[Infrastructure] Rose kissed Barcelona

While Barcelona won the right to host the 1879 World's Fair, it was gratifying, but being hounded and questioned by reporters and others was more troubling.

The only reasonably interesting chat partner was a building structural engineer.

When Antonio learned that it was this funny senior with unique insights into design who designed the Bordeaux Bridge, which is very famous in the civil engineering field, he couldn't help chatting with him a few more words.

It's a rare experience.

After all, architects and structural engineers are usually natural enemies - architects think that structural engineers are idiots who don't understand art and can only concentrate on calculations, while structural engineers think that architects are lunatics who don't consider reality and are always whimsical.

However, the architect also has surprising insights into architectural design.

Antonio has seen his work.Unlike other metal structure experts, his works are full of strength and beauty—although the academic circle now only recognizes the former.

Antonio originally wanted to chat with him a few more words, but when he looked up again, he saw the figure of a certain girl flashing out of the venue in a hurry.

"Mr. Gordy—Mr. Gordy?"

The structural engineer called him twice and smiled, "It seems that your people are here, and your mind has flown away."

Antonio nodded without shame: "I have something to do, excuse me."

Seeing this young man who had become famous in a foreign city turned around and left, the architect took down today's "Le Figaro" hanging on a bookshelf.

The headline was "Cities to host the World Expo announced today, and the lottery will be drawn soon."

He habitually flipped back, and found that Zola’s column, which he had been following for updates, had actually written an art review, which was exactly the “Salon of the Losers” that had been ridiculed by the art festival these days.

The writer known for his pungent brushwork has changed from his previous sharpness, and seems not to be stingy with his praise: "What painting gives people is feeling, not thought - until today, the artists of Impressionism have really achieved this. .”

And on the same page, the commentary of a professional art critic is deliberately placed in the adjacent small lead block, which was written by some talented editor.

"After the Paris Opera House burned down, the new disaster of the century came. This so-called 'painting exhibition' was actually five or six lunatics, and one of them was even a woman! People laughed like crazy in front of these objects."*

The author of this review, Albert Wolf, was a frequent visitor to Le Figaro, and he always commented on the new style.

The comments below are more interesting.

"Ha, impression! My dog's footprints on the wallpaper are much more beautiful than this-too bad, I just shot him for it yesterday. I should take him out for exhibition, what a genius art dog!"

"If these paintings can last until the end of the exhibition without being damaged, then I must send a commendation medal to the Paris police."

French humor, wonderful.

On the newspaper printed in black and white, only a small piece of miniature painting can be seen, blurred into one piece.The architect took out a lens and looked closely for a long time, but he still couldn't see anything clearly.

The architect put away the lenses, and said cheerfully to himself: "Yesterday Margaret said that I have gray hair, so I am really old."

He looked at the wall clock on the wall - it was still early.

It seems that this is indeed a very interesting exhibition, maybe it is worth seeing.

……

After Antonio finally asked about Joey's whereabouts, he left the door expressionlessly.

He went straight to the service desk where the pets were kept, and looked at the Ziyawu who was snoring charmingly at this time, and couldn't help squinting his eyes.

In just one hour, this little black cat had conquered all the other cats and occupied the softest cushion in the cat room.

Seeing him coming, the waiter couldn't help laughing: "Mr. Gaudi, I have to say, your cat is really amazing."

Antonio squatted down and stared at this unreasonable bully for a while.

Zi Yawu half-opened one eye, glanced at him lazily, and grunted louder.Its fluffy belly rises and falls regularly with the sound of purring.

Antonio couldn't help poking its stomach with his hand, and snorted slightly: "Joy doesn't want you anymore."

Ziyawu turned over and hugged his arm, giving a soft "meow".

Antonio was silent for a few seconds.

Then he nodded to the waiter and walked out the door with the cat in his arms.

"Impressionism"?

This strange name rolled a few times in my heart.

I don't know what kind of genius art exhibition it is, but Joey ran to see it without waiting for the result to be announced.

Didn't even bother to talk to him.

Antonio walked on the banks of the Seine with the cat in his arms, but he didn't pay much attention to the beautiful scenery of the sparkling Seine.

He thought he had captured her aesthetic.

All the signs in the past clearly show that, like him, she prefers three-dimensional designs to two-dimensional paintings. She likes time and space to carve meaningful beauty on silent behemoths, and colorful dreams flow in silent buildings.

Can painting do this?

This subtle emotion has been fermenting silently until he walked to the door of the exhibition studio, where it has accumulated into a huge transparent bubble.

As a result, when Antonio saw the first painting hanging on the shabby booth, the bubble popped and burst.

It was a landscape painting, what seemed to be the French countryside.

Hoarfrost condensed on the land covered with golden fallen leaves, and under the empty milk-colored sky, the farmer with firewood on his back walked in the pale golden light streaks sifted by the sun through the dead forest.

Hoarfrost, the Old Road to Ainari by Camille Pissarro.

light.

The word immediately came to his mind.

Architects, painters, and the public, when he deciphered the language of light with stone and glass and placed it in the world, many people praised him as a master of using light.

But he knew that he was still not perfect.

light.

It was a fleeting element, transparent as a waterfall and soft as silk.

It represents not only hotness and warmth, but also the most humid coolness.

Architecture comes from mud and stone, and only with light can there be life.

The original hidden thoughts were swept away unknowingly, he couldn't help but leaned forward, and began to look at the hanging paintings with fascination.

The afternoon sun shattered through the mottled shade of trees, leaving cool lip prints on the small dark green pond; the bright sun swayed down the clouds, illuminating the golden field in late autumn.

Antonio was fascinated until there was a "meow-"

Zi Yawu dragged his voice and looked back while grabbing his shoulder.

Antonio also turned his head subconsciously.

Then, from the gap in the temporary curtain wall, I saw a certain girl happily talking to several young people, her eyes full of admiration and admiration.

……

When Joey arrived at the art exhibition 10 minutes ago, the few people who were fighting in public had already almost fought.

One had a swollen eye, one had a cracked cheek, and one had a nosebleed.

The three of them, who were pinned on both sides by enthusiastic citizens, seemed to have calmed down.

The flaxen-haired woman stood helplessly in the middle, and she was Morisot who directly caused the bloodshed.

Morisot was born in an aristocratic family. She was the only one in this group of friends who had no worries about food and clothing, and she was also the only female painter.

Thanks to her background, among the reports about this salon, only her paintings were not criticized in writing by newspapers.

But there are troubles beyond paper.

Morisot knocked Pissarro's head with the pipe in spite of iron, and took it back in time before it hit Vincent's head--I just met today, and I'm not that familiar yet.

"I said it a long time ago, just get used to it, why are you so excited?"

"Don't do it." She warned again worriedly, and then let them go.

Only then did she notice the little girl standing beside her, who seemed to have come with Vincent, was it called Mary?

The pale blond-haired little girl stood beside the fighting men with her chest crossed without saying a word, calmer than she should be at her age.

Morisot couldn't help but patted her on the shoulder: "Mary, aren't you afraid?"

Mary looked puzzled: "What are you afraid of?"

Oh, a bold girl.

Morisot couldn't help laughing, "Then you watched Vincent fight and didn't help?"

Mary spread her hands: "What can I help? Fight? Probably the only way to call the police. But I believe that no one here should want to call the police."

After hearing this, Morisot blinked his big eyes.

This little girl is a bit interesting, and Vincent is simply two extremes.

Pissarro brushed his messy beard, moved his shoulders, picked up the black wide-brimmed hat that fell aside during the fight, and angrily said to the provocative art dealer, "Apologize to her."

He was the oldest of the group of painters, a irascible big brother who was more annoyed to see others speak ill of his friends than he was to speak ill of himself.

The art dealer panted heavily, and looked at the group of painters who were staring at him.

Damn, this isn't an artist, it's clearly a bunch of thugs!

Idiots would want to buy their paintings.

"Apologize." Even Monet, who has always been good-tempered, took a step forward, with a vague threat in his tone.

To bully the few with more, bah!

The art dealer wiped his nose resentfully, and quickly apologized.

But he immediately followed up quickly: "Heh, you can play by yourself. Time will tell you, not all garbage is eligible to appear on the canvas."

Vincent was so angry that he wanted to go forward again, but Monet quickly grabbed him.

Monet was amazed at this good brother who was so loyal when we first met, and tried to dissuade him: "Friend, old friend, listen to me—you are a good person, but beating someone will cause accidents."

"He is trash." Vincent said angrily, "Those who don't see the value of your work are trash!"

"Okay, Vincent, calm down." Joey had been on the sidelines for a while, and now he picked up a piece of paper from the ground, and couldn't help but raise the corners of his mouth as soon as he glanced at it.

It was a limited edition World Expo guessing lottery issued by Le Figaro.

"Sir, is this lottery ticket yours?" She waved the lottery ticket in front of the man.

"Ah? It's mine!"

The art dealer was patting the crumpled collar, when he saw the lottery ticket in her hand, he panicked and snatched it away.

Only then did he feel that he had regained his appearance as a decent person, and his attitude softened a little.

This girl has just arrived here, and she doesn't look like she's with these lunatics by looking at her clothes.

She seemed curious: "By the way, which city did you buy from?"

The art dealer couldn't help but feel a little proud: "London."

"Oh." Joey smiled meaningfully, "Then, good luck to you."

I was interrupted by this episode and almost forgot.

She's just made a lot of money from the hardworking and simple people of Paris, and it's a little embarrassing to think about it.

The wool comes from the sheep, and the wool is used to buy the sheep.Perfect.

Joey looked around in a good mood, and immediately locked on to the immediately recognizable "Sunrise Impression".

The red sun rises slowly from the dark port shrouded in morning mist, and the light trembling slightly with the waves is depicted with a few strokes.

"Mr. Monet," Joey said after considering his tone, this is a painting that will be worth a lot in the future, "Can I buy this work of yours?"

"Ah, do you want to buy it?" Monet was a little surprised.

A small auction was held here just now, but unfortunately, like that art dealer, there were many jokes and few real buyers.

Most of the previous works were unsold, and when it was the turn of Morisot's "The Cradle", such an accident happened again, and the original potential sellers were also scared away.

"If possible." Joey smiled politely.

"Of course, of course!"

Originally thinking that he would not be able to sell another painting this time, Monet couldn't help rubbing his hands excitedly, and hesitated for a few seconds: "Miss, do you think fifty francs is okay?"

"... fifty francs?"

Joey didn't know what to say for a moment.

Seeing her expression, Monet's heart suddenly turned cold.

He hasn't sold a painting for a long time, and he is really struggling right now.

After so many days of the art exhibition, he finally found a buyer who seemed to be sincere, so he had to fight for it no matter what.

So, he tentatively said: "...Miss, if you think it's expensive, thirty francs will do. Well, twenty francs will do..."

His works usually only fetch so much money, Monet thought guilty.Sure enough, it shouldn't start with fifty francs. Some income is better than nothing, right?

Joey stopped him painfully: "Okay, okay, Mr. Monet, there is no need to say anything."

A sense of guilt for having gnawed the emerald cabbage bald and let it count the money came from the bottom of my heart.

"These paintings," Joey looked around, "are all the works of several people?"

"Ah, yes, and several other friends of ours who are not here today."

Monet, Pissarro, Morisot, Renoir, Sisley, Cézanne, Degas.

Well, they are neatly arranged in the history of art.

Joey quickly calculated the income of his lottery speculation, and he couldn't help but smile apologetically: "Well, do you mind—"

Several painters raised their hearts, which really doesn't sound like the beginning of any good words.

"—I bought all the paintings in this exhibition?"

Monet was stunned.

Pissarro lost one of his hands and almost tore off his beard.

Even Morisot froze.The pipe clicked and slipped from between her fingers onto the table.

Finally, when Monet came back to his senses and began to confirm her meaning to Joy with ecstasy, Morisot picked up the dropped pipe with trembling hands, and bowed his head to Marie.

"Your lady... is she rich?"

"Yes, very rich."

Mary thought for a while, and then added: "More importantly, she is very good at making money."

"Believe me, if she likes you, it means that your works will be very valuable in the future."

Morisot chuckled: "You can really talk. Thank you."

The fringe painters jokingly called "Impressionists" were repeatedly rejected from the official salon, and this is the first time that they have received such straightforward recognition.

Their paintings are being bought.

This generous lady even said that she would be their patron and help them hold art exhibitions in major cities!

Oh my God, this is an angel sent by God.

The painters were intoxicated in the dream of becoming famous, and Joey was also intoxicated in the joy of collecting stamps.

Together with these well-known artists, she excitedly discussed how to promote the painting, let more people know it, and how to lead the trend of the painting world...

A familiar meow suddenly came from outside the door, "Meow—"

Joey looked up subconsciously.

A slender young man was standing at the door with a black cat in his arms, raised his eyebrows slightly, his light blue eyes reflected the afternoon sun on the banks of the Seine, and smiled half-smile.

"Joey."

"haven't seen you for a long time."

The author has something to say: Antonio: Run, why don't you run?

Joey: You...you don't move here, I'm going to buy some oranges...

Mary: The Eye That Sees Everything.jpg

Antonio (poking Ziyawu's belly, the devil whispers): Your mother doesn't want you——

*Refers to real reviews of Impressionism

Awow, the author lost his manuscript with orange melon code words! !I'm sorry, I wanted to complete the big move of getting a fat badge to Antonio today, but I lost the manuscript and had to go back to work overtime at night, so I can't keep up...Tomorrow, tomorrow must be there!

Thank you Shuiyan for the cute two mines!Expensive~

Thanks to Vita, tea-flavored little salted fish, early morning, Qianli Yingti, did Amon soak up the fool today, the nutrient solution for senior divers~