In the shadow of the interlaced arcades in Gangxia Village, Shenzhen, there is a tailor shop that always smells of mint herbal tea. Lin Yanqing, who had been divorced for half a year, was using his ancestral Butterfly sewing machine to rewrite the broken wedding dress into curtains. He never thought that he would be put back together by the eyes behind the easel opposite him.
After the 19-year-old Ye Jinghong tore up the notice of failure from the Central Academy of Fine Arts for the seventh time, he propped up his re-reading easel opposite the tailor shop. The solidified azure in her palette and the moon-white silk cut by Lin Yanqing's tailoring fermented into a dangerous resonance in the rainy season when the poinciana trees fell. When the undelivered sketchbook encountered the scars of late-night drunkenness, when the tape measure wrapped around the trembling paintbrush, the subway whizzing by on Shennan Avenue carried them through:
Floral umbrellas shared in urban villages on rainy nights
Renovated old post office in Shoreditch, London
Longitude and latitude tattoo on ergonomic chair
Wedding rings embroidered with CT contrast agent
This is a soul mapping that begins with fabric folds and pencil gray tones. The tailor cuts not only the fabric, but also the tsunami locked in the titanium alloy hip bones of the elderly; the brush depicts not only the architecture, but also the galaxy hidden by the young man behind the fluoxetine bottle. When the antique sewing machine sewed Shenzhen's poinciana and London's swift into the same wedding dress, they finally understood -
All the unspoken love is hidden in the extra centimeter of waist measurement, hidden in the deliberately crooked shadow of the fire escape, hidden in the sewing machine and heartbeat frequency that are still synchronized across twelve time zones.
Intention: By the way, teach my little painter..." A salty kiss fell on the trembling corners of the lips, "... How to plant stars on your lover.