Moreover, her speed in painting and her certainty, her control over the oil paint and brushes, were not that of a novice.
Even if she hadn’t sped up at the beginning, her ease now clearly showed her expertise.
He bit his lip, took a deep breath, and became more cautious while mixing colors.
Hua Jie noticed his strokes and hummed softly, then said quietly:
“My strongest skills are color mixing and matching. Don’t even try to compete with me on that. Focus more on the details and the overall light, shadow, and sketch relationships in your own work.”
“…” Sun Qian turned and glared at Hua Jie fiercely, his hand gripping the oil paintbrush as if it were her neck, took a deep breath, and asked her coldly:
“How long have you been painting with oils?”
“A long time now,” Hua Jie’s eyes fixed on a corner of her canvas where she was about to start painting a dove.
The dove that had been there had long flown away. She closed her eyes to recall the light and shadow from before, observed another dove that had settled elsewhere, and remained silent for a while before she began to paint.
As Hua Jie’s painting neared completion, Sun Qian felt increasingly pressured.
Although his painting of the small pavilion seemed much more difficult than her corner and staircase, judging by Hua Jie’s handling of the layers, the difficulty of their works might be on par.
Looking up at the paintings of Qian Chong, Fang Shaojun, and Lu Yunfei, then back at his own three classmates, his stress intensified.
The painting level of Fang Shaojun and the others was very stable, and the style of the potential award-winning works could already be faintly seen from their current brushstrokes and compositions.
Sun Qian had a vague realization that maybe… all four of their paintings were truly their own work, without any interference from Teacher Shen.
The so-called ‘Teacher Shen helping them structure and correct their paintings’ might just be because they had heard Teacher Ju Lei mock Teacher Shen too often, and also… because of their own conjectures born from an unwillingness to admit defeat.
But the competition had started, and no one could stop it unless it ended.
He took a deep breath, shifted restlessly, and wiped the sweat from his forehead.
After painting a stroke, it felt particularly awkward.
He decided to take off his gloves and tuck them into his pocket, then continued painting with the brush in the cold wind.
Without the restraint of gloves, his brushstrokes indeed became much smoother.
Hua Jie carefully outlined the rough shapes of the three doves placed at three irregular points on the canvas, observed for a while, and then changed the posture of the dove on the ground from looking up to looking down, as if it was searching for food on the ground. This change instantly brought a playful and dynamic sense to the scene.
She thought of how Monet, when painting water lilies, would also adorn the still life with lively, quirky ducks and water birds, adding movement to the tranquility, making the scene interesting and lively.
She was truly impressive, like the top student in a master painting course.
With a smile on her face, she painted more cheerfully, and her detailing and handling became increasingly spirited.
As she worked on more meticulous details, she infused her good mood into the painting. Her brushstrokes became lighter and even the snow piled at the base of the wall and the mottled wall plaster seemed to radiate a mysterious vitality.
After painting the mud and snow between the cobblestones on the ground and the shadows cast by the wall on the ground and stair handrail, she checked and remedied any incorrectly painted or improperly handled areas.
Preparing to take a closer look at the overall composition and the relationships like perspective to see if they were correct, she took a breath during the rest, then turned to look at Sun Qian’s painting.
The foundation is indeed solid, but the inherent flaws in aesthetics and the lack of color sense are difficult issues to address.
To solve this in an academic way, one might resort to using a color chart, but that could result in a painting that loses its vitality.
Hua Jie was pondering how, if she were Sun Qian’s teacher, she could enhance the artistic quality of his paintings, and she found it quite challenging.
It might require Teacher Shen’s intervention to truly fix.
She sighed, preparing to look away, when she suddenly noticed Sun Qian switching his brush to his left hand while stuffing his right hand inside his collar.
Only then did she realize that in the sub-zero temperatures, he had removed his gloves and was painting barehanded.
Even if he warmed his hands inside his clothes, the backs of his hands were still swollen and turning red.
Perhaps his hands could become nimble again in the few minutes they warmed up, but this was surely going to cause frostbite.
In just a short while, Sun Qian stuffed his right hand back into his left sleeve to warm it up before continuing to paint.
Hua Jie watched his hands, now starting to turn purple from the swelling, her lips pressed into a straight line, her expression more serious, and her strokes more solemn.
When your opponent is so earnest, it’s hard not to give your all.
After painting for a while longer, Hua Jie suddenly spoke up:
“Before making a stroke, you need to be cautious, but you also need more thought and reflection. At this stage, push the painting back a bit and look at the whole picture, considering the relationships of colors and sketches.
“A painting doesn’t end once it’s completed. You need to keep thinking and reflecting on this piece continually. Not everyone will delve deeply, but you must learn to do so.”
What she didn’t say was that Qian Chong and the others might have talent and perhaps didn’t need to go to such lengths, naturally producing strong results.
But she and Sun Qian, not being naturally gifted, must put in more effort and thought.
This was unavoidable and must be faced!
Sun Qian turned to glare at her, a vein throbbing slightly on his forehead.
Hua Jie met his gaze, then set down her brush and said:
“I’m done.”
“???” Sun Qian’s eyes widened as he looked over at Hua Jie’s painting, noticing the meticulous detail and high level of completion.
And he hadn’t finished yet.
“It’s okay, others haven’t finished either. You keep painting,” Hua Jie said as she stood up, twisted her neck, and rotated her wrists.
Sun Qian clenched his teeth, turned his head back silently, but his movements noticeably sped up.
Hua Jie frowned, noticing his excessive concern for others’ feelings and the feedback from the social environment, how easily influenced he was, unsteady in mind and spirit.
She faintly felt that Sun Qian’s path ahead was still very long.
Having studied for a long time at Teacher Shen’s home, and only interacting with people like Fang Shaojun, she always thought it easy to sit comfortably and paint calmly.
Only after stepping out did she suddenly recall many things—yes, ordinary people are often easily dominated by external influences, gradually becoming something unrecognizable.
Once painting becomes impure, it’s especially easy to become restless and stray.
But for Sun Qian, she decided not to say too much.
She felt he was very diligent, which is why she spoke more, but some things are useless when told by others; one must experience them personally to truly understand.
“This painting has a nice feel to it.” Suddenly, a man’s voice came from behind, startling Hua Jie; she hadn’t noticed anyone was there.
“Ah, thank you.” She stepped aside and nodded at the man.
“Is this painting for sale?” the man asked straightforwardly.
“?” Hua Jie was briefly taken aback, turned to look around, and smiled, “I can’t decide that on my own, I need to ask my teacher.”
The man nodded. He was dressed in a puffy black down jacket, wrapped in a gray scarf, wearing gray trousers and iron gray leather shoes, exuding a vibe of someone with a decent economic status and acceptable taste.
Hua Jie sized him up, feeling like she had seen this man before, but couldn’t quite place him.
“Mm,” the man nodded again, then added, “Good.”
Hua Jie wasn’t sure what he meant by ‘good,’ but she responded with a smile and a nod, then stopped the conversation.
Ji Daye, who had been standing behind Fang Shaojun, walked around and came up to Hua Jie. He glanced at her and the man beside her, then at Hua Jie’s painting, and exclaimed:
“You’ve painted really well. I captured this composition earlier as well, but after walking around, you’re the only one who chose to depict it.”
“What did you paint?” Hua Jie turned to ask him.
“I did a few sketches. I live in Beijing, and I’ve painted the Forbidden City several times before. It’s too cold today, so I just did some quick sketches,” said Ji Daye. Suddenly noticing Sun Qian painting barehanded, he exclaimed in surprise:
“Sun Qian, are you giving up on your hands?”
He and Sun Qian were both from Beijing and belonged to the same circle. His father often took him to meet with seniors in the art world, and he had met Sun Qian a few times, so they were fairly acquainted.
“Just put some frostbite cream on it when I get back.” Sun Qian didn’t even turn his head, his hands still painting, his eyes fixed solely on his own canvas and the scene before him.
Ji Daye’s lips parted slightly as he watched Sun Qian, his expression turning somewhat sympathetic.
“This bet of yours…” He turned to look at Hua Jie, then hesitated.
“It looks like we’re going to win.” Hua Jie pointed ahead, where Qian Chong had already stood up, and Fang Shaojun had also put away her brush. Only Lu Yunfei, who liked to delve endlessly into details, was still painting, but his painting was already about ninety percent complete; even if he stopped now, there would be no issue.
“Who does Teacher Qiu think has won?” Ji Daye suddenly turned and asked the man who had been talking to Hua Jie.
“It’s quite obvious.” The man who had watched Hua Jie’s entire painting process was Qiu Yuan, the vice-president of the China Artists Association. He had participated in the first round of judging and several subsequent rounds, and he was very impressed with Hua Jie’s painting.
“…” Hua Jie looked at Qiu Yuan, “Teacher Qiu? Which one is that?”
“Teacher Qiu, the vice-president of the China Artists Association. He sold a traditional Chinese painting for 600k last year,” Ji Daye noticed Hua Jie’s confusion and introduced him with a smile.
“Ah, hello, Teacher Qiu.” Hua Jie hurriedly bowed in respect.
“No worries, no worries.” Qiu Yuan lightly patted Hua Jie’s shoulder.
At that moment, Lu Yunfei also put down his brush. He looked blankly at his own painting and the scene in front of him before turning to look for Hua Jie and the others.
After his gaze swept past Fang Shaojun and the others and met Hua Jie’s, Lu Yunfei slightly lifted his lips and stood up, saying:
“Are we about done?”
Apart from Sun Qian, everyone else had already finished painting.
“…” Sun Qian felt the gazes around him, not just from Hua Jie and those competing with them, but also from the onlookers, the selected competition entrants, and a few passing senior artists and bystanders.
Hua Jie saw Sun Qian lowering his head, his jaw slightly bulging from clenching his teeth, showing the outline of his jawline.
His left hand, hanging by his side, was also clenched into a fist; his whole demeanor seemed to be enduring.
This world is just like that, competition everywhere, with wins and losses at every turn.
Although painting is not a competition of winning or losing per se, artworks are also commodities and often enter into the business environment, which necessitates judgments of quality and merit.
Artists will eventually reach a day of accomplishment, and they must face the market’s feedback and the challenges of the broader environment.
Whether it’s setbacks or glory, it’s better to face them sooner rather than later.
Hua Jie took a deep breath, still deciding to be the harsh one.
She clapped her hands and said to Sun Qian:
“Are you done? How about we ask Teacher Qiu to give us some feedback?”
Qiu Yuan raised his eyebrows slightly, surprised by the young woman’s resourcefulness.
Sun Qian stood up, his face stern as he looked at his classmates’ paintings, then at those by Fang Shaojun and her group, before finally resting his eyes back on his own oil painting and Hua Jie’s.
He stood quietly for a while before turning to look at Qiu Yuan and saying:
“We lost.”
Hua Jie looked at him, silent.
Qian Chong looked at everyone, completely oblivious to the bitterness and gloom in the air, and said bluntly and aggressively:
“What’s this? It was you who clamored for a painting contest, and now you admit defeat?”
“Just say you lose and that’s it? What about an apology?”