The Versatile Master Artist

Chapter 290 - 168: Infinite Brushstroke Mastery (Part 2)

"The painting is indeed quite good, but don’t become too self-satisfied; you still need to practice more."

Gu Tongxiang habitually critiqued, though as he continued, the corners of his mouth couldn’t help but curl into a smile.

Good?

It’s more than just good.

If the painter weren’t his own grandson, Mr. Gu would have rushed over to start lavishing praise.

For adult artists wanting to learn techniques, knowing how to flatter is fundamental.

Whether through talent or coincidence, the techniques artists comprehend are exceedingly valuable.

Like using salt on watercolor paintings to create snowflake patterns, or adding sawdust to oil paint thinners for a textured skin effect—these methods, now common knowledge, would have been invaluable secrets of a painting school a century or two ago.

Italian painters, in particular, have historically secured roles as court painters to the Pope with such skills.

Especially with those pen techniques for New Style Painting,

when artists painted, they guarded against outsiders like they were guarding against thieves. In the old society, if you were caught stealing techniques, the authorities wouldn’t care if you were beaten to death.

If merely flattering someone were enough to learn new skills, one would laugh even in their dreams.

Have you not seen those well-known middle-aged and elder artists still fawning over elder Cao, just hoping he’d give them a bit of guidance?

In the circle of calligraphy and painting,

agents are undoubtedly the most skilled in flattery; it’s their profession.

Particularly, when minor agents encounter celebrated artists whose contracts are nearing expiration, their obsequiousness is unmatched.

The old man looked at the painting, then at his grandson, back and forth several times, finally unable to suppress a silly chuckle: "If you can really replicate Lang Shining, these paintings would absolutely sell out in our gallery."

Gu Weijing was already envisioning the golden-haired tourists arriving from the Yangon River, waving US dollars and Euros like "OMG".

"I suppose someone will come to commission paintings from me." Gu Weijing pondered.

Serious painters dislike painting on commission; that’s for great artists.

Ordinary, lesser-known painters don’t have the privilege of choice,

painting portraits for employers, New Year paintings, or specific subject longevity paintings, which are one of the main revenue sources for Gu’s Calligraphy and Painting Gallery.

If they encounter a generous foreign embassy attaché or military officer, a commissioned painting can fetch three to four thousand dollars, equalling an entire month’s sales.

"No, we shouldn’t do that."

But Mr. Gu shook his head.

He caressed the Xuan paper at hand, actively dismissing a thought that had just arisen: "Forget it, it’s better not to display it. You just focus on painting well. Your stage for selling paintings shouldn’t be this small gallery; our family isn’t in a rush to earn that money."

The stage in Yangon is too small.

Being an artist is an abnormal profession,

as an unknown painter trying to make a living requires selling a lot of paintings, making it harder to raise your prices.

That’s the vicious cycle for lesser-known painters.

If you’ve already sold two thousand cheap paintings on the market, even capital conglomerates would struggle to elevate you.

For this reason, unless illustrators can break through using modern media, they’ll remain at the bottom rung of the artistic hierarchy.

Back in the past,

a thousand-dollar commissioned painting might have thrilled the old man.

But now, especially after meeting Master Cao Xuan, many things that Mr. Gu never dared to dream about, he can now dream about.

He doesn’t want to jeopardize his grandson’s future by seeking quick cash now.

It’s tough to fly when the dragon is in shallow waters,

Gu Weijing’s debut stage shouldn’t be this small, ancestral art shop.

Upon reaching this thought,

"By the way, I was originally going to wait a couple more years, but since you’re so promising..."

Gu Tongxiang paused for a moment as if making a firm decision, saying: "Some things perhaps should be handed to you now."

Gu Weijing watched as his grandfather walked to the safe by the counter, entered the code, and opened the safe’s metal door.

The old man ignored some US dollar and Euro cash outside and carefully took out a rectangular rosewood box from the inside layer of the safe.

The box appeared quite aged, flat in shape, with some traces of insect damage in places, but overall still sturdy.

The box was intricately carved with the autumn scene of a full moon and golden osmanthus with a hollow technique, filled with mottled gold powder forming a couplet—

[In the world, there’s no end to masters with the brush, yet the fierce heat of summer brings a chill in autumn.]

This is a patchwork poem.

Patchwork poems were a pastime for Dongxia literati of old.

It combines the beginning of Tang Dynasty poet Gao Zhan’s "In the world, there’s no end to masters with the brush, a piece of sorrow that cannot be painted" and Liu Yuxi’s famous "Falling in the hands of ordinary painters, yet the fierce heat of summer brings a chill in autumn," fusing them into one.

This patchwork keeps the rhyme,

but changes "cannot be painted" to "can be painted," and "ordinary painter’s hand" to "masters with the brush," reflecting the artists’ elegance and self-satisfaction.

"Here, you take it."

The old man gazed at the rosewood box for a few seconds, then handed the wooden box over.

At the moment he saw the box, Gu Weijing’s expression became immediately solemn.

He didn’t dare to be careless, vigorously rubbing his hands on his clothes before carefully accepting the rosewood box from his grandfather and placing it respectfully on the table.

Gu Weijing knew what this was.

When their ancestors came to Myanmar from Dongxia, they passed down only ten small yellow fish cast from one or two volumes of gold and a rosewood painting box.

The small yellow fish helped their family survive countless upheavals and famines.

The last few small yellow fish were sold as start-up capital when the old man was dealing in ancient paintings in the 1990s, something Gu Weijing’s generation never got to see. But this rosewood painting box was passed down through generations.

"Grandpa, why did you take this out? This can’t be done." Gu Weijing bit his lip.

The rosewood box contained the ancestral seals and brushes,

and rather than being considered precious antique tools for Chinese painting, it had become a vessel for the Gu family’s emotional attachment to their ancestors.

It was carefully stored in the safe, only brought out during ancestral rites, almost requiring three kneelings and nine prostrations during its use.

If it got scratched or damaged, the old man would go insane.

"It’s time. My father passed early. Your current level far exceeds mine when I inherited this painting box from my father."

Gu Tongxiang smiled, taking a dry towel from the safe to gently wipe the spotless surface of the rosewood box once more.

Only then did he softly unlock the small lock on the painting box, revealing its true contents.

Inside, the box is divided into two levels: the upper level holds three sheep fat seals and one brass seal, while the lower level contains five brushes in varying sizes.

Gu Weijing had heard from his grandfather about the origins of the contents within.

The brass seal is an official seal issued by the Imperial Painting Academy, inscribed with [First-class], representing the highest honor for imperial painters during the Qing Dynasty.

His ancestor was initially only a third-class painter,

but thanks to being selected for an envoy to the Konbaung Dynasty in Myanmar, facing long journeys and dangers like mosquitoes, epidemics, Peach Blossom Miasma, and crocodiles (Piggy Dragons), there was a chance they might lose their lives even before reaching Myanmar.

Thus, they were promoted two levels, to first-class painter, enjoying the Seventh Grade stipend.

The three varying sheep fat seals were personal seals of their ancestors, inscribed with the family motto [Diligence and Self-Reliance], the symbol [Master of the Gu Family], and the professional aspiration [Divine in Stroke].

As for the five brushes, they were all bamboo-carved brushes from the Wu region in Jiangsu, collectively covering the full set of tools for Chinese painting.

Antique brushes vary in price, primarily depending on time and place of origin.

Republic era bamboo-carved brushes are valued at around five hundred dollars on the market, but if they are well-preserved Wanli or Jiajing period Ming Dynasty bamboo brushes, each would fetch between sixty to eighty thousand dollars at auction.

This set of five brushes, some new, some old, while not reaching back to the Ming Dynasty, the newest among them was already over a hundred and fifty years old.

Just the five brushes alone were, without doubt, no cheaper than the master set from Germany gifted by Old Yang, bearing entirely different significance.