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      [收藏·市場] 【扯經】品玉如品茶:玉雕作品的甜膩與回甘

      3 已有 81 次阅读   2025-08-15 17:49
      【扯經】品玉如品茶:玉雕作品的甜膩與回甘
      藏玉APP 2025-08-12 15:32
      偶然聽藏友聊起近代幾位畫家:吳昌碩筆墨間透著“苦”味,張大千才情縱橫卻“甜”得濃烈;齊白石匠心經營,介于苦甜之間;黃賓虹晚年下筆隨性,渾然天成,看似“不知所雲”卻又直指本心。
      听到这里,我心头豁然一亮!回顾自己这二十多年的玩玉之路,从最初的熱烈追逐,到后来的沉潜体悟,这几位大师画风里品出的“甜”、“苦”、“匠心”与“浑然”,竟与我藏玉审美的数次变迁丝丝入扣。原来这方寸玉石间的求索,早已在不经意间,与更辽远的艺术境界悄然共鸣,恰如品茶之道,滋味层层递进,回味绵长。
      玩玉二十年,喜好四變
      初入玉門,獨愛“紅皮白肉”。如同許多新入門的藏友,彼時眼中唯有那橘紅皮色映襯下的瑩白玉肉。俏色巧雕的花鳥魚蟲,色彩鮮明,意趣盎然,觀之便心生歡喜,認定此乃上品。這般感受,恰如張大千畫作之“甜”——才情橫溢,光彩照人,令人一見傾心。紅皮白肉,便是我那時心頭的“甜味劑”。
      渐入佳境,转而痴迷“器皿之拙”。大概2012年左右,我的兴趣悄然转向,那些造型敦实的香炉、线条雅致的茶壶,以其洗练的轮廓与沉静的气韵开始吸引我。睙徵殷建国大师的作品。每一刀都经过深思熟虑,一气呵成,无法回头,成品透出独特的“拙”味。此“拙”,仿佛齐白石画作,笔笔经营,功力内蕴,初看朴质,细品方觉回甘。相较红皮白肉的直白之“甜”,器皿的“拙”中,已然透出几分沉淀的意蕴。
      再上層樓,醉心“文人之苦”。三、四年前,我又被“文人玉雕”所傾倒。源于閱讀《中國文人畫史》,心弦爲之撥動。案頭清供、文房雅玩、氣韻清冷的香爐……無不流淌著書卷氣息與孤高格調。這般感受,酷似吳昌碩畫風,帶著一絲不迎合世俗的“苦”味,卻自有其文人的風骨與清寂。追求這份“文人味”,成爲我收藏路上一次重要的轉向,開始懂得欣賞含蓄內斂、不事張揚的美學境界。
      終悟其道,崇尚“天人之合”。及至近年,我的喜好又經曆了一次深刻的“突變”。我開始對那些“天人各半”甚至意象混沌的作品著迷。例如一方青花籽料,其天然紋理如山巒似雲霧,形態莫可名狀,然其渾然天成、宛若宇宙初開的氣韻,本身便足以動人心魄。這般境界,恰如黃賓虹晚年畫作,筆隨心至,似無預設章法,卻直抵藝術本真。至此方悟,題材是否明確、寓意是否吉祥、玉質是否頂級,皆已非首要。美,源于材質本身與自然造化的和諧共鳴。
      玉雕之味:從“甜膩”到“回甘”的領悟
      二十年間審美的數次轉變,讓我逐漸領悟:好的玉雕作品,不能光有“甜”。太“甜”的東西,例如一眼驚豔、雕工繁複、寓意直白的龍龜或貔貅,如同過甜的糖果,初嘗討喜,久品則易生膩煩。問題在于,過分的炫技與刻意的迎合,常常掩蓋了玉石自身的美,使其淪爲工匠技藝的展板。
      好的作品,需要蘊含一絲“苦”味或“澀”感。這並非指觀感上的不適,而是指內涵需更沈靜,表達需更內斂,更應凸顯玉石天然的特質。它不事張揚,要求觀者靜心體會玉質的溫潤、結構的韻律、天然紋理的意趣,以及那份曆經沈澱的拙樸或清雅。如同上佳的巧克力,純粹的甜並不高級,需帶有可可的微苦與悠長的回甘,層次方顯豐富,才經得起反複品味。
      如何成就這份“苦”韻?關鍵在于玉雕者需懂得“忘我”。面對一塊玉料,不應先急于構思如何展現驚世題材以標榜技藝。首要的是讀懂這塊玉料自身想“訴說”什麽?它的形狀、顔色、質地、绺裂瑕疵,天然呈現出怎樣的態勢與美感?就像一塊紋理如山似霧的青花料,其天然意境已然存在。
      雕琢,应是顺应玉石本身的“语言”去稍加点化,去凸显其天成的美感,而非生硬地套上一个熱闹却格格不入的造型。唯有将“展现玉质之美”置于“表达个人工艺”之前,作品方能褪去浮夸的“甜腻”,拥有令人回味悠长的“苦”韵与深度。
      玉在前,人在後:收藏的無我之境
      “先玉後工”是我當下收藏所秉持的理念。以往評判,條框甚多:是否爲籽料?皮色是否豔麗?白度是否達標?工藝是否精細?器型是否周正?這些固然是基礎,但如今,我更看重整體呈現是否“和諧美觀”,觀感是否“自然舒適”。
      這種“美”與“舒適”,是玉料質地、設計構思、雕刻工藝與內在氣韻渾然天成的結果,是玉石天然之美被恰如其分地喚醒與彰顯。爲何許多上乘玉料最終被糟蹋?症結常在玉雕者的“我執”過重。過于渴望在玉石上留下個人印記,證明自己的巧思與技藝,反而忽略了傾聽玉石本身的聲音。
      其審美認知若無法與玉料本身的“氣質”相匹配,結果只能是暴殄天物。如同讓認知有限者收藏名畫,恐難識其真價值。玉雕師若不能超越“自我表達”的局限,便無法讓美玉煥發其應有的光華。
      因此,我理解一些玉友爲何鍾情于原石。一塊天然去雕飾的玩料籽,其自身的美是完整無瑕的,人有時反覺難以企及。但對于有特點或瑕疵的做料,雕刻確有必要。核心在于如何雕?理想的未來方向,應是“天人共鑄”——以天賜的形態、皮色、紋理爲基礎,人工的點化是順勢而爲的錦上添花。
      如同王一蔔的一些佳作,在天然象形上稍加勾勒,神韻立顯。這要求玉雕師具備更高的境界:懂得克制,心懷敬畏,甘願讓玉石成爲真正的主角。
      收藏至此,有時確實感到“孤單”。不再拘泥于單一標准,亦厭倦了純粹的商業喧囂。心中所念,是如何讓和田玉作品真正成爲經得起時光淬煉的藝術品。其核心,必須尊重和田玉獨有的語言——它的材質美感、溫潤觸感、曆經億萬年形成的天然氣質。玉雕,是人與天地自然的一場合作,正如茶道,是人與自然、技藝與時間的和諧共舞。
      玉海無涯,此刻體悟,或許二十年後回望,又會有新的認知。但我確信,收藏的真趣,正蘊藏在這不斷“破”與“立”,在沖泡中探索層層滋味。
      愿你我都能少些迷茫,多些纯粹的熱爱,在美玉的相伴下,寻得内心的安宁。毕竟,玩玉的初衷,不就是遇见那块“对眼”之玉时,心头那一动的纯粹欢喜么?如同遇上一泡好茶,茶烟轻扬,心头一暖,便是人间至味。

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      He held out his hand. ‘I shall be very pleased to show you anything I’ve got,’ said Keeling. ‘We will have a cup of{274} tea in my library unless Lady Inverbroom is waiting in your motor.’ The morning after their return from Enoshima was mostly spent at the hotel, as all three of the excursionists were somewhat fatigued with their journey. The boys embraced the opportunity to ask the Doctor the meaning of certain things they had observed in Japan, and which had not been brought up in conversation. Till we look on the world from above." "Would I not tell my dream, as nice young men in the Bible always did?" "No," he said, "my last name is Durand." He gave it the French pronunciation. "She air!" He was pleased. "Yass, we all good frien's togetheh." "Gholson, s'e, 'I done as I done, sir, from my highest sense o' duty. This ain't Lieutenant Helm's own little private war, Lieutenant Quinn, nor mine, nor yours.'" "I am Charlotte Oliver." "I'm afraid your explanation won't hold water," he rejoined. "I can't bring myself not to believe in what I saw. You see, all my life I have been trying to believe in miracles, in manifestations. I have always said that if only we could bring ourselves to accept what is not obvious. My best sermons have been upon[Pg 129] that subject: of the desirability of getting ourselves into the receptive state. Sometimes the Vicar has objected. He seemed to think I was piling it on deliberately. But I assure you, Doctor Allingham, that I have always wanted to believe—and, in this case, it was only my infirmity and my unfortunate nervousness that led me to lose such an opportunity." "It sounds incredible," the Countess said. There was a faint moaning cry in the doorway, a tiny white figure stood there. Mamie had been awakened by the ringing of the bell, she had missed Hetty, and had come down in her childish way to see what was the matter. For compasses, the lead points should be cylindrical, and fit into a metal sheath without paper packing or other contrivance to hold them; and if a draughtsman has instruments not arranged in this manner, he should have them changed at once, both for convenience and economy. Chuck-boring is employed in three cases; for holes of shallow depth, taper holes, and holes that are screw-threaded. As pieces are overhung in lathe-boring there is not sufficient rigidity neither of the lathe spindle nor of the tools to admit of deep boring. The tools being guided in a straight line, and capable of acting at any angle to the axis of rotation, the facilities for making tapered holes are complete; and as the tools are stationary, and may be instantly adjusted, the same conditions answer for cutting internal screw-threads; an operation corresponding to cutting external screws, except that the cross motions of the tool slide are reversed. "Sister," I said, "I am a cousin of S?ur Eulalie, and should like to see her, to know how she is and take her greetings to her family in The Netherlands." 102 As I went a patrol marched out—reinforcements had again come from Tongres—whose task was to clear the district of the enemy. The patrol consisted of six Death-head hussars, about forty bicyclists, and the rest infantry, altogether about four hundred men, who were able to keep together, because the hussars and the cyclists proceeded very slowly and cautiously in the direction of Lanaeken. I went with them, chatting with one of the officers. As soon as they had got to the road, the greatest caution188 was observed. The hussars went in front, followed by some of the infantry, all in loose formation, continually looking about in all directions, with the finger at the cock of the rifle. Nor is it only the personality of Socrates that has been so variously conceived; his philosophy, so far as it can be separated from his life, has equally given occasion to conflicting interpretations, and it has even been denied that he had, properly speaking, any philosophy at all. These divergent presentations of his teaching, if teaching it can be called, begin with the two disciples to whom our knowledge of it is almost entirely due. There is, curiously enough, much the same inner discrepancy between Xenophon’s Memorabilia and those111 Platonic dialogues where Socrates is the principal spokesman, as that which distinguishes the Synoptic from the Johannine Gospels. The one gives us a report certainly authentic, but probably incomplete; the other account is, beyond all doubt, a highly idealised portraiture, but seems to contain some traits directly copied from the original, which may well have escaped a less philosophical observer than Plato. Aristotle also furnishes us with some scanty notices which are of use in deciding between the two rival versions, although we cannot be sure that he had access to any better sources of information than are open to ourselves. By variously combining and reasoning from these data modern critics have produced a third Socrates, who is often little more than the embodiment of their own favourite opinions. the summer when I wasn't teaching Latin to my two stupid children. And so on, in an endless file, come the bodies of the faithful dead, some from long distances, so that their souls may rise at once to paradise from their ashes burnt on the Manumenka. “Looks bad, this-here, don’t it?” He grinned. Turning with a confidential air and addressing Dick, for whom he seemed to have the greater liking, Mr. “Everdail” spoke. “All ready!” called Larry, bending the end of the line so its flow went into the central tank of the amphibian. As soon as the yacht came in sight, they stared toward the stern. “We can prove it—come on!” He held up a hand, and pointed ahead, then opened the throttle, came onto a straightaway course over the hydroplane, rapidly overhauled it and got well ahead. Then, cutting the gun and gliding, as it came up under them, he signaled, and Dick, waiting, ignited a second flare. “What about Tommy Larsen?” He failed in his purpose. “Tommy’s a good pilot,” Jeff admitted. “Well—I’ll be on my way. See you at the next air Derby!” Jeff grinned at his joke and walked on. Countless times his nerves had been pulled by sounds which turned out on second thought to be only the contracting of the hot metal, subjected to the sun all day, as the evening breeze robbed it of its warmth. “He could start his motor and taxi while it warmed up, and be half across the Sound before he took off if he wanted to, in that ‘phib,’” the pilot said. Turning, he called that he would get going, and returned beyond their view beyond the trees. "Some Sierra Blanca, sir," said the soldier. It was respectful enough, and yet there was somewhere in the man's whole manner an air of equality, even superiority, that exasperated the lieutenant. It was contrary to good order and military discipline that a private should speak without hesitation, or without offence to the English tongue. A long sunset shadow fell across his path, and he looked up. Felipa was walking beside a little white burro, and holding Mrs. Campbell's golden-curled baby upon its back. She carried her head superbly erect, and her step, because of the moccasins, was quite noiseless. The glow of the sunset shone in her unflinching eyes, and lost itself in the dull black mass of her hair. She studied his face calmly, with a perfectly impersonal approval. There were also magazines and a few books in more than one language, wild flowers arranged in many sorts[Pg 36] of strange jars, and in the corner, by an improvised couch, a table stacked with cups and plates of Chelsea-Derby, which were very beautiful and very much out of place. "Over here to Tucson" was a three days' ride under the most favorable circumstances; but with the enthusiastic botanist dismounting at short intervals to make notes and press and descant upon specimens, it was five days before they reached, towards nightfall, the metropolis of the plains. At the instant a cloud floated over the sun, and soon a black bank began to fill up the sky above the ca?on. As they ate their breakfast in the tent, the morning darkened forebodingly. Felipa finished the big quart cup of weak coffee hurriedly, and stood up, pushing[Pg 99] back her camp-stool. Her horse and four others were waiting. Kirby was without fear, but he was also without redress. He turned from them, his face contracted with the pain of his impotence, and walked back to the house. "I could order them off the ranch to-night," he told his wife, as he dropped on a chair, and taking up the hearth brush made a feint of sweeping two or three cinders from the floor; "but it's ten to one they wouldn't go and it would weaken my authority—not that I have any, to be sure—and besides," he flung down the brush desperately and turned to her, "I didn't want to tell you before, but there is a pretty straight rumor that Victorio's band, or a part of it, is in these hills. We may need the men at any time." Neither spoke of the two who should have been back hours ago. The night closed slowly down. [Pg 209] "Now you get up and walk in front of me, and don't you try to bolt. I can run faster than you can, and, anyway, I'll shoot you if you try it." The probable outcome of things at the rate they were going was perfectly apparent. Landor would advance in age, respectability, and rank, and would be retired and settle down on three-fourths pay. He himself would end up in some cow-boy row, degraded and worthless, a tough character very probably, a fine example of nothing save atavism. And Felipa would grow old. That splendid triumphant youth of hers would pass, and she would be a commonplace, subdued, middle-aged woman, in whom a relapse to her nature would be a mere vulgarity. She gave a dry little sob of unutterable glad relief and tried to raise her voice and call to him, the call they used for one another when they rode about the ranch. But the sound was only a weak, low wail. Eugene, during these affairs, had been actively prosecuting the fortunes of the Allies with his remnant of an army. He pushed on the siege of Quesnoy, and took it. He sent a flying detachment of one thousand five hundred cavalry, under Major-General Grovestein, to make an incursion into France. This force made a rapid raid in Champagne, passed the Noire, the Meuse, the Moselle, and the Saar, ravaged the country, reduced a great number of villages and towns to[7] ashes, rode up to the very gate of Metz, and then retired to Traerbach with a load of rich booty. This was a proof of what might have been done in France at this period with the whole army united under a commander like Marlborough, in place of miserably giving up everything to that country in the moment of power. As it was, it created the utmost consternation in Paris, the people of which already saw the English at their gate; whilst Louis did not think himself safe at Versailles, but gathered all the troops in the neighbourhood of the capital around his palace, leaving the city to take care of itself. WELFEN CASTLE, HANOVER. Colonel Gardiner endeavoured to charge the advancing enemy with his dragoons; but it was in vain that he attempted to animate their craven souls by word and example—at the first volley of the Highlanders they wheeled and fled. The same disgraceful scene took place on the left, at nearly the same moment. Hamilton's regiment of horse dispersed at the first charge of the Macdonalds, leaving the centre exposed on both its flanks. The infantry made a better stand than the cavalry; it discharged a steady and well-directed volley on the advancing Highlanders, and killed some of their best men, amongst others, a son of the famous Rob Roy. But the Highlanders did not give them time for a second volley; they were up with them, dashed aside their bayonets with their targets, burst through their ranks in numerous places, so that the whole, not being able to give way on account of the park wall of Preston, were thrown into confusion, and at the mercy of the foe. Never was a battle so instantly decided—it is said not to have lasted more than five or six minutes; never was a defeat more absolute. Sir John Cope, or Johnnie Cope, as he will be styled in Scotland to the end of time, by the assistance of the Earls of Loudon and Home, collected about four hundred and fifty of the recreant dragoons, and fled to Coldstream that night. There not feeling secure, they continued their flight till they reached Berwick, where Sir Mark Kerr received Cope with the[97] sarcastic but cruelly true remark that he believed that he was the first general on record who had carried the news of his own defeat. "The same idea has occurred to me," said the Lieutenant; "though I've felt all along that we should not be diverted by anything from making our way as fast as possible up to the main line. What do you think, Shorty?" "I cannot get you out of the army too quickly. Sign this, and leave my office, and take off your person every sign of your connection with the army. I shall give orders that if you appear on the street with so much as a military button on, it shall be torn off you." "I'd probably hit him a welt and he'd go off bawlin' like a calf," he communed with himself. "No; Billings is too tame, now, until he finds out whether we've got anything on him to send him to the penitentiary, where he orter go." "But you ain't nigh 18," said Si, looking him over, pleased with the boy's spirit. Si and Shorty ran down in the direction indicated. They found the boys, stern-eyed and resolute, surrounding two weak-eyed, trembling "crackers," who had apparently come to the train with baskets of leathery-crusted dried-apple pies for sale. The men were specimens of the weak-minded, weak-bodied, lank-haired "po' white trash," but the boys had sized them up on sight as dangerous spies and guerrillas, had laid hands on them and dragged them down into the brush, where Gid Mackall and Harry Joslyn were doing a fair reproduction of Williams, Paulding and Van Wert searching Maj. Andre's clothes for incriminating documents. They had the prisoners' hands tied behind them and their ankles bound. So far they had discovered a clumsy brass-barreled pistol and an ugly-looking spring dirk, which were sufficient to confirm the dangerous character of the men. Two of the boys had secured ropes from the train, which they were trying to fashion into hangman's nooses. Gid and Harry finished a painstaking examination of the men's ragged jeans vests, with a look of disappointment at finding nothing more inculpating that some fishhooks, chunks of twist tobacco and cob-pipes. "Do you say that Sherman has extra tunnels, too, to put in whenever one is needed?" asked Harry, with opening eyes. "You bob-tailed brevet West Pointer," said Shorty savagely, raising his fist, "I've a notion to break you in two for tryin' to beat me out o' what's mine. Git out o' here, or I'll—" Fruyling's World The song was necessary, and his voice, carrying over the sounds that filtered through to him, was clear and strong. The Quarter Sessions were held early in December, and Robert's case came wedged between the too hopeful finances of a journeyman butcher and the woes of a farmer from Guldeford who had tried to drown himself and his little boy off the Midrips. Robert was sentenced to three years' imprisonment. "Of course it is—and the very best silk too. I'll put it on. Please undo my dress." Her look of surprise and adoration was his reward. Pete fetched some soup from the larder and heated it up to a tepid condition; he also produced bread and cold bacon, which the prodigal could not touch. Albert sat hunched up by the fire, coughing and shivering. He had not altered much since he left Odiam; he was thin and hectic, and had an unshaved look about him, also there were a few grey streaks in his hair—otherwise he was the same. His manner was the same too, though his voice had changed completely, and he had lost his Sussex accent. "If I could only see a parson," sobbed Albert at last. "Sacrilege!" shouted he—"sacrilege! Take them, dead or alive!" It was to little purpose that Richard expostulated; the fair Joan was resolved to share in whatever perils might befal her son. As they approached Mile-end, the princess started at the deafening clamour which arose from the multitude; some shouting for Richard as they saw him advance, and others vociferating as loudly that all should hold their peace until they knew what the king would grant. When the tumult had in some degree subsided, Sir Aubrey de Vere and Sir Robert Knowles rode forward in advance of the king, and approaching Jack Straw, who was also on horseback:—
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      ENTER NUMBET 0012