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      [名作賞析] 陸越子:筆墨春秋裏的花鳥精神

      7 已有 214 次阅读   2025-08-27 09:14
      陸越子:筆墨春秋裏的花鳥精神
      亮津閣 2025-08-16 19:49
      陆越子 字厚百,号知何堂主。1954年出生于江苏泰州,1979年毕业于南京师范大学美术系并留校任教。南京师范大学美术学院教授,中国美术家协会会员,九三学社中央书画院副院长,九三学社江苏画院院长,江苏省传统文化促进会副主席,江苏省侨联国际文化交流促进会副会长兼书画专委会主任,江苏省美协花鸟画艺委会顾问,江苏省花鸟画研究会顾问,南京书画院顾问。
      在當代中國畫壇,陸越子以其對花鳥畫藝術的深耕與突破,成爲大寫意領域繞不開的坐標。這位字厚百、號知何堂主的江蘇泰州人,自1979年執教南京師範大學美術學院以來,便將筆墨與生命、傳統與創新熔鑄爲一體,其筆下的花鳥不僅是自然生靈的摹寫,更是精神世界的呐喊與低語,在濃淡幹濕間藏著中國文人最本真的性情與哲思。
      一、筆墨爲骨:從“十八描”到“寫心迹”的突破
      陸越子的花鳥畫,首先令人驚歎的是其筆墨功底的深厚與靈動。他深谙傳統筆墨“五筆七墨”的精髓,卻不做古法的囚徒,反而將其拆解、重構,賦予筆墨以當代生命力。在他看來,“筆墨不是技術,是心跳的節奏”——這一點在其大寫意花鳥中體現得淋漓盡致。
      畫荷花時,他常用“破墨法”:先以淡墨鋪就荷葉的基底,趁墨未幹時潑入濃墨,讓墨色在宣紙上自然暈染、沖撞,形成深淺不一的肌理,恰似雨後荷葉上滾動的水珠,既有自然的隨性,又暗含對“虛實相生”的把控。而荷葉的葉脈,則以“飛白筆”勾勒,枯澀的線條如老藤纏石,透著曆經風雨的蒼勁,與飽滿的葉面形成“剛柔相濟”的張力。花瓣多以沒骨法暈染,胭脂與钛白在筆尖自然交融,一筆下去,既有花瓣的豐潤,又有光影的層次,似有晨露沾在瓣尖,觸之可及。
      更具突破性的是他將傳統人物畫的“十八描”轉化爲花鳥畫的“十八法”。畫鷹時,他用“鐵線描”勾勒鷹爪,線條如鋼絲般勁挺,爪尖嵌入岩石的力道仿佛能穿透紙背;繪蘭草,則取“行雲流水描”,線條柔中帶韌,似有微風拂過,蘭葉的擺動帶著呼吸般的韻律;寫紫藤,又以“釘頭鼠尾描”表現藤蔓的纏繞,起筆如釘入木,收筆似鼠尾輕揚,纏繞間藏著生生不息的活力。這種對線條的極致掌控,讓他的花鳥擺脫了“形似”的束縛,進入“以線寫神”的境界。
      二、意趣爲魂:花鳥是自然的詩,更是人心的鏡
      陸越子的花鳥,從不滿足于對自然的簡單複刻,而是以“萬物有靈”的視角,賦予草木蟲魚以人的性情與哲思。他畫牡丹,不追求“富貴逼人”的濃豔,反而偏愛畫“雨中牡丹”:花瓣被雨水打濕,微微低垂,顔色以淡粉爲主,邊緣暈染一層淺灰,卻在花蕊處點染一點金黃,似有不屈的生機。他說:“牡丹不該只有‘富貴’一種面孔,雨打後的沈靜,更見風骨。”
      畫鳥雀時,他尤重“情態”的捕捉。《秋枝棲雀圖》中,兩只麻雀立于枯枝上,一只低頭啄食草籽,喙部微張,爪尖緊扣枝幹,連羽毛的蓬松感都透著冬日的瑟縮;另一只則側身回望,眼神警惕中帶著好奇,尾羽微微上翹,似在留意周遭的動靜。背景的枯枝以焦墨橫掃,寥寥數筆便顯蕭瑟,卻在枝桠處留一抹朱砂色的殘果,成爲畫面的點睛之筆——那是雀兒越冬的希望,也是畫家對“苦寒中見生機”的生命禮贊。
      他筆下的蟲魚更是意趣盎然。畫螳螂,必畫其“舉臂”之姿,鐮刀般的前足半擡,複眼圓睜,似在凝視獵物,又似在警惕天敵,那股“雖小而勇”的氣勢,讓人想起“螳臂當車”的執著;繪遊魚,則用“簡筆”,僅以淡墨勾勒魚身,再以濃墨點出眼睛,魚尾一擺,便有“如在水中遊”的靈動,留白處似有水波蕩漾,不著一筆而盡得風流。這些生靈沒有刻意的“擬人化”,卻在不經意的情態中,與觀者的生命體驗産生共鳴——那是對生存的敬畏,對自由的向往,對平凡的珍視。
      三、守正創新:從“意在筆先”到“筆外求意”的哲思
      作爲學者型畫家,陸越子的花鳥畫成就,更源于其對藝術理論的深刻思考與突破。他在王維“意在筆先”的傳統理念基礎上,大膽提出“意在筆後”的創作觀,認爲“真正的靈感不在動筆前的預設,而在筆墨與宣紙的碰撞中自然生長”。這種理念讓他的創作始終保持著“新鮮度”——同一題材,每次下筆都有新的感悟,正如他畫梅,有時側重枝幹的蒼勁,有時偏愛花朵的清逸,有時則以留白突出雪景中的孤絕,每一幅都有“當下”的心境投射。
      他對工筆與寫意的融合,更是打破了傳統畫科的壁壘。其工筆花鳥《山茶绶帶圖》中,山茶花的花瓣以極細的筆觸層層暈染,肌理細膩如真,連花瓣上的絨毛都清晰可見;而绶帶鳥的尾羽卻用寫意筆法橫掃,墨色濃淡交錯,似有羽毛飄動的動感。工筆的“精”與寫意的“放”在畫面中渾然一體,既保留了工筆的嚴謹,又注入了寫意的氣韻,這種“以工養寫,以寫活工”的探索,讓他的花鳥在當代畫壇獨樹一幟。
      更難得的是,他將花鳥畫的意境拓展至“人文關懷”的維度。《殘荷聽雨圖》中,枯敗的荷葉卷曲如破傘,蓮蓬只剩空殼,卻有一只青蛙蹲在殘葉上,凝視著滴落的雨水。畫面沒有蕭瑟之感,反而透著“留得殘荷聽雨聲”的詩意,那是對生命“榮枯交替”的坦然,也是對“殘缺之美”的深刻體悟。這種將自然景象與人生哲思相勾連的能力,讓他的花鳥畫超越了“賞心悅目”的層面,成爲承載中國文人精神的載體。
      四、師法自然:在生活褶皺裏打撈靈感
      陸越子常說:“畫室裏長不出好花鳥,靈感在田埂上、窗台上、春風裏。”他的創作從不閉門造車,而是始終紮根于對自然的細致觀察。每年春天,他都會去南京的中山陵寫生,看新竹破土時的弧度,記櫻花飄落時的姿態;秋日則去郊外看蘆葦蕩,觀察蘆花在風中的搖擺,感受夕陽落在稻穗上的暖黃。就連家中窗台上的盆栽、牆角的蛛網,都是他觀察的對象——他畫牽牛花,會特意記下清晨花瓣舒展的速度;繪蜜蜂,會留意它停在花蕊上時翅膀的振動頻率。
      這種對自然的“沈浸式體驗”,讓他的花鳥有了“煙火氣”。《籬邊秋趣圖》中,籬笆是鄉下常見的竹編樣式,上面爬滿了牽牛花,一朵盛開,一朵半卷,還有一朵剛露花苞,旁邊一只紡織娘正趴在葉片上,翅膀的紋路清晰可辨。畫中沒有刻意的構圖,卻像隨手拍下的生活片段,透著“采菊東籬下”的閑適。他說:“最好的花鳥,是讓觀者覺得‘這就是我見過的樣子’,卻又比記憶裏的更動人。”
      從筆墨的突破到意趣的深耕,從理論的創新到生活的紮根,陸越子的花鳥畫始終圍繞著一個核心——“以花鳥寫人心”。在他的畫裏,牡丹可以有風骨,麻雀可以有靈性,殘荷可以有詩意,因爲他畫的從來不是花鳥本身,而是人對世界的感知與深情。這種將自然與人文、傳統與現代熔于一爐的藝術追求,讓他的作品在當代畫壇立起一座豐碑——那裏有筆墨的溫度,有生命的厚度,更有中國文化生生不息的精神力量。

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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." 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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. 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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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