broad
Under the studio light, the perfectly straight line, the chaotic crisscrossing traces beside it, and the giant question mark in the middle stand out. It's less like a sketch and more like a manifesto, a coordinate that's waiting to be explored.
Wang Rui's presence was like an anchor in the clamor of the world. A few days after the gathering, he indeed sent an email. It wasn't just a small talk, but rather an email with abstracts of several papers on new composite materials, along with his own speculations about how the materials change shape under different stresses. The email was meticulously written, like an abridged research report.
"I wonder if this will inspire your own creations. Just for reference."
I carefully read the abstracts, filled with formulas and diagrams. The descriptions of material memory effects and phase transitions reminded me of the dynamic relationship between the inherent "history" of the materials themselves and the artificially imposed "order" in the creative process. This interdisciplinary perspective, like a ray of light, illuminated a dark area that I had previously explored only intuitively.
I replied to the email without any politeness and directly proposed several artistic ideas based on the concepts he provided, such as whether it is possible to use the memory effect of materials to allow a forcibly distorted object to partially restore its original shape under certain conditions, thereby forming a spatiotemporal dialogue about "trauma and repair."
Wang Rui responded quickly, showing great interest in my idea. He analyzed the technical feasibility from the perspective of materials science, pointed out several difficulties that needed to be overcome, and even recommended several potentially suitable laboratory-grade materials.
This kind of exchange, based purely on intellectual exchange, was both efficient and stimulating. It wasn't about social conventions or market value; it was simply about a shared curiosity about unknown possibilities. We agreed to meet and discuss this in detail once he finished a key experiment.
This refreshing breath of fresh air from the scientific field has given me new aspirations for my creative endeavors. But life always seems to favor a certain balance. Assistant Lin brought news: Li Wei, previously so low-key, seems to be making new moves.
"She registered a small cultural consulting company." Assistant Lin placed a simple business registration form in front of me. "The main business seems to be diverse, including art investment consulting, artist brokerage, exhibition planning, etc. The registered capital is not high, and the scale seems to be small at the moment."
I looked at the piece of paper. Li Wei's name was written in cold, printed letters. After Chen Hui's "truth revelation" and her confirmed absence from the class reunion, the name no longer stirred much emotion in me. It became more of a known risk factor that required vigilance.
"Is she... changing her track, or is it just the same old thing in a new bottle?" I asked indifferently.
"Currently, the information is limited, making it difficult to judge." Assistant Lin pushed up his glasses. "But judging by the scope of her chosen business, it seems to overlap with yours. Should we keep an eye on her?"
"Don't take any active interest." I shook my head. "But if there's any sign that she's trying to get close to the Foundation, my mother, or any organization or individual I've worked with, tell me immediately."
"I understand." Assistant Lin put away the materials. "Also, the artist you supported previously, who used materials from the old house, ran into some trouble with her project. The local construction team didn't understand her creative intent and used rough methods when handling the old bricks and tiles, damaging some key materials. She's having a bit of a breakdown."
My heart tightened. This kind of setback from the practical implementation is often more devastating than conceptual doubt. "Can we afford to support her in collecting materials again?"
"Money is not the main issue. It's time and emotion. Those old materials are unique, and it's difficult to find identical replacements if they're damaged. And the construction schedule may be delayed."
I paused for a moment. Artistic creation, especially one so tightly bound to a specific place and materials, is inherently fragile. "Give her my contact information. I'll talk to her."
That evening, I received a tearful call from the girl. She rambled on about the clumsy construction team, the loss of materials, her family's lack of understanding... I listened quietly, not rushing to offer comfort or solutions. Once she calmed down a bit, I spoke. My story wasn't about moralizing, but about my own experiences in the German workshop, my repeated failures and struggles with unwieldy materials, including the painting nearly destroyed by the chain.
"Look," I said, "accidents always happen. Sometimes, they destroy everything. But sometimes, they force you out of your comfort zone and into new possibilities. Perhaps those broken bricks and tiles can become elements of another kind of collage? Or, isn't this 'imperfection' and 'breakage' itself part of the 'lost memory' you're trying to express?"
There was a long silence on the other end of the line. Then, I heard her take a deep breath and say, "...Teacher Zhang, thank you. I...I'll think about it."
A few days later, she sent me a new sketch. She decided to incorporate the damaged materials into her work, using the concept of Kintsugi (a technique of repairing ceramics with gold powder) and modern metal materials to "repair" the broken tiles, creating a more tense dialogue about time, memory, and restoration.
The new plan is more profound and moving than the original.
I forwarded the sketch to Assistant Lin with a note: "I fully support the follow-up funding. Tell her this is a great idea."
After finishing these tasks, I returned to my workbench, looking at the straight line, the chaos, and the question mark on the paper. Wang Rui's material theory, the concept of "repair" in the Girl Project, the rationality and warmth in Chen Hui's sculptures... all these fragments collided and fermented in my mind.
I picked up a smooth, cold, standard aluminum plate that I usually practice with.
He picked up another heavy hammer.
But it didn't fall.
I found a small, precisely controlled heat gun.
Then, based on the phase transition temperature range of an alloy mentioned in Wang Rui's email, I began to heat the aluminum plate locally precisely and slowly.
Aluminum sheets deform slightly and change color under high temperatures.
I observed and recorded.
This isn't catharsis, it's experimentation.
It is an attempt to use rational knowledge to guide and trigger a certain "inner character" of the material.
The process is slow and requires great patience, but each small, controlled change brings a great intellectual pleasure.
I know that it may take a long time and many failures before the next mature work is born.
But this time,
What I hold in my hands,
Not just hammers and welding guns,
And the scientific compass,
And faint but real echoes from different corners.
The city outside the window is still bustling.
But my world,
It's becoming increasingly quiet.
It is also becoming more and more extensive.
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