<p class="ql-block">那天，我給 Kurt S. 先生畫像。他是一位老兵，從阿富汗回來的——不是凱旋，而是活下來的那種。走進(jìn)畫室的時(shí)候，他的腳步像帶著風(fēng)沙，呼吸斷斷續(xù)續(xù)，胸口微微起伏。我知道他患了慢性阻塞性肺病，但他并不以為意，仿佛這也是戰(zhàn)場的余波。他坐下，沉默，目光不望我，也不望任何地方?？諝庀癖粔旱停B水彩的味道都顯得沉重。</p><p class="ql-block">我本想問他許多事：戰(zhàn)友、槍聲、夜里的寒風(fēng)。可話到了嘴邊，又咽下去了。因?yàn)槲铱匆娝樕系陌櫦y——那是比語言更厚重的史書。</p><p class="ql-block">我用干筆去畫，用水彩去“刻”。紙面干澀，顏料不再流動(dòng)，就像他那遲滯的呼吸。我讓灰色鋪滿他的臉，只在光的邊緣，留一點(diǎn)赭石的溫度——那一點(diǎn)點(diǎn)人氣，是他還活著的證明。筆劃間的停頓像喘息，一筆一筆，似在為他描摹呼吸。</p><p class="ql-block">他坐得筆直，手放在桌上，骨節(jié)突起，像石頭一般。我不知他是在忍痛，還是早已習(xí)慣這種呼吸的困難。他沒說一句話，我也沒多問。我們之間只有紙、光、和一點(diǎn)沉默。</p><p class="ql-block">畫完時(shí)，他只輕聲說：“謝謝。”那聲音輕得幾乎要散去，卻像一顆釘子釘在我心里。</p><p class="ql-block">我忽然明白，這幅畫不是肖像，也不是紀(jì)念——它是一段呼吸的記錄，一個(gè)人，在病痛與歲月之間，還在默默堅(jiān)持著活下去。</p><p class="ql-block">而我所能做的，不過是在紙上，留下他還活著的那一點(diǎn)溫度。</p> <p class="ql-block"> I painted Mr. Kurt S., a former soldier who once fought in Afghanistan and now lives with COPD. He walked into my studio slowly, his breathing shallow but steady, carrying a quiet dignity that immediately moved me. Though I wanted to ask about his past — the war, the memories, the losses — I chose silence out of respect. Some stories live more truthfully in what remains unsaid.</p><p class="ql-block">I used a dry watercolor technique, allowing the texture of the paper to resist the brush. Each stroke felt carved rather than painted, echoing the hardness time had etched into his face. The colors were restrained — cool greys and ochres with faint warmth where the light touched his skin. The dry surface gave the work a certain roughness, yet it carried strength — like his own life, fragile but unyielding.</p><p class="ql-block">He sat upright, hands folded calmly on the table, veins and tendons visible beneath thin skin. The light from the side window shaped his sharp features, revealing both endurance and fatigue. As I painted, I found myself breathing in rhythm with him, each brushstroke following the pace of his quiet persistence.</p><p class="ql-block">When I finished, he didn’t ask to see the portrait. He simply nodded and said, “Thank you.”</p><p class="ql-block">In that moment, I realized the painting wasn’t about war or illness — it was about dignity, about the silent courage to keep living. The dry watercolor, the muted tones, and his fragile breath together became a portrait not of memory, but of endurance itself.</p>