On the way to the park we saw this girl learning to do ink paintings. She was really good. Her bamboo looked like bamboo. Unlike a fellow who painted me. Oh wow, that was lousy–no, lousy doesn’t describe it. Insulting is the best I can come up with. I will explain:
Well, we were at the Forbidden City, just thinking of leaving, when we saw a man with all his ink painting gear planning to paint.
“Sit down, sit down!” he cried.
“Money? Does it cost?” Mum asked.
“Sit down, sit down!”
So he was asked in Chinese. “Does it cost?”
The answer, also in Chinese; “Sit down, sit down.” So I sat down.
The answer, also in Chinese; “Sit down, sit down.” So I sat down.
He painted.
“Do I really look like that?” I asked when he finished.
I had my handbag around my front, to stop pick-pockets helping themselves, and it was very full. This pathetic painter had painted it as part of my stomach, so m
y waist was astronomically fat for the teeny-tiny head he’s painted me with, and my cap made me look excessively weird. He charged 100 Yuan for it. That’s an equivalent to around fifteen dollars. Mum didn’t even want to barter, and I have never been so grateful in my life. I could just imagine it on the wall, and having to make myself scarce when guests came for fear that it would be connected with me.
y waist was astronomically fat for the teeny-tiny head he’s painted me with, and my cap made me look excessively weird. He charged 100 Yuan for it. That’s an equivalent to around fifteen dollars. Mum didn’t even want to barter, and I have never been so grateful in my life. I could just imagine it on the wall, and having to make myself scarce when guests came for fear that it would be connected with me.
Another Art Experience:
The day we walked around the outside of the Forbidden City, we stopped at an ink painting-calligraphy shop-gallery to have a look around. One of the artists there proceeded in trying to sell Mum and Dad a set of seven scroll paintings, done with a seasonal design. Mum wanted to buy them. He was charging way more than we wanted to pay, and so we decided to go eat a nice Peking Duck lunch and “consider”. Chances were very likely that we wouldn’t go back past the shop.
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| Our self-appointed tour-guide. |
This artist decided that he would act as our guide and take us to Old Beijing for our Peking Duck. He was not loosing these customers. No way.
So we finished lunch (which was mostly delicious except for the duck soup part. I wasn’t so keen on that) and went back to the Forbidden City by way of Tienanmen Square. Then we had to get rid of this fellow, who had been very nice in leading us to all the nice spots and recommended his brother (who was a taxi-driver) to take us to the Great Wall the next day.
We bought five of the panel paintings. And he disappeared. Funny how the next day at the Great Wall we saw an exact replica of a painting he said he’s done himself. Rachel assured us that he hadn’t done that one, and likely he hadn’t done the one at the Forbidden City, either. He would not be that famous.
So that’s a little about ink painting.
LOVE it! Jem — this is such a great read. I only wished my Chinese was better when that guy was painting your picture because it would've been interesting to have a little fun with him…only then I'd feel bad because maybe he was just trying his best and his mum had always told him his paintings were wonderful!
This reminds me of how in China something similar happened, when a man drew me on a summerholiday (I don’t even remember where exactly, it was somewhere in that country). But my mother is Chinese and back then I spoke Chinese too, so it was a bit easier for us to convince the man to stop… but that’s years and years ago…