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就在112年前的今天,你为了能在清醒中死去,对着自己的腹部扣动了左轮手枪的扳机。你倒了下去,就在七月灼热而透明的阳光中,就在燃烧般金黄的麦田里,你倒了下去,倒在散发着母亲般诱人气息的土地上。112年后的今天,隔着遥远的时空,在同样流火的七月,一个异国的女子,看着作品中星光灿烂的夜空,仿佛从那竭力压抑火山爆发的紧绷的夜空中看见你坚定的神情。我怀念你。21世纪的红尘喧嚣着对名利前所未有的狂热同时也隐含着前所未有的冷漠。我站在街头,感受七月太阳强硬的入侵,污浊的大气毫无抵阻之力,明晃晃的阳光使人眩晕。人流车流中胁裹着来势汹汹的焦躁和堕落,空气里浮荡着轻飘飘而又粘腻滞重的欢娱。我怀念你,怀念你执着到极无理性的信仰、深厚到几近宿命的悲悯和与之俱来的注定的结局。在凡世,你这救赎的神祗,注定是个异类。即使在今天,在大师地位已不容置疑,《鸢尾花》拍卖到五千万、《伽歇医生》拍卖到八千万美元的今天,直线上升的赞誉和对你的深层理解依然不成比例,你一再被哄抬的身价对大多数人而言亦不过是“割自己耳朵的疯子画家”的猎奇。
Just 112 years ago, you pulled the trigger on your abdomen in order to be able to die awake. When you fall down, just in the burning, transparent sun of July, in the golden, burning field, you fall down and pour out on the mother’s seductive land. Today, 112 years later, in a distant space and time, on the same July stream, an exotic woman looks at the starry night sky in her work as if she has seen you firm from the tight night sky that is trying to keep the volcano from erupting look. I miss you. The thunderstorm of the 21st century, an unprecedented frenzy of fame and fortune, implies unprecedented indifference. I stood in the street, feel the harsh invasion of the sun in July, there is no resistance to dirty atmosphere, dazzling sunshine dizziness. Crowded traffic threatened wrapped in a raging agitated and corrupt, floating in the air with floating and greasy, heavy entertainment. I miss you, I miss you attached to the most irrational beliefs, deep to near destiny of compassion and destined to end with. In the world, you, the god of redemption, are bound to be a strange race. Even today, no doubt about the status of the master, “Iris” auction to 50 million, “Dr. Gacher” auction to 80 million US dollars today, the praise of a straight line and your understanding is still not in proportion, you The price of being lifted up again and again is, to most people, nothing more than a curiosity of “crazy painter cutting his ears.”