The Story of a Painting

     Hanging in my living room is an oil painting of Deng Xiaoping titled "Standing with the People," which is now 17 years old. It won a creation award in my art class back then. Every time I see this painting, I'm immersed in that era of fiery passion.

    In 1973, the whole country was embracing the "Learn from Dazhai in Agriculture" movement. Rural areas undertook massive farmland infrastructure construction, building terraced fields, digging deep wells, and rerouting rivers and managing water resources. Jinxi County proposed, "Grain production must meet the standards, and yields must surpass the Yellow River." My hometown's slogan was, "Learn from Dazhai and Xiyang in the distance, and from Huangtukan in Jinxi in the near future." A massive battle to transform agriculture began. At that time, commune members worked from 6:30 in the morning until noon, and were out all night, braving the bitter cold and snow. Red flags fluttered everywhere, crowds thronged, loudspeakers blared, and on-site criticism meetings were held anytime, anywhere. After more than three months of farmland infrastructure construction without results, it continued the following year. County-level cadres held a three-tiered meeting to encourage participation, and red flags were displayed everywhere during inspections and drills.

    I was deeply moved by this indomitable spirit and used my pen to record various scenes of labor. Every day, I carved steel plates, wrote reports, and submitted progress schedules. I even broadcast reports on the terraced field digging efforts of each production brigade. My "large-character" drawing skills also improved continuously, and at the commune's three-level cadre meeting, I was named a "red propaganda officer.

    " My ideological awareness drew closer to that of the Party organization. I began learning to draw during the Cultural Revolution. My grandfather was a middle school art teacher, and after school, I would often rummage through his treasured cabinet, looking at the landscape paintings, figure sketches, and ink paintings of flowers, birds, fish, and shrimp. I practiced the basic skills of figure painting, specifically the "three courts and five eyes," observing the changes in the eyes, nose, and mouth to distinguish between joy, anger, sorrow, and happiness, and then depicting the dynamics of the head, chest, and neck to reveal the true characteristics of the figure. I would sketch scenes and objects in my mind repeatedly to improve my sketching ability. I remember when I first started learning to draw, I carried a small notebook with me, drawing wherever I went, writing down whatever I saw, and sketching while listening to lectures. The towering "tower crane" and the low, simple houses of the labor site chose the lofty image of people fighting against nature, minimizing the space of objects, and emphasizing the dynamic aspect to experience the best "angle" of life.

    Kowtowing to offer New Year's greetings. Every Lunar New Year's Day, I would go to my grandfather's and uncle's houses to kowtow, hoping to earn some lucky money. I would buy some comic books and sell them at the market, charging two cents per book, saving up five or six yuan to buy colored pencils and paints. At that time, my father would buy fabric at the department store, and the leftover fabric boards would be made into small boxes to store the pencils and paints, with locks, which he would carry in his pocket every day. They became precious tools, and I was very good at drawing.

    The "Learn from Dazhai in Agriculture, Learn from Daqing in Industry" campaign, along with the "Three Loyalties" and "Four Infinites," became a wave of enthusiasm in the red era, entering every street and alley, and every household. To improve my skills and show my loyalty, I bought pens, ink, and paper at my own expense and set up a "Chairman Mao Quotations Wall" in my alley. I copied poems, carved red armbands, and printed propaganda posters, inviting all the neighbors to visit. I even gave each household a picture of the Great Leader, the "Red Sun."

    This kid was really promising. The aunties and grandmas in the alley praised me a lot. Someone even introduced me to a potential partner. The girl's uncle was a high-ranking official in the city. Hearing that I was visiting, he insisted on meeting me to help his niece pass the "political vetting" test. He asked me what special skills I had. I really put in a lot of effort. I spent 25 cents on the best stiff white paper and drew a pencil sketch of Chairman Mao overnight. The next day, I presented it to my uncle in a paper-wrapped package. After a series of serious questions, my uncle smiled and praised my skills, and invited me to stay for a meal. After I got married, my uncle introduced me to a job as a substitute teacher at the town's primary school for over a year.

    Life was tough in those days, people's thoughts were simple, and their minds were free of distractions; life was fulfilling.

    After the Cultural Revolution, weddings in rural areas involved large, double-framed chests adorned with landscape paintings. These were often done with watercolors or oil paintings on glass. Later, electric torches were used to pyrography wood panels, producing various shades of brown, creating a rustic and elegant effect that was highly sought after. I collected hundreds of landscape paintings from the "Selected Annotations of Song Dynasty Poetry" and learned landscape pyrography. People from all around lined up to hire me, this "hot commodity." Initially, I didn't charge, but later I had to pay for the materials and labor when buying plywood. I remember when my wife gave birth to our daughter, my elder brother, sister-in-law, and younger sister, who were also painters, sent a lot of eggs, recognizing me as their sworn brother and a great painter. From then on, a bond of friendship was formed in the countryside.

    That winter, I was putting up a bulletin board in the corridor of the commune compound. I drew a portrait of Lei Feng, and a recruitment instructor from a People's Liberation Army unit saw it. He hurriedly asked me my age, home address, education level, and other information. He said, "I've seen two bulletin boards; the paintings, text, and layout are very distinctive. Our army needs people like you; you can enlist." I smiled and said, "Sir, I'm married and have children." Several years later, this officer transferred to a school in Dalian as principal and party secretary. While seeking a partner, our school formed a joint educational unit with that school, and I met him again. It was truly a dream come true. What was missed was opportunity, what was met was fate. A beautiful memory remains from my journey with him.

    After the downfall of the "Gang of Four" in 1976, I came to Jinxi Grain Depot as a contract worker with my small "artwork." The union chairman asked me to participate in a creative art exhibition organized by the county union. I saw farmers selling their grain after the household responsibility system was implemented, their faces beaming with joy as they held their golden corn, their smiles so wide they could hardly contain their happiness. I visited the farmers' contracted fields and the former production team headquarters three times, listening to the old men recount their harvests of over a thousand catties per mu and the surplus grain they had. Inspired

    by this, I created an oil painting titled "Farmers Joyfully Selling Contracted Grain." After finishing it, I looked at it repeatedly, over a dozen times, feeling a deep sense of reality and satisfaction. Painting can indeed bring lasting joy. It passed the judges' review and won first prize in the amateur group. Two years later, I was admitted to the art program at the city's vocational school. After graduation, I was transferred to the grain workers' school as a teacher, beginning my grassroots artistic work.

    Every year, I return from the city to the countryside to visit my elders, walk under the old bridge in the alley, look at the old houses under the big trees, and find the uncles and grandfathers who used to work with me. We chat about the sorghum, soybeans, and sweet potatoes we planted in the production team's Nanniwan, Bianhaozi, and the hillside plots. Seeing their wrinkled faces and their happy smiles, my voice becomes hoarse, and tears well up in my eyes. My hometown, with its soil, the water in the stream, and yesterday's dreams hang like strings of red lanterns over my hometown, and poems of blessing are published in major provincial and municipal newspapers.

    The greatest reward was copying the oil painting of Deng Xiaoping, "Standing with the People," on the cover of the magazine "Communist Party Member."

    At the time, I saw this watercolor painting of Deng Xiaoping in the third issue of the magazine. His expression was kind and amiable, holding a glass of red wine in his right hand, smiling at people of all ethnic groups. The whole picture showed that the great man Deng Xiaoping was approachable and respectable. After reading the cover verses several times: "Standing with the People, our beloved Comrade Deng Xiaoping cared deeply for all ethnic groups and overseas Chinese. Comrade Deng Xiaoping is a world-renowned figure who will forever live in our hearts." October 1997. A profound sense of reverence and loyalty to the people's leader was hard to express. Deng Xiaoping changed China, a fact deeply felt by every Chinese person. I mustered the courage to paint this picture. I visited several photo studios to take and enlarge the images, and consulted photographs in "Selected Figures of Deng Xiaoping" to design a 1.2m x 800mm oil painting. After completing the draft, I compared the expression, brushstrokes, and colors more than twenty times, consulted three painters for revisions, and was finally very satisfied.

    I hung "Standing with the People" in my home and office, as if seeing my work, seeing the path of my life, always remembering that the pen is life, the pen is melody.

    Starting from reality and breaking free from formalism is the general requirement for transforming the work of government offices. At this time, I began to shift from "writing large characters" to "writing small characters" in my writing work. Every day I faced textbooks and students' homework. Later, during vocational training, I had to write tens of thousands of words of lecture notes each week, and give presentations in workshops, supermarkets, and other places. Lying in bed at night, images would always float before my eyes. Painting and writing became one.

    This bond has accompanied me throughout my life; words are the charm of life.

    Word by word, piece by piece, builds a grand edifice, a garden of a hundred flowers, blending vibrant colors to fill society with joy and harmony.

    Paintings, lines of words, and hundreds of sentences are shared with others, seen by many, containing heart and sweat, shining with confidence and extraordinary talent.

    Writing is not boring; painting is fulfilling.

    It was with this belief and interest that I made progress through the trials of time.

    Years have passed, and I've gone from an ordinary teacher to a leadership position at the grassroots level, but drawing and writing remain my cherished professions.

    After retiring, I wrote two books of poetry and prose, "My Past" and "I Walk My Path," and participated in social welfare activities and writing. In 2008, seeing the devastating earthquake in Yushu County, Sichuan Province, on television, I was heartbroken and wept. The disaster claimed countless lives, and a feeling stronger than that of family resonated within me. I used a month's salary to buy twenty quilts and thirty cotton-padded coats for the people in the disaster area, and together with more than ten other kind-hearted individuals, donated one hundred self-compiled picture books to primary schools in the disaster area, sending a token of love and receiving praise from the Red Cross.

    Thinking about drawing, I always reminisce about past experiences—so arduous, yet so fortunate. I always feel I'm not old yet; the pen in my hand still holds so much passion and power, and my heart is filled with endless stories to write and songs to sing…