Chapter 88: The Value of Art III
Coincidentally, the factory had to travel to the city for a procurent so I got a free ride.
Upon arriving at the city’s airport, I got myself a ticket to Beijing.
This thing called airplane was really amazing, and I puked in there.
Beijing, night ti.
I walked around searching for a place to stay the night, but the hotels were simply too costly.
I ended up sleeping in a park that day.
The next day, I asked around for recomndations and finally found an ancient street that sold chinaware.
Along the alley stood a shop filled with potteries, similar to those I made.
The shop wasn’t big and the owner was elderly.
I went forward to ask, “Do you need a potter?”
The owner shook his head. “I only sell and don’t collect.”
I tried again, “Then where are these potteries from?”
He pointed at himself. “I made them.”
I pointed at so of his works and said, “I can make one that’s twice as nice.”
He got angry and chased away.
Clenching my teeth, I found a nearby restaurant.
Lodging wasn’t provided and I had one rest day a week.
My salary was 1,300 a month.
I rented a nearby place at 300 a month. It did not even have a toilet.
I kept the old man’s shop in mind and rushed three ceramic pieces out during my off days.
Upon completion, I took them to his shop in hopes that he would dry them for .
Of course, I wanted him to acknowledge my skills.
There were three custors chatting with him when I arrived.
Not wanting to disturb them, I squatted outside his shop.
After a short while, the three custors exited together.
It was only then that I realized they were together.
As I stood up, they gave a glance.
One of them tapped on my shoulder, asking, “Did you just buy those? What a strange color!”
“No, they’re not done. I just made them and I’m intending to put them up for sale,” I said with a smile.
He gave a strange look and asked, “You made those?”
I nodded before entering the shop. “Can I pay you to dry these for ?”
The three custors followed behind out of curiosity.
The old man waved while looking at the pieces in my hands.
After scrutinizing them, he said thoughtfully, “I rember now. You’re that fellow who ca in a few days ago asking if I accept ceramic works.”
“Yes.”
“I can’t do it for you. Please leave.” He pushed my ceramic pieces back into my hands.
The three custors remained quiet.
Helpless, I left in search of another place.
The three custors stopped .
“Little fellow, you said you were intending to sell the final products. Will you be willing to sell these half-made ones then?”
“They’re not done. How can I sell them?”
“How about this. 500 a piece and I’ll buy all three of them right now. We’ll find soone else to dry them,” one of them proposed.
I fell silent for a short while. I couldn’t speak but I felt my head moving up and down a few tis.
The guy smiled before taking 15 bills out of his money pouch and handing them over to .
I accepted the money and handed over my works.
“What’s your na, little fellow?” the other guy asked.
“Chalk. Why?”
“Would you write your na at the bottom of these pieces? For mory’s sake.”
I nodded before searching for a suitable tool.
One of them handed a fountain pen to . “Just write your na down.”
“This is expensive, isn’t it?” I looked down at the pen.
“It’s no problem,” one spoke as all three shook their heads.
After so thought, I signed my na as CK.
A guy handed his na card. “If you produce more works in the future and need them to be dried, just give us a call. We will buy them if they’re good.”
I stood rooted to the ground as they walked away happily.
Within three months, I called them 15 tis, selling them five pieces at 500 each, each ti.
And every single ti, they had sign my na at the bottom.
Looking at the money in my hands, I found it all hard to believe. They never have even told what they were doing with my works.
With 30,000 in my pocket, I quit my job and rented a shop right opposite the old man’s.
I bought the necessary tools and called Glasses for the first ti.
While he found it unbelievable, he also felt that it was only natural.
I started renovating the shop and displaying my works on the shelves.
I called the custors and shared the happy news with them, but they asked if I had with ceramic works that hadn’t been dried or colored.
After mumbling to myself a little, I said yes. For the money, it’s always a yes.
They visited once a month and only bought pieces that hadn’t been dried or colored.
Other than them, I had practically no other businesses.
I had a shop of my own but my business was only slightly better than the old man’s.
After the first month, the old man ca knocking on my door.
“Why are you doing here? Wanna smash my shop because I stole so of your business?” I asked, rushing over to guard the door.
He shook his head.
“You’re having regrets then? And want to work with you? Do you think that’s possible? I’m earning more than you right now,” I continued.
He pointed at his own shop. “Go over there and I’ll show you sothing. It has sothing to do with you.”
Interested, I followed him to his shop.
I tried guessing his motives but nothing ca to mind.
He pointed at the television screen. “You made these, didn’t you?”
It was an auction program.
Big red words: Collector’s items, made by a modern ceramic artist, Chalk. 50,000.
The so-called collector’s items were precisely the three pieces that I had previously brought into the old man’s shop.
The pieces were now completed and of a different color. A man in a white Chinese tunic suit smiled at the screen. “I, Chalk, have inherited valuable skills from my master, Liu Bing, and I’m here today after 15 years of hard work. As you can see from my work, aesthetically speaking, the pieces are lively...”
The old man pointed at the television and said, “They changed the color but I can still recognize that those belong to you. You are indeed more skillful than and I accepted that, which is why I rember.”
I looked at the man who claid to be Chalk. He was actually selling off my work as his own.
“What channel is this?”
He answered imdiately, “Should be Beijing television station, broadcasting studio.”
To be continued.
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