As soon as the news of the ‘Qingmei Biennale,’ hosted by Tsinghua University School of Fine Arts, was released, there was an immediate response from various major institutions.
Students from the China Academy of Art, Central Academy of Fine Arts, Shandong College of Arts, and others, assembled their artworks and sent them to Beijing.
The organizers also invited several major academies and well-known domestic painters to serve as judges. During the selection process, all artworks were spread out, with the name tags attached to the backs of the paintings, ensuring that the judges did not know the origins or backgrounds of the works until the final identities of the artists were disclosed after the evaluation had concluded.
This approach ensured the fairness and impartiality of the competition.
The results of the competition would be announced before the Lunar New Year, while the exhibition itself would take place after the New Year.
Only the top ten selected would receive cash prizes and certificates of honor, with a chance of being spotted by top academies. Particularly talented students might even gain direct entry to university without needing to take the college entrance exam.
However, 30 artists would be chosen for the exhibition, and their artworks could potentially be sold. If there were multiple buyers before the end of the exhibition, the artworks would go to auction, and the highest bidder would prevail.
Ju Lei, being in Beijing, selected four of his best students to paint “The Forbidden City,” “Tiananmen,” “Chang’an Avenue,” and “Under Jingshan.”
He personally brought these four paintings to the Tsinghua University School of Fine Arts during a visit with representatives from the China Artists Association.
The vice dean of the Academy, Lei Yong, along with the head of the Chinese painting department, Wang Jian, hosted Ju Lei and the vice president of the China Artists Association, Qiu Yuan.
The four sat in the teahouse, discussing the changes in the domestic art environment over the past two years while enjoying tea.
After a while, Ju Lei steered the conversation back to the Biennale hosted by Tsinghua.
“Are the main competitors university students this time? How are the paintings you’ve received?” he asked, handing over his four paintings to Wang Jian while fishing for information.
“The students’ works are generally good, but many are rather conventional. Few show unique ideas or artistic styles. Many paintings can be identified by their teacher without asking; once you put several together and look at them, they indeed come from the same school, taught by the same teacher,” Wang Jian sighed and shook his head.
“In that case, I might choose the best one among them.
“For those whose overall abilities are similar, who express themselves and show a tendency towards developing their own artistic style, even if they are still somewhat unpolished, I am more inclined to choose the latter.”
“How about it? Are there many talented ‘latter’ ones?” Ju Lei asked.
“There are some.”
“But indeed, time is limited. Most of their time is spent refining their basics, leaving pitifully little for contemplating and developing their painting styles and expressions.”
“We’ve received quite balanced paintings so far.
“In the first round of the preliminary competition, quite a few have been filtered out. I think it’s going quite well.”
“Have all the excellent students you’ve trained participated?” Qiu Yuan, the vice president of the China Artists Association, took the paintings handed over by Ju Lei from Wang Jian and started looking at them first.
“Why doesn’t Teacher Qiu teach a few disciples himself?” Wang Jian asked.
“Good seedlings will always enter the academy, ending up in your hands. I stay at home painting, focusing on my own work, and even then, there’s never enough time,” Qiu Yuan replied while continuing:
“These four students of yours have painted quite well.”
“These four were selected from ten,” Ju Lei still felt proud of these students, “and these ten were also sifted from many who wanted to be apprenticed, so they’re definitely not bad.”
Wang Jian took a look and nodded but didn’t make any further statement.
“Have the paintings from Teacher Shen’s students arrived?” Ju Lei took the opportunity to ask.
“They’ve arrived. As soon as the packages were opened, they were mixed into the rest of the paintings. I didn’t see those specific pieces, and now they’d be impossible to find,” Wang Jian seemed to anticipate what Ju Lei would ask and blocked the question right away.
“I see,” said Ju Lei.
“I’ll also cover the name tags of these four paintings with paper and mix them into the selection with the others,” Wang Jian said with a smile as he turned the paintings over to one side, showing respect yet being deliberately impartial.
“Mm, Teacher Shen’s students are indeed some of the stronger competitors in this contest, right?” Lei Yong, the vice dean of Tsinghua Academy of Fine Arts, glanced at Ju Lei and laughed as he poured tea for everyone, then added:
“I heard about that girl from the Fang family who, before the age of 10, consecutively won championships in major art competitions in Beijing, and after starting high school, attracted the attention of many academies and went to study under Shen Jiaru in Jinsong?”
“Mm, does Dean Lei think this little girl is a strong contender for the top three?” Ju Lei asked.
“Ha,” Lei Yong put down his tea cup and covered a slight displeasure with a smile, “No matter how talented Shen Jiaru is, he’s only taught the girl for about a year, right?”
“With so many kids trained by our art academies across the country, even if they aren’t tutored one-on-one like Teacher Shen does, they wouldn’t all be outperformed by a girl still in her second year of high school.”
“Even if we rate this girl highly, she might not necessarily make it into the top three.”
“Haha,” Ju Lei couldn’t help laughing, always pleased to hear someone downplay Shen Jiaru’s abilities.
But at the same time, it felt a bit uncomfortable, considering his students were also high schoolers, just like those Shen Jiaru taught.
“Remember Boss Qian’s genius son, Dean Lei?” Wang Jian suddenly spoke up.
“Boss Qian?”
“Yes, the exhibition hall refurbished by the China Artists Association, Boss Qian donated over a million for it,” Wang Jian added.
“Ah, I remember now, his son’s name is Qian Chong, I remarked back then that it’s a name a businessman would indeed pick,” the Vice-President of the China Artists Association, Qiu Yuan, clapped his hand.
“That kid drew a painting in fifth grade, which, thanks to Boss Qian’s donation, ended up tucked away in a corner of the exhibition hall just for fun. It was bought by someone who lives in a courtyard house by Jingshan, remember that, President Qiu?” Wang Jian laughed, recalling these anecdotes that, despite the years, were unforgettable curiosities in their circle.
“I remember, ten thousand yuan, right? It was many years ago, and back then ten thousand was worth more than it is now,” Qiu Yuan nodded.
“That kid has also been with Teacher Shen for over half a year now,” Wang Jian chuckled.
“Entered any competitions too?” Ju Lei frowned.
“Mhm.” Wang Jian looked at Ju Lei meaningfully.
Everyone in the circle knew that Ju Lei saw Shen Jiaru as a rival, always stirring up his competitive spirit whenever mentioned.
“So the paintings submitted by Shen Jiaru’s side this time should be quite competitive, just the two kids alone make me quite eager. As for the other two students in the group of four, I wonder if they’re any better or not.” Lei Yong rubbed his fingers on his teacup, fearing that the next generation might be too strong or not strong enough.
“In the field of painting, those who are like craftsmen can do well if they put in the effort, but those who truly have the talent and the spirit to become well-known masters are few and far between.”
“Teacher Shen is indeed impressive, but it’s not like he can unearth so many geniuses in pairs, as geniuses aren’t mass-produced.”
Ju Lei smiled.
The other three understood but did not join in the conversation, though they were somewhat hopeful.
They wondered whether Teacher Shen’s four students could really make a stunning debut.
And compared to Ju Lei’s four students, whose would be superior.
…
December 15th, the submission deadline for the Qingmei Biennale Competition finally arrived.
By the 16th, all the paintings were covered with paper to hide the name tags on the back, and the hundred or so selected works were spread out under the bright sunlight in a vast, empty hall.
Twelve esteemed domestic judges, invited for their distinguished reputations, arrived in Beijing a day early, some by train and some by airplane.
At 9 a.m. on the 16th, the judges, accompanied by the organizers, began selecting paintings in a spacious room.
Each judge picked 5 paintings, totaling 60 artworks to move on to the next round of selection.
The experienced judges wisely chose to wear highly elastic trousers today, knowing they would need to move freely between the artworks. Only elastic pants could allow them to move gracefully and without constraint.
One female judge, apparently participating in such an event for the first time, wore small high heels and a long tube skirt. She looked intelligent and attractive, but whenever she saw a captivating painting, her inability to move quickly allowed others to reach it first, frustrating her to the point of wringing her hands and stamping her feet.
Consequently, she ended up with very few paintings in hand, making her seem exceptionally strict.
Qiu Yuan, the Vice-President of the China Artists Association and also a judge, had been subtly prompted by Ju Lei before the event to inquire further into the selection.
Ju Lei was particularly interested in whether any of his four students had been selected and what the other exceptionally outstanding entries looked like.
Qiu Yuan was aware that Ju Lei’s four students’ works were particularly popular and specialized in a genre that was cleverly chosen for its appeal in many domestic competitions.
Regardless of the quality, the theme was certainly prominent.
Such themes make good impressions in the China Artists Association’s public press releases and reports to higher authorities.
However, deep down, Qiu Yuan somewhat disdained Ju Lei’s tactics. Artists often hold themselves to a higher standard, and even if they are not genuinely lofty, they consider themselves so.
Engaging in these petty maneuvers seemed somewhat beneath their dignity.
Thus, Qiu Yuan had indeed noticed the works of two of Ju Lei’s students but deliberately avoided them.
High school students painting landscapes or portraits might capture genuine emotion, but those born and raised in Beijing are often numb to the beauty and glory of the landmarks just outside their doors.
With the schools taking them to these sites for promotional and educational activities during festivals and holidays, these still immature and rebellious teens could develop a disregard for such subjects.
Ju Lei insisted they paint these scenes, and while their technical skill was evident, genuine emotion was lacking.
To Qiu Yuan, their works appeared stiff, vacant, and perfunctory.
Looking up, he noticed a portrait that was quite appealing from a distance, with intriguing color relationships.
He strode over in his flexible, soft trousers, facing no constraint even in larger steps.
Arriving perfectly, he bent over to pick up the portrait for a closer look, but his gaze was then caught by another painting in front of it, and he remained bent over, staring at it for a long while.
It was a gouache painting, but completely different in style from the typical academic gouache works.
Its use of color was bold, daring to use pure colors, to place dark strokes under the brightest areas, and to add warm tones to the darkest areas. Many aspects seemed jarring at first glance, creating an uncomfortable feeling.
Upon taking a second look at the painting, he immediately experienced a sensation completely different from before.
Contemporary students of gouache and oil painting often use curved strokes and long lines, but this painting consisted entirely of straight, short strokes, giving the canvas a rigid appearance that, upon closer inspection, provided a sense of neatness that was comforting both physically and mentally.
The scene depicted a chaotic bus station with the main subject positioned in the lower left, leaning against an old waiting chair, his gaze empty and directed off the page, not making eye contact with the viewer, yet still evoking an emotional connection as if there had been an interaction.
The waiting youth, from his posture and expression to the folds of his clothes and the slanted bag he carried, all conveyed a sense of weariness and confusion.
Qiu Yuan immediately speculated: This young man was not leaving home to go somewhere specific, as he seemed to have no destination in mind.
Rather, he resembled someone whose zest and expectations had been worn down by life abroad, now returning home aimlessly.
He glanced at the name written on a piece of paper in the lower right corner and thought to himself, “Of course.”
It was titled: “Youth Waiting for the Bus to Return Home.”
Standing up straight and taking a step back, he continued to examine the painting.
Behind the youth were other passengers, blurred yet whose color palette and subtle postural details evoked the same heavy feelings of ‘weariness and confusion.’
The entire painting seemed to pose questions about life: What exactly am I doing? Where am I going in the future? What is the meaning of all this?
Qiu Yuan clicked his tongue, deeply moved by the painting, which resonated with some of his own feelings and emotions, leaving him astounded.
Taking a deep breath, he leaned in closer to observe the strokes and painting technique more carefully.
There were many directional strokes in the painting, like countless tiny fish landing on the canvas, converging from the lower left and right corners towards the upper right.
These strokes not only suggested a diagonal composition pointing to the upper right but also emphasized the perspective and depth from the lower corners to the upper right.
To handle a painting where every element is finely tuned, each capable of standing out with its own statement and expression, was quite remarkable.
Qiu Yuan stroked his chin, noting a faint trace of craftsmanship in the painting, yet he couldn’t help but admit, it was impressive.
Especially standing out among a group of paintings by young artists in their teens and twenties, it was particularly prominent.
Looking at this painting, he almost forgot that he was judging a student competition, not a contest among professional societal painters.
With a slight smile, Qiu Yuan felt he had found the most satisfying painting and reached out to pick it up, but suddenly another hand stretched out diagonally and snatched it away first.
“Eh?” Qiu Yuan immediately raised his voice in protest, glaring at the person who took the painting.
In the quiet, spacious room, everyone was drawn to his voice, all straightening up to look at him.
Qiu Yuan, however, was unfazed and said to Yi Nansheng, the head of the Lu Mei Oil Painting Department who had snatched the painting he was interested in:
“Professor Yi, I had my eye on that one first.”
“What does it matter? I’ve taken it, and you can just choose another one you like. This isn’t about selecting students or buying paintings—there’s no need to argue.” Yi Nansheng laughed heartily, yet he gripped the painting tightly, his demeanor suggesting he was determined to claim it for himself today.
“It’s not—” Qiu Yuan tried to argue his point, but Yi Nansheng swiftly changed the subject:
“Hey, look at this painting. Don’t the brushstrokes and color scheme remind you of Van Gogh’s ‘A Pair of Shoes’?”
“The toil, simplicity, and poverty of the working people are vividly portrayed in the details. Looking at the most ordinary, harmonious, and commonplace objects, painting can also evoke our most intense feelings of helplessness and pain… Very good indeed.”
“And these flowing strokes pointing towards the upper right corner, don’t they remind you of Van Gogh’s ‘Starry Night’ and Munch’s ‘The Scream’? Theirs are swirling strokes, hers are straight and converging.”
“It gives me the feeling of a train or car moving towards a distant tunnel. Look, the painting is called ‘Youth Waiting for the Bus to Return Home,’ it fits perfectly.”
“Such a young age, and this artist has quite the vision.”
“And this bold use of color, tsk tsk, really impressive. I can’t find a single student among many with such a natural sense for color. With a little guidance, the future is limitless.”
After finishing his talk with Qiu Yuan, Yi Nansheng turned to call the organizer:
“Wang Jian, can’t we remove this tracing paper? I want to see who the author of this painting is.”
“Please wait a bit longer, Professor Yi. You’ll find out after the judging is complete,” Wang Jian replied with a smile.
“Well, then I’ll ask the teachers and schools who submitted the entries to see if anyone knows about this painting,” Yi Nansheng said.
“Professor Yi, we really should consider fairness,” Wang Jian replied, half-joking, half-serious.
“…Ah, all right then,” Yi Nansheng conceded with a sense of resignation, holding the painting ‘Youth Waiting for the Bus to Return Home’ as he turned and walked away.
Qiu Yuan, who had been standing there for a while, suddenly realized that Yi Nansheng had definitively taken the painting and would not be returning it. He hissed in dissatisfaction, staring at the back of Yi Nansheng’s head, and finally sighed helplessly.
How could someone be like this?