The net is not the net; the fishing is not the fishing.

As an old saying goes, “the heart of one in love is like a tightly-knit net with thousands of knots”. By the water amid mountains, you cast a net with no intention for fish. The “net” plays a leading role. Amid the interwoven net, an abstract world of sensation has stretched under the realistic scene.

It is probably dawn after a snowstorm in bitterly cold winter. Standing upright are bare trees and crooked withered grass. A narrow river flows between the flanks, from where mountains stretch in obscurity. There is no bird in the sky, no green leaves on the tree, and no pedestrians on the path. Instead, there is a hint of tranquility, which flows slowly with the river and blends in with the light evening mist, forming a real and illusory picture. External noise is blocked by tranquility, restlessness is faded depth and distance, and the light of snow is absorbed to illuminate the path to the distance.

Such sensation will not be shifted along with the objects around but is an eternal picture in the memory.

Courtesy of the artist