Chapter 42
The "altar" on my workbench remained for a long time. The cold glow of the DNA brooch, the fleeting quality of the bubble photograph, and the complex molecular structure diagrams in the textbook formed a continuous low-frequency resonance, constantly stimulating my thinking. I no longer rushed to produce a specific work, but instead immersed myself in this cross-disciplinary, almost mystical state of contemplation.
This introspection isn't stagnant. Rather, it's like a silent, expanding root system deep underground. I continued reading, discussing with Wang Rui the metaphorical relationship between the permeability of cell membranes and the concept of "boundary" in art, and even experimented with simple programming to simulate the self-organizing behavior of particles under specific rules, observing how order emerges from disorder.
The process is slow, often punctuated by frustration and intellectual dizziness. But occasional flashes of insight, such as comparing the concept of a gene transcription promoter to the "trigger point" of inspiration in artistic creation, can bring a sudden sense of enlightenment. This joy, unburdened by external validation, stems purely from the reward of the intellectual collision itself.
The noises of the outside world gradually faded. The excitement of "Stardust Landing" was replaced by new art events, and Assistant Lin's reports returned to their usual rhythm, focusing more on the foundation's daily operations and the steady progress of several long-term supported projects. Li Wei's name completely disappeared from the briefings, as if she had never existed. This quietness allowed me to focus on my inner construction.
One sweltering summer night, while I was sorting through a batch of notes on "Morphogenesis," my phone buzzed with a video call request. It was Chen Hui.
I answered the call with some surprise. On the other side of the screen, the background seemed to be her laboratory, but it was clearly late, with only a single lamp on her desk. She looked thinner than before, but her eyes were still sharp, even with a kind of...excited fatigue.
"Haven't you rested yet?" I asked.
"We've just finished a data run," she said briefly, her eyes sweeping across the corner of the workbench piled high with books and papers, visible to my camera. "Any progress on your 'bubble' research?"
I was stunned for a moment before I remembered that I had sent her the high-speed photos of bubbles I had taken and some random thoughts. She actually remembered them.
"It's not progress, just some random thoughts." I smiled.
"Random thoughts are a necessary upfront investment." Her tone was calm, yet with a rare certainty. "I have something that might interest you."
She adjusted the camera and pointed it at her computer screen. Instead of a complex genetic sequence or protein structure, the screen displayed a dynamic simulation interface—countless tiny, luminous particles moving, colliding, combining, and separating according to certain rules, forming a variety of fleeting yet complex dynamic patterns, like a microscopic galaxy or an abstract version of cellular activity.
"What is this?" I was attracted by the changing scene.
"It's a simplified model. It simulates the early stages of stem cell differentiation in a specific direction under a specific pheromone gradient." Chen Hui's voice carried the calm restraint of a scientist displaying his triumphant achievements. "Look at these localized patterns of aggregation and dissipation... Do they resemble the interference fringes on the bubble surface in your photo?"
My heart skipped a beat. It was similar! So similar! That dynamic beauty, derived from simple rules, filled with uncertainty yet hinting at a future, bore a striking resemblance to the flow of light on bubble wrap and the very beginnings of life.
"You mean... the underlying logic of life, and these physical phenomena..." I tried to organize my words.
"There's a certain kind of common 'grammar,'" Chen Hui continued, his tone affirming. "The difference lies in the complexity and the 'hardware' carrier. Perhaps what art needs to do is to capture and present the visual essence of this 'grammar.'"
Her words were like a bolt of lightning, splitting the fog that had lingered in my mind for so long! I had been trying to establish a connection between biological concepts and art forms, but I always felt there was a layer of separation. The "grammatical" perspective provided by Chen Hui immediately elevated the issue to a more fundamental level!
"This model...can I use it?" I asked anxiously.
"The data and analysis methods are there for you. The model itself is highly simplified, so don't expect it to predict anything," Chen Hui said, pragmatic as always. "But as a source of inspiration and visual reference, it's enough."
Not long after the call, I received a huge compressed file in my mailbox, which contained detailed data, code comments, and several related preprint papers.
I read eagerly. Although most of the mathematical derivations were still incomprehensible, the core idea - "dynamic grammar of morphological generation" - was deeply imprinted in my mind.
I stopped focusing solely on bubbles and DNA and began juxtaposing Chen Hui's model visualizations with microscopic images of cell division, maps of cosmic nebulae, and even dynamic simulations of urban traffic flow.
A grand, cross-scale unity slowly unfolds before our eyes.
The creative urge became strong again, but this time, the direction was extremely clear.
I don't want to make a heavy, rigid sculpture. I want to create an "experience," an immersive installation that allows people to intuitively sense this "dynamic grammar."
I started to think. Would it be projection? Lighting? Mechanical motion? Or some kind of interactive technology?
I drew countless sketches, experimenting with various possibilities, but I repeatedly rejected my proposals, finding them too figurative, too technical, or unable to convey that subtle feeling between order and chaos.
The bottleneck period came again. I paced around the studio anxiously, my eyes scanning the workbench and landing on the DNA brooch.
Its form is solidified, but its meaning is about flowing information and dynamic generation.
I picked up the brooch and twirled it between my fingers.
Then I walked to the window. There were no stars in the night sky, only the dark red canopy caused by the city's light pollution.
But I know that on a certain scale, countless "grammars" are running silently, weaving the universe, life, and our thoughts at this moment.
A kind of enlightenment gradually became clear.
Maybe, I don’t need to “create” that dynamic.
I just need to "set" a condition, a field,
Then, let the "grammar" reveal itself.
Like blowing a bubble,
Then, watch the light flow naturally across its surface.
Just like Chen Hui set the parameters of the model,
Then, observe how the particles self-organize.
Over the next few days, I immersed myself in this new concept. I contacted programmers and engineers I'd worked with before to discuss technical feasibility. I didn't need complex interactions, but rather a minimalist feedback system that could precisely control light, movement, or sound, creating an environment where "dynamic grammar" could be perceived.
The studio has once again become a makeshift laboratory and workshop, with wires, sensors, and computer screens replacing easels and buckets of paint.
When Assistant Lin arrived to deliver the documents, he looked at the equipment scattered across the floor and the code scrolling across the screen, and revealed a rare look of confusion: "Mr. Zhang, are you...going to switch careers and become an engineer?"
I smiled and said without further explanation: "Let's try something new."
He nodded, didn't ask any more questions, but carefully walked around the equipment on the ground, put down the documents and left.
I know that this new direction may be more difficult for the conventional art market to understand than "Stardust Landing".
But I don't care.
I am standing at a brand new starting point, trying to use art to touch the invisible yet omnipresent grammar that supports the stars, life and consciousness.
And it all started with a mysterious brooch, a late-night video call, and countless days and nights of conversations with the unknown in silence.
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