Chapter Text
Coming out of a long meeting with a favourite client of his, Shen Wei struggled with his current task of finding a few new pieces for his client’s collection. The client had been buying pieces from Shen Wei for several years now, and he greatly trusted his judgement when it came to identifying the good from the bad. Shen Wei usually dealt in paintings and drawings, but this time, his client was on the hunt for some more utilitarian pieces of ceramics and earthenware. The client had just bought a new house—his third, mused Shen Wei—and was looking to furnish it with artistic vases and plates and bowls. Problem was, Shen Wei didn’t have any potters nor ceramists on call that he could go to, and so, he would have to go on a hunt of his own to find a willing and talented artist to buy pieces from.
“There is one person,” had said the client when Shen Wei had admitted that he would have to do some research and locate a few people for him.
“Who do you have in mind?”
“He’s a reluctant one,” explained the client. “I’ve tried approaching him before, but he won’t budge.”
“Aren’t they all,” agreed Shen Wei, “but no one has ever resisted my offers,” he added with an edge of cockiness to his voice. After all, it was true that Shen Wei was unparalleled in the art buying and selling scene.
Shen Wei had been trained in the best of art schools and had an invaluable eye for style and could accurately pinpoint the long-lasting success of artists and their works. What was more, Shen Wei had a knack for finding rare and obscure talent and rising them to stardom by bringing attention to their pieces. Truly, if anyone could convince this artist, it was Shen Wei.
“This one is different, Wei,” said the client affectionately—they had been working together for many years, but they were also close friends outside of business dealings.
“If you can get me even a single piece from him for my collection, I promise you I’m giving you a year off as compensation.”
“Well, that’s definitely an interesting offer,” replied Shen Wei with a grin and a clap on the other man’s back. “Challenge accepted, then.”
“Wonderful! Trust me Wei, you’re in for a treat with this one.”
“If you think he’s that good, then he truly must be,” said Shen Wei, his curiosity well and truly piqued by now. “Tell me about him.”
“His work is marvellous,” gushed the client, “all handmade, of course, and very unique and almost... otherworldly? Organic, I would say.”
Shen Wei tried to picture the artwork from the broken images given by his client and created a vague idea in his mind of what he could expect to see.
“And, how come you know him so well if he’s so reluctant? Usually, these types don’t mingle with buyers and art dealers.”
“To tell you the truth, we’re friends of sorts,” replied the client with a sheepish smile.
“Friends? And he won’t sell you a piece even though you have that type of relationship? Ah-Zhi, who is this man exactly?”
Chu Shuzhi smiled gently. “A peculiar one, that’s for sure. Will you do it for me, Wei?”
“Yes, of course. I’ll get you a piece—maybe even two if I’m lucky.”
**********
And so, Shen Wei had ended up on the stoop of a run-down yet comfortable-looking little house on the outskirts of town with his trusted briefcase in hand, filled to the brim with plans and business models, success stories, and anything else that could convince the artist to join hands with him. Shen Wei had a go-to technique when trying to reel in a new artist—his work was done in two parts: first, he would lay on the charm like any good salesman and gently persuade the artist to work with him; second, if the first step didn’t work, he would move in more aggressively with the allure of money as a backup.
When the heavy wooden door opened after a few knocks, Shen Wei plastered on a fake smile to face the occupant of the house—a wildly dishevelled yet handsome man about the same age as Shen Wei, long-limbed and lithe as he leaned against the door frame to address his visitor.
“Yes?”
“Hello, are you the potter Zhao Yunlan?”
“The one and only,” replied the other with a grin. “How can I help you?”
“My name is Shen Wei,” he said, offering Zhao Yunlan a business card with his name and professional title listed. “I was wondering if I could come in and discuss an opportunity with you?”
“Art dealer, eh?” Said Zhao Yunlan as he read through the glossy black business card. “No thank you, Mr. Shen, I’m not interested in selling.”
Shen Wei wasn’t one to be so easily deterred. It was time to implement his second plan.
“Mr. Zhao, we haven’t even discussed a price yet. My client is very wealthy, and very much willing to spend generously for one of your pieces.”
Zhao Yunlan sighed and uncrossed his arms to brace the door in one hand. “Mr. Shen, please, you’re wasting your time. No amount of money could convince me to sell my work.”
“I promise you that you and your work would be treated with the utmost respect. I would protect your rights throughout the whole process, and you would gain considerable fame once your pieces hit the market,” explained Shen Wei with every ounce of convincing he could spare.
“I know you, Mr. Shen, but you don’t know me,” said Zhao Yunlan with a gentle smile. “How can you offer me tons of cash without even knowing about what I do here?”
Shen Wei wasn’t sure what the artist meant by his words—he was pretty sure this was the first time they had met, so what did he mean by saying he knew him?
“Well, I was hoping that you would give me a tour of your studio. As a graduate of Dragon City Art School—” when in doubt, Shen Wei’s credentials were sure to move even the most stubborn of artists “—I could assess your work and maybe even help you get into museums. I am, after all, a consultant at the Museum of Fine Arts…”
“No thank you!” replied Zhao Yunlan cheerily and, waving goodbye, he closed the door right in Shen Wei’s face.
Shen Wei had had his fair share of difficult artists and clients alike, but this was a whole new issue. In all of his years, Shen Wei had never met someone who was utterly unmoved by his charisma, offers, and background. Zhao Yunlan was proving to be Shen Wei’s biggest challenge to date, but he was more than willing to give it a shot.
**********
The following morning, Shen Wei tried his luck again by turning up on Zhao Yunlan’s doorstep, battle-ready with a whole new arsenal of verbal tactics to win him over. This time, when Zhao Yunlan opened the door, Shen Wei stuck his foot in the doorway—just in case.
“You again?” said Zhao Yunlan cheekily.
“Good morning,” replied Shen Wei in his most polite tone of voice.
“Look, I haven’t changed my mind since yesterday you know.”
“No, I wouldn’t expect you to,” acknowledged Shen Wei. “Instead, I came today to learn more about you.”
Apparently, Shen Wei’s words hit home, because Zhao Yunlan suddenly changed his demeanour and mild surprise read on his features.
“You want to learn about me? Well, that’s a new one, I’ll give you that.”
“I gave some thought to what you said yesterday, and you’re right—I should learn more about you and your work before making offers. Would you agree to show me some of your pieces? Regardless of business deals, I am genuinely interested in seeing your work,” explained Shen Wei.
“I see… yes, I guess that makes sense, but I won’t change my mind, you know. I will not sell just because you can flash me a pretty smile or tempt me with the vague idea of success,” replied Zhao Yunlan emphatically. “Are you terribly busy, Mr. Shen?”
“Busy? Well, reasonably so, but I can take some time to visit if that’s what you mean…”
“Then, I have a challenge for you. Come here every day for the next week and follow me through the process of creating a piece from start to finish. Then, if you still want to buy something from me after all that, I’ll reconsider. My hope is, however, that by spending time in the studio, you will learn to see art from the perspective of creation rather than for its monetary value.”
Shen Wei agreed to the ultimatum, immediately clearing his schedule for the next seven days and, after deciding on a time, Shen Wei left Zhao Yunlan’s house hopeful that he would have a piece for Chu Shuzhi by this time next week. Regardless of Zhao Yunlan’s initial reticence, Shen Wei was sure that the artist would come to reason once he saw how advantageous for him it would be to sell to a renowned art dealer and his client.
“Ah-Zhi, it’s in the bag,” said Shen Wei happily as he walked away from Zhao Yunlan’s house.
[Really? Somehow I doubt it’s going to be that simple…] replied Chu Shuzhi with a laugh on the other side of the line.
“Trust me! When have I ever been wrong?”
[Never, as far as I know, but Zhao Yunlan is a tough nut to crack.]
“You just leave that to me while you focus on finding the perfect place in your new home for the piece I’ll be bringing you.”
Day 1
Shen Wei arrived at the studio at 5 am on the dot when the sun was just barely beginning its journey westward and peeking slightly through heavy, grey clouds. Shen Wei glanced at the sky and thought that it might actually snow today and, if so, he was glad he had thought to dress in a thick woollen cable knit sweater. Knocking politely on the door, he waited for Zhao Yunlan to let him in as he stared through the half-frosted windows, but soon found that the artist was nowhere to be found. Shen Wei tried the doorknob instead and saw that it turned easily in his palm and so, pausing for a moment before his next move, he pushed the glass and leaden door open and entered the atelier.
Shen Wei was immediately struck by how cold and humid the room was, and he immediately worried that this situation could be detrimental to his artist’s health. Making his way further into the room, he caught sight of a faint yellowish light seeping through a half-closed door that Shen Wei guessed led to an antechamber off the main studio. Approaching carefully so as not to startle Zhao Yunlan, Shen Wei gently nudged the door open and found the artist bent over a series of charcoal drawings, deep in concentration.
“Zhao Yunlan?” he called out softly, and the artist raised his head from his drawings to acknowledge him.
“Shen Wei,” he said, smiling warmly. “Is it time already? Sorry, I was focused on sketching out my next pieces,” he explained, picking up one of the drawings to show Shen Wei.
“That’s alright, I didn’t mean to interrupt your process.”
“Not at all. In fact, do you mind staying still, just as you are right now?”
Shen Wei gave him a puzzled look but remained unmoving as he had been asked. “Why?” he questioned while Zhao Yunlan hurried to pull up a new sheet of cream-coloured paper and a piece of sanguine.
“The way you’re framed right now in the doorway, with the soft light illuminating you and the darkened atelier behind—I want to capture it,” explained Zhao Yunlan with a sudden feverish intensity in his eyes and seriousness in his tone.
Shen Wei had never been drawn by anyone, let alone by a potter by trade. He had never thought that someone would want to use him as a model for anything, and he was touched by the artist’s desire to immortalize this moment in red, bold strokes punctuated by soft burgundy shadows.
“Why is it that a potter wants to draw a portrait?” questioned Shen Wei while Zhao Yunlan sketched.
“Mm, why not? I draw whatever strikes my fancy and right now I want, no, I need to draw this—you.”
Shen Wei’s eyes grew wide, which did not go unnoticed by the artist who spared a chuckle at his involuntary reaction.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Shen, I don’t mean anything by it. I see beauty in all things, and I often want to capture specific moments in time,” he said happily, because to him, there was a potential for art in everything and in everyone. “I’m interested in movement, shadows, lights, colours shifting, expressions softening… that sort of thing,” he explained from an artistic point of view.
‘I shouldn’t take it personally,’ chided Shen Wei when a slight feeling of disappointment crept into his heart. ‘We both have a job to do.’ Shen Wei would have been lying if he said that he hadn’t been taken in by the artist’s soft brown eyes and easy laughter on their first meeting, but he knew that it was foolish of him to entertain thoughts outside of his main mission: to win Zhao Yunlan over to his side for his client’s sake.
Zhao Yunlan hummed while he worked, a gentle smile gracing his lips throughout the process as he regularly looked from his drawing to Shen Wei, and then back down again, adjusting strokes here, and adding shadows there. Shen Wei watched as Zhao Yunlan ran his thumb across certain areas, smudging the lines he had just laid down with his chalk and blowing on the stray bits of dust that clung to the portrait and threatened to ruin his hard work.
Zhao Yunlan worked diligently for over an hour, but to Shen Wei, it felt like not much time had elapsed. Watching Zhao Yunlan work, brows furrowed in concentration over brightly shining eyes, Shen Wei was enchanted by what he saw. He felt self-conscious every time Zhao Yunlan looked up from his work to examine him, and he felt the chill of the studio seeping in through his clothes and wondered whether the artist felt it at all—Shen Wei could not afford to let him get sick and promised himself he would bring him a sweater next time to cover his pale, bare arms.
“There, all done,” said Zhao Yunlan and, beckoning Shen Wei, he added, “come and have a look.”
Shen Wei left the doorway and circled around the desk to look over Zhao Yunlan’s shoulder. The man in the portrait was undeniably Shen Wei, a true likeness in all of his features, but Shen Wei wasn’t sure he liked—or even recognized—the look in the man’s eyes.
“Is that… how you see me?” he asked a bit bewilderedly.
Shen Wei observed the portrait, taking in the drawn man’s soft and gentle look embedded in his half-lidded eyes, and the traces of fine lines curving upwards around the edges of his temples in a sign of tenderness; the delicately traced lips with a touch of feeling—of want?—slightly parted and showing a hint of a cavernous blackness within.
Shen Wei shook his head clear. No, this wasn’t him, was it?
Zhao Yunlan looked up to him and smiled. “It’s not how I see you, Shen Wei, it’s how you really are—at least, in that specific moment it’s what you were.”
Shen Wei continued to stare at the portrait, wondering if he well and truly had had that expression while the artist had worked. If so, why? Shen Wei had never been known to have tender features. On the contrary, he was always qualified as being hard and cold. Somehow, Zhao Yunlan had seen something entirely different in him, and he wasn’t sure he liked what he saw.
He felt vulnerable, exposed; naked beneath the artist’s gaze.
“What do you think?” came the distant voice of Zhao Yunlan while Shen Wei was lost in his thoughts.
“I… thank you,” he answered simply, unable to formulate the feelings in his heart nor put words to the storm brewing in his mind.
Zhao Yunlan absentmindedly scratched at his face while waiting for a more complete analysis of the portrait, effectively smearing his cheek with chalk and infusing colour into his cold and pale skin, and Shen Wei almost reached out to wipe away the red dust, but remembered they had only just met and that it would be a blatant lack of impropriety to suddenly reach out and touch the artist’s face. Still, Shen Wei was, by nature, a kind and nurturing man, and so he offered a neatly folded hanky instead.
“You have chalk on your face…” he explained when Zhao Yunlan gave him a puzzled look because of the proffered object.
“Do I?” replied Zhao Yunlan a bit sheepishly, accepting the handkerchief and running it across his face. “I get dirty a lot in the studio,” he explained. “I’ve stopped noticing.”
Shen Wei blinked, and Zhao Yunlan smiled benignly at him as a response, folding the handkerchief haphazardly and sticking it in the front pocket of his apron.
“I’ll wash it and return it to you tomorrow,” he explained, but Shen Wei simply shook his head.
“Keep it.”
After a moment in which the two assessed one another in silence, Zhao Yunlan gently placed the portrait on the corner of his desk before pulling out the sketches he had been working on when Shen Wei had first arrived. Laying them all neatly side by side, Shen Wei gazed at them with the eye of a critic, analyzing each angle and imagining the three-dimensional final product in his mind.
“I drew these this morning before you came. Which one do you think I should work on first?” asked Zhao Yunlan with genuine curiosity. Even though he was used to working on his own, it was nice to have someone else’s opinion from time to time, especially from an influential art critic such as Shen Wei.
“Do you have a colour palette in mind?” he asked, selecting a sketch in particular and holding it in his hands to observe the pencil marks and measurements Zhao Yunlan had inscribed.
“I’m thinking blues and greens for these.”
Shen Wei nodded his approval before settling on a design. “They’re all good, Zhao Yunlan,” he said, “but I think this one, in particular, is very unique.”
The drawing Shen Wei had selected featured a slightly misshapen vase with a narrow opening and a wide foot, giving it a very organic feeling, with striations across its front that resembled mountain ranges—or riverbeds, perhaps an abstract amalgam of both.
Zhao Yunlan smiled at him and, taking the drawing from Shen Wei, rose from his seat and made his way into his studio with Shen Wei following closely behind.
“I’m glad you like it,” he said, selecting a red earthenware clay from his collection. “You were the inspiration behind it,” he added casually in his typical offhanded way.
Shen Wei’s heart flopped uncomfortably in his chest and he silently cursed himself for being so easily affected—how was he supposed to survive seven days like this?
“How so?” he asked, trying to control the tremor in his voice and the curiosity in his tone.
“Your name,” replied Zhao Yunlan, throwing him a quick glance before moving around the back side of the shelf. “It contains all the mountains and the rivers of the world, does it not? I want to try and put that idea into something physical, something elegant and beautiful like its namesake.”
The two stared at each other through the shelves of the drying racks and the silence that permeated the air felt heavy with meaning. Shen Wei tried his best to tell himself that Zhao Yunlan’s words were fickle—the artist was being artistic and living in a different moment and time than Shen Wei, but his mind reeled at the possibilities… what if? He knew he shouldn’t have been indulging himself so much; he knew that artists tended to be fussy, and he was used to working with their mercurial temperaments, but Shen Wei instinctively knew that Zhao Yunlan was different from all those other artists he had met before.
I know you, he had said upon meeting him, and Shen Wei’s world had been put into a spin.
“Follow me,” beckoned Zhao Yunlan as he moved away from the racks with his chosen clay in his hands. “I want to show you the studio.”
Shen Wei obliged and followed Zhao Yunlan deeper into the room until a kiln came into view with a throwing wheel and an assortment of tools nearby, indicating that this was the hub of the artist’s workplace; the hearth of his creativity and where art was transformed from a charcoal drawing to a tangible piece of pottery. This was where things came to life, and Shen Wei felt special for being privy to the whole process of creation.
Zhao Yunlan placed his sketch on his workbench alongside his clay and, soon before long, the drawing was lost beneath a selection of tools, mugs, brushes and the like. While the potter busied himself with his preparations, Shen Wei fished out the now stained and creased drawing from beneath the pile of tools and offered it to Zhao Yunlan, but the latter shook his head and refused it.
“I don’t need it,” he said, focusing instead on his wheel and sticking down the throwing plate with a piece of wet clay.
“You don’t?”
“No, if I were to use it while I’m throwing, it would only hamper the end result. I don’t want to be limited by what I put on paper, so I never look at my sketches when I’m working. This keeps the work more natural and organic. Besides, I have the plan for it in my head already; I just need to execute it.”
Shen Wei, who was accustomed to seeing the final products, all nicely framed and polished, but not the intermediary stages of creation, was surprised by Zhao Yunlan’s approach to his work.
“Then, why sketch at all?” he questioned, trying to understand the artist’s way of thinking.
“I don’t usually sketch, but this time is different. I did it for your benefit so that you could see the end result ahead of time. I doubt you would have understood my plan from just my descriptions alone,” explained Zhao Yunlan as he continued to organize his workspace.
In any other instance, Shen Wei would have been insulted by the other’s assumption that he could not imagine things in an artistic way—he was, after all, one of the greatest art dealers and critics of his generation—but somehow, coming from Zhao Yunlan, it didn’t sound like a mean jab at his intelligence, but simply a fact that his mind did not work in the same way.
Truly, Zhao Yunlan was a genius in his own right.
Shen Wei observed as Zhao Yunlan cut a large piece of red clay from his block, slapping down the cold, semi-hard substance on his throwing wheel. Beneath his watchful gaze, Zhao Yunlan dunked his hands into a bowl of water at his feet and shivered as the coldness of it seeped into his skin. However, despite his initial discomfort, he brought his hands together onto the clay, wetting its surface into a glistening red paste and, with his right leg, he set his table spinning by pumping on a mechanical foot pedal.
Shen Wei instinctively wanted to change out the cold water for warm one instead, but he remembered from his classes on pottery that cold water was best for softening and handling clay. Still, Shen Wei couldn’t shake the thought that, not only was it cold outside the studio, it was also rather chilly indoors, and now Zhao Yunlan kept dipping his hands in what was surely ice-cold water. Shen Wei was sure that he would develop problems if he didn’t start taking care of himself.
“Have you ever thrown clay before?” asked Zhao Yunlan, breaking the prolonged silence in the studio.
“I… no, never,” admitted Shen Wei. He had dabbled with paint when he had still been a student, but he was by no means an artist himself. However, his love of art transcended his inability to produce it and so, he had become a scholarly specialist in the field instead.
“Mm, I’ll have to show you how, then,” mused Zhao Yunlan.
Shen Wei watched him as he worked the lump of clay into a tall tower and, pressing his thumbs into the soft tip, he created an opening from which to form the walls of the vase. The excess, wet clay spilled over the barrier of his hands and coated his fingers in a thick red paste, while the sounds of the clay being forcefully opened and pulled apart rang lewdly in Shen Wei’s ears.
Zhao Yunlan giggled at Shen Wei’s unguarded expression as the sights, sounds, and smells of the studio intermixed and stirred strange feelings in the pit of his stomach. Shen Wei blushed beneath Zhao Yunlan’s piercing gaze, giving him the impression that he could read his very soul.
“Have you never seen this done before?” he asked coyly as he continued to shape the object with his deft fingers.
“No… I specialize in paintings and drawings, so I’m very unfamiliar with this process,” admitted Shen Wei—there was no use trying to salvage his reputation by lying when it was clear that the artist could see right through him.
“Well, all the more reasons for you to try it out yourself.”
“I could never…”
“Of course you can, I’ll teach you,” answered Zhao Yunlan with his signature grin.
“We only have seven days together… how could I possibly learn in that amount of time?” said Shen Wei with all the logical dictating from his scholarly background.
“Mm, we’ll see,” replied the other and, focusing on his work once more, he completed the shape he had put on paper for Shen Wei to see.
After a few more minutes, Zhao Yunlan stopped his wheel and cut the vase from the plate with a piece of wire.
“There, done,” he declared but without an ounce of triumph or accomplishment in his tone.
“That’s impressive,” proposed Shen Wei, and he meant it too. The vase was blessed with perfect symmetry from top to bottom, with a large round belly and a delicate neck at the top.
“You like it?”
“Yes, very much so,”
“Ah, sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t in the slightest,” and, with that last remark barely uttered, Zhao Yunlan smashed the still malleable vase with his hands into a misshapen piece of clay.
“What?” exclaimed Shen Wei, shocked by the artist’s behaviour, but Zhao Yunlan simply laughed and wiped his clay-laden hands on his apron.
“Don’t be so surprised, this happens all the time. Don’t worry, I’ll redo it at least another three or four times until I’m truly satisfied with the shape.”
“That… that’s madness!”
Zhao Yunlan laughed heartily at Shen Wei’s exclamation, rising from his seat to stand by the shocked art critic instead.
“Shen Wei, you don’t understand, do you? This is art; not the final product that you put on a shelf and dust ever so often, but rather the whole process and method behind the scenes. That is what art is. The toil, the struggle, the blood, sweat and tears—that’s what you’re truly after, and that’s the one thing you can’t have.”
Shen Wei stood silent, bewildered by what Zhao Yunlan had just said. If that was the case, then everything he had worked for, all the things he had accomplished so far in the art world, were all for nought? Did all artists think this way, or was it simply the more intuitive and sensitive ones who did?
“I know you, Shen Wei, I know what you’re after,” said Zhao Yunlan as softly as the falling snow outside his window. “Do you know what you truly want? Because I do.”
A vice closed around Shen Wei’s chest and he suddenly found himself panicked and confused. What was the point of all his hard work if he truly didn’t understand the very essence of art? The final product was all well and done, and that’s what most people stopped at and admired, but the background struggle was an integral part of the process, one that Shen Wei had severely overlooked up until this point.
“Will you come back tomorrow, Mr. Shen?” questioned Zhao Yunlan in his red-stained apron and red-smeared cheeks.
“Yes, most definitely,” affirmed Shen Wei. If anything, the next seven days would serve to help Shen Wei in understanding exactly his own process and relationship to art.
To be continued.