“The Three Friends Of Winter” paintings on exhibit at the Freer are quite lovely, taken out of the context of the reading. In fact, I have no clue what the reading means, since the authors seem caught up in using the most complicated language possible in all situations, no doubt to prove their intellectual superiority and thus alleviate some sort of pent-up feeling of ineptitude gained in childhood, because they read a “big” book, and all of their peers made fun of them.
Is this their revenge? Is ruining the enjoyment of art by converting it to its harshest, most abstract and indecipherable terms their ruthless retaliatory act? Is the application of caliginous patter really a necessity (“see…I can use the big werds too, jus’ like the guy in th’ book!”)?
That having been stated, the exhibit was quite charming. After living in Northern Wisconsin for the majority of my life, I understand the concept of “winter,” as well as the concepts of “hope” and “cheer” (and their essentiality) during said “winter.” In Wisconsin, these concepts are not plum blossoms, bamboo, or evergreen, but instead, the smooth, smooth taste of Pabst Blue Ribbon, and the gentle, soulful caress of a drooping tip-up on a frozen lake suddenly transforming into the form of an erect tip-up. Still, I can see how The Three Friends of Winter served similar needs in China during the months of drear.