一条道走到黑

        我不知道为什么要碰这样一个题目，一条道走到红多好呀？喜欢走夜路的我，遇见的景致全是黑乎乎，左看右望还是黑乎乎，我只能尊重自己，发黑之情乎黑之理。连调色板上的黑颜料也一如既往地稠密，浓得宽广的画面永远化不开！这黑呵，是否深入了那位自尽诗人的情境：黑夜给了我黑色的眼睛，我用黑色的眼睛寻找光明…

        好多日子以来，当天边打雷扯闪子的时候，我会放下手头活计，谛听沉闷的天籁之音能够由远而近，我企望挟带暴风雨的滚云掠过我的家国，倾泻而下......我仍然企望那落的不是雨水，而是支支响箭！

        这大地太板结了！僵硬了！该冲洗或者刺痛一下了！然后呢，在翻过个的广袤土地上，种下民主的花自由的籽！

        其实，年近花甲子的我，何苦来着。集一身零散而脆弱无力的气场，就是为了好生看一出雷电交加的活剧。我生怕自己身子骨酥软麻木，由此损了阳寿，坚持在每晚的子时步行四千米，每天的晨时灌下半斤凉开水。还好，心肠没有硬骨头也没有软。我拿起不到半斤重的油画笔虽然显出了抖颤，我也知道自己的精、气、神已经下陷，如同深秋的寒蝉，在扯着嗓子送走一天天的苟延残喘。但是，我仍然相信自己的生命并不止这一种表象。还有精神的我，挂着脑袋的我，不肯悔恨也不肯就范的我，仍然用一双没有瞎的眼睛看着周遭，用一堆还不至于发臭的脑髓想着世道。纵然我看清东西又不能咋样地改变它，即使这个社会不再时兴“齐家治国平天下”，但至少，我还能保证自己的灵魂与肉体不太脱节，让“生”的意义复归于“生命”的存在。

        人们确实没有责任和义务理解我，但是我得怀有感情去专注人们。就象人们的心情从来不轻易爆发而又饱蕉着丰满的怨恨一样。这的确是一个问题。究竟是什么力量使人间的不公平制造的苦难趋于平静？又是什么力量让一个运转几千年的没落政治文明仍然轰鸣作响却不是嘎然而止？还应该继续追问，更是什么力量可以使整个社会唤起于乌烟瘴气的利益冲突里？而普世价值观则呆在狭窄的暗角？我们的当代文化史或者说当代心灵史，真的能够从容而骄傲地摊开在世界面前么？能够舒缓地翻页而不汗颜么？也许，这些问题是我自已无事找事，就像一头蠢得做猪叫的四脚动物，作傻逼似的思考，如同唐吉诃德式的刺杀，一次次的落空又一次次的进击。结果呢，只剩下虚无的豪情？但是，我前晌分明还听见沉闷的雷声从西南边陲、从东部大都市炸开。那是开天的准备么？或者说，那是更猛烈的风雨欲来的前奏么？

        我一直在观天象。

        而民间，千万个素面朝天的面孔翘首张望！

        我不可能不想到“僭越、突围、残破”这些词组，它们在我内心捣腾许久了，作为一个民族之中的一份子，为什么会产生被主流社会看似是"毒瘤"一样的心情？它代表着沉默的大多数吗？而我自己，又不想为沉默陪葬，哪怕做一朵小小的罂粟花，放“毒”地开一次也好…             

        我真的可怜自己的执拗！老是放不开一种长期的沉溺，纠缠于政治与艺术的关系中，在无时不在的红魔鬼的爪子下甘当另外一种黑魔鬼。活着总是需要问责吗？连酒色之间也不放过吗？弄得许多朋友以为我不会生活，封给我“哈卵一筒”的雅号。问责本来是框扶社稷的事，应该放在我身之外，结果呢？我反而自愿套牢，被红魔鬼捆绑得不能动弹，我作茧自缚，在一条道上走到黑。我想幸福而轻松，可是我找不着北！好多行家理手也像教父那样谆谆告诫我：艺术就是艺术本身，扯上政治干什么？我听后晕在厕所，感觉自己离屎很近。这屎，一定是吃了红魔鬼饱饭的人拉出来的，大家都说不臭，是芳香，我就只好天天闻屎的芳香。都生活在高贵的鲍鱼之肆中间，嗅觉对臭味的敏锐实在是何其微乎？久而久之，这臭味还真是芳香了！被人们欢呼爱戴。曾经，我也想入乡随俗，去爱屎的芳香，但是，每当我全面接触这金黄而高贵的屎的表层，我就疑惑，觉得自己在犯法，是抽出自己的卵嬲自己的屁眼的那种犯法！是鸡奸罪呢，丢人呵！我不想毁了自己，就此沉沦。我尽力为自己找到逃避屎的芳香的通道，走上一条与大现实不吻合的路。当然，这样必然有一种立场，肯定是常人看来的反常立场，肯定是反献媚反主流价值亦即反政治的政治立场。我以为艺术，在某些特定时代，总是具有反的特质的，一定与威权主义闹抗争唱反调的。既然在这样的社会闹抗争唱反调，那就有风险，自古以来如此。比方，瓮安抗暴和上海袭警事件，当事人都要担当牢狱之灾直至偿命。而艺术的抗争在这些重大行为面前，又算得了什么呢？其尖锐的程度实在不值一提。所以，采取艺术抗争的形式还怕担当风险，那真是白当人了。心灵本来不愉悦又改弦易辙去求得所谓的心灵愉悦，是这个芳香如屎的世道很多人干的好事，我也一样，也怕当局迫害，坐在牢狱里怎么好受？可是，又敌不过心灵的叩问，要说错就错在这里！想明白了，于是心态也就从容了，开始有坚硬的平和了，该怎么干还得怎么干，我坚持一路黑着走过来，不太想反复。我不知道这是不是活着的本份？我也不知道。这是不是从事艺术的意义？写字写到这个份上，我得申明：以上全是个人的思考和选择，是属于林子大了什么鸟都有的一种怪叫罢了。

        事实上，现在没有谁会关心我和我的艺术，但是我要关心我自己，身心是否健康？还有多大的气力面对现实？其实，五十岁后，我本想听从哲理的规劝，随了天命。把一切该放下的都放下来，只想面对自然而不是人之间。我已经用平常的削减法，对付杂务，对付朋友应酬，同样以此理，对付业已建立起来的精神屏障。了解我的人想必知道我所指向的精神屏障是个什么东西，它在我的灵魂面前似乎开始坍塌，我只好撤出长期苦斗的战壕，无心与真正的敌手交锋。其实，是敌手更加强霸，自己却已经力不从心。我需要新的养分和激活点，以刺痛生命的疲惫，度过怀疑、灰心既而失望的心理难关。

        人文精神并不时时养育生活，尤其当它远离生活高高地成为理想主义灯塔时，更像虚幻的星光，微弱的照亮着暗夜。在一块龌龊的土地上，说它是风烛残照也不算过分，它越来越缺少旧时的感召，被叛变者叛变，被离弃者离弃。而我，也难免脱俗，成为离弃队列中的一员。从青春期的仰望到中年的回眸，再致以精神高地茫然的告别礼，实在是我生命的退化。只是生命有时候在外部环境巨大影响下，会有所自省，改变甚至粉碎着人的计划，让你在昏昏然灯将尽的子夜突然苏醒，如同将息的战斗豪情，在艺术市场化的驱使下重新被燃起。这不是什么好丑的事，我深知自己的底线，我只是重新拿起投枪，窜进熟悉的战壕，然后把子弹射出去就是了。因为，离弃并不是判变。

        我又拖着一把老骨头回到从前的队列，还得参加艰难的行进。我仍然乐意呆在暗夜，倾听自己内心的声音。我希望回到过去燃情的日子，习惯性地仰望星空…

        我一直企图通过绘画和文字，平复活着的痛感，也为了拒绝无痛感的麻木，我需要这些感受的存在，就像过去的老爷们，必须吸食鸦片一样，其实都是谋求麻醉，为了打发无意思的平生。

        这是一条什么道呵？让我和我一样的人们，一直从黑走到黑，好象没有尽头？！

        莫鸿勋2008年4月于北京东营

          A Road to Darkness

         I do not know why I should be faced with such a topic. It would be better if the topic was A Road to Brightness. Since I like walking at night, the whole scenes I see are dark. I have no choice but to respect myself, i.e. to express darkness, even the black paints on my color palette is always so dense. Oh, does the darkness go deep into the mind of the poet who committed suicide? Night gives me black eyes which I use to seek brightness…
 
    
        These days, when the thunder and flash comes , I will put aside the work on hand, listening to the sound of nature coming from the distance .I expect the tempest to sweep across the sky over my head and pour down. ..... I still hope it is the arrow rather than the rain that pours down!

        The land is so parched that it should be washed! And then, on the vast ploughed land should the flowers of democracy be planted and seeds of freedom be sowed.
 
        In fact, why should I do like that since I am about 60? Am I living just to watch a live show of thunder and lightning? I fear that my weak and numb body will reduce my lifetime, so I insist on walking for 4000 meters long at midnight every day and drinking 250g cold water every morning. Fortunately, I am not too weak or too cold-hearted. I begin to tremble when I pick up my oil painting brush weighed less than 250g , I also know that my spirit and energy has been declining, just as the cicadas in the late autumn kill the boring days at the top of their voices. However, I am convinced that it is only the presentation of my life. I have the spirit and thought, also I am unwilling to regret or submit. I observe the world around me with my bright eyes and think about the way of the world with my delicate brain. I can’t change what I have seen through, and that ordinary people govern the country is no longer in fashion, but at least, I can guarantee that my soul and flesh are unified and that the meaning of life is truly realized.
 
        People have no responsibilities or obligations to understand me, but I should care about them, just as those people with full resentment never easily lose their temper. That’s really a question. Is it what that relieves the sufferings caused by the injustice? Is it what that makes the decadent system exist for thousands of years instead of being abolished? Is it what that arouses the nationalism in such a degenerate society? Can our contemporary cultural history be shown to the world proudly? Can it be appreciated without shame? Perhaps I am so stupid to think it over and over again ,leaving unreal pride and enthusiasm? However, I heard the heavy thunder from the southwest and it rolls in the eastern metropolis. Is it a preparation for the creation of heaven? Or is it a prelude to a tempest？
                
        I have been observing the astronomical phenomena.
                   .
        In our world, thousands of people look up at the sky!
 
        Then I relate to such words as breaking out of an encirclement and breakthrough, which remain in my mind for a long time. As a member of our nation, why do I have a feeling which is considered as “malignant tumor “by the mainstream of the society? Does it represent the silent majority? But I do not want to die in silence. I would prefer to be a poppy even if it blooms for only one time…
 
        I feel sorry for my stubbornness! I have got entangled in the relationship between politics and art, and would like to be a Black Devil in the claw of the ever-present Red Devil. Should one need to raise questions when he is alive? Is wine and beauty dispensable? Many friends say that I don’t know how to lead a meaningful life and call me a stupid man .Raising questions is the responsibility of leaders rather than me. But in the end, I am willing to be tied up by the Red Devil, and then I cannot move. I fry in my fat and choose the road which leads to darkness. I wish to live a happy and easy life, but I can’t find a suitable way .Many experts, like the Godfather, repeatedly warn me that art cannot be related to politics. On hearing that, I faint in the toilet and feel very close to the feces .These feces must be produced by the people linked with Red Devil and are thought to be fragrant by others .I have no choice but to smell the fragrant feces .Living among the noble ,I am really not sensitive to the bad smell .
 
        After a long time, that odor turns to be aromatic and it is adored by people. Once, I would also like to do as the Romans do and to love the aromatic feces, but I am confused and feel that I am breaking the law when I touch the surface of the noble golden feces thoroughly.
 
        I don’t want to destroy myself and become corrupt .I try to find a way to escape the aromatic feces and to embark on a road that does not correspond to the reality. To do that, one needs to have a political position which is certainly unusual in the eyes of the ordinary people and which is against flattery and mainstream value. I think that art is decorated with rebellious characteristics in certain times, and it should be against the authority .But since ancient time, it is a risky thing to be against the autocratic society.
 
        For example, due to the rebellion against violence in Weng’an and police-assault incident in Shanghai, the parties must be sent to prison and even be sentenced to death. Compared with those actions, the fight in the form of art is insignificant. Its sharpness does not worth mentioning at all. Therefore, it would be meaningless to worry about its risks. One is not pleasant, but he will change his course to seek the so-called spiritual pleasure, which is a “good thing” done by the majority in the world filled with aromatic feces. I am also afraid of the persecution from the authorities. How would it be comfortable to be in prison? But I am defeated by the call of my mind, and that‘s where the mistake lies. I feel peaceful when I have understood the mistake.  I will do what I should do .I insist that I embark on the road to darkness, and I do not want to backtrack. I do not know whether it is the essence of life? I still do not know whether it is the meaning of being engaged in art? I have to affirm here: All of the above is my personal reflection and choice, and it is a strange expression among the general.
 
        In fact, nobody will care about my art and me, but I should care about my physical and mental condition. How much strength do I have to face the reality? In fact, after my 50, I want to follow the advice of the philosophy, laying down the work t on hand and facing the nature instead of human .I have reduced my odd jobs and social appointments .I begin to free my mind of the established barrier .People who have known about me might know what the spiritual barrier refers to, it seems to collapse in my mind. I have no choice but to withdraw from the trench for I have no intention to confront with the adversary. In fact, the adversary is much stronger, so the confrontation is above my strength. I need new nutrients to refresh my life so as to get through such psychological difficulties as doubt and disappointment.
 
        Humanistic spirit does not always nurture one’s life, especially when it is far from life and becomes a beacon of idealism, it is like the faint stars illuminating the night. It cannot be too much to say it is diminishing for it lacks of the call of the old times and it is protested against by protesters and abandoned by abandoners .I also inevitably become a member of the abandoners. In adolescence, I looked ahead into the future while in middle age; I looked back to the past. Sometimes life will change under the great influence of the environment which can smash one’s plans, awaking you suddenly at middle night, just as the ever-stopped battle fervour is aroused again by market-oriented art. This is not a matter of shame; I clearly know my bottom line. I just take my gun again and go to the familiar trench, and then ejected the bullet .After all, abandonment doesn’t mean rebellion.
 
        I return to my group with my weak body to participate in the long march. I am willing to stay in the night, listening to my inner voice. I hope to return to the past, looking up at the stars...

        I have been trying to relieve my pain of being alive and to get rid of the painless numbness by painting and writing, and I need those feelings, just as the lord in the past needed opium to seek the feeling of anesthesia and to kill his time.

        What road is it? I hope people like me and I choose the road to darkness. 

        It seems that there will be no end?!