The Versatile Master Artist

Gu Weijing looked at the certificate, stunned for a moment.

He didn’t expect

to join Yangon’s Calligraphy and Painting Association just like that.

”From now on, I can also be considered a person with an official identity.”

Gu Weijing was a bit thrilled.

This was a new experience for him, having only ever been dragged by Mona to join student clubs.

Theoretically,

from the moment he received this certificate, he was no longer seen as a student in the eyes of the Yangon Cultural Bureau and event organizers, but a legitimate artist, ”Teacher Gu.”

Directly on par with his grandfather.

However,

he didn’t recall ever applying to join.

”I filed the report for you, and I got someone to approve it for you last week,”

Old Wu said, not even lifting his head, casually.

”The Calligraphy and Painting Association doesn’t really have much money; during holidays they give out some fruit or something. They usually organize two seminars a year, and participating members get an expert fee of two million Myanmar Kyat, with a travel allowance of one million Myanmar Kyat. The seminars are usually held at resorts in Yangon or Mandalay. If the budget permits, we occasionally hold meetings in Phuket Dao or Pattaya, Thailand, so it’s like a public-funded trip.”

”This is considered a perk; if you want to participate, you can, if not, you can ignore it.”

”In addition, with membership qualifications, you can visit all public museums and galleries for free.”

”If a Painting Association member has special creative needs, they can go through official channels to get special permission to reproduce certain precious artifacts or rub inscriptions, but you have to submit an application report to the Cultural Bureau in advance, which is quite troublesome.”

”Old Gu knows about this stuff; if you don’t understand, ask your grandfather yourself.”

Old Wu chuckled, ”Actually, there are just a few scattered cats and dogs in our public galleries, not much of interest.”

”The one thing I figured might come in handy is if your grandfather gives me an address. In a couple of days, through the association, I can send a notification certifying you as a high-level artist to the enrollment office of your school.”

The old man rolled his eyes and asked Gu Tongxiang across from him.

”Old Gu? I remember your Gu Weijing and his sister both attend Fitz, right? According to the current cultural policy, with this recognition, he can enter any university in Yangon without an exam, but internationally, it’s not widely recognized, so you’ll have to figure it out yourselves.”

When Old Wu just said a couple of words, Gu Tongxiang couldn’t focus on the chess game anymore.

Sitting on a small stool, he stretched his neck, keenly peering at the certificate in his grandson’s hand, as happy as an old giraffe.

”If you don’t make a move, you’ll lose this game,” Old Wu impatiently knocked on the chessboard.

”Losing is losing.”

Gu Tongxiang didn’t care at all.

He just stopped playing, stood up from the stool, and with hands behind his back, joined his grandson to look at the certificate.

In the leather bag in Gu Weijing’s hand, besides the membership notification, there was also a member authentication certificate, a small brown leather booklet, about the size of half an adult’s palm.

The inside of the leather certificate had Gu Weijing’s name, gender, and birth date on top, and at the bottom, there were embossed seals from the Cultural Bureau and the Calligraphy and Painting Association.

The spot for the photo was temporarily empty, needing Gu Weijing to attach a photo himself.

This member authentication certificate is commonly understood as the ”art expert” certificate.

”Since you’ve lost the game, I’ll take the cigarettes then.”

Old Wu took the box of locally made Red Bee cigarettes next to the chessboard and stuffed it into his pocket.

Nicotene and alcohol aren’t great for the health of artists.

To the likes of Gu Tongxiang, Old Wu, who were half scholars and half businessmen, and who had made it through extremely turbulent times,

not indulging in smoking and drinking was simply a joke.

Without these things, you simply couldn’t get along in various social situations.

Although Gu Tongxiang was quite strict with his grandson Gu Weijing, he himself was a chain smoker, and when playing chess with Old Wu, they’d usually bet a pack of cigarettes.

Not expensive, just something to spice up the game.

”Smoke this, smoke this...”

Gu Tongxiang brought out two cedar-wood wrapped, thumb-thick individually packaged cigars from the house.

He handed Old Wu a new one while taking out a partially smoked one from another cigar tube for himself.

This was a small box he had acquired years ago from a second secretary of an embassy from a Latin American country who came to Gu’s Painting and Calligraphy Gallery to buy art.

Only about a dozen in total.

Genuine high-end goods from Cuba’s state-run cigar experience center.

The old man treasured them dearly and wouldn’t smoke them himself.

He would only offer one to those willing to buy artwork worth a few thousand dollars at the gallery.

Offering a cigar meant just letting Elder Gu take a few casual puffs, sniff at it, then set it aside to let it extinguish naturally, saving it for the next time, and return to smoking a cigarette himself.

Gu Tongxiang did this four or five times, and the remaining cigar was still about one-third left.

”Oh, how generous!”

Old Wu took the cigar tube, smacking his lips, teasing, ”I guess today you’re in a good mood. Looks like my New Year’s money didn’t go to waste.”

He had been eyeing those cigars for a long time.

Multiple times during chess games, he had suggested betting on them, but Gu Tongxiang never agreed.

”Let me light it for you, let me, using a lighter to light a cigar gives off an oily smoke, not proper.”