Creator’s other half

  Editors are looming in the copyright page, but the people around the creators don’t have a page number exclusively for them.
  Hall 12, 5th Floor, MOMA Art Museum, New York, USA. 28 years old. This was the key word for my first meeting with the Mexican painter Frida Kahlo. She is one of my favorite painters.
  In my high school, the principal attaches great importance to academic performance. In this atmosphere of higher education, art teachers are quite stubborn, not only strictly refusing to lend their courses to other teachers for exams, but also doing the opposite, demanding We’re taking art classes seriously.
  From prehistoric murals all the way to postmodern art, I got to know Frida Kahlo. This woman with thick eyebrows, face contours and facial features is determined to marry Diego Rivera, a Mexican mural art giant 20 years her senior. At first, people remembered Carlo by the name of Rivera. Today, most people know Rivera from Carlo’s paintings.
  It’s hard for the creator’s other half to shine, and it’s hard not to be drawn into the shadows by living with people who are devoted to art. If the other half is a woman, the story is usually more tragic, your idea will be taken and put on your husband’s name; or you will just serve him.
  I have imagined more than once, if there is someone, it may be the creator’s family, friends, lover, or even an editor, mustering up the courage to jump from behind the scenes to the front of the screen, the side of the creator’s private life, to engage in Not as good as my own work. Let me guess, at the end of this kind of activity, there should be an appeal to “don’t be with the creator”.
  Many creators have discussed an issue. The process of creation seems static, but it is actually very “physical”. You can feel the body being severely worn out, the hair is falling out, and the body is changing dramatically. As Taiwan novelist and art critic Li Weijing put forward in his personal interview, “This is Faust’s contract, to give up all of your body, mind and life experience, not just your brain, not just any organs, you must go all out.” Yes, the creator is gone. As the creator’s family, friends, and lovers, he can only watch helplessly. He signed Faust’s contract like this, and he gave up all of them.
  how about you? what would you do? Is there a briefing session for the family members of the exclusive creators, at least so that everyone can get to know each other and organize a mutual aid group?
  This article is my confession to those around me.
  In order to write, I am often semi-automatically and semi-forced into a state of silence and no sense of time. In addition to this, the whole body becomes quite functionally oriented, the tongue and teeth lose their appreciation for good food, and are merely tools for crushing food, ensuring that it slides through the stomach wall quickly and without injury. Even if I was brought in front of the scenery, I just felt dully that I couldn’t talk to such a picture for the time being. Birds sing, grass stalks grow, ears can’t make a sound, but eyes can’t make a sound. Images that have nothing to do with creation, the path to the brain is rough and blunt.
  I have heard many creators admit that they are “dead” when they enter the state, the whole person is numb, except that a certain category of creation in their minds is spinning at a high speed. Some people take it a step further, saying that they occasionally feel guilty about the person who is by their side. This pair of virtues, a careless abuse of their support for you.
  My most out-of-control moment is when the words are lined up and slid on the production line. As long as my fingertips lightly peck on the keyboard, they can fall on the screen, from virtual to real, from promise to practice, from Inspiration is born into a bridge. At this point, suddenly I need something, maybe water, or food, or someone to cover my windows, because the sun’s movement makes the screen’s reflections dazzling. I have to speak out, but if I speak, it is likely to startle the muse who is overseeing the overseer beside me, and her blessing may no longer pity me.
  I had to stretch out my hand, like a toddler, to point at what I needed, and babble (gosh, just imagining that makes me want to beat myself up and pretend to be a giant baby). My family, my lover, seldom complained, just half-frowned and obeyed orders.
  I guess they all want to get angry, but they can bear it. Maybe they don’t know what they are enduring. Maybe they can figure it out in their hearts, well, let’s see what you can do.
  Once, at 10 in the morning, I promised my mother that I would have lunch with her at 1 in the afternoon. I didn’t know that the day was so good and the rhythm was steady. When my mother knocked on my door, the thought that struck my mind was: I didn’t just sit there. Wasn’t it long before computers? Looking at the clock on the wall, it was half past two. My mother said that she was really hungry, and even though she knew I would not like it, she still had to reach out and touch my membrane.
  Yes, membrane. She says I seem to be on my own when I write. The membrane isolates the external scene and time. She had to startle me without bursting the membrane. I have to be reminded to maintain the minimum tacit understanding of being a human being, but it will not cause the dust to go through the heart and mess up Wenxing. Later, whenever the writing line reached a bottleneck, I would recall the starving face of my mother who dared not speak directly. I can’t help thinking that I owe her a lot.
  In order to maintain the absoluteness of spiritual life, many creators can only be relative to material life. More than once, I have seen the creator admit that he is incompetent in chai, rice, oil, salt, sauce, vinegar and tea. Gluttony has it. Alcoholics have it. Crazy people have it. Drug addicts have it. There are not a few people who will sit alone on the sofa in the middle of the night with self-doubt (the more I write, the more I feel that I am in the same room with some creators, maybe I kicked over his urn in a previous life).
  Even if the creator seems to be “not performing a creative action”, it does not mean that he is amiable at the moment, and it is very likely that a quiet storm is playing out in his heart. There is a lack of a clear separation between the work and the real life, and sometimes the drama goes beyond the work and infiltrates the creator’s real life. Thinking of the above, I can’t help but sweat coldly and accompany the creator. Isn’t it a kind of asceticism? And the fruit of asceticism often does not end up in oneself, but in the neighbors, perfecting the beauty of others. The creator is doing merit, and the people around are doing merit.
  Even if I write more and more, I occasionally have to leave the film and go out for interviews or give speeches in other counties and cities. It seems that there is light, not only the lighting favors me on the podium, but also the eyes of others falling on him, or the reporters sitting across from them diligently writing and writing, or sometimes holding a book under the stage and smiling at you readers.
  Occasionally I have the urge to confess to the people in the audience. You know how pale and uneasy my life is every day, I am afraid that I will not be able to write it. But it was written like a college entrance examination composition. If it wasn’t for someone leaning on me and reaching out to support me, I would probably have escaped in, but couldn’t come back. The premise of the existence of a story is that the person telling the story is still alive and intact.
  Just like the labyrinth in Crete, there was a hero who defeated the Minotaur, but if there is no yarn ball that gives the protagonist a chance of life, the myth will only die prematurely. How many creators did not bring back the story in the end, but instead became a legend themselves?
  Many predecessors have said that the creators have eaten the wind to some extent, otherwise everyone is experiencing life and everyone can write, why only some people can write? However, if no one is on the ground holding the reins for us, and when we need to turn back, they will pull us back one by one, and the creator is likely to be stuck at a high place like a kite with a broken string. Between the lows, it is impossible to touch the beauty of art, and it is impossible to regain the language of life.
  Editors are looming in the copyright page, but the people around the creators don’t have a page number exclusively for them.
  I’ve come to understand why so many creators put their names on the title page or at the end of the book, dedicating this to their dear parents, partners, and children. In the past, I saw some creators even say, “Without your support, this work would not have been completed.” I once thought it was a sentimental statement, but after I knew the matter, I deeply felt that it was not without skill and cheapness. Also sells good ingredients. Just imagine, whether such a slight and prudent fortification can repay those kind-hearted people who recognized us long before their talents existed; before the creation was completed, we invested in our adventures with all kinds of invisible or visible capital. Family.
  We are just leaning to the side and giving them the favor of the light we have received. How can this match their nameless efforts?
  Yes. Only by labeling the things we have accomplished with their names can we forcefully say that we are done.

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