<p class="ql-block">那天，我给 Kurt S. 先生画像。他是一位老兵，从阿富汗回来的——不是凯旋，而是活下来的那种。走进画室的时候，他的脚步像带着风沙，呼吸断断续续，胸口微微起伏。我知道他患了慢性阻塞性肺病，但他并不以为意，仿佛这也是战场的余波。他坐下，沉默，目光不望我，也不望任何地方。空气像被压低，连水彩的味道都显得沉重。</p><p class="ql-block">我本想问他许多事：战友、枪声、夜里的寒风。可话到了嘴边，又咽下去了。因为我看见他脸上的皱纹——那是比语言更厚重的史书。</p><p class="ql-block">我用干笔去画，用水彩去“刻”。纸面干涩，颜料不再流动，就像他那迟滞的呼吸。我让灰色铺满他的脸，只在光的边缘，留一点赭石的温度——那一点点人气，是他还活着的证明。笔划间的停顿像喘息，一笔一笔，似在为他描摹呼吸。</p><p class="ql-block">他坐得笔直，手放在桌上，骨节突起，像石头一般。我不知他是在忍痛，还是早已习惯这种呼吸的困难。他没说一句话，我也没多问。我们之间只有纸、光、和一点沉默。</p><p class="ql-block">画完时，他只轻声说：“谢谢。”那声音轻得几乎要散去，却像一颗钉子钉在我心里。</p><p class="ql-block">我忽然明白，这幅画不是肖像，也不是纪念——它是一段呼吸的记录，一个人，在病痛与岁月之间，还在默默坚持着活下去。</p><p class="ql-block">而我所能做的，不过是在纸上，留下他还活着的那一点温度。</p> <p class="ql-block"> I painted Mr. Kurt S., a former soldier who once fought in Afghanistan and now lives with COPD. He walked into my studio slowly, his breathing shallow but steady, carrying a quiet dignity that immediately moved me. Though I wanted to ask about his past — the war, the memories, the losses — I chose silence out of respect. Some stories live more truthfully in what remains unsaid.</p><p class="ql-block">I used a dry watercolor technique, allowing the texture of the paper to resist the brush. Each stroke felt carved rather than painted, echoing the hardness time had etched into his face. The colors were restrained — cool greys and ochres with faint warmth where the light touched his skin. The dry surface gave the work a certain roughness, yet it carried strength — like his own life, fragile but unyielding.</p><p class="ql-block">He sat upright, hands folded calmly on the table, veins and tendons visible beneath thin skin. The light from the side window shaped his sharp features, revealing both endurance and fatigue. As I painted, I found myself breathing in rhythm with him, each brushstroke following the pace of his quiet persistence.</p><p class="ql-block">When I finished, he didn’t ask to see the portrait. He simply nodded and said, “Thank you.”</p><p class="ql-block">In that moment, I realized the painting wasn’t about war or illness — it was about dignity, about the silent courage to keep living. The dry watercolor, the muted tones, and his fragile breath together became a portrait not of memory, but of endurance itself.</p>