Sunflowers - Feng Yidai

作品原文

冯亦代 《向日葵》

看到外国报刊登载了久已不见的梵高名画《向日葵》，以三千九百万美元的高价，在伦敦拍卖成交，特别是又一次看到原画的照片，心中怏怏若有所失者久之；因为这是一幅我所钟爱的画。当然我永远不会有可以收藏这幅画的家财，但这也禁不住我对它的喜欢。如今归为私人所有，总有种今后不复再能为人们欣赏的遗憾。我虽无缘亲见此画，但我觉得名画有若美人，美人而有所属，不免是件憾事。

记得自己也曾经有过这幅同名而布局略异的复制品，是抗战胜利后在上海买的。有天在陕西南路街头散步，在一家白俄经营小书店的橱窗里看到陈列着一帖梵高名画集的复制品。梵高是十九世纪以来对现代绘画形成颇有影响的大师，我不懂画，但我喜欢他的强烈色调，明亮的画幅上带着些淡淡的哀愁和寂寞感。《向日葵》是他的系列名画，一共画了七幅，四幅收藏在博物馆里，一幅毁于第二次世界大战时的日本横滨，这次拍卖的则是留在私人手中的最后两幅之一。当下我花了四分之一的月薪，买下了这帖梵高的精致复制品。

我特别喜欢他的那幅向日葵，朵朵黄花有如明亮的珍珠，耀人眼目，但孤零零插在花瓶里，配着黄色的背景，给人的是种凄凉的感觉，似乎是盛宴散后，灯烛未灭的那种空荡荡的光景，令人为之心沉。我原是爱看向日葵的，每天清晨看它们缓缓转向阳光，洒着露珠，是那样的楚楚可怜亦复可爱。如今得了这幅画便把它装上镜框，挂在寓所餐室里。向日葵衬在明亮亮的黄色阳光里，挂在漆成墨绿色的墙壁上，宛如婷婷伫立在一望无际的原野中，特别怡目，但又显得孤清。每天我就这样坐在这幅画的对面，看到了欢欣，也尝到了寂寞。以后我读了欧文·斯通的《生活的渴望》，是关于梵高短暂的一生的传记。他只活了三十七岁，半生在探索色彩的癫狂中生活，最后自杀了。他不善谋生，但在艺术上走出了自己的道路，虽然到死后很久，才为人们所承认。我读了这本书，为他执著的生涯所感动，因此更宝贵他那画得含蓄多姿的向日葵。我似乎懂得了他的画为什么一半欢欣、一半寂寞的道理。

解放了，我到北京工作，这幅画却没有带来：总觉得这幅画面与当时四周的气氛不相合拍似的。因为解放了，周围已没有落寞之感，一切都沉浸在节日的欢乐之中。但是曾几何时，我又怀念起这幅画来了。似乎人就像是这束向日葵，即使在落日的余晖里，都拼命要抓住这逐渐远去的夕阳。我想起了深绿色的那面墙，它一时掩没了这一片耀眼的金黄；我曾努力驱散那随着我身影的孤寂，在作无望的挣扎。以后星移斗转，慢慢这一片金黄，在我的记忆里也不自觉地淡漠起来，逐渐疏远得几乎被遗忘了。

十年动乱中，我被谪放到南荒的劳改农场，每天做着我力所不及的劳役，心情惨淡得自己也害怕。有天我推着粪车，走过一家农民的茅屋，从篱笆里探出头来的是几朵嫩黄的向日葵，衬托在一抹碧蓝的天色里。我突然想起了上海寓所那面墨绿色墙上挂着的梵高的《向日葵》。我忆起那时家庭的欢欣，三岁的女儿在学着大人腔说话，接着她也发觉自己学得不像，便嬉嬉笑了起来，爬上桌子指着我在念的书，说“等我大了，我也要念这个”。而现在眼前只有几朵向日葵招呼着我，我的心不住沉落又漂浮，没个去处。以后每天拾粪，即使要多走不少路，也宁愿到这处来兜个圈。我只是想看一眼那几朵慢慢变成灰黄色的向日葵，重温一些旧时的欢乐，一直到有一天农民把熟透了的果实收藏了进去。我记得那一天我走过这家农家时，篱笆里孩子们正在争夺丰收的果实，一片笑声里夹着尖叫；我也想到了我远在北国的女儿，她现在如果就夹杂在这群孩子的喧哗中，该多幸福！但如果她看见自己的父亲，衣衫褴褛，推着沉重的粪车，她又作何感想？我噙着眼里的泪水往回走。我又想起了梵高那幅《向日葵》，他在画这画时，心头也许远比我尝到人世更大的孤凄，要不他为什么画出行将衰败的花朵呢？但他也梦想欢欣，要不他又为什么要用这耀眼的黄色作底呢？

梵高的《向日葵》已经卖入富人家，可那幅复制品，却永远陪伴着我的记忆；难免想起作画者对生活的疯狂渴望。人的一生尽管有多少波涛起伏，对生活的热爱却难能泯灭。阳光的金色不断出现在我的眼前，这原是梵高的《向日葵》说出了我未能一表的心思。

英文译文

Sunflowers
Feng Yidai

When I learned from a foreignnewspaper that Vincent van Gogh’s “Sunflowers” was auctioned off inLondon for 39 million U.S. dollars, especially when I again saw its photo thatI had long missed seeing, I was kind of depressed, as if something were gettingaway from me, because it was the painting I doted on. I knew I could never bewealthy enough to afford it, but I cherished a great love for it. Now, havingfallen into some private collection, it would not be available for the publicto appreciate any more. What a pity! I had never had the good luck to see theoriginal but, to me, a masterpiece is like a beauty and when the beauty isclaimed by someone else you feel a pain of being deprived of your access toher.

I remember I once had a reproductionof the painting under the same title but its composition was slightlydifferent. I bought it in Shanghai after the War of Resistance against Japan.One day, I was strolling along Shanxi-nan Street when I caught sight of thepainting in the window of a small bookstore run by some Russian. It was a copyfrom the collection of van Gogh’s masterpieces. Vincent van Gogh was a masterwho has been a great influence on modern painting since the 19th century. I donot know much about art, but I enjoy the intense hues with a tinge offorlornness against the brilliance in his paintings. “Sunflowers” isone of the seven masterpieces of a series, four of which were in museums, onedamaged in Yokohama, Japan, during World War II and the one auctioned in Londonwas one of the last two in private hands. I took the exquisite reproductionthere and then for a quarter of my salary of that month.

I like his “Sunflowers” inparticular, with its glorious blossoms glittering like pearls, but theblossoms, held in a vase placed against a yellow background, look lonesome andmake you feel miserable, the way you feel when the feast is over and the guestsare gone but the lights and candles are still glimmering in the deserted hall.I enjoy the sight of sunflowers when in the morning they slowly turn to thesun, dripping with dew — pitiful but gorgeous. I put the painting in a frameand hung it on the wall of our dining room. The wall was painted dark green andthe sunflowers in the painting, as if standing in an endless field bathed inbright sunshine, looked pleasing but solitary. Every day I sat in front of it,filled with joy and shrouded in loneliness. Later I came to know from IrvingStone’s Lust for Life, a biography of van Gogh’s short life, that he lived for37 years only but spent half of his lifetime trying crazily to find out aboutthe mystery of colors until he ended up in death by suicide. Vincent van Goghwas not good at making a living, but he had carved a new path for himself inart, though the artist was not recognized till many years after his death.Having read this book, I was moved by his devotedness to art and loved his”Sunflowers” all the more for its gracefulness and suggestiveness. Iseemed to understand why joyfulness and loneliness are inherently mixed in hisworks.

After liberation in 1949 I wastransferred to Beijing. I did not take the painting with me, as I felt that itwas quite out of tune with the milieu of the time. In the liberated society wewere immersed in a festival atmosphere and there was not slightest suggestionof loneliness. But soon I began to be missing the painting again. It seemed asif man, like this bunch of sunflowers, would try to hang on to the setting sunin its afterglow. I thought of that dark green wall that seemed to haveengulfed the brilliant yellow. I tried desperately to disperse the lonelinessthat followed me like a shadow but in vain. With the passage of time the goldenyellow in my memory grew dim and gradually it was almost forgotten.

During the chaotic ten years (1966-76)I was banished to a farm in Nanhuang to reform through labor. I was forced towork beyond my endurance and I was in such a gloomy state of mind that I oftenfound myself scared. One day as I was pushing a dung-cart past a farmer’sthatched hut, I saw some fresh yellowish sunflowers, against a blue sky,craning out of its fence. They reminded me of the “Sunflowers” on thedark green wall in my house in Shanghai, calling back to mind the joys of thefamily: our three-year-old daughter was trying to speak the way adults do and,when she realized that her mimicking was funny, she giggled and then, climbingup to the desk and pointing to the book I was reading, said, “When I amgrown, I will read this too.” But now in front there were only a fewsunflowers nodding at me and my heart began to sink and float around, notknowing where to stop. Since then each time I went dung-collecting, I would goand pass that hut even if it meant more walk in the round of my daily journey.I wanted to see the sunflowers that were turning grayish yellow, reminiscingthe cheerfulness of the days gone by, until one day the farmer got the cropsin. When I passed the farmer’s hut that day, I heard some kids laughing andscreaming over the fence, each trying to get a fair share of the seeds from thecrops. I then thought of my daughter in the far north. How excited she would beif she were among the kids, making noises with them. However, if she had seenher own dad pushing the heavy dung-cart in the shabby clothes as they were, howwould that have made her feel? I was on my way back with tears in my eyes andmy thoughts turned to van Gogh and his “Sunflowers” again. When hewas working on the painting, he might have felt more loneliness and misery oflife, otherwise why did he paint the petals about to wither? However, Ibelieved he had also dreamed of joy, or why should he have placed the petalsagainst an intense yellow background?

Now van Gogh’s “Sunflower”has become a rich man’s private property but that reproduction of the paintinglives on in my memory, reminding me of the artist’s crazy lust for life. Thoughone has ups and downs to face down the road, his love for life is hard to fadeaway. That the golden color of the sunshine keeps popping up before my eyes isan indication that van Gogh’s “Sunflowers” speaks for what I havebeen unable to bring out from my heart.