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拍品專文
Lin Fengmian hailed from Mei county, Guangdong province. He left home at the age of 19 to study abroad in France. Upon returning to China, he migrated between Hangzhou, Chongqing, and Shanghai. He passed away in Hong Kong in 1991, never having returned to the place of his birth.
Yet he remained attached to memories of his childhood, and homesickness is a theme often deeply embedded in Lin Fengmian's picture. He would recall his time as a child, standing beside his grandfather and help him with stone carving. After he grew up, he remained unconcerned with either politics or his future prospect, but instead concentrated solely on paintings. In the essay 'Memory and Recollection,' Lin Fengmian recalled his grandfather's advice: "'Whatever you do in the future must depend on your hands. With a pair of hands you can at least earn a living, even though you cannot help others to accomplish great things." My grandfather passed away several decades earlier. I can only recall regularly his coiled up hair, fastened belt, rolled up pants and bare feet when carving stones. Nevertheless, his words are engraved forever in my heart, as if they had been inscribed in me with a nail.'
In some of his paintings, such as this Houses in the Pine Forest, one cannot see any figures. Perhaps people are inside the houses. Despite the quietness, one can hear the "deng deng" sound of pounding stones, straight into the heart.
Yet he remained attached to memories of his childhood, and homesickness is a theme often deeply embedded in Lin Fengmian's picture. He would recall his time as a child, standing beside his grandfather and help him with stone carving. After he grew up, he remained unconcerned with either politics or his future prospect, but instead concentrated solely on paintings. In the essay 'Memory and Recollection,' Lin Fengmian recalled his grandfather's advice: "'Whatever you do in the future must depend on your hands. With a pair of hands you can at least earn a living, even though you cannot help others to accomplish great things." My grandfather passed away several decades earlier. I can only recall regularly his coiled up hair, fastened belt, rolled up pants and bare feet when carving stones. Nevertheless, his words are engraved forever in my heart, as if they had been inscribed in me with a nail.'
In some of his paintings, such as this Houses in the Pine Forest, one cannot see any figures. Perhaps people are inside the houses. Despite the quietness, one can hear the "deng deng" sound of pounding stones, straight into the heart.