Trail To The Destination Chapter 5

Before I went to bed that night, I savored the experience and thought to myself, God, if I stay here long enough, I will become like them. I noticed that when the locals came to refuel, they saw the pitiful situation of the gas station, and no one protested or urged them. Maybe they thought that if they couldn't refuel today, they would tomorrow, or next week, or next year. This was different from what I was used to. At this moment, I had another understanding and began to feel that "becoming like them" was not entirely unacceptable.

I have studied my impatient character, but I can't figure it out. Maybe I treat time as a container, and I don't have the tolerance to be calm. I find that I have a chance to calm down when it's quiet, especially when there are few people. When I drive on the road, the more cars there are, the faster I drive. But if there is no one in front of me, I slow down, and I am also associated with the words slow and leisurely. It's hard to say why this is so.

There is no proper translation for the word dejavu. "Deja vu" is not accurate. It is a kind of psychological illusion that often occurs to each of us, especially when we are young, thinking that the scene at the moment has been experienced before. In recent years, I have only experienced it once, in the river channel at the southern foot of Qilian Mountain. I followed others to pick up beautiful stones, and when I was tired, I took a break. Suddenly, I was startled, because of dejavu.

James few days later, I found a record of picking up stones in my diary from a few years ago: "I saw a beautiful stone with spiral patterns, so I picked it up and held it in my hand. I have an acquaintance who likes to collect stones. I can't remember who it is, but I believe I can remember it as soon as I get home. James few minutes later, I found a better-looking and larger stone, so I threw away the previous one. Then I exchanged the big stone for two small stones... Finally, I returned to the car and took a black and white spotted stone, which was neither big nor small. James few kilometers later, I went to the river beach again next to Sunliu Village and found that this kind of stone was everywhere. Naturally, I was frustrated, but I picked up a reddish-brown stone here and asked it to be my "passenger".

No, this is not what I feel like having seen something before. I thought about it for a while and laughed. If I could remember it, it wouldn't be called "deja vu". Philosophers like Bergson would have a very mysterious explanation for the nature of this phenomenon, but I just put it in the category of "I don't understand it anyway". However, it is indeed a very wonderful feeling, which makes us happy to believe that even as individuals, we are not just momentary, but also historical. Reading history and imagining the future have similar effects. After reading too much about the past, I feel that I really have a sense of the ancient times, and that time originally did not exist for me. The same is true for imagining the future. Shakespeare said: "If you can see the seeds of time, which ones can sprout and bear fruit and which ones cannot, please tell me." I like watching science fiction movies. Although I don't believe that they really see the growth of the seeds of time, these imaginations give people a sense of identity as a member of the human race even more than history.

The side effect is that the more you try to make yourself last, the more knowledge you have about the overall human condition (we can now know what is happening in Africa by just watching a few TVs), the more you understand the world outside of yourself and the hearts of other people, the more likely you are to be impatient and difficult to calm down. This is not even a question of choice, because when you think of choosing, it must be too late.

Avoid the tongue of the debater

In the past, people have ridiculed our people for exploring the world by smelling and using their teeth and tongue as the forerunners. This is an exaggeration. In fact, the ancestors of all parts of the world were motivated by the strongest desire to find food and survive. Unless they were stopped by experience, they would taste whatever they saw, whether it was a hard stone or a brilliant mushroom cap. They would not regret encountering seventy poisons a day, which was a righteous act that benefited future generations. Let us count the number of words in the "Shuowen" section on fish, see how many fruit trees are recorded in the "Book of Songs" and "Book of Rites", or count the fifty kinds of fish, one hundred kinds of soup, and three hundred kinds of bread in the market among the earlier Sumerians, and we will know that the achievements of our ancestors are indeed worthy of gratitude. As for the heroic deeds of our ancestors, if the customs remain the same in later generations, how should we describe them? That is another matter.

However, there is another ironic remark that I cannot help but make: some people, or in a certain atmosphere, regard philosophy as food and drink, and treat food with a philosophical attitude. When I hear some people praising a certain food, their demeanor is as pious as a sacrifice, and their tone is as enthusiastic as enjoyment, it is hard for ordinary people like me to avoid mumbling in my stomach: "It's just food." However, the so-called "food" is said to not only nourish the spiritual sustenance, but also sublimate the spirit itself, transcending the cycle from restaurant to toilet, taking the library to the Maidan room, and finally reaching some place that we are not blessed to know.

I think the passion for food grew up in the long history of food scarcity. Unfortunately, food scarcity still exists in many parts of the world today. Fortunately, in China today, except for sporadic cases, people always have enough to eat, whether fine or coarse. However, it does not take careful observation to find that the passion for food has not diminished in the past two or three decades, but has become increasingly strong. Of course, people are no longer interested in filling their stomachs, but in so-called "delicious food". How these various temperaments and tendencies occur and mix, please sociologists analyze. This article still takes travel as the theme and only talks about food on the road.

There are three main types of tourist attractions and scenic spots in China: the first is natural things, such as a stream between two mountains, and everyone will come to see it. If there is water in the stream, more people will come to see it. The second is things built by our ancestors, or things that imitated what our ancestors built. For example, a house built seventy years ago is still there, and we can only marvel at it. The third is food. I have never heard of a place that does not have fancy, expensive, and delicious food that cannot be eaten elsewhere. The snacks that claim to be specialties make our trip complete, because the stomach is a brain bigger than the brain, and if it is not happy, we cannot be happy.

At a place where Inner Mongolia meets Heilongjiang, I was taken by a friend to eat dog meat. I never eat cat meat, but dog meat, a food recommended by Hippocrates, is not something I like, but it is not on the list of forbidden foods. However, what impressed me most that day was not the food itself, but the expressions of the diners. Deep yearning and heartfelt satisfaction were successively overflowing on everyone's face. Humans are friends of dogs, and this is true. In the middle, I went to wash my hands and stepped on a stranger's shoe. He stopped my apology and gave me a knowing smile, as if we belonged to a mysterious sect and had a brotherly friendship. Some people would think that this enthusiasm was related to alcohol, but I suspect it was the effect of dog meat - that hidden, expensive restaurant was the haunt of local outstanding people, and the greasy bond of dog meat made everyone feel at home.

During the trip, there are not many opportunities to enjoy such a grand feast, usually just a casual bite on the roadside. Among all foods, I don't like noodles, but in the west, noodles are unavoidable. There is a kind of bangbang noodles in Shaanxi. Bang, in the local dialect, the middle medial is retained, and it is read like biang, so someone invented a strange word to match the supreme delicacy. The first time I ate it, I heard a mountain of praise in my ears, and it was really hard to swallow in my mouth. When a friend found out, he said that you don't like noodles because you have never eaten really delicious noodles.

He took me to a noodle shop to eat another kind of noodles. Before eating, we watched the chef make noodles. The chef really had the skills of a wizard. He only looked at the dough with affection, and the dough melted and deformed. His hands danced with the dough. The chef looked around and didn't look at the dough in his hands, as if to say, let the life of the noodles be born naturally. Sure enough, as Plato predicted, the noodles broke free of their crude shape and showed their essence, splashing like a waterfall. The people watching cheered, and the chef muttered to himself, as if he had misused his magic before, and now he was trying to find a way to collect the released spirits back into the box. He gathered the noodles again and again, and the noodles flew freely again and again. The cheers became louder and louder, and people danced with joy. If I were a poet, I would definitely write something on the spot. At the end of the ceremony, the chef recognized the freedom of the noodles, and the noodles also completed their self-realization with satisfaction and went into the pot. Everything was wonderful, but the bowl of noodles was really unpalatable.

My favorite meal during the trip is breakfast. I usually set out early so I can see how the smoke from cooking gradually appears. The morning air stimulates the appetite, and people's work always seems easier before eight o'clock than after. The same work is nothing but exhausting during the day, but it seems like entertainment in the morning; the same sound is like groaning during the day, but it may sound like singing in the morning, of course, this is for bystanders. In any case, the early morning is a good time to eat patiently. Choose a village or town market at random, find a roadside food stall, walk around the sleeping yellow dog, and sit down facing the kind eyes of the locals. The content of the food depends on the local conditions. After eating the steamed buns in the south and the fried dough sticks in the north, the warmth sprouts, and some of the confidence lost yesterday is also returned.

Dinner was different. During the day on the road, there was a high chance of seeing and encountering frustrating things. Coupled with fatigue, in the evening, what I expected was clean sheets and delicious meals. However, the sheets were worn out, the floor was not clean, and the lights in the room were dim, because four of the six lamps were broken. At this time, I went downstairs and wandered among the many signs, and the final choice seemed to be always wrong. After being hit by the so-called signature dishes, I usually only ordered the simplest combination, rice and stir-fried vegetables. Iron pot stir-fried vegetables can be said to be the core of Chinese cuisine. Although they are almost always overcooked and over-seasoned, they are enough to go with rice. After eating, my mood also improved. I bought some fruits on the street and brought them back to the room. I felt that although this day had twists and turns, the beginning and end were always good.

Like my compatriots, the problem now is not that I can't eat enough, but that I eat too much. It's not comfortable to bump along the road with a heavy stomach. However, as a relic of the era of scarcity, the current dishes are always too large. In Qiaohe Town, Qijiang District, I ordered a dish of cowpea hoof. When I saw this dish, I quickly called the owner and said to her: "You should have reminded me! This is not for one person, it needs three or four people, and they have to be very hungry to finish it." The owner just chuckled, and the young people at the next table also squeaked, as if this was something interesting. I ate and ate, but still had half left, but I didn't feel unhappy. The impact of diet on people's emotions is only a small part of the quality of the food, and most of it is the rest, whether the environment is comfortable or not, whether the personalities of the people around are pleasant or hateful, etc. Many years ago, a friend told me a story. He was having dinner in Nanjing and was spotted by a beggar on the road. The beggar followed him to the restaurant, sat quietly beside him, and made a sound of smacking his tongue. My friend said anxiously, "How about we share?" The beggar refused firmly, "No, no, I'm not in a hurry, please go first." Such elegant beggars bring fun to the table, but unfortunately I have no luck to meet them. But I have met many elegant guests, and quietness is their common feature. Restaurants in our country are too noisy. But I have to say that most of the time, the dining atmosphere is good, and the real unpleasantness almost always comes from the logic of the store owner: "This is how we do it here."

This is simply irrefutable. One of the dreams of travelers is to taste the so-called unique flavors that are not available in their hometown or big cities. After years of experience, I can safely say that it is almost impossible. In today's world, if there is any reason for a food to be isolated and "special", there is only one reason, that is, it does not suit the tastes of most people. Sometimes it is just boring, and sometimes it is quite bad. The so-called "local snacks", after eating them one by one, except for a few that have been spread long ago, the novelty fades away, leaving only an unpleasant aftertaste in the mouth. In addition, the same dish, in different places, is given different fancy names and becomes a specialty. Few people have not been fooled by this.

If there is a staple food that I dislike more than noodles, it is the rice powder, whether it is called rice noodles, rice vermicelli, or something else. I am not criticizing it per se. I believe that for hundreds of millions of people, this rice product is delicious, tasty, and can trigger a series of pleasant thoughts. It just doesn't suit my taste. In my opinion, it is a more cunning incarnation of the devil of noodles. If this incarnation only has one form, it can always be avoided. But unlike the clumsy noodles, in the lovely south, rice vermicelli products are hidden on every street corner. In Yunnan, when I walked into a snack shop and saw that there was also a piece of rice vermicelli to eat, I was relieved. However, a few minutes later, I found that the so-called "erkuai" was just a short and thick rice vermicelli. The noodles in southern Shaanxi are very famous. In Baimianxia Town, I enjoyed it for the first time and was shocked and said: "This is not noodles at all." In Fujian, I saw the tempting name, fried white cake, and immediately imagined it as a fresh and sweet food. When it was placed in front of me, I found that it was the kind of thing that shook my faith.

I am exaggerating a bit. Actually, as long as food is non-toxic and can fill the stomach, can it really make people unhappy? No; various small setbacks can actually add some fun. If we are really angry because of food, I believe that it is only because of people. Only people can make people angry; only people can make people fall in love. I don’t know whether northerners want to pretend to be strong or for some other reason, but they always like to criticize the food customs of Jiangnan. And I found that the respect of Jiangnan people for food is between cute and respectable. I have seen people in Suzhou eat crabs, and their movements are as graceful as dancing; I have seen the demeanor of Zhenjiang people towards soup dumplings, which can be extended to serve as a lesson for the world. In fact, even in the north, in Beijing or Tianjin, cities I am familiar with, you can also see that it is usually older people who look at very simple food with very complicated eyes. Their enthusiastic attitude is something that our generation yearns for, but cannot reach.

Finally, let me talk about my favorite food. One day near noon, in Jiangkou Town, Zhejiang, a faint smell, like a gaze from behind, made me stop. In a semi-open-air restaurant, there was a deep and wide pot. Through the hot steam, I saw fat pieces of pork tumbling up and down. The pot was shrouded in a golden-red light, and everything around it was eclipsed. James newborn star would not be more brilliant than it.

I ordered a bowl of rice and a large piece of meat that was fat enough. The top of the meat had a texture like red agate, and the plump part below was like jade under the fire, lying politely on the plate, lovingly protecting a small piece of lean meat at the bottom. I pressed down with my chopsticks, and it split apart, fearless and unrestrained, and neither hidden nor unrestrained. If only people could have half of its broad mind, I sighed, and took a part of it with respect and put it between my tongue and teeth. The oil and water spread like warm smoke, and the fragrance that made the gods look down almost suffocated me. When it was gently cut by my teeth, this wonderful pork almost immediately penetrated into my body and became a part of me. I swallowed it with a grateful heart, and a sigh of knowing fate came from my esophagus, which was the last sound before it returned to nature.

Why didn't you go to Huangshan?

I have never been to Huangshan. One night when I was drinking together, a friend who had just returned from a trip to Huangshan praised it highly.

"You haven't been there? You must go." He said. I asked him what was good about Huangshan. My friend said it was beautiful. I suppressed my smile and asked, "What's so good about it?" My friend's mind suddenly wandered thousands of miles away, so much so that even the chopsticks that were stretched to the last piece of braised pork on the table stopped in mid-air, and he said incoherently: "Pine trees...stones..." So I ate the braised pork.

I have never been to Huangshan, and I have no plans to go there for the time being, that's all. It's not that I hate Huangshan, or that I have set a goal not to go there, and I use it to set myself high. I have passed by that area several times, but it has never attracted me. Of course, if it is convenient, it's okay to go there, but it doesn't seem to be very convenient to go to Huangshan, so I haven't seen it yet.

Is that so? Why didn't I go to Huangshan? This is a difficult thing to explain. Not only Huangshan, but I have never been to any of China's famous mountains except Mount Emei and Mount Wutai. I went to Mount Emei to accompany others to see the monkeys, and I went to Mount Wutai for a meeting. I went to these two places like Mr. Ma Er visiting West Lake, and I didn't get the point. I can think of the most worthwhile place to go is Mount Tai, a place that Emperor Shun visited in the past, so it must be a little strange. But when I think about the many troubles of going to Mount Tai nowadays, it's nothing.

I have been to some mountains that are not so famous, but can also be called scenic spots. The biggest feeling I have is a question: "What am I doing now?" All the scenery that has been boasted by others is extremely mediocre. If there is any so-called spiritual enjoyment that has happened in other people's minds, I don't feel it at all. Only the sweat on my forehead and the dust on the soles of my shoes can connect the past and the present. If you are pursuing knowledge, there is a big temple here, there is an old tree there, etc., you can complete it from books and pictures. If you are pursuing spiritual inspiration, in my opinion, the so-called famous mountains and rivers are far more disadvantageous than the nameless wilderness.

Our free will is limited by our talents and experience. There is nothing we can do about it. But I think a person with a little bit of introspection, although essentially powerless, has to struggle and often examine his mood, so as not to make it dull. Take the road as an example. The so-called road is only one of ours, just like history or personal memory, which is only behind us and not in front of us; the other roads we see are all other people's. My habitual way of traveling is to drive, so of course I have to drive on the road. For example, there are three roads in front of me. No matter which one I choose, it is still in a rut. This is nothing. The key point is to avoid complacency at this time and think that you can go wherever you want. In addition, if there is a chance, go to less crowded places. All we can do is to keep this in mind.

I climbed Mount Emei many years ago. Now when I recall it, I feel like a robot. I started climbing in the morning and continued until the evening. There were so many stone steps that I could only count them until my head was dizzy. After walking for a while, I saw some "scenery". I have long forgotten the details, but there were always signs or inscriptions to remind people to stop, so everyone stopped. For example, if we were told that this tree looked like Zhang San, we would think it looked like Zhang San, but who knows what Zhang San looks like; that pavilion was called "Viewing the Sea", so everyone would pry open their eyes to look, but in fact they could not see anything, but they all thought they saw it, and they would brag to others when they returned.

There is a pavilion called "Listening to Waves" (most of the examples I mentioned are not on Mount Emei, my memory has long been blurred, just treat it as something I made up). I stood there and listened for a while, and indeed heard something. I thought it was the sound of my own blood flowing, because when I covered my ears, the sound became louder. Just as I was about to leave, a man came and asked me: "Does it sound good?" I said: "Yes." He listened for a while and said: "I really didn't hear anything at first, but I heard it after listening for a while." I began to doubt myself, and listened attentively for a while. Sure enough, I felt something moving, so I said: "Really, it gets louder and louder the more I listen." We reinforced each other, like two liars and fools, being fooled by others while deceiving ourselves.

This is a very common mental state. We like to accept the restrictions imposed on us by others, especially when these restrictions reassure us and make us believe that we are as good as others. On Mount Emei, even the monkeys are scenery; every step we take is regulated, such as the sunrise on the next morning must be seen. Why must it be seen? No reason, you have to see it when you come to Mount Emei, and it is illegal not to see it. My companion caught a cold, so he also got up early and walked to the edge of the cliff with one foot deep and one foot shallow. It should be quite dangerous. There were already many people there, and I don’t know if it was due to the cold or the light, but everyone’s face was blue and gray. From the outside, our group did not seem to be praising the sunrise, but rather a group of little ghosts welcoming the devil.

The sun must have come out that day, regardless of whether we saw it or not. The legendary magnificent scene did not appear because it was cloudy. The only pleasant thing about this trip to Mount Emei was listening to the Chinese football match on the radio at the top of the mountain at night. The Chinese team lost.

What is really sad is that in terms of aesthetics, we have been led into a narrow path, a bit like "aesthetics according to imperial order". Aesthetics, like our other innate abilities, can be just a glimmer, or brilliant, or even evil (if anyone thinks evil is an exaggeration, you might as well read Riefenstahl's "Triumph of the Will"). If I were a person who likes to say harsh words, I would say that the aesthetic taste of natural objects of these generations has been corrupted by articles like this mountain record or that water poem in middle school textbooks. Of course, I won't say that.

When we come to a place that is generally recognized as beautiful, there is only a rare chance that we do not find it beautiful. Part of the reason is that human aesthetic experience has a common foundation; part of the reason is that most of the predecessors who played an important role in the formation of aesthetic traditions were indeed excellent people with good judgment; but another part of the reason is that aesthetics is a mixed action, and under various influences, we sometimes lose independent judgment. In most cases, we also think that this place is "nice", but there is no special feeling. At this time, are we willing to believe ourselves? Perhaps if we want to seek help from our "heart", we will find that there is no clear and reliable heart anymore.

One benefit of reading some historical materials is that you will find that some things that you thought were gifted to you are actually arranged by others. Sometimes I am surprised to find that the influence I am receiving even comes from some mediocre people, fools like me. Some people say that you should read less old stuff and become a new person. No, even if you are illiterate, you still act in the context of history or tradition. The only difference is whether you know it or not.

There is a kind of interest and even a trend that was probably formed around the Jin Dynasty. Here is a copy of Xie Lingyun's "Crossing the Ridges from the Bamboo Stream":

It winds along the winding hills and climbs up the steep hills.

Crossing the stream is steep and dangerous, and climbing the plank road is also rugged and difficult.

The paths along the river banks are often connected, and you can enjoy the winding currents.

Duckweed floats in the deep water, while cattails emerge in the shallow water.

Standing on the rock to scoop up the flying spring, climbing up the forest to pluck leaves.

Here are some more lines from Huiyuan's "Lushan Notes":

"Where the wind and clouds gather, where the rivers and lakes flow, there are high cliffs and steep cliffs, deep valleys and rocks, where there are no humans or animals. When it is about to rain, white mist will first gather, and then it will be under the ridge. When it hits the rocks and spits out clouds, it will gather suddenly. Sometimes strong winds will shake the cliffs, and the sound will shake the valley. Various sounds will compete with each other, and the strange sounds will terrify people. This is the unpredictable change."

Do we feel familiar with them? It is not because we have read these articles, but because we have been influenced by the aesthetic tastes they represent. We may not be familiar with these words, but how can we not be familiar with the attitudes, ways of observing things, and ways of self-appreciation in them?

I am not against such an aesthetic tradition, but I want to remind myself that after the passage of time, the original metaphor may be replaced by the laziness of later generations. We cannot understand the distress and yearning of the people at that time. Our philosophy is rarely the same as theirs. The so-called deep mountains and the thatched cottages are completely different in life and imagination. So, what do we accept? James New Account of Tales of the World, aren't we reading it as a fun story? There is a well-known metaphor called dancing with chains. Are we inheriting the chains or the dance?

When I was in middle school, there were many "prose" about natural objects in the textbooks, some by ancient writers and some by modern writers. Sometimes, I really wish I had never read those articles, or read them later. These textbooks, as well as many texts I came into contact with before and after, made it impossible for me to believe in myself. Once in the south, I came to a high place. The mountains there were different from those in the north. Some were straight and straight. There were clouds and fog in the high places, and farmers in the low places. "It's like a painting." I exclaimed. What kind of painting is it like? I can't tell, maybe it's like Ma Yuan's "Treading Song Picture". There is a poem by Wang Anshi written by Emperor Zhao Kuo on the painting, and the last two lines are: "In a good year, people are happy and work, and they dance and sing on the Long Mountains." It's really a bad taste. Thinking of this, I became dejected.

Facing the natural world, the Jin people had their position and attitude. What is our position and attitude? The Mustard Seed Garden Painting Manual is naturally looked down upon by real artists and great artists. This is an honest book, not very brilliant, but the temperament it expresses is something that few people can escape. We have all seen landscape paintings to some extent. There are characters and scenes by the white water and long forests, like gods. When we see them, we envy them and say, "I wish I could be in the painting." The Mustard Seed Garden Painting Manual teaches you how to become a person in the painting. There are slow-walking style, hand-behind style, stroking pine style, leaning on a stick style, lying down and reading style, facing the stream style, drinking together style, carrying children style, fishing style, returning from fishing style, washing feet style, sitting in silence style, brewing tea style, holding a zither style, riding a donkey style, carrying books style, three people sitting opposite each other style, three people standing opposite each other style... There are too many styles. If you want to avoid the mustard seed garden style, you have to work hard.

I don't know what the ancient sages or we would think when we see the Mustard Seed Garden. But in my impression, the travelogue genre in classical literature, after the Tang and Song dynasties, was complacent and unrepentant. Even a strong northerner like Liu Zongyuan was not immune to this trend. Our talents are not as high as theirs, and the terrain is not as favorable as theirs. We should be vigilant.

The so-called "traveling in the mountains and rivers" is a bad program if you think about it seriously. Its popularity in recent years, if I remember correctly, began in the 1980s. When I went to Beijing, I went to a valley outside the city. It was common to see water in the mountain stream, but it was the first time for me to see it as a wonder. Later, I went to a valley, a gorge, a valley... Just last month, I went to a nearby mountain. It's called a mountain, but it's actually walking up a ravine. When you get to the top, there's nothing to see, so you go down the ravine again - what's wrong with that! We shouldn't think we are superior, thinking that we have seen more magnificent things and that these ravines are nothing to look at, and then let ourselves get away with this complacency. I believe that the same thing that governs our aesthetic attitudes is concealed in other places, but it has a chance to be exposed in ordinary or even boring "scenic spots".

Any place is innocent in itself. What I don't like is my posture, mood, etc. in certain places, and these things are really hard to break free from. Like a prisoner who thought he had escaped from prison for many years, and suddenly saw nothing but iron bars in front of him, looked down, and found that his clothes were still striped. Only then did he realize that the most difficult cage to escape from in the world is a prison made of painted lines.

As for Huangshan, I believe it is beautiful. I am not afraid that I don't like it, but I am afraid that I like it. Or, isn't it against nature to argue with myself like this? I think what we are talking about here is not nature, but the opposite. I have spent so many years thinking that I can stop liking Huangshan. What if I climb up and see the eight beauties of Shi Tao and the nineteen scenes of Mei Qing, and feel happy? How depressed I will be!

Delete photos

Eighty years ago, Benjamin said that the illiterate in the future world will no longer be those who are not familiar with writing, but those who cannot take pictures. If he were alive today and read his opinions back then, would he smile bitterly? Would he rewrite the book "James Short History of Photography" or change the title of another work to "The Artwork in the Digital Age"? It took special acumen to predict it back then, but it has become an overwhelming reality today. Some of the factors he analyzed with great effort and awkwardness have not become clear even after repeated presentations, and the relationship between them remains a mystery.

Eighty years ago, cameras were still a rarity. Now, tens of millions of digital cameras are sold every year. In addition, everyone has a mobile phone, and each mobile phone has two lenses. There is no way to count the number of times people around the world press the shutter button every year, but I think that one day, it may exceed the number of times people type. I like to read travel notes written by others, but I haven't read real travel notes for at least several years. One person spent a month to complete a trip that I envied, and he published a hundred photos and a hundred words; another person spent a year traveling around the world, and then published a thousand photos and a hundred words.

Record and share. Even the most serious diary writer probably wouldn't write "I had fried potato shreds in the evening" in bold and colorful words and then read this diary entry to friends without special reasons. However, at the dinner table, there are many enthusiastic people who use cameras to record the shape and color of fried potato shreds, and then let all their friends know about his experience through the Internet. Images and language are so different. In images, we avoid possible errors of expression, which may come from rhetoric, inappropriate tone, intention, inappropriate timing, and inappropriate objects. James picture has an innocent appearance, and its subjectivity is hidden and casual. If you feel offended, the host can just say that it is not what I meant. If you happen to like this photo, needless to say, that is exactly what the host wants to achieve.

As for "artistic quality", thank God, I have finally been able to do it, or almost do it, and no longer pretend to have any artistic pursuits. This is a recent realization. This is not easy, because I have received several years of literary training, and few of these people do not consider themselves experts in aesthetics. It took me many years to understand that words and art have nothing to do with each other, and it took me several more years to attribute the word "photography" to others and just take pictures. This is a bit regrettable, because I was exposed to photography very early. When I was a child, my father allowed me to go into his darkroom and be his important assistant, which was to stare at the developing film under the red light and loudly report "out". Many years later, I became the kind of person who pretends to hold the camera, looking around, as if looking for something real, and looks down on other people's casual shots from the bottom of my heart, but I have never taken a picture of what I "want to take", and I am reluctant to admit that I actually don't know what I "want to take".

This ridiculous conceit has caused losses. I don't like my old photos, so I just throw them away. There are only a few left. Compared with my father, I am really ashamed. Each of his children has a thick album, from the day they were born to adulthood. Looking through it now, I feel a lot of emotion. From my youth to middle age, I never kept things that could be remembered. For a long period of time, I would either secretly criticize other people's good habits as idiots or even stab them in the face and say that they would go to Dante's fourth level of hell. The result is that when old friends get together now, they talk about many old things with details, and I can only be speechless because I have a bad memory and nothing to remind me. Occasionally, a friend shows me a group photo from that year, which is really familiar to me, but I can't produce a single one.

Now I finally understand, or almost understand, that for ordinary people like us ("ordinary people" here refers to non-artists), the primary function of photography is to record events, not an aesthetic activity. For example, when I passed by a certain temple, I only took two photos in a hurry, one was a panoramic photo without any intention, and the other was a partial photo of the eaves and flagpole. At that time, I must have thought that the latter photo was "interesting" because the geometric shape might be beautiful. James few years later, if I had to delete one of the two photos, I would definitely delete the latter one, because the first photo at least helped me remember something, "Oh, it turns out that I have been to Yanggong Temple." Even if the time interval is not too long, it can also recall the dust of that day, the family resting on the steps, the old woman who bent over, and the sharp glance when I passed by her. As for the latter photo, it is nothing, at most a desperate effort of some kind of fantasy personality.

Yes, delete photos. Since I started using a digital camera, I have also saved a lot of photos. There are about 10,000 photos in my laptop, which take up a large part of the hard drive. Last month, when I had nothing to do, I finally gathered up the energy and browsed through all the photos from beginning to end, deleting them as I went, and finally there were more than 4,000 photos left.

I don't regret the time I spent doing this. First of all, this is a process of recollection. If there were no photos to remind me, I would have completely forgotten many things. Some people's faces, I couldn't remember them at first, but when I saw a smile in the photo, the details of our interactions at that time came to my mind like a tide. In one photo, a strange middle-aged man, with his back to a stone wall, raised his hands and feet, and danced. I was stunned for a moment, and then I remembered that it was a lively place in Diaobingshan City. People were attracted by several old men playing huqin and singing opera. I occasionally noticed this lonely man. He had been doing a kind of boxing (not dancing) there for some time.

Secondly, a number of the photos I deleted were duplicates. I took several photos of the same scene, and most of them were so-called landscapes. Looking back, I spent the most time and effort to take these photos, sometimes using a tripod, sometimes using a shutter release cable, sometimes hiding in the bushes, and sometimes climbing on rocks. However, this time, I deleted 70% to 80% of them (maybe one day I will be more aware and delete them all).

One day, I was staying at a place overlooking a beautiful river valley. I woke up in the middle of the night for no reason and saw the bright moonlight. I thought my chance had come, so I put my camera up and took more than ten photos at various exposures. It was a particularly cold night, and I was tossing around the river like a ghost, freezing to death. This time, I deleted all the photos, leaving only one to commemorate my busy work in the middle of the night.