Appreciation of Mei Fang's Memories of Mongolian Fontaine

After reading the Scenery of the Western Regions translated by Zong Baihua, I learned a lot about the works of masters, including a marble sculpture as white as jade, Dana Ai, and a bronze sculpture full of tension, Citizen of Calais. The plastic arts perfectly presented by Rodin, the master, conquered us not only by vision, but also by infinite reverence and imagination for the beauty of ancient Greek art. At the same time, I also like Picasso's The Girl with the Mandolin and The Woman in the Armchair, because besides the rich shapes, there is my favorite bright yellow in the color tone of the picture. It looks like a color block that inadvertently "constructs meaning", and it is also like "Hieroglyphs with Feelings at the Tabarin Ball" by Sevellini. Bright colors, orange, dark yellow, bronze, all fast and pleasant colors make these multi-voice and multi-rhythm shapes active, and still life paintings are eager to live in sight.

Artistic enjoyment like this is endless; Appreciating it can make people think for a thousand years in one second's visual sense. Among them, what impressed me the most and aroused my infinite reverie was 1864, an oil painting by Camille Corot-the memory of Meng Fontaine.

The desert fog in the painting is gray-green-the lake is empty, the branches are dancing in the wind, the spring is unrestrained, the outing is really interesting ... all the beauty is self-evident, and I am intoxicated in this pleasant spring. Montfontein of Koro also rekindled my childhood memories.

I like painting, which originated from my childhood. At that time, we were still living in an old house, and the pictures on the walls of our house were changed every year. I have seen the heads of the top ten marshals in the founding of the People's Republic of China, and the graceful portrait of "Twelve Women in Jinling" in the Red Chamber. What I remember most is the picture of Daiyu burying flowers. Later, I read a dream of red mansions in junior high school. The characters in the book are all imagined according to the paintings on the wall.

Grandpa and dad work in the May 7th Middle School in the town. They always send New Year pictures or calendars during the Spring Festival, from traditional landscape paintings to colorful western paintings. When they take them home, they usually take them apart and stick them on the wall. One is to create a festive atmosphere for the Spring Festival. In addition, it has gradually become a lasting preference of the whole family. If the school issued landscape paintings that year, the four walls at home were all black and white landscape paintings; If it is a western painting, the family is colorful all year round. Grandpa also has a soft spot for scrapbooking. Under the transparent glass of his desk, there are not only orderly arranged photos, but also stickers cut from various magazine pictorial.

I first saw Monet and Van Gogh in western painting. Compared with Van Gogh's crooked sunflowers, I still like Monet's impression paintings, which are also like Connor's. Looking at them quietly, all the pictures are full of good memories.

In addition to the scenery seen in the painting, there are also the scenery in our life. The scenery comes from the garden of the old house, which was built when my grandfather retired from middle school.

Grandfather spent his whole life running around running schools and teaching, returning to the fields at leisure and devoting all his leisure time to flowers and plants. The garden was built on the east side of the ancestral home, surrounded by more than 30 square meters of gardens by a bamboo dam about two meters long. The height of the garden is uneven, and the altar is built on a high place. There are four seasons in the altar, roses in spring and chrysanthemums in autumn. More than 30 years later, I still remember the excitement of those bees and butterflies. Under the altar, there are ditches along the eaves. In the rainy season, the rain drops from the eaves, passing through the cracks in the stone tiles, facing the sound of dripping water, and the sound of water gurgling, all of which are pleasing to the ear.

The most beautiful gardens are in spring and March. The walls of the garden are covered with plum blossoms, and a warm spring is red. Yellow and white honeysuckle is covered with maple trees, and the flowers are overflowing. On a sunny day after first frost, grandma put a bamboo curtain on the fallen lotus jar in the garden to dry soy sauce, which was as delicious as an unbeaten rose in the pool. Autumn and winter are not lonely. My grandfather planted a big hibiscus in front of the old house. When the autumn is crisp, the pink hibiscus blooms.

These flowers are bright and fragrant not only in the garden, but also in the tables and cabinets at home. Grandfather had nothing to do, so he cut some flowers and put them in a beautiful vase. There is no need to buy vases at home. There is a separate wine cabin behind the hall. Send wine to the younger generation on holidays, and leave beautiful wine bottles after drinking. White honeysuckle * * * is packed in a small blue bottle, or red cuckoo is packed in an antique porcelain bottle ... Every flower in the bottle brings out the best in each other. At that time, the art of flower arrangement was not popular, but under the influence of grandpa, we gradually formed a unique life art of Liu, and what we saw in our childhood was quietly left in our memory.

Now that there are no flowers at home, I will still go to the flower shop to buy them and habitually put them in the living room and bedroom. Time flies, things change, tangible existence, intangible impression, quietly with us in the old days.

I go home for a short stay every summer vacation. At dusk and sunset, I like to sit quietly in the yard and watch My Flowers. That is a crape myrtle. At first glance, it danced on the ridge, mixed with weeds, and looked like a fiery red cloud from a distance. Very beautiful. In this way, I silently remembered it in my heart. After the Spring Festival in 2004, the frozen soil melted for the first time. After waiting for a whole autumn and winter, I couldn't wait to dig it out of the ground and take it home. Now more than ten years have passed, facing the courtyard door, Wei Zi has been fragrant from June to July until the cold dew comes. At that time, I couldn't name it, so I said "my flower". Later, I went out to study and work. Every flower season, my father called and said happily, "Your flowers are blooming", so our phone call began with joy and ended with joy. It was not until the streets of Hefei began to introduce crape myrtle as a street tree that "My Flower" was renamed.

"My Flower" stands right in front of the ancestral home. Although the ancestral home no longer exists, it is gratifying to think of the scene of the garden in those days, because introducing the beautiful crape myrtle into the yard at home seems to be the life continuation of grandpa's garden beyond time and space. Grandfather has four sons. His uncle and brother-in-law went to study and work in other places, but his uncle and father stayed with him. His family has a big foundation and his father is small. Later, when a house was built, my father and brothers discussed it and went back to their ancestral home to build a building. Now we live in an old house. In this way, every time I go home, I quietly look at Ziwei surrounded by bees and butterflies, and my memory goes back to my childhood, and this year is no exception.

My grandfather retired early due to illness, worked in a small garden for several years and was hospitalized everywhere. When I was transferred from the county to the town for hospitalization, my sister and I visited. When we left, grandpa bought some fruit and sent us to the corner. The emaciated appearance is still fresh in my mind. My grandfather died in the summer vacation of 1995, and I happened to be in grade one. On my way home from school, I met his old subordinate, Mr. Ding from May 7th Middle School. He told me a lot about my grandfather. He said that my grandfather was honest and enthusiastic. As a leader, he never criticized and corrected me, which is worth learning from the younger generation. After grandpa died, the original flowers and trees in the old house gradually disappeared. Grandma said it was because the garden lacked my grandfather's spirit. Now the flower beds in the garden no longer exist, only a heather tree has survived. My dad didn't cut it when he built the kitchen, saying he wanted to remember. What he is seeing now is the evergreen heather tree passing through the red asbestos tile, just like a past event standing in front of him through time and space.

Among the thoughts left by my father, there is a pair of reading glasses, which I got when I buried my grandfather. He wore it when I was old, and his eyes looked like grandpa's. Actually, my grandfather doesn't like my father. I'm afraid his father's temperament is not strong enough. Among his many sons, his father's temperament is the most obedient, and he respects grandpa's words and deeds. In addition, there are three kinds of unfilial, and the father's family is full of daughters, which may be the main reason for his unpopularity. Because of my daughter's background, I didn't feel too much grandfather's devoted love when I was a child, but his voice and appearance are very clear in my memory, which may be the wonder of life inheritance. My grandfather never imagined that this little girl, who was neglected in those days, has now inherited his mantle-being a teacher and making an apricot altar.

Sitting in the yard again, sighing that time is in a hurry and life is short, my heart is full of sighs.