A Narrative or A Short Story
Medium: Oil paint on canvas
Size: 34cm x 22cm x 0.5cm
In the world of grey, a splendid day was just about to start. The proletariat rushed to the road with the bell ringing three times. They escaped from the damp work place and gathered by the side of the river, starting to enjoy their fourth meal of the day. Moonlight lacks courage to illuminate the raging shadows. Their evolutionary eyesight is capable of smartly screening out the displeasing coriander from their dishes. Filter flyers set queuing rules for them to avoid the disastrous scene of scrambling for leftovers. Behind them, a pair of protruding eyes are silently staring, and she crawled up the piers softly. A faint light gently smoothed the scars of cement, and blurred the wound of her body. The extraneous gums are disguised in the shadow of the leaves as glamorous lips. She smiled contemptuously at passers-by. Her malicious spirit, transformed into a cold and wanton shuttling wind, wandered around, and landed on the soft spine of the homeless. She took off her clothes, water vapor gushing out, corroding the asphalt ground. The moist mixture slipped into the cracks, hiding in porous bricks. People were smeared with cement mortar and bricks, as organized survival. In this way they had the capability of tolerating falsity: “the true is a moment of false in the topsy-turvy world- <Society of spectacle>”. In there, most people will not die, because they have already been killed by the dead things they have consumed, which is a vicious cycle of consumerism. The necessity of producing is a huge obstacle to creativity. Unfortunately, creativity is the only thing that can break the wall of restriction.