做为一个长期在绘画领域的实践者，我一直好奇于绘画中那些抓住我眼球的瞬间，那是一种什么样的特质在吸引着我？尤其在与其它艺术家的作品相遇的时候，他们使用的造型手段、工具、材料跟我是如此的不同，但同样让我着迷。其中我想，可以稍微言说的部分，是那些绘画的本体语言对我产生的作用，但还有一部分不好言说的，抑或说怎么都描述不十分到位的地方，那就是每件作品背后作者的心理机制。

绘画是一张皮，我常常喜欢观察在这张皮上，每个人在造型时做出的那些不同的选择。他选择的是细的线条，而他的线条很粗旷，他选择用大的笔触，而他用笔细碎又密集；他在绘画时用刷子狠狠的触向画面，画笔像一把生了锈的钝刀，而她在绘画时又犹如清风拂面，画笔犹如锐利的柳叶，轻轻剥下一层一层的色泽；他用的边缘线清晰柔和，颜色在气泵的节奏声中丝滑衔接，而他的边缘线扎实又硬朗，色彩边界分明，耀眼又饱和；他的画怪迷日眼中气十足，而她的画又那么的温润甚至融化了地平线，一切化为一片模糊。等等，这些造型语言背后，是否暗藏着这个作者的身份、地域环境、学习背景以及他在现实生活中的切肤体验？这些直接作用到绘画这张皮上时，所形成的不同的世界，又包含了那些可以被讨论的部分？

在一个闷热又潮湿的傍晚，我带着这些疑问走进了我经常去剪头发的理发店，我偶然瞄了一眼招牌，四个大字——随心索型。妙呀！我仔细的品了一品，心想，对于造型方式的理解和选择，是否也可以说是这个艺术家的心源所化，是他用画笔这把剪刀“随心索型”的结果。

文：蒋小余

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As a long-term practitioner in the field of painting, I have always been fascinated by those fleeting moments when a work of art captures my gaze. What is the elusive quality that draws me in? Especially when encountering the works of other artists, I find that even when their formal techniques, tools, and materials are vastly different from my own, I am equally mesmerized. There is a part of this that can be articulated—the impact of the "ontological language" of painting itself. Yet, there remains a part that defies easy description, or perhaps resists articulation entirely: the psychological mechanism of the creator hidden behind each piece.

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A painting is a skin. I often enjoy observing the distinct choices each artist makes when shaping this skin. One artist chooses fine lines, while another’s are rugged and coarse. One employs broad, sweeping strokes, while another uses delicate, dense fragmentation. Some artists attack the canvas with brushes as blunt and rusted as a dull blade, while others move with the lightness of a breeze, their brushes like sharp willow leaves, gently peeling back layers of color. One artist creates soft, clear edges, where colors transition silkily to the rhythm of an airbrush; another leaves edges that are solid and rigorous, with color boundaries that are distinct, dazzling, and saturated. Some works possess a strange, eerie vitality, while others are so tender and temperate that they melt the horizon, dissolving everything into a blurred expanse. These formal languages—do they not harbor the artist’s identity, their geographical environment, their educational background, and the raw, visceral experiences of their daily lives? When these elements are directly applied to the "skin" of the painting, they forge distinct worlds. What, then, are the parts of this process that can be discussed?

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On a sultry, humid evening, carrying these questions with me, I stepped into the hair salon I frequent. I caught a glimpse of the signboard: four large characters, Sui Xin Suo Xing (随心索型). "How marvelous!" I mused. I pondered the phrase carefully, wondering: could our understanding and selection of formal expression be the manifestation of an artist's inner source? Could it be the result of the artist using their brush like a pair of scissors—a "Super Cut" performed at the whim of the heart?

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By Jiang Xiaoyu