Sophie, my Sophie.

(Some nonsense:
I haven't written any essay for long. For one thing, it is a long time since my sensitive and emotional years, when I liked reading poems and essays. Indeed, my blog has been a collection of "liushuizhang (流水帐)", which, judging from an aesthetic point of view, is no so good. Not correct to say I am devoid of sensations. Just not having an impulse strong enough to let me put things aside to document flashes of thoughts which, I think, are usually poetic and aesthetic.
But now I have one. )

The first line in the movie Cashback is, "it takes approximatedly 500 pounds to crash a human skull, but human emotion is a much more delicate thing." Indeed, that is why while we admire Su Shi (苏轼), or Xin Qiji (辛弃疾) for their poems full of ambitions and grandeur, we still appreciate Li Qingzhao (李清照) or Deng Lijun (邓丽君) for their poems or songs which focus on the human emotion which is delicate and whimsical in nature.

I have found something that I think can be a rule. Among the stars, or probably all people, only those who possess some uniqueness can stand out to be long appreciated and remembered. Marilyn Monroe is remembered as the sexy goddess, Uma Thurman is said to have the "beauty of sphinx", Gwyneth Kate Paltrow always presents a flavor of noble, Audrey Hepburn is the token of elegance, Cranberries is characterized by her unique voice, to list but just a few. Those who get caught in between are mediocre and ordinary and will fade soon. Among these stars, I'd like to pick one out, that is Sophie Marceau. I have just watched two movies of hers, Fire Light and FanFan, and that was more than two years ago. As one remarks, "her warm face and smiles can melt the icy stone."

Certainly my point is not the star herself. What I want to express is the joy that you have met someone really like her in your life. An amiable face, some unearthly smiles, a slender form -- that is, as I see it, what female beauty is most about. We were sitting, peacefully, at the deck of a ship which sailed across the pearl river. In retrospect, it was a most beautiful picture. Tall buidings at the two sides of the river bank, the remote sun shedding mild lights dyeing everything genially gold, soothing cool wind, a fire balloon hanging in the sky, and it was early Autumn. The beauty has the magic power that makes me to think if I go through the scene, as I have done, the rest are totally unimportant.

Since my undergrad junior year, I have gradually made up my mind to be a scientist. For a long time since then, I was a scientism (if my shallow thinkings can be labelled by such a philosophy), which meaned that I was such an advocate of science that I think everything else was much more inferior, if not worthless. Not until this May, when I happened to watch a movie (There is Something about Mary), and got excited from it for the next some days, did I realize the magic power of art, which captures beauty and offers soul consolation. Frankly, I am still convinced that the so-called aestheticism can be decomposed by our knowledge of neuroscience and psychology. Or put it in another way, the utterable exhilaration brought by viewing a setting sun can be ultimately explained by discovering the chemicals in action so that it is no more a very wonderful experience. But it seems so crude that I am somewhat reluctant to approach it.

For long I am rather curious of the attitude of artist, a pure one, towards beauty. How can a male artist observe a most pretty female form without having an erection? Is it a big lie from the beginning? Now it seems that I have some clues. The key may lies in that an artist is to view, to perceive, to appreciate, to document, to sublimate, rather than to peer, to possess, or to occupy. So, when seeing the rising sun by the beach, rich men come up with the desire to buy the land, while Claude Monet translates it into the everlasting painting Impression, Sunrise. When living by the idyllic Walden Lake, vulgars think about how to build up their own house so that they can occupy the scenes, while David Thoreau leaves the world with his famous comtemplation. When I was viewing the beautiful face next to me, the primary impulse might be to touch, to hug, to kiss, to possess, but, fortunately, what I thought then was to feel, to appreciate, to enjoy that tranquil moment.

On the face of the Fields Medal it says "to transcend one's spirit and to take hold of the world." Indeed, human are born to transcend. However, while transcendism is desirable, asceticism is not. Here lies an important art of life. Anyway, I believe that, since our most needs and wishes go unsatisfied, to transcend as an artist does usually rewards us with a better world.