Why are rural craftsmen said to be the original spreaders of village civilization and rural artists walking in the villages?

Many villages are often scattered like bird's nests in river bends or hilly areas in the south. I always thought that those lively villages were originally put together by one craftsman, two craftsmen, and then more craftsmen. Masons lay stones and build walls, carpenters make doors and windows, blacksmiths make rakes, knives and axes, stonemasons, silversmiths, painters, painters... The craftsmen build villages one after another with their dexterous hands and intelligent minds. Those handmade products with the blood, sweat and spirituality of the craftsmen occupy every corner of the village and constitute the life and pulse of the village.

However, today’s villages are erasing their builders one by one. The disappearance of craftsmen in the villages is like the fading flowers in the afterglow of the setting sun.

These days, I am visiting rural craftsmen in the countryside. Standing among the aging craftsmen, facing their lost craftsmanship, I know that the times have been destined, and I can only be a painful presence, but cannot restore this disappearing reality.

It was raining when I visited blacksmith Yu Shishui. The boundless rain in spring weaves into a dense rain curtain, blocking the distant mountains and near water. Lao Yu's home is in Shuangjing Village, close to the Qibaixiu River and more than 30 miles away from the county seat. Shuangjing was once a village with a strong literary style and passed down poetry and etiquette. It is famous as the hometown of the great poet Huang Tingjian. It was a cold spring day, and there were few pedestrians on the village road. Just after the Spring Festival, most of the young people in the village went out, and the large village seemed very lonely. However, the countryside has changed a lot. The original adobe houses are very rare, and the dirt roads have mostly been replaced by smooth cement roads.

My visit excited the old man who had abandoned his blacksmithing skills for many years. The old man's eyes were filled with the light of holiness and wisdom. He may have recalled the early years when he burned incense and worshiped his master, how the master strictly preached the teachings, or how he made an exquisite handicraft with his own hands. At present, the blacksmith's skills are facing the reality of being lost, which makes the old man's eyes dim again.

In recent years, with the export of cheap rural labor, the inland and coastal areas have become closer, and the rise and fall of the external economy has affected the nerves of small mountain villages. When villagers make money from outside, they also quietly lead to changes in the life and rhythm of the village. Villagers moved color TVs and refrigerators from the county town to their homes, and even cars drove into the village. It seems that as long as you can make money, you can buy anything from the market. Land has always been the lifeblood of farmers, but now it has been abandoned. Young people do not farm the land, and the elderly and children are left behind in the villages. This is the current situation in the village. But I can't help but worry that sooner or later the day will come when those migrant workers who go to the city and work hard to sell their labor and don't care about their bodies will be unable to bear it anymore. Who will nurse the sick bodies when they fall? Or can they expect to receive a pension from the city when they get old? In daily life, rural handicrafts are replaced by factory mass-produced products. Although we often complain that the things on the market are too expensive and not durable, everyone has gradually become accustomed to working to support their families.

Lao Yu told me that people in the village no longer hire craftsmen, and craftsmen no longer have the reputation of going to their employers and eating from the west. Previously, the heavy burden of craftsmanship was carried for him by his master. He only had to walk on the village road with his hands behind his back, and constantly received the cordial greetings of "Master" and "Master" from passers-by. The greetings revealed special respect for the craftsmen. The blacksmithing tools that had been around for many years were abandoned in a corner. What Lao Yu could do now was to prevent them from being covered with flying dust and wipe them every day until the iron tools glowed with a faint blue light. In Lao Yu's heart, the anvil, hammer, and shovel are no longer useful, and are becoming lazy and flabby. Like people, they will age quickly, and they must try to prevent their aging and laziness. Lao Yu kept silent and wiped it repeatedly, as stubborn as a sick person. Suddenly I remembered an old stonemason in my hometown village when I was a child. In the past, villages often transported huge stones from distant mountains. Stonemasons processed the stones into stone mills for pounding rice, stone mills for grinding grain and wheat, and carved stone sculptures with patterns of birds, animals, and patterns. Tall stones were erected at the entrance of the village. The stone archway also makes martial arts and fitness equipment for the young people in the village, such as stone locks, stone poles and stone barbells. Later, machines replaced these stone utensils, the stone archway was torn down, and the martial arts style of the village disappeared overnight. The stonemason lost his livelihood and locked a man in the yard. The sound of jingling of steel cones and wedges could be heard in the yard day and night. Later, when the stonemason died, people discovered that the stonemason had carved his life into bloody stone tablets one after another.

Like Lao Yu, most of the surviving craftsmen in the village are getting older and can no longer do the craft work, and the young ones no longer want to learn the craft. Even if the skills are lost, they don't feel it is a pity, not to mention that they no longer need these skills in their lives. Nowadays, when I talk to the juniors in the village about a certain craftsman or a certain craft, they either have a blank expression and look like it has nothing to do with them; or they look surprised, as if they are talking about something far away.

But every time I think of rural craftsmen, my heart is always wrapped in a ball of soft things. It seems that I can touch those handmade products with a rural texture as long as I stretch out my hand. Through the long years, they still shine in the depths of time, conveying temperature, luster and texture. In the cold winter, what brought warmth to me when I was a child going to school was a bamboo fire cage with a pair of exquisite iron chopsticks that my uncle helped me build. Sixty years later, the pair of silver bracelets, still shining brightly, were my grandmother's dowry in her early years. My grandmother rarely wore them and kept them at the bottom of a nanmu box whose paint had been mottled but still noble. An exquisite emerald pipe passed down from ancestors was secretly taken away by members of the Cao family during the Cultural Revolution, which has become an eternal pain in my family. The oil-painted statues of gods and dim murals on the walls of the old ancestral hall try their best to show the sadness and mystery of a village, or the rise and fall and legend of a family. The abandoned waterwheel at the entrance of the village, the huge stone mill at the well, and even a broken wall in the old house that has long since collapsed all tell the story of a past period in the village related to craftsmen.

Blacksmiths, carpenters, stonemasons, silversmiths, painters, painters... Throughout the year, craftsmen wander through villages, like torches, warming and illuminating one village after another. They are the blood flowing in the village, creating the humbleness and sanctity, ugliness and simplicity of the countryside. The grace and splendor of the countryside, such as women’s headdresses and earrings, gold hairpins and jade pendants, the matching of women’s clothing, the small carvings on the window lattice, the glitter of silverware, the colors of lacquerware, as well as flower-making, paper-cutting, and murals ... display them one by one through the dexterous hands of the craftsmen. Craftsmen become the thermometer that measures and tests a village's wealth and richness, joy and celebration. It is no exaggeration to say that rural craftsmen are the original spreaders of village civilization and rural artists walking in the villages.

Following the footsteps of rural craftsmen, you will be introduced to maze-like villages one after another. The old houses in the southern countryside are profound, the layout of the patio is exquisite, the grandeur of the carved beams in the old house, the lifelike reliefs on the fans in the wing rooms, the men walking out of the old house are handsome and elegant, and the women are dignified and endearing. "The green trees border the village, and the green mountains slant outside." It is exactly the kind of "the small building listens to the spring rain all night, and the deep alley sells apricot flowers in the Ming Dynasty." The artistic conception is beautiful, and the village seems to be nestled in Tang poetry and Song lyrics. In the north, there have been many tragic events in Yan and Zhao since ancient times. Heroic warriors in the villages either robbed the rich and gave to the poor, or drew their swords to help. The man is walking on the village road, with a heroic spirit between his brows and a powerful look. As long as he flashes a hand gesture or whistles, a crowd of people will respond, not to mention the mysterious landmarks and hidden marks in the village that are difficult to detect. When I walk into a village like this, I can't help but think of those manors where heroes gathered in ancient times. For example, in "Water Margin", Zhujiazhuang is in danger of death on Pantuo Road, Zengtou City is ringing in the mysterious night watch, dangerous passes where heroes of all ages have occupied the mountains and become kings, and even though it is a lake, it is actually another kind of village. Boliang Mountain, even the Peach Blossom Spring described by Tao Yuanming as "traffic on the road, chickens and dogs hearing each other", and even the villages in the northern plains with tunnels extending in all directions. Walking in the villages of the past and present, their wisdom and ingenuity, maze-like layouts, fantastic directions, noble or honorable demeanor, or the concept of harmony between man and nature will make you fall, lose, and fall. And those village defense systems with deep institutions and dense traps show their strategic cleverness and unpredictability, and show another kind of courage, resourcefulness and openness among the people. I firmly believe that the craftsmen who travel around the countryside are the designers of various labyrinths in the villages. Only they can create labyrinth-like villages.

The craftsmen built the village to be calm, dignified, and elegant, without losing its simplicity, grandeur, and extravagance. There are signs and codes of destiny hidden in the mystery, revealing the warmth, whispers, and simplicity of folk thoughts. with light. I was deeply attracted and couldn't help but imagine myself as a craftsman, how would I design a village. In my village, a river runs through it, it is surrounded by city walls, the lanes in the village are wide, and the paved roads are wide enough for horse racing. There are no screams of cars or wanton emissions of exhaust fumes. Stone bridges are placed in the middle of the village, and weeping willows are planted on the banks. The willows will hug you when the wind blows, and you can break the willows to see each other when you say goodbye. A deep well reflects the moonlight, and the four seasons are clear and sweet. Under the curtain, the famous doctor Qiu Dan looks, smells, asks, and performs surgery to cure the villagers' diseases.

There is a study room and a guild hall, and the villagers have enough food and clothing and know the etiquette. Build ancestral halls, set up theaters, hold festivals or offer sacrifices, or perform singing and dancing. The village has a variety of grocery stores, sesame cake stalls, noodle shops, and paper-making shops, as well as mills, dyeing mills, oil pressing mills, and tofu mills. Don't pick up leftovers on the village roads, and don't close your doors at night. Villagers live and work in peace and contentment, abide by laws and regulations, abide by civil covenants, trade fairly, and prohibit counterfeiting and all dishonest labor. The village chief only fulfills his duties and does not enjoy any privileges. The villagers discuss matters and decide on actions, just like the city-state of Athens in ancient Greece. In the meeting hall, there are slogans such as "Don't do good deeds because they are small, and don't do evil deeds because they are small." The villagers have strong bones and bodies, are upright and brave, have high aspirations and great plans, share joys and sorrows, and endure hardships.

Finally, what I want to solemnly announce is that my village still retains many craftsmen such as blacksmiths, carpenters, stonemasons, silversmiths, painters, and painters. Craftsmen use their consistent fine workmanship to fight against the shoddyness of factory products, their denseness and slowness to fight against the roughness and speed of the world, and their warmth and texture to fight against the indifference and vanity of the world. In this kind of confrontation and perseverance, the craftsmen have preserved many precious things for the village, such as truth, beauty, kindness, tranquility and patience. In short, my village is very different from the outside world. It may be old-fashioned, lagging, lonely and lonely; however, only it can protect the disappearing spirit and quality for the world in a dazzling and noisy era.

This is the village I designed as a craftsman, but it can always be the village of my dreams.

The ruthless hands of time have long taken my village away, and it has become a dream of the past. I can no longer trace the figure of the craftsman, and can no longer enter the gentlest belly of the village built by folk craftsmen. Just like the Shuangjing Village I am visiting now, its tradition of passing down poems and rituals and its culture of farming and reading have long since passed away. The irreversibility of reality is like the withering of a flower. I'm afraid that in a few decades, blacksmith Lao Yu and his craftsmanship that have long been neglected will become unknown. Later generations can only find their traces and glory in legends; or rely on imagination to perceive these rural crafts that once brought infinite glory and warmth to the countryside. That scene was just like today when faced with the rock paintings and relics left by primitive people in caves. Later generations can only use their imaginations, which are full of errors.