“You have to feel the winter to paint the winter.” –
Yugo, December 2016
This American Life is a quite interesting podcast, bringing an unexpected American story every week. There is one that I found particularly remarkable:
A Chinese man moved to America when he was young, worked in a Chinese restaurant and knew nothing about English. The busy days prevented him from learning English. Later on his son was born in America. His son did not manage to learn Chinese well. As time went by, it turned out the father and the son couldn’t communicate at all, and the mother was the only communication bridge they had if they needed one. This father and son pair barely knew each other 阿at all.
The son, now an adult, eagerly wanted to learn more about his father, the stranger; but his father had already moved back to China. This American Life interviewed the son and helped bring his translated letter to his father’s hands. The father could now finally read the words from his son, with tears and regret, wishing for forgiveness.
My American life is now two years old. My good friend Hiroka has graduated and returned to Japan. Saying goodbye is always hard, however, I’m getting used to the fact that New York has always been a place where people come and go.
2017 turns out to be my third year as an art student, and also my last year. As a graduating student, I now have my six square foot studio space in school. There are not many lecturing hours. Every week I will meet my two mentors individually for 15 minutes each, to talk about the progress of my work. There are another two 3-hour art history lectures. Reading is essential and visiting the Metropolitan Museum, MoMA, Guggenheim, Chelsea and Lower East Side galleries is another inevitable activity of an art student.
Last semester was a fruitful one. I got very good reviews and critiques from my teachers. After-all, what other people say does matter. Especially from teachers that I appreciate.
My teacher, Matvey Levenstein, was born in 1960 in Russia. With an engineer father, a musician mother and his Jewish background, his family was a target of the government back then. All his family members were arrested except for his mother and one of his grandmothers.
At the age of 20, he found out one of his friends was an informant and the KGB was following him. That’s when his family decided to move to America. He first received his art training in Russia, and after he moved to America, he continued his graduate studies at Yale.
He knows a lot about art. His paintings are like a still misty moment. They move so slowly as if frozen; and contain a mood of worry and reluctance to let go.
Artists, in most cases, reflect their inner selves within their paintings. However, spectators always project their personal experiences on to the paintings to match their own tastes. As Roland Barthes said, it’s the relationship between the author, the image and the viewer.
The emotions I feel from other people’s painting are actually the emotions that are inside me. As I look to the past, “…a misty still moment…moves so slowly as if it’s frozen… and contains a mood of worry and reluctance to let go.”
I refer to my own paintings and realize that I, as the author, will no longer have the authority to determine what the impact of my works is for the viewers.
On a cold wind-whipped winter afternoon, with the sun setting, I saw a painter setting up her easel and oil painting tools on the street. My boyfriend and I were surprised at how she dared to paint outdoors on such a cold day. It was so cold that we wouldn’t want to stay on the street for too long. My boyfriend nephew incidentally said to us, “you have to feel the winter to paint the winter.”
