Growth
The 3D modeling software's cursor moves across the screen, outlining clean lines. No longer a casual, feel-based stroke, every angle and curve undergoes preliminary mechanical analysis and visual considerations. Wang Rui's materials science perspective is like adding precise guides to a chisel once honed solely by feel.
The prototype of a new structure gradually emerged in the virtual space—a complex form formed by the nesting and rotation of multiple irregular polyhedrons, possessing both the rigorous beauty of mathematics and a sense of dynamic instability. I repeatedly adjusted the parameters, attempting to retain sufficient "unexpected" possibilities within a rational framework, leaving it to the actual materials to play with.
The process is slow and mind-numbing, yet addictive. Often, when I look up, it's already dark outside. The only sounds in the studio are the hum of the computer fan and the scratching of the pen across the tablet.
During this time, Assistant Lin delivered a contract. It was from the alternative space I'd previously collaborated with, and they had offered to host a small, phased exhibition of my new work. It wasn't a formal solo exhibition, but more like an open studio visit, inviting a small number of industry insiders and collectors to discuss the topic.
"They saw the report in Art Frontier and are very interested in your new direction," Assistant Lin explained.
I looked over the contract terms and they seemed reasonable, without too many commercial constraints. After some thought, I agreed. This might be a good opportunity to test new ideas and get real feedback.
On the day of the exhibition, I didn't move any large works, but instead used the studio itself as the exhibition space. The aluminum sheet samples I was experimenting with, the material samples Wang Rui had brought, the structural models on my computer screen, even the pile of failed pieces in the corner, all became part of the display. I chose the theme for this open house as "Process: Slices of a Material Dialogue."
A dozen guests attended the open house, and the atmosphere was much more relaxed than at a formal exhibition. Everyone was casually dressed, holding glasses of wine, and wandered around my studio, asking direct questions. Some were intrigued by the thermal deformation marks on the aluminum sheeting, demanding technical details; others pondered over computer models, discussing their structural implications; and one even gazed at the pile of failed products for a long time, saying they saw in them the "aesthetics of struggle."
Wang Rui also arrived, still carrying his backpack, standing quietly in a corner, listening to the discussions and occasionally exchanging a few whispered comments with me on a technical point. His presence was like a stabilizing force, giving me a sense of "factual confidence" amidst the various interpretations.
An elderly collector with graying hair and a calm demeanor stopped in front of me, pointed at the sculpture Chen Hui had sent me and the model of my new work, and asked, "Is there a kind of dialogue between the two? A kind of... a dialogue between warmth beneath rationality and the search for rationality within warmth?"
My heart stirred slightly, and I nodded. "That's right. They represent two directions I'm exploring, or two sides of the same coin."
The old collector seemed to be thinking about something, and without asking any more questions, he just left his business card.
The open house ended, the guests dispersed, and the studio returned to silence, yet it felt infused with a new energy. The gazes from outsiders, whether curious, questioning, or sympathetic, were like countless mirrors, allowing me to see my work reflected from different angles.
When cleaning up the mess, Wang Rui helped me organize the experimental equipment.
"That old collector has a very sharp eye," he said suddenly.
"Um?"
"He immediately saw the inherent connection between you and... that Swiss artist's work." Wang Rui pushed up his glasses. "This kind of spiritual resonance across regions and fields is rare even in the scientific community."
I smiled but said nothing. But deep down I knew that this "resonance" was due to Chen Hui's roar during his illness and the sculpture that spanned the ocean.
After Wang Rui left, I received an email from Assistant Lin. The old collector expressed his intention to collect one of my new works through the gallery, and hoped to wait until the work was finally completed.
This is a positive sign, but I'm not overly excited. The focus of my creation has long since shifted from "completing a piece of work" to "exploring the process itself."
Attached to the email was a report on the latest developments at Li Wei's company. Her company had taken on a small-scale art project for a real estate chamber of commerce, but the partner was well-connected.
"The project content has no direct relevance to you, but it is recommended that you keep an eye on its subsequent developments." Assistant Lin was as cautious as ever.
I glanced at it and filed it away. Li Wei was like an asteroid in a distant orbit; as long as she didn't collide with me, I didn't need to pay too much attention to her.
The focus of my life is clearly anchored in this small space of the studio.
As I progressed through the modeling process, I began to develop more specific ideas about the materials I would choose for my new work. I was no longer content to simply use readily available standard parts or scrap materials. I wanted to try to "synthesize" a material myself.
The idea struck me as a bit crazy. But Wang Rui, far from finding it absurd, was incredibly supportive. He used his lab resources and spare time to help me experiment with different metal powder ratios and sintering processes, trying to create a new material that possessed both specific structural strength and a unique texture and color.
Our collaboration entered a more substantial phase. Email exchanges turned into frequent lab meetings. I watched him, in his white coat, bustling among various instruments, recording data and adjusting parameters. His pure devotion to a seemingly unrealistic goal deeply moved me.
Art and science, two seemingly distinct worlds, are wonderfully integrated in this laboratory filled with instruments and dreams.
This process took much longer than I had imagined. I failed again and again. But each failure eliminated a wrong option and brought me one step closer to my goal.
Meanwhile, the girl who used the materials from the old house completed her installation and successfully exhibited it at an institution focused on local culture. In the photo, she stands in front of her work, smiling shyly yet confidently. In her thank-you email, she again mentioned the concept of "fragmentation and wholeness."
I forwarded the email to Assistant Lin with only one sentence attached:
"This is the reason for the Foundation's existence."
As deep winter arrived, Beijing was hit by a heavy snowfall.
The studio, however, was warm. On the computer screen, the structural model of the new work had been perfected. Back in the lab, a breakthrough had been made in the formulation of the new material, and samples were undergoing final performance testing.
I stood by the window, looking at the world outside, which was covered in snow. Everything seemed to be muted, pure and peaceful.
The phone rang. It was Chen Hui. This time it was a voice call.
"I've sent the material data report to your email." She got straight to the point, her tone familiar and calm. "The fatigue strength exceeded expectations, and the corrosion resistance meets the standards. It can be used."
I was stunned for a moment before realizing she was referring to the new material Wang Rui's lab was working on. She'd been quietly monitoring the progress? She'd even used her resources to conduct professional testing?
"Why are you..." I didn't know what to say for a moment.
"It's convenient." She interrupted me, paused, and her tone seemed to soften a tiny bit. "It seems like you've found a good... collaborator."
"Yeah." I responded, and a warm feeling surged in my heart.
The call ended briefly.
I opened my email and downloaded the inspection report. It was professional, detailed, and impeccable.
I looked at the report and then looked at the snow outside the window.
Suddenly I feel that this winter,
It's not cold. On the contrary, a power is quietly gestating beneath the ice, waiting to break through the ground. And I know that when spring arrives, it will grow wildly with the sharp edge of reason and the warmth of the earth.
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