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LOVE in Indiana(2)

by Ivan A Jaramillo 2 months ago in friendship
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My friends and Richard's friends


The cafeteria was crowded. I walked around and picked out two cold dishes. I couldn't find Richard.

I don't think we're gonna be able to eat and talk today.

Actually, I only had one drink with Richard and Geraldine. James is going to give the lecture, and Richard and Geraldine are going to be the guest speakers. After nine o 'clock in the evening, I found a restaurant to soak until 1:30. I was already aware of the nodules on my lungs, and I was worried about the lump when the physical examination showed it. The wine came up and I said I couldn't drink it, but Richard held the bottle out and I said nothing. James offered me cigarettes, and I smoked them, and they went from neoclassicism, the Death of Marat, to realism and back to classicism. In fact, "The Death of Marat" such a mixed political sense of art, I do not see where the good. I don't like too realistic style of painting, also don't like to show cruelty, even if it is a masterpiece.

As for preference which drawings also is bad to say, are naturally brings me into feeling, like rice rice "the moon has risen, but has not yet come at night" can be an instant pulled me into the painting wandered in the wilderness, like eyes really is bog, trees, and two head and yellow almost one deer, their posture, much good, even homelessness is everywhere. It feels good. I was comfortable with Richard and them, too, talking a lot and drinking a lot.

I was trying to find Richard, and I bumped into a familiar face. Is it her, Xiao Xiao or Mi Xiao? She came, too. She worked in a private gallery, studied art history in college, and came to me a couple of years ago to take two of my paintings, but she confiscated them because they seemed to be deathly bad. That's all right. She called me out of the blue just before New Year's Day and said she had an old Frida album to give me. I was definitely interested, because she had found a connection between Frida's paintings and mine. There are? "Sad"? I hadn't thought of that. Put off for a long time, and finally had to make an appointment with her. When the day came, she didn't show. Sure she's not coming, and a little angry. People don't come, the phone can always come, right? Later I heard that in those two days, she complied with the requirements of the boss, carrying gifts to many painters in the New Year. Maybe I was on the list and then off.

I thought she was going to talk about the picture book, but she smiled politely and asked me if I was going to the dam this afternoon. I said yes and asked her if she was going. She said she was going too, smiled at me again and walked away.

Other people came and greeted each other.

I know most of these people at the dam in the afternoon, like Ken, have known for more than ten years. It's just that we've been painting for years, and we're still stuck in this place, and nobody's gone out. Can't let go of your work, or something? I don't know. Either way, I'm working while I'm an amateur painter. Ken, for example, has been the director of the Health Bureau for many years. He has a little power, and he has room for promotion. He can't just leave. And he's been doing pretty well for the last two years. People say hello to him a lot more than they say hello to me, and he's only got a piece of fried salmon on his plate after a while.

Fried salmon is a specialty here, so I went over and picked one out. Before I could release the clamp, someone brushed against me, and as my arm warmed, a jet of black soup poured down, and a crab's pincer rolled over the cuff and fell to the ground. The waiter was so scared that he asked me over and over again if I wanted to go to the bathroom to wash up. I can smell it hot and fishy without lifting my sleeves.

We can't go to the dam all greasy, can we?

I looked around and finally found Richard. I ran over to him and said I should come back with some clothes.

"Who has a car to give you a ride?" Richard stood up and looked around.

"No, no, I'll call a cab. It's very convenient." 'I said, rushing to the door. There was no one to catch up with Richard, who had already sat down, his thin back blocked by Ken.

Let's wait until we get to the dam. Richard will slow down and we'll walk and talk. I thought as I emerged from the dimly lit hotel, looking at everything white and bright, my head a little dizzy.

Turn a block and the curb is different. On the other side of the hotel are the neat beige stones, and on this side are the real curbside, concave and convex, like a kind of cookie eaten in my childhood.

Several black cotton-padded jackets surrounded a stall.

It's for flatbread churros.

I can smell pancakes and churros.

Maybe you should go for pancakes and churros. Wait till you finish eating. Anyway, after changing clothes and coming back, there's basically nothing to eat.

I went over and stood beside a black padded jacket.

I felt like he was looking at my hair, and I thought I got sauce on my head, too. Touch HAIR, DRY, NO, surprised to look at him in the past, he is still looking at my hair, as if there is an invisible person pulling his cheek is to both sides of the pick, and like a smile, and not like a smile.

I took two steps back and stood out of his sight.

This seemed to draw the attention of the other two black cotton-padded jackets, who glanced back and forth to find the point of focus.

What is this? They're with him? Because I eat flatbread in the middle of the day like they do, thinking I'm one of them?

I moved aside and watched as the baker pulled four or five out of the stove, put them in a paper bag, and handed them to the man nearest to the stove. But he kept it in his hand. In a twinkling, two more baked, he took, or not to go.

How many of these do you want? I have no patience to wait any longer. And while I was waiting for the cake to bake, it occurred to me that I didn't have to go home to change. I could just go to the studio. It was much closer than going home.

Really, I had forgotten there was such a place, quite a big garden, is a painting, the name of Wan, everyone called him Lao Wan put down. Lao Wan originally worked as an artist in a painting academy in Beijing and has lived there for more than ten years. Later, in order to come back to draw twenty-four scenes, I found a house and lived there for half a year. He had many friends and acquaintances, and the house was a drunken contribution of one of his friends, as a drawing party for the local painters. Say ONLY ONE, USE BOARD TO LIE BETWEEN, PUT ASIDE A BED, DRAW TOO LATE ALSO HAVE A PLACE TO SLEEP. When it was still on the grapevine, there were a lot of people trying to get a room for themselves. But it's impossible to divide it up, because we go our own way. I happened to catch a painting in the art exhibition. They thought I had a lot of future, so they gave me a room without any trouble. In fact, the house was unused for several years from the time it was built to the time we moved in. The right to use the house fluctuated between two organizations, and we did not know who it belonged to. Well, the rest of us can help the house get a little buzz. Mine is in the innermost, close to the wall, there are several bamboo stalks outside the window, known as Xiaoxiang Pavilion. At first, of course, I was overjoyed. Later, I felt wrong. There were always parties here at night, drinking and smoking, and some women were invited. Those who did not draw were all noisy. If you call me, it's not a good idea not to. Yes, sitting in the middle of the night, walking is not good, offend people. Still HAVE A PERSON TO SUBLET THE HOUSE TO OTHERS, ONESELF BECOME LANDLORD TO COLLECT MONEY, MAKE A LOT OF PEOPLE DO NOT LIKE the OPINION is very big. It was said last year that the house was going to be taken back, and I just let it sit there until Wan remembered what to do with it.


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Ivan A Jaramillo

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