of an artist! After dropping out from university, he borrowed some money from his close friends in order to sustain this undignified lifestyle. It was embarrassing for him to borrow increasing amounts of cash from his friends and so he had to find a job as soon as possible. The job advertisements in the newspapers gave him some hope.

“Kede, my friend, have you found a job?” The friendly kopitiam boss greeted him.

Kede shook his head with a forced smile, found a newspaper, sat himself in a corner and ordered a kopi o.

“Today’s newspaper featured an advertisement for an art teacher, I think it’s run by X Secondary School.” The boss brought Kede’s coffee and searched for that advertisement.

“This is a good opportunity, why don’t you give it a go?”

Looking at where the boss was pointing, Kede saw that it was indeed an advertisement for an art teacher.

“Let me try my luck.” He made his way home, not reading the rest of the news. He quickly waxed his hair, unruly due to a lack of care, and combed a clear parting. He rushed off to the office of X Secondary School after putting on a decent set of clothes and bringing a set of his résumé. After entering from the ground level, he easily found the principal’s office. Upon explaining his reason for coming, the principal of X Secondary School invited him to take a seat before asking:

“Which academy did you graduate from?”

“I am not academy-trained.” He gently shook his head before adding, “But I’ve taught art at a secondary school near Commonwealth. I have been interested in art ever since secondary school and can be said to be a self-taught artist. My artworks have been awarded…”

“You are self-taught but our school hopes to find an art teacher with official qualifications.” The principal’s solemn face foretold Kede’s pending disappointment.

He would need to give it his best. Even if there was just a sliver of hope, he would grasp it tightly. He said:

“I am confident that I can competently facilitate the art programme at your school, I…”

“Your self-taught art is remarkable… however, there are now many others with formal art qualifications. If we do not employ them and give this opportunity to an uncertified person, we would not be able to answer to our school and to society. I hope that you can understand our difficult position!”

Kede gave a strained smile and politely bade farewell to the principal. He felt nauseous from seeing this opportunity slip away from him before his very eyes. His resentment was not directed at any particular person, but at this mechanically regulated society–qualifications were more important than actual abilities.

A friend, Li, was waiting for him at home. Li was a secondary schoolmate and now teaches at a primary school. He had asked Li to keep an eye out for any job openings.

“Would you be willing to be a home tutor?” Li asked, after the initial greetings.

“I’m not in a position to choose. Who is looking to hire one?” Kede replied.

“My colleague is looking for a home tutor to help his four children with their homework. I’ve not asked how much he is willing to pay. If you are interested, I can ask for more details.

“Please do. I’ll give you a treat if I get the job.” He smiled.

“With me, you don’t have to stand on ceremony.” Li started to take in the pictures hung on his walls and changed the topic, “have you been painting recently?”

“Barely.” After a brief pause, he replied solemnly, “I’ve not been in a good mood.”

“Cheer up. You’re not the only person to find it difficult to be an artist.”

“I have learnt to take things philosophically. Otherwise, I would not have been able to live with such a pleasant mood.”

The next day, Li came back looking for him. He was expecting Li to bring some good news and was taken aback when Li told him directly, “He wants to hire a female tutor. There’s nothing we can do.” Li gave him a helpless look.

“Are male tutors less capable teachers?” Kede asked, puzzled.

“All four children are his precious daughters. He is worried about male teachers, especially single youths.”

“My God! Another one! Another person stuck in the 18th century. If we have more of them in our society, I think all single youths would have to give up teaching.”

“The older generation’s way of thinking is always some distance from ours.”

“My friend, why did you not say to him, ‘It’s a blessing to you if someone takes a fancy to your daughter!’” Kede’s recent rejections had made him rather acrimonious.

“How could I be so sarcastic to an acquaintance?”

“It is precisely because you are an acquaintance that allows you to make these jokes.”

Kede saw yet another advertisement for a teacher on the newspapers posted by a rural primary school. Lacking the courage to apply for a position in a secondary school, he made the wise decision to lower his expectations and accept what he could during these hard times. He wrote a letter of introduction and mailed it to the school with a copy of his résumé but did not receive a reply after nearly a month’s wait. He was tempted to turn up in the principal’s office and enquire about his application, about whether he stood a chance or not. Even if the school decided not to employ him, they should have at least issued a response, it was almost criminal to keep someone in such suspense. Re-reading the job advertisement, Kede found the words ‘suitable candidates would receive a mailed invitation for an interview’ at bottom of the text. “No wonder. I suppose I was not found to be suitable and thus have not heard back after such a long time.” He muttered to himself.

He met Li in the city not long after. The two of them chatted and vented in a kopitiam for almost two hours. Of course, Kede had more complaints than Li. Li had only a few bad experiences in relation to his search for a partner but Kede’s daily struggle had turned his discontent into an angry critique of society. This was especially after Li told him that, according to reliable sources, job opportunities posted by most government-aided schools are just for show–the position has been filled before the opening is advertised.

“Damn it. Even the sacred educational world is not immune to this idiocy,” Kede said with a severe tone and expression. His expression was stiff, as if he was the recipient of an immense personal attack.

“Is the educational world sacred? I’ve had my doubts for a long time.” Li said, his words laced with contempt.

II

October’s rain arrived and Kede remained miserable. He had almost stopped believing in the newspapers’ job advertisements and began to lose interest in asking his friends for recommendations. He avoided going out of the house, the rain kept him indoors and compelled him to read and to sketch out his fantasies with a pencil . This had become his daily exercise.

His home was a rented room within a small structure built with zinc sheets and wooden planks, within which Kede and his four brothers and sisters were cramped. His father lived in his employer’s servants’ quarters five miles away. He returned only once a week.

The room’s insulating board was low and only had a door and a single window for ventilation. Roughly ten inches beyond the window opening was the next structure’s wall and thus Kede’s room did not receive good air circulation. In the sweltering season, the sun projected its heat mercilessly onto the zinc roof and wooden walls. Hot air would be trapped within the room, which became like a heated pot, unfit for habitation. Cool wind only entered the room at night around 10pm. Unfortunately, this breeze came from the back of the building and carried with it the stench of ‘beautiful garden’ fertilisers; one would have to pinch one’s nose or close the window to avoid the stench. During the rainy season, the room would be cool and comfortable. The sound of rain hitting on the zinc roof was music to Kede’s ears and allowed him to ease into fantastical thoughts.

There were no decent pieces of furniture in his room–the desk was pieced together with empty wooden crates. Two creaky milk crates acted as his chairs; the condition of the crates was due to his younger siblings, who would sit on them in all sorts of positions despite his frequent yet futile reprimands. They would probably not last through the year. Two beds took up half the room’s floor space, though Kede’s siblings slept on beds assembled with wooden boards of various sizes. Kede uses a single-sized metal bedframe discarded by his father’s employer. Though it was old, a mattress and some sheets made it comfortable and cosy.

The corners of the room and the underside of the bed were crowded with worthless glass bottles, metal containers, old newspapers and magazines and old clothing. His father treated this trash as though they were precious items and forbade him from discarding them.

“We might need them in the future. If we throw them away, where will we find them when the need arises?” His father often explained. Whenever his father returned home, he would check on this trove of old items to ensure that Kede did not throw them away and that they were not destroyed by mice. The three living things Kede hated the most—bed bugs, mosquitoes, and mice—acted as though they conspired to interrupt his sleep. After buying some insecticide, the bed bugs have slowly disappeared but the small airplane-like mosquitoes still harassed the sleeping Kede with their song. He was often forced to wake from his slumber to deal with them. In the daytime, while reading or painting in his room, he would often get irritated by the sight of mice sneaking about. He would reach for a wooden rod but, at his slightest move, the mice would quickly disappear into the many nooks and crevices hidden within his walls and floor. In the dead of the night, they appear again and slowly chew on the milk cartons used to hold rice, their edges riddled with tooth marks.

Two metal wires acted as a divider and hung across the room. Clothes half-dried or kept from the rain would be hung on these lines. Kede’s hair would often be messed up by this still-wet laundry while he moved about the room.

Besides photos cut from newspapers, magazines and calendars, the walls were decorated with his paintings. When he got tired from reading, Kede would move his gaze around the room and admire his own artworks, refreshing his mind. He believed that art is extremely beneficial to one’s emotions and spirit. One would get excited and have a sense of elegance by being in a room with art displayed; the nobility of one’s character and the clarity of one’s emotions are often produced in this atmosphere.

Although his room was ugly and spartan, his walls were covered with paintings. This was not something you would find in other low-income houses. Many neighbouring kids would ask for his permission to enter his room and admire his paintings. Besides this, the mess would prevent a normal person who loves cleanliness from entering. When Kede first moved in, the weather was scorching hot so he could not stay in his room for long. He often read his books elsewhere. Now, in the rainy season, he could stay in his room for most of the day.

III

In the afternoon, as the rain eased up, Kede had been lying on his bed reading a novel for a few hours. The zinc roof still lightly resounded with falling raindrops.

“Brother De, there’s an angmoh¹ outside looking for you.”

“Who’s that?” Kede could not remember a foreigner within his friends. “He probably got the wrong address, but I’ll still have to meet him at least.”

He thought to himself, while straightening up his clothing, preparing to go out.

A westerner with brown hair, blue eyes, a high nose and dressed in a long-sleeved shirt with a tie stood outside. He smiled in greeting as he saw Kede and said in English:

“Mi-si-te Yang²,  I’m glad to see your home. Do you remember me? Kurt Hillman.”

The surname Hillman reminded him of a previous exhibition, where a senior artist had introduced them. This person bought one of his paintings then, but after many years, Kede had forgotten about this episode. He only remembered this as he saw Hillman.

“Please enter!” Kede said in English and gestured his welcome.

Hillman entered the room and said:

“I would like to take a look at your oil paintings. Do you have any recently completed works?”

“There are two or three in my room,” Kede said while leading Hillman into his room, “if you don’t find this condition unpleasant, please enter.”

“I’ll not stand on ceremony.” Hillman went in, still wearing his leather shoes. Evidently, he did not know that one should remove one’s shoes before entering. Kede did not remind him of that.

As Hillman entered, he noticed the landscape painting drying on the easel. Two trees were bent over in the painting, toward the left and right respectively. An embankment was in the centre of the image, where five or six people fished, sitting or standing. A pair of lovers conversed on a bench below the tree on the left. The palette of the painting was harmonious.

“Where is this?” Hillman said after spending some time admiring the painting.

“This is a seaside scene in Johor Bahru, painted from my impressions.” Kede said, pointing at the image.

“Has it dried?”

“Not yet.”

“I’d like to buy this painting. How much would that be?” Hillman moved his gaze towards Kede.

“$150.”

“Alright, I’d like to pick another piece.”

Hillman started to view the paintings hung on the wall. Kede removed the clothes drying on the wires so that Hillman could move about and have an unobstructed view of the paintings.

“I’ve seen this painting before.” Hillman leaned on the desk and looked at a painting of some grasscutters. This scene was captured by Kede when he went sketching in the forest. On the way there, on the mound where the radio station stood, he saw a group of Indian women dressed in red, yellow and green cutting grass with their sickles. He found the posture of the women beautiful and executed a few sketches. When he returned home, he refined the composition until he was satisfied with it, moving the scene to the canvas afterwards. The painting was completed three days later.

“What’s your opinion?” Kede would like to hear the opinions of this art lover who does not paint.

“Your compositional techniques and use of colour are quite special. You have your own flair.” Hillman paused for a moment before asking, “Only these few pieces? Do you have more?” It was as though he hoped that Kede would bring out some artworks stashed away.

“None other than these. I destroyed the rest because they weren’t satisfactory. I do not produce a lot of works. To put it nicely, I emphasise quality instead of quantity.”

“Young man, you have a bright future. You should paint more.” Hillman said while patting Kede’s shoulder.

“Thank you for your praise.” Kede smiled gratefully.

“I should get going. Could you sell me the painting of the grasscutters too? How much would it cost, alongside the painting of Johor Bahru’s seaside scene?” Hillman sat on the bed and produced a chequebook, ready to fill it in.

“You can have them for $300!” Kede said, happily.

Kede brought the paintings onto Hillman’s car. Suddenly, Hillman recalled something and reached into his pocket. He took out a name card and passed it to Kede, who was standing outside the car.

“If you like, you can come look for me on Sundays. Unfortunately, I am not free in the weekdays and would not be home.”

“Thank you.”

After Hillman’s car had gone, the landlady curiously watched Kede return home.

“Why did that angmoh take away your paintings for?” The landlady asked.

“He bought them.”

“How much for?”

“Two for $300. I’m poor and can only sell them cheaply.”

“Wow! You sold them for so much! Looks like you don’t actually need to look for a job.” The landlady widened her eyes and said, sticking her tongue out.

“This time, money looked for me. Do you think this will happen often?” He replied to the landlady, who was making too much out of this.

The neighbouring kids heard that two of Kede’s paintings sold for $300 and came over to congratulate him. They did not really believe that the two paintings they saw, which were neither a good imitation of nature nor nice to look at, were sold for $300. It must be that the angmoh was mentally deficient.

Kede’s younger sister innocently said:

“Brother, wouldn’t we get a lot of money if you sell him all your paintings?”

“Sister, you really don’t know how this world works. Paintings are only valuable if someone like them. If it does not draw admiration, even if I gifted it, the other person wouldn’t want to accept it!”

“Ah, so it works this way.” His little sister seemed to have understood something.

That evening, Kede’s three siblings returned from their school’s afternoon session and heard that their brother had come into a sum of money. Excitedly, they demanded to be brought to the movies and to buy this and that. Of course, Kede did not disappoint them.

IV

He was still without a job and money had not gone looking for him since. He tried not to leave his house because that necessarily entailed spending money. He painted and read at home; he did not even care if the heavens would give way when he is painting. When Kede’s father returned home on Sunday, he saw Kede facing the wall, in deep thought. He did not even notice his father coming in.

“De, how would you get a job if you stay at home all day? You should go out and see if your friends have any recommendations!”

Kede awakened from his daydreams and, seeing his father enter, hastily stood up and received the paper bags from his hands. The paper bags were filled with old newspapers and magazines, unwanted items of his father’s boss that he brought back to entertain the children.

“I am waiting for good luck to come calling.” Kede said, putting on a nonchalant smile.

“What damned luck are you waiting for!” His father was dissatisfied with his lackadaisical manner. “Why not go look for Uncle Zhichang? He knows a lot of people and might have a way out for you.”

Uncle Zhichang was a distant relative; Kede did not know which common ancestor they shared, or how many generations ago. He was a few years older than Kede’s father and, according to the family’s generational distinctions, should be addressed as Kede’s bobo³. This uncle operated a bar in the city with some small businesses on the side. They rarely communicated; Kede had not met Uncle Zhichang for three years. If not for his father’s reminder, he would not have remembered this person.

He could not go against his father’s words. The next day, he arrived at X Bar, asking for Uncle Zhichang. The bar was air-conditioned with only two or three customers inside. The bargirls, much like bewitching spirits, saw him enter and mistook him for a good customer, sending him their alluring gazes. Uncle Zhichang happened to be by the counter and, seeing Kede, gave a smile of recognition.

“What wind has brought you here, Kede?”

“The north-western wind.” Kede replied, humorously.⁴

Uncle Zhichang pulled out two nearby chairs and invited Kede to take a seat with him. The radio was playing the Beatles’ A Hard Day’s Night. The two smiled at each other before Uncle Zhichang said:

“You’ve lost weight.”

“That’s because the north-western wind was too chilly.”

“What a joke. Are you still in university?”

“I’ve left some time ago.”

“You’ve graduated?”

“I dropped out.”

“Why did you not continue your studies?” Uncle Zhichang asked with concern.

“The reason was simple – I had no money to do so.”

“Are you employed now?”

“I’m measuring roads.”

The server brought two cups of coffee.

“Would you like some cake? My cakes are quite good.”

“I’ve just had lunch. Please do not trouble yourself.”

Still, Uncle Zhichang told the server to bring some cake.

“Please have some and do not stand on ceremony.”

“I suppose your business is doing well?” Kede asked, picking up some cake while taking a sip of coffee.

“It was not bad a few years ago but now that there are so many places for leisure, so it is hard for a small business like this to survive.” Uncle Zhichang changed the topic, “so what are your plans now?”

“I have my plans but have no money to see them through, so they are futile in the end. I would like to find a job. Can beidei⁵ make use of a person like me here?” Kede took the chance to express his intentions.

Uncle Zhichang thought for a while, frowned, and replied solemnly:

“How could I make use of you here? Moreover, the jobs a bar can offer will not provide you with a good future.”

“One should not be concerned that a hero came from a humble background. I am only planning to work here temporarily. However menial the job is, my priority is to be able to support myself before I look out for other opportunities.”

Looking at this distant relative, Uncle Zhichang could not help but feel pity for his nephew’s aggrieved expression. However, his bar did not have any vacancies and business was not good; it was not a wise move to hire another person. Moreover, Kede received higher education and would be rather prideful. How could he get used to a job in the bar? Although they were relatives and should help each other, he was not financially comfortable at the moment and was not able to help his poorer relatives. Yet, he could not possibly deal Kede such a huge disappointment. After choosing his words carefully, he replied:

“I think it’s still best if you wait patiently. It is normal to be unable to find a job. Honestly, if you work for me as a server, it will ruin your future. What would your future friends and schoolmates think if they find out that you were once a server in a bar? Even though you do not think that being a server is beneath you, society will look down on you and mock you. A person who was in university for two years ‘ended up working in a bar as a server’. Think about it, I can’t be wrong.”

“I have my own thoughts and plans. I have never bothered about what other people said.” Kede showed his strong character.

Uncle Zhichang found himself in a tricky situation—this nephew could not be cajoled. He would have to come up with another plan, and thus said:

“Can you speak English?”

“I majored in English.”

“I think you’re more suited to work as a clerk in a commercial firm. I know some managers in this industry and will talk to them another day. Perhaps they will have a place for you.”

They drank their coffees, facing each other. Their conversation came to a brief pause. Uncle Zhichang asked:

“Besides this, what other skills do you have?”

“Painting.”

“Oh, I heard from others that you studied painting and participated in exhibitions. You even had the ambition to study in Paris. That’s good, a young person should learn a wide variety of skills to have an easy career path. Can you typewrite?”

“I did not learn that.”

“You should. Commercial firms require typewriters.”

Kede felt impatient and bothered with Uncle Zhichang’s perfunctory words and stood up, bidding farewell.

“You’re leaving so quickly?”

“I’m going to look for some friends.”

“I’ll inform you if there are any opportunities. Do you still stay in the same place? Are your younger siblings alright?”

Kede gave a series of nods.

Uncle Zhicheng followed Kede to the door, pulled open the folding door and produced two red banknotes. Kede insistently rejected the banknotes as Uncle Zhichang tried to place it in his hand, saying:

“I am still able to pay for myself, thanks beidei for your good intentions!” He pushed away Uncle Zhichang’s hands and walked away.

V

Uncle Zhichang drove to Kede’s. The landlady told him that Kede was home and so he walked to Kede’s bedroom-cum-studio-cum-living room. It was around 11am and Kede had just woken up. Wearing a singlet and pyjama bottoms, he was facing the canvas, thinking. He had his back to the door and did not notice Uncle Zhichang standing behind him.

“Are you painting, Kede?” Uncle Zhichang gently asked Kede, who was deep in thought.

“Oh, its Zhichang beidei, please sit!” Kede brought over the relatively new rattan chair for Uncle Zhichang.

Uncle Zhichang sat down and took a quick look at the room, saying:

“You really should tidy up this room.”

“I don’t really care about my appearance and neither do my siblings. If you get used to it, you won’t notice it.”

“It won’t be good if others see this.”

“Let the others say what they will. Anyway, this is a small place cluttered with many items and I have no way to start tidying them up. In the future, when I am able to afford a house, I will organise it well.” Kede said. He then walked into the kitchen, where his sister was cooking, and told her to make some tea for Uncle Zhichang. He said on the bed after coming back; the bed was unmade.

“I have some good news for you.” Uncle Zhichang said, happily.

“Oh? What sort of news?” Kede was surprised.

“My friend, a manager, wants to meet you and have a look at your paintings. He might want to help you hold an art exhibition or send you to Paris to further your studies.”

“This is good news indeed. Was this the result of beidei’s negotiations on my behalf?”

“All I initially said was that my nephew was looking for a job and to ask if his company had any vacancies. He asked, ‘what skills does your nephew possess?’ I introduced you honestly and he said, ‘bring him and his paintings to me and let’s have a look. I am also very interested in painting. If your nephew is truly talented, I will help him to the best I can.’” Uncle Zhichang paused after this long explanation, then asked, “How many paintings do you have right now?”

“I have more than 10 paintings that are ready to be shown.”

“Bring them all for him to have a look. Go change into something decent and we’ll head to his office right away. I’ve called him beforehand and he has the time to see you today… Do you have a tie?”

“I do not.”

“You should buy one. You need to wear a tie when you meet people from high society.”

Uncle Zhichang brough Kede to a seven-storied building in the city. Kede carried a big stack of paintings while Uncle Zhichang helped him with a smaller stack. In the lift, Uncle Zhichang asked Kede, with concern:

“Are you sure your English is fluent enough?”

“Please do not worry. At the very least, I will be able to answer his questions.”

After entering the office of X Company, Uncle Zhichang introduced themselves to the female receptionist by the door. The female receptionist picked up the phone, muttered a few words, and told Uncle Zhichang in English, “You may go in. The manager is waiting for you.”

Uncle Zhichang and Kede entered the manager’s office one after the other. The other employees in the office looked curiously at this pair, one old and one young, stumbling under the weight of the stacks of paintings.

The manager was a middle-aged man. He looked like he was just over 40 with a healthy flush. His round face was bisected by a pair of black spectacles. He was reading some documents. As Uncle Zhichang and Kede entered, he looked up and greeted them in English:

“Welcome, mi-se-te Yang.” He glanced at Kede. “Is this the nephew you told me about?”

“Yes, Manager Fang. This is my nephew Kede.” Uncle Zhichang respectfully introduced Kede. He then instructed Kede to lay out the paintings on the floor.

“Please take a seat!”

After the guests had sat down, Manager Fang said to Kede, “your ang-ke⁶ has told me about your situation. You are rather hardworking and I like youths like that. Youths need to be diligent to have a future—don’t you think so?”

“Yes, you’re right.” Kede replied in English.

“How many paintings did you bring?”

“Ten small ones.”

“Alright, please unbundle them and let me have a look.”

Uncle Zhichang and Kede untied the stacks of paintings and lined them along the walls. Manager Fang stood up and paced about, admiring the paintings one at a time. His maintained a serious countenance and seemed like a connoisseur. After a while, he asked Kede:

“Do you paint anything realist?”

“I did so in the past, when I just started to paint. However, I now like to express myself through art and paint in an abstract manner.”

“Can you tell me why you paint expressionist and abstract paintings?”

“I feel that realist paintings are stiff and lifeless. They cannot be compared to the boldness of expressionist paintings and the intriguing nature of abstract art.”

“This means that you like modern art.”

“Yes, it suits my temperament well.”

“But I never understood why the so-called modernist painters are so fond of painting things that are so hard to understand. Paintings need to be understood–they are meaningless otherwise, however well they are executed.”

From these words, Kede could tell that Manager Fang’s so-called interest in art was limited to dissolute traditionalism. Kede’s aesthetic thought transcended most ancient art forms and could retort to these laughable fallacies in a hundred different ways. However, as he has only just met Manager Fang, he had to ensure that his words do not cause tension. He explained:

“When the viewer does not understand the painter’s art, they often accuse the painter of being confused, of seeking the new just for the sake of it, etc. Rarely does the viewer stop and reflect on themselves. Did they spend some effort to study and understand modern art? How much do they understand about the artist’s philosophy and its application in the creation of this piece of art? How much knowledge about the evolution of art do they have? Did they consider how much can be expressed with a white plane and a thick, black line?”

“Based on what you said, the viewer needs to defer to the artist.”

“I did not mean that the viewer has to mindlessly yield to the artist. I believe that, no matter what, the viewer that wants to understand art needs to become involved in art.”

“Your aesthetic views seek to bring art to the public.”

“That’s exactly it. I feel that unless art is brought to the public, it is very hard for art to be understood. To take an example, mi-si-te Fang, your English is fluent and your choice of words are pertinent because you have received a rather comprehensive education in English. If we are talking about someone that has not studied English, however, he would probably not be able to understand what you are trying to say, am I right?”

“I see that you have been influenced by Picasso, but Picasso’s skills in realist painting are excellent.”

“I do not deny that Picasso is skilled in realist paintings. However, why did Picasso set realist painting aside and develop Cubism? Mi-se-te Fang, think about it. Would an artist that strives to improve himself be satisfied with his past achievements? Time advances mercilessly and artists whose works cannot meet contemporary expectations will need to end their careers.” Kede paused his eloquent explanation as he noticed Manager Fang take out his cigarettes. He continued, “With regards to Picasso’s influence on me, are you talking about my artworks?”

“Aren’t these paintings all in the style of Picasso?” Manager Fang gestured at the paintings by the wall.

Kede saw that Manager Fang did not have a good idea of what contemporary art was, did not understand Picasso’s creative process and could not clearly discern what characterised Picasso’s paintings. However, he was not a lecturer in art and did not know how to start explaining this to Manager Fang in a succinct manner. Kede pondered for a moment, then said, with a slight smile:

“Mi-si-te Fang, you’ve misunderstood me. An ambitious painter would not wear someone else’s jacket.”

Manager Fang began to look embarrassed and stroked his chin. He was like a student who had given the wrong answer and was being mocked by his teacher for his carelessness.

“You would like to study painting in Paris?” Manager Fang asked, after some time.

“I have this dream.”

“Paris is the capital of art. Many Singaporean painters hope to try their luck there.”

“I would like to capitalise on my youth and broaden my horizons.”

“I heard from your ang-ke that you have spent two years at university. Why didn’t you focus on painting?”

“Before I entered university, I considered putting all my time and effort in painting. However, I realised that my background was disadvantageous to this dream and I could not just plunge myself into the world of colours and lines—it was best for me to take a detour. University was a way for me to get some qualifications and make it easier for me to find a well-paying job. Only then could I concentrate on my practice. However my plan was unexpectedly derailed and I could neither graduate from university nor find a job.”

“If you had the chance right now to complete your degree or to focus on developing your practice, which would you choose?”

“I would choose the latter, because the latter is my goal while the former is the means to that goal.” Kede said, without hesitation.

“Alright, mi-se-te Yang, let’s do this. Before I decide on whether to help you, I would need to seek the opinion of an expert. Leave your paintings here and I will notify your ang-ke when I have my decision. I still have some work to complete, so please excuse me.” Manager Fang bade farewell to them.

VI

A week later, Uncle Zhichang came looking for Kede and told him that Manager Fang wanted to see him.

“Did Manager Fang say anything else?” Kede was anxious to know his decision.

“Nothing else, only to bring you to him.”

Kede met Manager Fang, uneasy about what would ensue. Manager Fang again looked stern and said, after some formalities:

“Mi-si-te Yang, I am very sorry. I am going to say some words that you may rather not hear. The expert I have asked to look at your paintings told me that Singapore has plenty of artists of your calibre.”

This was a disappointing verdict. What was implied need not be said; anyone with deductive abilities could tell that Lady Luck has forsaken Kede. Kede was disappointed and, with a melancholic look and recalcitrant attitude, said:

“Mi-si-te Fang, who was this expert you engaged? Could you let me know?”

“You don’t have to know who it was.”

“Perhaps he is an unqualified expert.”

“Mi-si-te Yang, you are sounding very arrogant.” Manager Fang said, his face stiffened.

“Mi-se-te Fang, please forgive him. My nephew is a youth without worldly experience and does not know how to communicate properly.” Uncle Zhichang threw Kede a look, beseeching him to remain decorous.

“I’m sorry, I spoke too directly.” Kede reluctantly said to Manager Fang.

“You were not only direct; you have also insulted the expert I engaged.”

“If you felt that that was my intention, then please apologise to that expert on my behalf!”

Kede began packing up the paintings still lining the wall, feeling regret about his desire to find an easy way out. He regretted going according to what Uncle Zhichang said and allowing his paintings to be insulted by people who may not have understood art. He tried his best to control his impulsive tendencies. Uncle Zhichang also bent over and helped him pack up.

“Can you leave me with one of your artworks?” Manager Fang said, walking towards an obviously angry Kede.

“Why?” Kede raised his head and asked in turn.

“How much would it cost? I’ll buy it.”

“I’m so sorry, this painting is not for sale.”

“How about that piece then?” Manager Fang pointed at another painting.

“That is also not for sale.”

“I believe that the other paintings are also your masterpieces that are not for sale.” Manager Fang said, warmly yet sarcastically.

“That’s right.” Kede said, impetuously.

“Mi-si-te Yang, you value your paintings too much!”

“In this society, if an artist does not value his own painting, who else would do so?”

“Alright, goodbye mi-si-te Yang! Sorry for making the both of you make this wasted trip.” Manager Fang said politely and considerately.

In the lift, Uncle Zhichang said to his silent nephew:

“Why didn’t you sell him a painting? You could’ve asked for two or three hundred dollars!”

“I cannot sell myself out and allow someone who does not appreciate my art purchase my paintings. That is tantamount to self-abuse.”

Zimu
1964

¹ (Trans.) Angmoh – 红毛 hongmao (red-haired) in Hokkien. Colloquial term referring to White foreigners.
² (Trans.) The author transliterated ‘mister’ as ‘mi-si-te’ 密斯特 in Chinese, in order to emphasise the characters’ use of English.
³ (Trans.) Bobo 伯伯 in Chinese refers to one’s father’s elder brother/cousin.
⁴ (Trans.) The north-western wind (西北风 – Xibei Feng) is a colloquial expression referring to a state of hunger brought about by poverty.
⁵ (Trans.) Beidei (伯爹, in mandarin Bodie) is a Hainanese honorific term for elder males in general and one’s father’s elder brother in particular.
⁶ (Trans.) Similar to the author’s use of ‘mi-si-te’, ‘ang-ke’ (昂克) is a transliteration of ‘uncle’.

《我与写作》

在初中唸书时，我已有写作的兴趣，这和我阅读小说的兴趣相辅而行。那时我酷爱阅读小说，举凡所知的世界文学名著（华文译本），无不想搜借或购买嚼完。十九世纪俄国文学巨擘如托尔斯泰、陀思妥也夫斯基、屠格涅夫等大部头的作品，就在着迷的情况下日夜阅读完；甚至忘记作功课，不听某些老师讲课；自己幻想有朝一日挤入文学家之林。

开始写日记，兼写短篇小说; 散文与诗没有兴趣。短篇小说，每成一篇，自我玩味，沾沾自喜，投去报纸副刊，石沉大海。高中毕业后，还没有一篇见登，打击不小，反省之下，略有所悟:“我才恐不适此途。”於是兴趣转移到绘画，画途果见顺利，此后把大部份时间与精神放在绘画上，写小说只是偶一为之。

第一篇小说《绿酒初尝》是在南大念书时发表，本来标题还有《……人易醉》；南方晚报《绿洲》副刊编辑把后面‘人易醉’三个字删去，简洁含蓄。可见该编辑文艺修养比我高明。从前被投篮的作品差，我逐渐承认这点。

同学中知 《绿酒初尝》 是我写的，廖裕芳鼓励我多写，但我並不多写，那时我的兴趣开始多样化，除画外，哲学、玄学、命理学，每天除上课与清理作业外，花在和几位高谈阔论之士，如徐本钦 、曾炽豪 、廖裕芳等，在茶室餐厅的辩论时间颇不少。我的一把好辩口才，应是那段期间训练出来。美术论文开始出炉，所引起的反应比短篇小说热烈，因我所持的是现代艺术思想，难於见容传统思想之辈。《正觉世人对现代绘画的谬论》一文，激起一位作者连续三篇的反击 ; 反击的反击 《再论世人对现代绘画的谬见》，三十馀张稿纸和若干画照插图，却一投不返。事过境迁，重读草稿，火药味瀰於纸，大有拉人出来打的气慨，老编不用也有其道理，遂投入火堆。此后美术论文一帆风顺，每投见用。但我自珍毛羽，无特别感触与发现也不多写。

我的很多短篇小说，都是以曾相识的人物作模特儿，或自己亲身经历过的事件为情节，画枝添叶，刻意经营布局，务求趣味横生，情节特别，力避与所读过的小说情节相似；有时也参入浓厚的想象。我的想象与幻象力都丰富，往往昼夜都可凭风吹草动，而见到一群活生生的牛羊。例如: 《芋叶上的水珠》和《困》等篇，便是出自想象之作。但其现实意义与内涵却出自阅历与常识的揉合，所写枝节则合乎情理。科学幻想小说，也写过《登月球》，一直未发表，由於日后读来，越见乏味而冰藏。

南大毕业后，失业年余，闲空逼我多写。《白天的月亮》、《七青年》、《苦闷的日子》等等，都是在这段时间内完成，而先后推出发表。其中以《白天的月亮》最受注意。当时《电视与广播》每半月始出版一期，编者分隔四期刊登，若干读者曾向编者提出一期登完以免吊瘾。每期之后即有若干意见与评论，褒多於贬。《白天的月亮》是真人真事，连‘我’本身也是真。有读者提出：‘如此赤裸裸的写实，《白天的月亮》这位女主角，将如何见人? ’我不以为然。《白天的月亮》比之传记文学作品都是小巫，传记文学真人真跡可荣登艺坛，而世人並不因其真而有所垢病，我的小巫，何足齿！我写它非恶意，我的目的在塑造今日社会不可多见的一位女性的格性。《白天的月亮》的标题，是偶然发现，非女主角的原来绰号。‘小月亮’和‘古典美人’是我们同学中流行叫她的绰号。

《白天的月亮》来源颇意外，小说布局已妥，也写就若干章。题未定时，在一个午茶（四时多）时间，我和陈录记从陋室走回家时，在加冕路上见到斜挂的月亮，好像是录记说：‘哇，白天也有月亮？！‘突然间启发我联想到所写的‘小月亮’……如此意外地拣到这颇妙的标题，真是不费功夫。

《白天的月亮》的哄动，大大地鼓励我偷闲多写。对短篇小说的写作，信心倍增。可惜承担了一份职业之后，加上社会活动繁忙，要偷闲也不可能。

我喜欢从真人真跡去塑造小说，发现到有个很大的好处，它永不会和任何经典作品的布局与角色雷同—对一个阅览过许许多多世界文艺名著的人而言，意识与下意识之前，掉进巨匠的脚印里的危机是无所不在。

小说是一门已度进很高技巧水准的艺术，单讲究内容的健康不健康已是原始的观念。人物角色的塑造与情节布局，以及文学驾驭的技巧，都是不容忽视的要素。作者不但字汇要丰富，遣辞造句与字眼的新鲜独创，非大动头筋，不足与人匹敌。如何把一个片面情节，精彩地道出；如何用一个片辞而使意境浮突，甚至颠倒一个字令整句刮目。这一切的一切，我自觉功夫未到家，要学的地方还多着；又因个人兴趣多样，在写作上未能全神投入，确有辜负爱读我短篇小说读者的厚望。

如果有那么的一天，廿四小时都属於自己，我相信我会写出更多好作品以餮读者。

子木
八零年代

Writing and I

I had a penchant for writing ever since secondary school, complementing my enthusiasm for reading. Back then, I loved reading novels and there were no renowned works of world literature (if translated to Chinese) that I did not want to devour, whether borrowed or bought. This was how I became obsessed with the works of 19th century Russian masters such as Leo Tolstoy, Fyodor Dostoevsky and Ivan Turgenev, working my way through these weighty tomes without rest. I often neglected my homework and did not pay attention in some classes; all I fantasised about was to one day be regarded among the great writers. 

I started to keep a diary and wrote some short stories. I had no interest in essays or poetry. Whenever I completed a short story, I would send it with relish to various newspapers' literary supplements, but would never receive a reply. None of my writings had seen the light of day even as I graduated from junior college. This was a significant blow, and after some introspection, I arrived at this conclusion: perhaps my talents are not suited here. I shifted my interests to painting, which was indeed successful. Thereafter, I put most of my time and energy in painting and only occasionally picked up my pen.

My first novel A Sip of Green Wine was published when I was a student at Nantah¹. The novel's title was initially appended with ‘... Easily Intoxicates’.² The editor of the Nanfang Evening Post's literary supplement Oasis removed the latter portion, keeping the title simple and elegant. As you can see, this editor’s literary prowess was above mine. I gradually accepted that my previously rejected writings were substandard.

My schoolmates learnt that I wrote A Sip of Green Wine. Liaw Yock Fang encouraged me to write more, but because my interests had begun to diversify, I did not do so. Besides studying painting, philosophy, metaphysics, fortune-telling and other miscellaneous administrative duties, I spent my time in the tearoom debating with several learned friends, including Shee Poon Kim, Tzeng Chee Ho and Liaw Yock Fang. My debating skills must have been trained in that period. When my writings on art began to be published, the reaction was far stronger than that regarding my short stories. This response was because I espoused a modernist aesthetic viewpoint that could not be accepted by those who were traditional in thought. The essay ‘In correction of some fallacies society holds toward modern painting’ provoked a writer’s response in three consecutive articles. My subsequent defence was mounted over thirty sheets of manuscript and several supporting images, but this was not published. Now, looking back at the manuscripts, I found that my tone was overly provocative, almost as if I wanted to flog that writer. The editor naturally had his reasons for not publishing my response and relegated it to the fire. Since then, all my writings on art have been published without fail. However, I have become protective of my reputation and only write when I have particularly strong thoughts or opinions.

The people that I met and events that I experienced were the basis for many of my short stories. I strove to shape unique and unexpected plots, and with meticulous planning, refrained from mirroring stories I had previously read. This sometimes involved a strong imaginary element. I had the gift of imaginative and fantastical thinking, and could often, in the dead of the night, conjure up herds of cows and sheep with just the sight of a breeze settling over a patch of grass as a stimulus. For example, A droplet on a taro leaf, Trapped, and other stories were derived from my imagination. However, they contain a sense of realism that comes from my experiences and general knowledge, resulting in the plot’s logical development. I have also written a science-fiction short story Moon Landing. However, because I have not found it interesting after re-reading it, it is now in cold storage and has not been published.

I was jobless for a few years after graduating from Nantah. This period of forced leisure compelled me to write more. Moon by Day, Seven Youths, Days of Dejection were all written during this time; they were later published separately. Among them, Moon by Day was significant. First published in the bi-monthly TV & Radio Magazine, the editor published Moon by Day over four issues. Some readers requested that the editor publish the story in a single instalment to avoid cliff-hangers. After each issue, I found that there were more positive than negative reviews and opinions. Moon by Day was based on real events, even the ‘I’ in the story was real. Some readers opined: ‘with such unbarred realism, how can the female protagonist in Moon by Day face society?’ I did not agree. Compared with biographies and other related literary forms, Moon by Day was a trivial piece of realist writing. If literature based on biographies and real events could be seen as masterpieces and not be criticised for its realism, what threat did my ‘trivial’ story pose? I did not write it with evil intentions and only aimed to flesh out a female character that has become uncommon in today’s society. The title, Moon by Day, was an invention and not the female protagonist’s actual nickname. My schoolmates and I nicknamed her ‘little moon’ or ‘classical beauty’.

The title Moon by Day came unexpectedly. Then, though I had not settled on a title, I had planned out the plot and finished writing some chapters. I was walking back home from tea with Tan Teng Kee at about 4pm when we saw the moon hanging above Coronation Road. I think it was Teng Kee that said, ‘wow, the moon can appear in the daytime as well?!’ This suddenly reminded me of the ‘little moon’ I was writing about… I serendipitously found an ingenious title for my story.

The reaction to Moon by Day greatly encouraged me to write more in my leisure. My confidence in my short stories had grown. Unfortunately, my full-time job and increased social engagements meant that it was impossible for me to find any spare time to write more regularly.

I enjoy shaping a novel around real humans and events. I found a huge advantage in this—the story will not coincide with the characters or set-up of any classic piece of literature. For a person that has read so many renowned works, there is a danger of consciously or subconsciously falling under the shadow of a master.

The novel is a form of art that demands a high level of technical prowess; it is primitive to fixate on whether the plot is moral or not. The sculpting of characters, development of the story and control over literary techniques are all essential elements in writing a novel. Besides a large and colourful vocabulary, the author also has to be creative in her/his choice of words, use of phrases and sentence structure. The author cannot expect to stand out without a large amount of mental effort. How can a plot point be captivatingly narrated? How should a phrase be selected such that it changes the mood of the prose, even by just manipulating a single word? I admit that my abilities regarding these techniques are not yet sufficient, and that there is still a lot of room for growth. I have also not been able to dedicate my full attention to writing because of my varied interests and I feel that I have let down those who enjoy reading my short stories.

If, one day, I could have all 24 hours to myself, I believe that I will be able to write better and satisfy my readers. 

Zimu
1980s

¹ (Trans.) Nanyang University, Nantah for short, was Singapore's only Chinese-medium university. It was in existence from 1956 to 1980. Ho Ho Ying graduated from Nantah with a Bachelor (Arts) in Chinese Language and Literature in 1962.

² (Trans.) This title was taken from a poem by Yan Shu.

《杭州日记 – 序》

日记是最自由的文体，随意书写不拘任何形式。无须专题，凡是个人日常经验，所见所闻，所感所觉都可以记它们一笔。有话长讲，少话短说，无话就不讲；讲到哪里，算到哪里，凭自己的喜好，想记的就写，不想写的就不记。无人检查你的是与非（如果不发表），凭自己良知以及知识水平忠实记录。但是所记的必须是真的事迹，不能凭空杜撰事件；在时间与空间的构架上刻划个人或与个人有关的事迹；人物、事件、地点、场面构成都确实无误。喜怒笑骂，自谑自剖，无所不适。但为避免牵涉到法律诉讼，点到某公丑事时，最好用XYZ代其真名，防范日记万一落入他人之手，或被公开发表时惹他老羞成怒，徒伤感情，有碍厚道。

日记可以协助记忆，事过境迁，我们好多宝贵的经验经过时间的冲洗，褪色或淡忘，日记都能忠实地替你保存；任君有兴趣时翻阅重温旧梦。

日记是写作的基本训练，有如素描是绘画的基础一样。无论是抒情小品，宏篇伟论，长短小说，日记的潜移默化效应是使你构思敏捷，行文流利；尚且还有许多资料可供提炼。

1952年我开始写日记，时有间断，但写日记的兴趣四十年来不曾减。现在为何选《杭州日记》出版，道理简单：退休后在杭州中国美术学院进修刚好是一年，人在异国他乡，所见所闻新鲜有趣；人到乐龄思想成熟，能够平心静气看问题，着色之处较淡雅，少有烟火气；让读者分享，不会有辣椒味。希望是如黄酒入口，有中国泥土味。

子木
一九九七年十二月卅日

Hangzhou Diary – Introduction

The diary is the most untrammelled literary form, allowing you to write as you wish without recourse to any stylistic expectations. Diaries do not require you to adhere to a certain theme; you can record within it all quotidian experiences—what you see, hear and feel. You can also write as much as you wish—a long entry if you have something to discourse on, a short one if you have just a few thoughts, or just not writing if you have nothing to express. These are all subject to your personal fancies, to record what you wish and to be silent when it suits you. There is no one to pass judgement on what you wrote (if you do not publish your diary) and all you have to do is to write to the best of your knowledge and conscience. However, what you write has to be true and cannot be a fictional representation of events. The events about or relating to you have to be structured by space and time; the characters, events, locations and settings have to be grounded in reality. Only then can you express your range of emotions regarding these events, with the ability to mock or critique as you wish. To avoid legal implications, however, it is best to anonymise the characters in your entries when you refer to public scandals.  In case your diary falls into the hands of others, or when publication results in shame and anger. This will harm relations and is neither kind nor generous.

Diaries can aid our recollection. As time passes, many of our treasured experiences fade, discolour or are forgotten. Diaries safeguard these memories in a reliable manner, awaiting your perusal when the mood arises. 

Diary keeping is essential training for writers, just as sketching is a basic technique that painters have to master. Diary keeping subtly improves the sensitivity of your thoughts and the fluency of your text—one of many skills you can develop to aid your writing, whether it is an expressive short text, an exegesis, or novels long or short.

I started keeping my diaries in 1952. Though I sometimes go on a hiatus, my passion for diary writing has not diminished over the past forty years. The reason why I chose to publish Hangzhou Diary now is simple—it has been a year since I, in retirement, furthered my studies in Hangzhou's China Academy of Art. Living in a foreign country, everything I encounter is interestingly novel. As we reach our senior years, our thinking becomes more mature. We are more able to approach issues with clarity and to touch on them in a simple and elegant manner, devoid of youthful passions. I share these entries with my readers and hope that they are not stinging, instead being mellow like China’s yellow wine and soil.

Zimu
30 December 1997