Something Strange in the Gymnasium

This morning, I go to the wide stone walkway in front of my university's gymnasium to do taiji, as I sometimes do. There are lots of parents waiting outside. There are more people here than normal and it looks like they are waiting around for something. A guy in front of me has a tool box. Something's strange. There are numbers stuck to the walkway.

Since it's the late morning, I assume that they are waiting to pick up kids inside--maybe the university has opened up an experimental kindergarten.

I do my taiji anyway, until a few guys near me light up. The smoke will definitely affect my qi, so I move closer to the soccer field to the left side of the building and continue my set.

After I'm done, I go inside the gym to work out some more. As I pass one of the entrances to the upper stands of the gymnasium, I see a wondrous site. There are hundreds of students on the basketball court... all drawing and painting.

There are groups of about 50 or 60 students, and in the center of each group are either a few white busts of European-looking guys from the 1700s (they look like Beethoven), or a still-life scene of a pineapple, a vase, and some other objects, all laid out on a patterned olive drape.

There are about nine groups of students, half of them are painting the still-life scene with oils or acrylic paints, and half of them are drawing busts of the old stern European guys in pencil.

I take a seat in the empty stands and watch. Every painting or drawing I am able to see is accurate and beautiful. They are all superb artists. The intensity of focus and passion in that room is palpable and I sit there in awe of them all.

How the world needs more of this.

After my workout, I use the bathroom in the basement of the gym, and see some boys cleaning their palettes. There's black water in the sinks. I ask them what's going on? Is there some sort of competition going on?

One of the boys says that they are all high school students testing for university art programs. Now it all comes together--why all the parents are nervously waiting outside, some with "toolboxes". I tell them that I wish them all good luck!

I leave the building and go to unlock my bike, parked in front of the gym. A girl and her father have found a little niche where they sit and chat. The girl is curiously watching the laowai as he gets his bike ready.

"Wish you good luck!" I say to both of them.

"Thanks," the girl says.

"His Chinese isn't bad," the father says.

To all of you dear high school students, full of your passion, your dedication, your focus: Good luck to ALL of you!