Brothers

In old age, to be supported.

8 April 2026 · Lijiang

Returning to Lijiang, everyone came to visit the old father.

Naxi tradition: when an elder approaches death, the whole family must come to be beside him. Word spreads like wind — no one summons, distant relatives arrive of their own accord. Cured meat, wild mushrooms, butter tea; cooking fires set up in the courtyard, like a festival.

My uncle, twelve years younger than my father, came every morning, took his hand, and spoke softly in the old language. My father could no longer understand, but my uncle kept speaking — herding cattle, being beaten, being sent to school. Tears fell onto their clasped hands.

At night the women kept watch, stitching soles by the fire pit, singing ancient Naxi melodies. I had heard them since childhood, and only now do I understand: the path of the ancestors, the direction of the soul, the bridge between life and death.

The farewell to my father was cruel and beautiful — unlike the farewell to my mother.

For six months, the artist stopped all creative work and devoted himself entirely to caring for his dying father. At the same time, he recorded daily life in charcoal: the state of his father regressing to a three-year-old child — the details of feeding, changing diapers, assisting with bodily functions — alongside the process of building a kitchen, a bedroom, and a garden for his father with his own hands.

This is a record that cannot be called a "work." It is the most honest emotional archive.