Mode composition
Ink composition 1 "Ink, you are so powerful, why can't you solve your troubles?" Smile, tone full of provocation. "Are you worth knowing?" Ink smile, eyes in addition to alienation or alienation.
"Do you really think that if you help people solve a few broken things, you will really be the savior?" RanYan angry and annoyed, shouted.
Fingers with distinct ink seams gently shake the golden spoon, stirring up a whirlpool in the teacup, one after another. "I never said that. But in their eyes, I am really the savior. " Ink smile, "you bitch, not you, Fang Tong how can like that kind of monthly interest! Fang Tong likes monthly interest. To tell you the truth, Fang Tong hired me. " "Can I hire you too?" Ran Yan can't wait. "Sorry, I don't do business with people like you." Mo Zi's eyes were full of smiles. She put the money on the table and was ready to leave.
Out of the coffee shop, Mo always looked calm and distant and disappointed. She massaged her temples. Yes, Yanhe Ran was right. She can't even solve her own troubles, so why bother? Is she a god?
Ha ha. Not to think about those trivial things, Mo Yan opened the workbook, which recorded her new job. "Hey, is it with Miss Yu ..."
Composition 2 on Ink and Wash Autumn is a freehand brushwork picture, which makes your heart like a night of autumn rain, to feel and purify. I'm like a sailboat. In the years, I stirred up the waves of life with my heart, made the boat a landscape, stood on the boat and watched the autumn leaves flying, but I didn't know which one was me and which one was me. Sing a romantic song, light a hope, shake a pair of oars with love, give this obsession a pair of wings and accompany it.
Sit in front of the computer, click the mouse, I wander in the space. In a quiet corner, I read every picture, every paragraph, followed the words, and came to my friend's house to express an eternal friendship. In my spare time, I am open-minded by reading, wise by reading and warm by reading.
I like this big platform for no other reason, just because every owner in the space, writing, posting, editing and commenting, has the same knowledge, meets the words and takes what they need. In the space of fate, I cherish fate, abide by rules and respect editors. If one day my pen is dry and my fingers are stiff, I won't write. I just look at my words and use them to warm my persistent but not old heart.
Sitting quietly on the shore of words, following the fragrance of language, splashing ink and listening to the sound of falling ink. Read an explosive book, weave the hustle and bustle of the day into bookmarks, and spread the flow between the lines with words. Music and words are the most touching poems, with ups and downs, autumn wind stories and close hugs of music, which are completely released in words. Words carry my soul, and music hangs my soul and flies freely.
Music and words are elves at the fingertips, circling and spreading in my world. The ink is lingering, and the autumn wind is attached to me. I gently kissed the arrival of autumn wind with my fingers, and I wandered freely in music with words. Comfortable music overflows the whole room, listening to the autumn wind and autumn rain, listening to the alternation of day and night, just like listening to the changes of the four seasons.
In late autumn, the curtain was covered with a cool shower, a cup of tea, a roll of books and a stamp covered with ink. Break through the temptation of the book, take a ladle of drinks, let yourself spin in the book, listen to a flowing note, hold your fingers tightly, and let the music slow down the release of tenderness. Gently fiddle with a string, lightly touch the shadow of autumn water, apply smooth ink, cook it into curled sleeves, bloom with music, put it into a scroll and flow.
The desolation of late autumn plucks the strings, lingering tunes render the ink fragrance in the heart, and wonderful notes slowly flow into the heart pool, scattered among the ink-scented scrolls. Light and graceful as the moon, the melody is swaying, a wisp of ink is lit, and one stroke is burned up. The ink color is tortuous, the ink color is faint, the music is attached to the piano, the melody rotates, and the ink color is drunk and lingering.
Words soothe the busy body and mind. In my spare time, I like to wander in words, and I like to record every bit of the day at the tip of my pen. On the white paper of time, I printed this ink. When I opened it, it was the best witness and comfort. Fold a sleeve breeze, sing a verse and enjoy an autumn rain. In autumn water, I am free from ink. Every day is a sketch of life, and every meticulous ink is the truest portrayal of life.
Through the prosperity and noise of the four seasons, we can deeply appreciate the value of calmness, discover the beauty in life with a sentimental heart, and cherish the subtle touches and memories in life. Accompanied by words, the greatest comfort and happiness is to get the recognition and * * * of friends. As the hour hand rings quietly, the mood will be scattered at the fingertips, like a string of pearls, suddenly falling into the keyboard, putting your heart in the fragrance of words, filtering, recording and remembering all the beautiful things in life.
Every stroke, every painting, every word and sentence comes from the long melody brought by words. In the long journey of life, accompanied by words, it is the anchor of the soul and a warm harbor. Writing with words is a fleeting time, enjoying happiness with words, enjoying yourself with poems and books, and the most important thing is that books can go far.
A leisurely cloud, with a wisp of breeze, quietly reads the story between the lines, savors the bland warmth and warmth in the dull years, quietly sits in the port of words and enjoys the flowers blooming with pen and ink. Flowers are most beautiful when they bloom quietly, and warmest when the wind whispers gently. Like flowers and wind is a kind of beautiful scenery and happiness. Charm lies in life, because life is a process of choice, fate is like a banquet, and feelings are like a glass of spirits.
The night is quiet and gloomy, the picture scroll is plain paper with ink rhyme, the pen tip is lightly traced, the sleeves are full of ink, and the rhyme ink pen is deeply hidden, stretching and rippling, and it is warm and blooming. Autumn night is still young, singing in a low voice; At dusk, there is a rustling sound, a cloud of water and Zen, taking off the night clothes, and the melody is unadorned Zen. The autumn night is deep, the autumn shadow is low, and the willow is dipped in ink around the string; The autumn moon is bright and the moonlit night is still early. Looking through the books and bamboo slips, dancing with Mo Ying.
A study on the rhyme and ink between lines. The fragrance is accompanied by ink winding, and the words are fragrant. Autumn frost is slightly cold like Danxia, and morning light kisses chrysanthemums. Autumn rhyme and setting sun add warmth, and open the window to see the wonderful flowers.
A leaf falls to know the autumn in the world, and the autumn color is getting stronger and stronger. Beautiful eyes reading, pleasing to the eye, sighing in the spring and autumn. Keep quiet and leisurely, curl up with ink, and gently pull the warm time of the lost years. The beauty of autumn is osmanthus, and chrysanthemums are everywhere.
Looking up, the autumn leaves are pleasant. Sigh the autumn rhyme, swallow the south Wan Li sorrow. The sunset glow and autumn rhyme dye, and the poem title leaves sad autumn. Clouds are light and the wind is light, autumn is strong, and autumn frost leaves are lonely.
Dead branches and catkins spend winter months, and the sunset cicadas are lazy. Expose the fallen leaves to see the autumn appreciation, and the shadow of Dongli is beautiful. East Lake Park is warm in autumn, and the golden wind sends cool days. Qiu Lai's cold dew falls in the sunset, and he writes the autumn scenery in simple words.
About the composition of ink painting 3 Chinese painting is an extension of ink painting, which is the most elegant.
The traditional Chinese paintings on Shengxuan are particularly quiet, emitting a blend of ink and ink. The artistic conception seems to shuttle between mountains and rivers, hidden in the clouds, as if it were not a painting, but a real scene. The richness of pen and ink is exposed by every grass and tree. Ink is black, but mountains are green; The ink is black, but the smoke from the kitchen reflects the quietness and peace of farmers; The ink is black, but the clouds around the mountainside are transparent and elegant.
When a drop of ink falls into the water, it does not disappear immediately, but floats in the stream. A trace, like a line, but not a line; I like cigarettes, but not cigarettes. But it is always like a quiet little doll, shaking and stretching there, getting thinner and thinner and disappearing more and more slowly.
The words written in ink are unique and attractive. This kind of harmony between man and nature is an excellent match: paper melts into it with the smoothness of ink, and a faint fragrance permeates the whole body unconsciously. Words are raised by ink and feel like tiny particles, which makes invisible words tangible and textured. It seems that they are not in contact with words, but with the history of Chinese characters.
Ink is very simple, and only those who really understand it will understand its value. In fact, people are also drops of ink, writing their own lives every day. Only when ink is truly appreciated by others can its fragrance and elegance be truly displayed and its life be brilliant.
However, how many people can really appreciate ink painting?
This is a short and pithy masterpiece. The young author has a special liking for China's paintings and calligraphy, and he carefully outlines them with pen and ink. The description is vivid and vivid, and the description is meticulous. His love is vividly on the paper. What is commendable is that the description of pen and ink in this paper does not stay on the surface, but discusses the value of life from pen and ink and people. Although there are only a few strokes, it is quite philosophical and can be called the finishing touch.
I heard that Mo Chi Park has been opened, so I happily went to see the park with my mother today. Want to know what Mo Chi Park looks like? Let me be a tour guide and take you to the beautiful Mo Chi Park!
Enter the west gate of Mo Chi Park from Mo Chi Lane. After entering, the first thing you see is an antique building. It has two layers and looks like a "concave" shape from the front. There are many dragons carved on the window, which are lifelike and magnificent.
Then go inside, turn right, and you'll be in Mo Chi. Mo Chi is the name of Wang Xizhi of the Eastern Jin Dynasty. When he was a county magistrate in Yongjia County, he wrote books in Linchi and washed inkstones here. Mo Chi is about 20 square meters, the water is blue, and some fish swim leisurely. Opposite Mo Chi is Cang Xue Wharf, next to which are two leafy banyan trees, so Cang Xue Wharf is full of vitality.
Turn left at Cang Xue Pier, and you can reach Conglan Pavilion. Because Conglan Pavilion is still under construction, we can't visit it. Go straight for about 20 meters, and the most elegant and magnificent landscape garden stands in front of you. There are beautiful buildings and long corridors in front, rockeries, waterfalls, grasslands and flowers behind ... it's really everything!
Turn left in the most beautiful garden and you will arrive at Ouyin Garden. There are many small fish in the clear pond, swimming around in groups, as if in a swimming competition. The balcony is made of marble, which is very imposing.
Children, do you think Mo Chi Park is beautiful?
There is a city called Jimo, which is my hometown, an ancient city on the Jiaodong Peninsula, loaded with rich and heavy historical content, and named after being located on the banks of the Mohe River.
The name Jimo first appeared in the Warring States Policy, Mandarin, Historical Records and other historical books. Human civilization can be traced back at least 4000 years ago, and the history of wine-making has been more than 2000 years.
Unforgettable hometown, from ancient times to the present, travelers who go out will always remember a taste deep in their memories, the unique taste of their hometown-Jimo old wine.
When shooting a documentary, I met and interviewed an old man named Yuan, who is a descendant of Jimo old wine and has been brewing for more than 30 years.
Every morning, the old people will listen to the weather forecast on time and then look up at the sky. Grandpa Yuan told us that the weather is the quality of wine, that is, the taste of Jimo old wine, which is a unique taste after maintaining the brewing method of six laws and five customs in ancient times. For thousands of years, Jimo wine has been accustomed to the inheritance of mentoring. Now Yuan is famous for his old man's wine-making skills, and his disciples are also famous. Appreciating from the master seems to be learning skills from the master, but in fact, it is also learning skills, learning to be a man, and getting to the root of the matter, in order to brew a "time-honored" wine with a long history.
In addition to a long history, the word "old" of Jimo old wine is more derived from the storage of wine, and the older the wine, the more fragrant it is. In my hometown of Jimo, there is a custom that many people will go to the old cellar to seal up an altar of old wine for ten years when they get married, inscribe and celebrate, so as to prepare for the next important moment in their lives.
When I walked into the cellar where the wine was hidden, I was shocked by what I saw: an altar of old wine was displayed, and the red blessing was beaming. Grandpa Yuan stroked the jar and said with infinite affection, "You must have good water to make good wine. Why can't you make the taste of Jimo old wine from other places? " The main reason is that they don't have Laoshan water system, Laoshan mineral water and clear water, which is especially sweet, which directly creates the excellent quality of Jimo old wine. "Seeing the violin on my back, he was very appreciative of my persistence in studying. He said, "My wine-making skills and your piano-learning skills are like a fire, passed down from generation to generation. You little dolls, keep learning and don't give up! " After that, the old man patted me on the shoulder, and I nodded gently, recalling the old man's earnest words and thinking of such a sentence: books can turn stupid poems into expressions of ambition, and wine can help entertainment and pleasure. Yes, whether it is sweet wine, profound poetry books or beautiful music, I believe that as long as we persist, they will be more colorful.
During the National Day holiday this year, the ancient city of Jimo was opened to the outside world. Once again, I walked on the streets of bluestone tablets and watched the eaves fly up. The quaint and elegant architecture contains profound cultural heritage, an ancient tree, a string of night lights, mottled walls, silhouettes in the sunset ... brightly lit ancient culture conveys endless stories. The new look of the ancient city has left a smile on the corners of tourists' mouths, and listening to Liu Qiang and folk songs always has a good feeling. People visiting the ancient city at night is like drinking a cup of mellow old wine, intoxicated, intoxicated, intoxicated. The ancient city, like a sleeping dragon, is rising. Hard-working and brave people in their hometown have not only created brilliant history, but also described a bright future with their wisdom and hands.
"The water in my hometown is clear and distant, which leads to the mellow Jimo old wine. Hold up a thousand cups and you will touch ten thousand lamps. You will be drunk by mountains and seas and friends ... "Accompanied by Jimo's hymn of drunkenness in Kyushu, Jimo, a hospitable hometown, glows with the brilliance of new youth, making it more determined than others to start again. She is open-minded, just like this amber old wine, with a thousand miles of fragrance, embracing the vision of the wanderer.
The composition is about six points for spring scenery, two points for dust and one point for water.
Mo Xiang has three points, two points of sentiment and one point of worry.
Once upon a time, soft ink has become a lotus flower in people's memory, fresh and elegant;
Once upon a time, warm ink has become a sail in people's hearts, calm and calm;
Once upon a time, beautiful ink has become a dream in people's souls, beautiful and sad.
Holding raindrops, with a touch of sadness, taking advantage of the gentleness of the breeze, slowly savoring the beauty after the Millennium, unforgettable.
Once upon a time, a woman who wanted to be a feather fan walked past a black silk scarf, and she was alone in the West Lake, adding fragrance to the green Ruyan Liu ink pen; Once, I wanted to learn from the sad and soft Yi 'an. I poured a glass of sake from my words, and I could fill my tears. I sing between the pages, and I can sing the eternal infatuation.
It was a rainy and sad season, a season of falling flowers and gong, and the flowers on a pool of rice paper were broken.
That is the sadness of "lonely phoenix tree, deep courtyard, locked in clear autumn, cutting constantly, and chaos" and "just like a river flowing eastward"; It is a sigh that "people hate that water is longer than the east" and "flowing water goes in spring, which is heaven and earth"; It is the heroic spirit of "a misty rain for a lifetime" and "I wish people a long time and a thousand miles of good scenery"; It is the melancholy of "Mo Tao is needless, the west wind blinds, and people are thinner than yellow flowers" and "only eyebrows, only hearts".
The moon shines on the porch window, the clouds shake, Qin mourns Liu Qie, and hurts flowers and cherishes spring. That kind of charm, that kind of dignified and low, is all in the ink.
Dance pavilions, singing platforms, ordinary lanes, and solitary grass every year; Peach Blossom Pond, gurgling streams, the seasonal cycle of going to Qiu Lai in spring. A wisp of ink, like a bond, has penetrated the hearts of millions of people in Qian Qian, singing freely in eternal time and space, and feeling the vicissitudes of history.
Take the color of the bright moon in the mountains and listen to the song of the wind on the river. Out of the window:
The curtain rolls with the west wind as cool as water, and the courtyard is full of flowers and shadows at dusk.
It's autumn again, and the wind is still lingering, which reminds me of your delicate face.
On that day, pink peach blossoms reflected the sunset and sprinkled on your blushing face. An accidental meeting made me pick up the heart of love. Walking in the rain, the accelerated heartbeat makes me love you like petals all over the sky. As a witness, a thousand peach blossoms, you and I hand in hand to write an agreement on the wall: farewell flowers and rainy days, know each other. Become the first place. Let's look at the flower fairy again.
Warm wind blew on my face, and the pungent smell of wine woke me up from my memory. It is still raining around. The agreement of that day left only mottled marks on the wall. I don't know your news anymore, I don't know your secrets anymore, only the familiar past, only the strange you. Looking up to the sky in Long song, there is a trace of sadness in the faint fragrance air. Looking at the peach blossom, it still falls quietly, drawing a harmonious arc with the wind, like laughing at my words one by one.
The afterglow of the sunset reflected on the highest peach blossom, and I had shed tears before I knew it. I turned around and took out my pen and ink in Li Lou's series of books. Tears dripping in Mo Chi, a little bit of it was kneaded into acacia. Fear of lovesickness, a lovesickness, and turning are almost the same, and there is nothing to say. When I mentioned the brush of cell tears, I struggled to write on the wall-where there was a good agreement:
Last spring, in this door, the girl's face contrasted with the peach.
I don't know where people are going, but peach blossoms are still smiling in the spring breeze.
Composition about Ink 8 Xiaohong has a beautiful pen and a bottle of black ink. They are inseparable friends. Xiaohong's pen is very beautiful: there are beautiful patterns on the cap and sleeve, like a little girl wearing a beautiful skirt; The pen cap is red, like a bright long braid on the little girl's head; The joint between the pen cover and the pen cap is a golden circle, which shines under the sunlight. It's beautiful!
Whenever Xiaohong writes beautiful words with a pen and others praise Xiaohong for his good writing, the pen is very happy, because it is all thanks to it! But every time Xiaohong needs to fill the pen with ink, and the ink stains its beautiful body, the pen is very angry, but there is nothing she can do. Over time, the pen's hatred for ink is getting deeper and deeper.
On this day, the ink stained the pen again, and the pen finally couldn't bear it. He said to the ink, "You bad thing, you blacken me every time. Really annoying! " "My lungs will explode after hearing this:" I have served you for so many years, and I have no regrets, but you don't thank me and even scold me! "When the pen heard this, it growled angrily," So I can't work without you? Go, stay away from me, as far as possible! " Hearing this, Mo gnashed her teeth and said, "Well, we'll see!" With that, he dropped his pen and hid.
When Xiaohong picked up the pen again and wanted to write, she found that the pen was out of water. I tried to fill up the ink, but I found it was gone. Xiaohong tried to write a few words, and the words written with a pen without ink were a few shallow traces. Xiaohong wanted to think. Without ink, pens are useless. She just threw it in the trash can.
Lying in the dirty trash can, the pen cried sadly. No matter how beautiful it is, it can't be separated from the help of ink. Only beautiful appearance can't serve the master, and the master will give up on himself.
Clear sky in Wan Li, my parents and I went to Baomo Garden in Shawan, Panyu.
As soon as I entered the Baomo Garden, several small bridges appeared in front of me. I hurried over and found a lot of fish in the river, which was really countless! I shouted happily, "Mom and Dad, come and see, there are many fish here." Mom and dad can't help but marvel at the sound. My mother bought me fish food to feed the fish. When feeding the fish, large and small fish scrambled to grab something to eat, and layers of fish crowded around without any gap. A long corridor with red walls and white porcelain and two rows of lush banyan trees make the scenery more beautiful and charming.
Later, we found a stream with many small goldfish running around. I happily picked up the fish and caught small fish. I was fishing in the stream. Ah, a little red goldfish obediently sat in the net. Later, I caught some fish, red, white, yellow, orange and black. How beautiful!
Finally, we visited the rose garden, where there are many beautiful roses, red, orange, yellow, white, purple, pink, colorful and beautiful. It is really a beautiful big flower bed! In the evening, we reluctantly left Baomo Garden.
Baomo Garden is very interesting, never tired of playing, and the scenery is beautiful! Next time, if there is an opportunity, I will go to Baomo Garden.
The composition about ink 10 closes my eyes and smells a faint fragrance, with a little bitterness in the elegant sweetness ... With this faint ink fragrance, my father's chubby body emerges in my mind, reminding me of my father.
Some people say that father's love is like a mountain, but in my world, father's love is more like a mountain than water, like water rather than water, with the majesty and height of a mountain; Like a mountain, but not as cold as a mountain, with the delicacy and softness of water. The breadth of fatherly love is comparable to the sky; Father's love is broader than the ocean; Father's love is higher than Everest; Father's love is like a stream
At the moment, my father's study should be filled with ink. Perhaps, my father is holding my discarded brush, holding my discarded copybook "Painting the Beast", practicing calligraphy one by one, and a pile of rough newspapers on the bookshelf, while the two white rice papers in my room are untouched. This is the normal state of my father since I learned calligraphy.
He smells like ink, and his bulging belly is like a half-inverted watermelon, which makes people want to pat and ask, "When were you born?" He is always laughing: "soon, soon, isn't this the production of two bookshelves!" " "Yes, these two books are full, and I don't know how much sweat they have soaked him. Looking at them, the faint fragrance overflows like water. I often think that this is the smell of my father.
Father's love is not rich, just like that ink fragrance. Every night, I can always see the light under my father's study door. "What are you modifying? What other books are edited? " He is stubborn and doesn't tell me anything, but I can hear his sigh quietly at night, and hear him click the mouse and tap the keyboard. I sneaked into his study, only to find the white silk in the light particularly dazzling. His back is slightly bent, his eyes are staring at the computer screen, but his fingers are flying around the keyboard. I saw a row of new members in the dense large army on the screen, and a breeze blew from the window, with a hint of elegant fragrance. It smells good. This is the smell of father.
Father's love is not indifferent, just like that ink fragrance. During the summer vacation, at the intersection of remedial classes, you can always see a chubby "migrant worker male", wearing a dark yellow vest soaked with sweat and a towel around his neck. It's a pity that there is no yellow helmet, but the sweat on the forehead is no longer true. I am nearsighted, and I often have to go through a light bulb-Dabai-my father's certification process. As the distance shortened, I saw his perfect interpretation of "sweating". I saw him holding a towel in his left hand, and his right hand quickly wiped the sweat from his forehead from left to right and spilled it on the ground. His head was lifted to the left, and the towel in his left hand immediately started to wipe the sweat. Under the scorching sun, the perception of heat replaced all other perceptions, but I almost smelled the quiet ink.
I remember my father riding a bicycle to see me like a drowned rat on a rainy night. I remember that afternoon, my father cut my handle while assembling my wardrobe. I remember my father taught me to cook, but I spilled oil all over him because I was afraid of cooking. I remember him calling my name after he was drunk ... how much do I remember, but I don't remember. Fatherly love can't be described in any words. Father's love is boundless, really boundless.
When I was a child, my father was Altman, who could beat all the little monsters away. Gradually, my father is an armored warrior who can defeat all the "bad guys"; Later, his father was a happy hero who could maintain world peace and save the universe. Later, later, later ... Until now, father, that is, father, is synonymous with greatness and love. Although he doesn't have Shakespeare's talent, Darwin's Excellence and Verne's works, he is his father, which is enough.
Close your eyes and smell the faint fragrance, which is the smell of your father.