distance

The residency program acceptance notice was like a bright light, suddenly illuminating the path ahead and clearly outlining the contours of my current life—a life about to undergo a drastic shift. Excitement and trepidation mingled, but the backbone deep within me, established since the beginning of "Structure No. 1," steadily supported this turbulence.

I didn't immediately start frantically packing my bags or learning German. Instead, I focused even more intently on the nearly finished work before me. It needed an ending, one worthy of all the struggle, reflection, and reconstruction of these past few months.

My brushstrokes became more concentrated and assertive. I stopped adding new elements and focused instead on adjusting the relationships between existing blocks of color and lines, strengthening that inherent tension and balance. In the final days, I barely used a brush anymore. Instead, I used my fingers, a scraper, and even a rag to rub, knead, and soften certain edges, making the entire painting feel more seamless, as if it had been eroded and polished by natural wind and rain rather than by human hands.

When I felt I could no longer add or subtract a single stroke, I laid down all my tools.

Structure No. 2 is completed.

It stands quietly on the easel, larger, more complex, and more silent than No. 1. It resembles no known landscape or object; it is simply a pure, highly condensed visual representation of an inner state. Cold and warmth, hardness and softness, brokenness and wholeness—all these contradictory elements are forcibly compressed and fused within a single frame, forming a precarious yet remarkably stable balance. It is not "beautiful," but it is imbued with a genuine power that cannot be ignored.

I looked at it for a long time, then let out a soft breath. A huge sense of completion washed over me, followed by an empty feeling of exhaustion, but an emptiness that was cleansed and full of potential.

Next came the practical preparation phase: applying for a visa, booking air tickets, and negotiating details with the research project team. Assistant Lin handled most of the tedious paperwork for me, his efficiency as always. He only took a little extra time to confirm the terms of my international insurance.

"It's very cold there in the winter, so keep warm." He added dryly as he handed me the thick briefcase.

"Thank you." I took the documents. "I'll trouble you with the Foundation."

"It's my job." He nodded, paused, and then said, "Keep in touch."

Cleaning the studio was a massive undertaking. I bought tons of bubble wrap, cardboard, and tape. Ultimately, I didn't cover or damage that black wall. It's part of my history, so I'll just leave it there, awaiting my return, or perhaps the next tenant's surprise. I carefully packed the two paintings from the "Structures" series for shipping. I selected a small selection of those memory fragments and placed them in a folder in my carry-on luggage.

On the workbench, the pot of green radish I'd bought based on Zhou Yu's watercolor painting and had been tending to was growing lushly. I hesitated for a long time before finally deciding to give it to the ever-smiling owner of the convenience store downstairs.

"Oh, such a beautiful green ivy! Give it to me?" the shopkeeper said, delighted. "Well, I'm going on a long trip, so please take care of it," I said. "Don't worry! I promise to keep it plump!" She promised, carefully placing it next to the cashier.

After getting rid of the no longer needed painting materials and sundries, the studio gradually became empty and returned to its original appearance when it was first rented. Only the traces on the walls that could not be taken away silently told the stories that happened here.

The night before my departure, I slept on the studio floor for the last time. Moonlight streamed through the uncurtained window, casting a cold, piercing light onto the floor. I lay awake, unable to sleep. Anticipation, reluctance, fear, curiosity... all these emotions washed over me like a tide.

I pulled out my phone and clicked on the chat box. The latest message was a photo I'd taken of the packed paintings and suitcase.

I typed: "Leaving tomorrow." "A little scared." "But more importantly, I want to know what I can draw there." "What would you say? Probably another ROI analysis." "...I'll be fine."

Tap Send. The gray checkmark will light up.

Then, I flipped to the top of the address book and dialed Chen Hui's number. It rang for a long time, and just when I thought no one was answering, the phone was picked up, and the background sound was very quiet.

"Are you leaving?" She spoke first, her voice a little sleepy but very awake.

"Yeah, the flight is tomorrow morning."

"We've already contacted the studio and materials there. I've sent the address and contact person to your email."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome. The project itself is good and worth going," she said businesslike, then paused. "Be safe."

"good."

A brief silence.

"Hang up," she said.

"Um."

The call ended. It was crisp and clear, just like her. But I knew it was the best she could do to show her concern.

I put down my phone and closed my eyes in the moonlight.

The next day, as the taxi took me to the airport, I watched the familiar street scenes fly by outside the window, feeling unusually calm.

Checking in, checking in my paintings and luggage, going through security... the whole process went smoothly. Sitting in front of the huge glass windows in the terminal hall, watching the massive planes taxiing, taking off and landing on the runway, a sense of unreality washed over me.

I really have to leave. Leaving this land soaked in memories.

The boarding announcement sounded. I stood up, pulled the handle of my carry-on suitcase, and took a last look back at the city sky.

Then, turn around and join the flow of people boarding the plane.

Walk through the jet bridge and into the aircraft cabin. Find your seat, stow your luggage, and sit down.

Fasten your seat belt.

The plane began to glide slowly, speeding up, and finally it suddenly looked up, broke free from gravity, and rushed into the clouds.

A feeling of weightlessness came over me.

I looked out the window and saw the land shrinking, the rivers becoming thin lines, and the cities becoming building blocks.

An indescribable emotion swelled in my chest, not sadness, not joy, but a sense of...openness.

Like the painting "Structure No. 2", it was finally given the sky as the background.

I know that the land beneath my feet will change, the language around me will change, and the context of my creation will change.

But some things don't change.

That inner backbone. That warm yellow light. And the feeling of holding the paintbrush.

The plane flew smoothly through the sea of ​​clouds towards the unfamiliar horizon.

A new canvas has been unfolded.