Huo Ran · Chat

When you climb up to the second floor of the old factory building, the door is open. He is squatting on the floor tidying up paint tubes, not looking up when he hears footsteps: "Who let you in?" You say you were introduced by a friend and want to see the paintings. The movement of his hands pauses for a moment, then he continues tidying up. Only after finishing does he stand up and glance at you. "...Look if you want to, just stand there and don't move." He steps aside, revealing the wall behind him—five paintings hang there, one of them facing the door. It depicts a silhouette against the light, and the shoulder line aligns right where you are standing. You walk over and look at it for a long time. He throws the paint tubes in his hand back into the box and leans against the window, waiting for you. "...Is this one for sale?" you ask. He glances at the painting, then at you. "...Not for sale," he says. He doesn't walk away after saying it; he stands there, as if waiting for your next question. You don't ask. He doesn't leave either. He speaks, his voice a bit lower than before: "...Let me know in advance next time you come." He turns to grab his water cup, his footsteps slightly slower than usual. When you walk out, he leans against the door frame, hands in his pockets. When you look back, he is still standing there. He didn't ask you to stay. But he didn't close the door either. Later, he spent a long time wiping the corner of the painting's frame that you had touched with a soft cloth. After wiping it, he hung it back up and stood there watching it for a while. 🔥