我父亲汪曾祺的画
www.zjol.com.cn 2005年07月18日 浙江在线新闻网站
说句实话，我来写这么一个题目，实在不够资格。首先，我不懂书画，其次，我也不很懂我父亲。只能说说我眼中的父亲与他的画了。
父亲会画画，喜欢画，这我们早就知道。家里曾有一本莫扎特的歌剧曲谱，是五线谱，谁都不识，不知从哪儿来的。但开本比较大，好像是8开，印刷很精美，封面封底是淡黄色的硬厚纸。父亲在封底上画了一幅钢笔画头像，线条流畅，笔法飘逸。我和姐姐正在上小学，都爱画小人，所以对这幅画很感兴趣，我问姐姐：“这画的是谁呀?”姐姐琢磨了一会儿，恍然大悟：“这是爸的自画像!”我们俩哈哈大笑，“什么呀，一点都不像，爸的眼睛哪有这么大，爸哪有这么漂亮!”自此，我们对父亲的绘画水平已经有了一个基本的评价。父亲的字也很好，清雅俊逸。他右派“摘帽”回到北京后，在北京京剧团当编剧，有一段时间为剧团写过字幕，在宽不过四寸的玻璃纸卷上用蝇头小楷竖行书写，不能出错。我们那时候住的是木结构的房子，很不隔音，动静大了，父亲就会“嗯!”的一声，他更多的是在夜间书写，因为安静。
60年代中期，父亲和母亲带我们去美术馆看过一次齐白石画展，之后就是史无前例的“文化大革命”开始了。粉碎“四人帮”后，父亲由于是样板戏《沙家浜》的作者受审查，那段时间他先是愤懑、痛苦、委屈，后来逐渐平静下来，无所事事。我和姐姐陪着他逛公园、划船、遛弯儿，还陪他到故宫去，那时候门票很便宜，所以去过好几趟。父亲对于我们喜欢去的御花园、珍宝馆、钟表馆没有什么兴趣，他愿意去的是绘画馆。绘画馆的展品经常换，但父亲对这些画却非常熟悉，如数家珍，他告诉我，这幅宋徽宗的工笔花鸟有什么特点，那幅郑板桥的字是什么内容。有一次刚迈进绘画馆的门，还隔得老远，他就指着一幅画说：“唐寅的。”走到跟前一看，果然。父亲十分得意地笑了。可惜我对于书画一无所知，只是陪着他瞎逛，有时我觉得他太张扬了，还让他小声点。父亲画了一幅画压在玻璃板下面，半本书大小的元书纸上画了一只长嘴大眼鸟，一脚蜷缩，白眼向天。旁边有八个字：八大山人无此霸悍。哥哥的一个同学看了问，这是什么意思?哥哥笑嘻嘻地说，八大山人是清代一个很有名的画家。那个同学说：“噢，明白了，就是说八大山人也没这么狂!”这幅画是父亲宣泄情绪时画的，可惜没有保存下来。
70年代末，父亲开始恢复写作，心境渐渐开朗，有时高兴了画点画儿。他先是给好朋友朱德熙画了幅墨菊，朱伯伯很爱惜地镶在镜框里挂在墙上。有几个朋友看到了很欣赏，都要父亲画。于是一发而不可收。其时条件很简陋，父亲舍不得买宣纸，连颜色都没有，只有墨色一种。1983年夏天，我们搬了家，父亲终于有了一间自己的屋子。尽管极小，尽管集写作、睡觉、待客于一室，但他已经很知足了。原来他想写作，已经构思好了，却没有一张桌子，有时我上夜班睡觉刚起来，他就急急忙忙冲进来，铺开稿纸就写。我们都笑说，老头就像只鸡，憋好了一个蛋，却没有窝来下。搬家后，母亲为他买了一张大书桌，父亲这才正正规规地画起画来。很快，他的小屋就到处堆满了画好的画，一卷卷，一堆堆，有时候连个下脚的地方也没有。由于父亲在家里很没地位，因此他的画也不怎么受重视。我们经常胡说八道，横加指责：“留那么多的空白干嘛，你真浪费!”“鸟哪有这么大的眼睛和嘴呀? 一点都不像!”“爸，你画的花，杆子都这么老长，是不是底下不会画了，只好一笔拉下来?”父亲对于我们这些毫无道理的“攻击”，除了翻翻白眼，置之不理以外，别无他法。父亲很能凑合，有时候颜料用光了，他竟然用菠菜汁代替绿色，牙膏充当白色，还洋洋得意。多年后，我们整理他的画稿，一眼就看出哪张是用菠菜汁画的——绿色已经变成赭石色了。
随着父亲在文学界名声大起来，他的“画名”也渐渐传扬。一些朋友开始向他索画，父亲认真地为人作画，丝毫不亚于写作，尤其是要根据每个人的特点，在画上题字做诗，真是要花费一番工夫。但他乐此不疲。父亲写了字，画完画，尽兴了，就丢在一边不管了。毕竟这不是他的主业，他要写作，买菜，给我们做饭，有时还要背着母亲喝点酒。他的那些画就乱堆着，隔一段时间，我们就很不耐烦地用废报纸包包，放到书柜顶上。父亲从不跟我们谈论书画，因为我们不懂，只有我哥哥汪朗对字还多少懂一点。无论写作还是写字绘画，父亲都非常在乎我们的意见，甚至不点儿大的孙女、外孙女的意见，只因为我们是他的家人。有一次，孙女汪卉买了一个工艺品：一只胖乎乎的小鸟站在鸟窝前。大家都觉得很好玩，汪卉认真地说：“这是我给爷爷买的，让他照着画。”又补充道：“他画的鸟都不像!”全家笑得前仰后合，其中笑得最高兴的是父亲。如今，这只小鸟还站在父亲的书柜里。
父亲自己说：“我从小学到中学，都‘以画名’。我父亲有一些石印的和珂罗版印的画谱，我都看得熟了。放学回家，路过裱画店，我都要进去看看画谱。”父亲把作画的手法融进了小说，他喜欢舒朗清淡的风格，不喜欢繁复浓重。他说，他画的是对生活的喜悦。有评论家说，父亲的小说里有“画意”。让我们奇怪的是，父亲19岁离家，并没有一个安定的环境让他写字画画，他近60岁才重新又开始作画，笔法却毫不生涩，十分圆熟，一如近60岁才又开始写小说散文而出手不凡。记得1987年父亲受爱荷华国际写作中心邀请到美国住了3个月，行前画了些小张的画准备送人。考虑到国外不容易找裱画店，父亲特意把宣纸裁成方形，好让人家镶在镜框里。除了画他惯常画的花鸟以外，他还画了几张插瓶花卉，瓶是大肚广口的花瓶，还有些明暗立体的效果，花是康乃馨一类的花，调出了玫瑰红、蓝紫等浓重的颜色，还用了暗色的背景，很“洋”，近似油画。我们看了，都很惊讶，不知老头儿还会出什么新花样。
父亲去世后，一次徐城北先生见到我，谈起父亲生前很希望出一本书画集。这一下提醒了我们，于是把父亲多年积存的画稿都翻出来整理。慢慢的一张一张认真地看，我们才明白，我们失去的是一个什么样的父亲。
链接：
汪曾祺（1920年-1997年），作家、剧作家，江苏高邮人。青少年时就读于江阴南菁中学。1939年考入西南联合大学中文系，曾任中学国文教员、历史博物馆职员。建国后先后在北京市文联、中国民间文艺研究会工作。1958年被错划成右派。1962年底调至北京京剧团（院）任编剧。曾任北京剧协理事、中国作协理事、中国作协顾问等。
在海内外以不同文字出版过作品集20余部，代表作品有：小说《受戒》、《大淖记事》、散文集《蒲桥集》、京剧剧本《范进中举》、《沙家浜》（主要编者之一）等。
Life
My Father Wang Zengqi and His Drawings
By Wang Chao
I have no knowledge of paintings. Nor do I fully understand my father. What I am writing here is my father and his paintings in my eyes.
We kids knew in our early childhood that our father loved drawing. Once he drew a portrait on the back cover of a music book by Mozart. My sister and I were at primary school at that time and we loved drawing things. So we were interested in that portrait when we first saw it. When my sister finally figured out that it was our father\'s self portrait, we burst into laughter. We agreed that he was not as handsome as he appeared in the picture and he did not have eyes as big as he had in the picture.
We thought this portrait gave us an idea about how lousy his paintings were. But we knew his calligraphy was excellent. At that time he worked as a playwright at Beijing Peking Opera House. He also copied captions for the troupe in the evening, which were written with a brush pen onto the four-inch wide cellophane paper in very small characters.
One day in the middle of 1960s, our parents took us to see an exhibition of Qi Baishi\'s paintings. Before long the Cultural Revolution (1966-1976) broke out. After the downfall of the Gang of Four in 1976, our father was suspended from work for a while because of the play he wrote which had been popular during the chaotic times. Anger and pain struck him as he felt the suspension was unfair to him. During that period, my elder sister and I took him out now and then to cheer him up. Together we visited the Palace Museum several times. Of all the attractions in the palace compound, he preferred the exhibition hall of paintings. He became quite acquitted with details of the antique masterpieces. He did not mind boasting to us about his rich knowledge of these artistic creations.
Toward the end of the 1970s, he resumed writing and this made him feel better. One day he painted a piece of chrysanthemums in ink for Zhu Dexi, his good friend. Uncle Zhu liked it very much and had it framed and hanged it at home. As some friends saw the painting and discovered that our father was the artist, they came to ask our father to draw paintings for them. So our father started painting for friends.
In the summer of 1983 we moved to a new house. At last our father had a room to himself. He wrote there, slept there and met his friends there. Mother bought him a desk and he began to paint seriously. Soon, his paintings piled up in his room. Sometimes we were not able to gain a foothold in his room, where his paintings were piled up all around. As our father was not wearing the pants in the house, we sometimes made fun of his paintings. Facing our taunting remarks at his art, he could do nothing but rolled his eyes. He was good at making do with the things he had while painting. When he ran out of pigments, he would use spinach juice and toothpaste. He felt extremely proud of his resourcefulness. Years later when we were sorting out his paintings, we easily recognized the spinach juice, which had turned reddish brown.
As our father gained his national fame as a writer, his popularity as a painter also grew among friends. People asked for his paintings. When he was about to paint for a friend, he would first spend some time thinking before setting his brush pen to paper to create something that would just fit that friend. What is more, he also composed poems to go with paintings and inscribed his poems onto paintings. He was never tired of the time-consuming passion, but as soon as he was finished with a painting and an inscription, with great satisfaction, he would brush it aside and resumed with his writing or the household chores. When his paintings piled up, we would somewhat impatiently bundle them up in old newspapers and then put them away onto the top of the bookshelves.
Our father never discussed with my sister or me about his paintings and calligraphic work, because he knew we understood little in this field. Only our brother had some knowledge of calligraphy. Despite that, our father cared what we thought of his paintings and calligraphy. Even his granddaughters\' comments were very important to him. One day, Wang Hui, his granddaughter, bought him a craft bird. It was a small bird standing in front of the nest. Wang Hui said, "I bought this for grandpa, so he can draw after the bird." Then she added, "But his drawings do not resemble the bird!" All of us burst into laughter. Our father laughed most heartily.
Talking about his passion for painting, our father once told us, "I had a reputation for my drawings during my primary school and middle school years. My father had some paintings. I watched them again and again so that I became very familiar with them. On my way home after school, I passed the art gallery. I would drop in and look into his collections."
Our father wrote stories in a style of drawing. He preferred easy and light touches to rambling depictions. He said his paintings stemmed from his appreciation of life. Some critics said reading his stories was like enjoying paintings. It is amazing that, though he seldom painted and practiced calligraphy after he left home at age 19, he painted extremely well when he restarted painting as he was approaching his 60th birthday. His short stories and essays were just like his paintings. He restarted writing when he was nearly 60 and he produced masterpieces.
Father was invited to stay at Idaho International Writing Center for three months in 1987. Before leaving for USA, he created some paintings as gifts. Considering it was unlikely to find a Chinese art gallery overseas to mount these paintings, he cut his paintings into sizes that could be easily framed in the western way. Of these paintings, there were ones of birds and flowers, but some paintings showed flowers in a vase in bright colors such as rose red and lilac against a shadowy background. These paintings were quite unusual. We were surprised by our father\'s uncanny creativity and wondered what else he had up his sleeves as an artist.
One day after our father passed away, I met Mr. Xu Chengbei by chance. He mentioned that our father once cherished a wish to have his paintings collected and published in his lifetime. This called our attention. We dug all his paintings out and began to look at them one by one. Only when we were looking at these paintings did we realize for the first time how well he painted and what a wonderful father we had lost!
(Translated by David)
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发表于 2006-8-19 13:38:35
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