[Comprehensive British and American dramas] No.1 is called non-plural

When Isaac arrived at the luxurious mansion of the Bulwark family again, the reception he received was obviously not as thoughtful as last time.It wasn't that he wasn't taken seriously, as long as the hostess and hostess treated him, no one would doubt that he was the one who didn't matter, but Steve's situation was clearly urgent enough to omit some red tape.

"He's in the studio, drawing non-stop," Mrs Bulwark said quickly and quietly. "We tried to stop him, but once he did that he writhed like someone strangled him. We couldn't help it." Bring him out, and it would have been much worse if he hadn't refused food that was put to his mouth."

The door of the studio was not closed tightly, but those who approached unconsciously lowered their voices. Mr. Bulwark opened the door, stood at the door, and had a panoramic view of the studio.

Steve Bulwark seemed unaware of the opened door and the people standing outside. He was smearing on the canvas with a paintbrush, and the thick paint was smeared into strange lines on the canvas. shocked.

Isaac finally understood exactly what Emma meant when Steve drew well.

A painting can reflect a person's soul, and the loneliness and depression on it cannot be covered up by bright color blocks, but because of the stronger contrast, it is like a silent cry. Isaac breathed a sigh of relief.

There were no more dangerous elemental projections on it, which was good news compared to Steve's disappearance for nearly a year.

"Did Steve draw these?" Isaac asked softly.

"These are paintings that haven't been completed in a while," Mrs. Bulwark replied. "Steve's finished works are in another room."

"Can I go and see?" Isaac thought for a moment.

Mrs. Bulwark was taken aback. "Don't you need to talk to Steve?"

"He attaches great importance to his works. I always have to see what he wants to convey through his works. If I talk to him unprepared like this, he won't talk to me." Isaac looked at the man who was completely immersed in the painting world. Steve, explained.

"Oh, that's right." Mrs. Bulwark understood. "Come with me."

Inside the studio, there is another door. Mrs. Bulwark pushed the door open, followed by Isaac, who had the illusion of a space shift.

The room behind the door can no longer be simply called a room, except that there are no obvious alarms and anti-theft measures, and the furnishings inside are generally the same as those in a museum.

"It's all Steve's completed works, and each one has been properly taken care of." Mrs. Bulwark is very proud of this place. "When we hold a banquet at home, many guests are full of praise for these paintings. Find out which master's painting this is."

Isaac's artistic accomplishment...is still there, but obviously, he's partial.For some alternative works, he can have a spiritual communication with the author through them; for the works appreciated by the general public, he can also appreciate them, but he will not feel deeply. These works by Steve, Isaac would agree with Mrs. Bulwark that they are really good. If the above emotional expression is serious, it can tell a thing or two, but if you want to say how much he likes it, it is not necessarily so.

Among those works, there is also a portrait of Emma, ​​which is the only portrait of a person.

"It looks a little weird." Isaac walked to the painting and stood still. The portrait made it obvious that the girl on it was Emma, ​​but the proportions were not harmonious.

"It's Steve's painting style, and if you look at the other paintings, they're consistent," Mrs Bulwark explained. "Steve will establish a style when he is drafting, and then use his imagination. This is where his talent lies. It's just that this style is not suitable for portraits. Emma's portrait is the only one, not even our family members. exception."

After speaking, she looked at Isaac expectantly, "Is there anything else you want to know?"

"Well, can I be alone here for a while?" Isaac asked after thinking about it.

"No problem at all."

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The drawing of oil paintings is rarely accomplished overnight, because the pigments are special, and it is normal to scrape and modify them. Isaac thought of Mrs. Bulwark's uniform style, but found himself a bit confused about the meaning of the word.

But if there is any difference between the paintings here and the ones in the studio, it is that the emotional expressions of the paintings here are not as intense as those in the studio, and some of the works are a bit naughty, just like a game of hide-and-seek that children like. Quietly hid in the bushes, but left a corner of clothes outside.I want to hide it well, but I also hope that someone can find him...

Isaac thought for a long time, and finally decided to seek professional help.

The so-called artist Defoe, who was tortured by the family business, looked at the video request, and his impatient expression immediately became serious. He nodded to the others in the meeting room, "The meeting will be suspended for half an hour." Then walk out of the conference room as leisurely as possible.

"Your call came in a timely manner!" Back in his office, Defoe tore off his tie, collapsed on the sofa without a shape, "Where are you?" His eyes finally focused on the phone screen, The picture from above made him a little puzzled, "Which art gallery is this in? Do you want to buy paintings?"

"No." Isaac's voice came from outside the screen, "I want you to help me see what these paintings have in common."

"No problem, my brother is a professional in art appreciation." Defoe immediately regained his energy and began to direct Issac to adjust the angle up and down. He tossed and tossed for a full hour, and changed his face several times during the process, reminding him to rest The secretary scared away when the time was up, and finally let out a long sigh of relief. "I see."

Defoe randomly found a blank notebook, and drew on it with a ballpoint pen, "I don't have professional drawing tools here, so you just have to see."

Isaac looked at those irregular lines, a little dizzy, "What is this?"

"Don't you want to know what those paintings have in common?" Defoe smugly said, "That's right, those paintings are all extensions of these lines, including the portrait."

"Such abstract lines..." Isaac looked at the works that covered the entire canvas, but he never expected that they would be extended in this way, especially, the themes of those works looked different, and the content also had their own merits.

Defoe was urged once again, this time he didn't delay any more, but responded and rearranged his somewhat messy clothes, his expression was not as lively as before, "By the way, I'm probably going to get engaged in a while, Remember to send you an invitation when the time comes."

"Aren't you going to be single until you're 80?" Isaac recalled, really not remembering any signs of Defoe having a girlfriend.

"Family business." Defoe shrugged and put on his tie again. "Things are tough these days, but many people hope to get a few more orders from the military department through this."

"..." Isaac didn't know what to say.

"Don't make such an expression, most people don't have this value." Defoe looked very open, "By the way, introduce me to a more reliable coach when you have time, my fiancée is a soldier, I don't want to be in the house When violent, there is no power to fight back."

"Can't you make some good assumptions?" Isaac felt a little headache at this attitude.

"Prevention is nothing more than that. When facing her, of course I will be polite and gentlemanly." Defoe waved his hand, "She is an iron-blooded officer, and I am a weak and sensitive artist, very weak."

This kind of reluctance seems to be unspoken...

Before Isaac could say anything, Defoe over there said goodbye and hung up the phone.

He seemed to have seen an arranged marriage in reality just now.

Shaking his head, Isaac decided to inquire about the details when he got home, but now, looking at the photos sent over and comparing them to the paintings, he actually saw a little difference.

He no longer analyzed those techniques and feelings, but began to target the backbone of those paintings like playing a game of finding fault.Maybe it was because of Defoe's hint, that preconceived feeling made his vision much clearer at once, and he looked deeper and deeper, and even thought he saw the number marked under the line in a trance.

Isaac was taken aback for a moment, and immediately came back to his senses, not suspecting that what he saw just now was an illusion.

With this experience, he refocused his attention, his eyes moved slowly inch by inch on the portrait, and the numbers hidden at the bottom of the paint gradually emerged...

With the lines marked with numbers, Issac can only think of maps for a moment.

He did not rush to draw conclusions, but selected several portraits with different styles. Although some fine lines did not completely overlap, the main branches were consistent.

Steve Bulwark hid a map in the painting.

Isaac didn't stop there, and directly opened the door leading to the studio.Screams immediately filled his eardrums, Steve Bulwark was throwing a tantrum, the easel in front of him had been knocked down, the paint tray fell to the ground, and the paintbrush fell to the side randomly, this is not over yet, Steve Bulwark was grabbing the soup bowl, The hot soup inside spilled out and poured in from the cuff, and the skin was quickly scorched red.

"What happened?" Isaac asked.

Mr. Bulwark hugged Steve to prevent him from struggling. Mrs. Bulwark's eyes were red, "When I was feeding Steve, I accidentally shook my hand, and a few drops of the soup in the spoon splashed onto the canvas..."

The doctor had arrived in a hurry, but Steve's voice didn't seem to stop. Isaac rubbed his forehead and told himself not to argue with him, but things like magic sounds entering his head were not so easy to bear.

"Stop screaming!" Isaac suddenly stepped forward and pressed Steve's shoulder, "What's the matter with the map you hid in the painting?"

This sentence was like pressing the pause button, and Steve fell silent all of a sudden.

"What map?" Mr. Bulwark didn't know why.

"What map?" Steve Bulwark asked suddenly.Not outright doubts like his father's, but a further test.

"Is it a map of where you were the year you disappeared?" Isaac asked back.

Steve Bulwark laughed,

"What?" The Bulwarks reacted even more, "Steve, do you remember where you were?"

The significance of this matter is really too great, since they took Steve back, they didn't think about this problem at first, but they didn't get any results, so they thought Steve didn't know anything about it.But now, someone told them that Steve was not ignorant, he knew everything, and even drew a map, but he just didn't say anything!

"Baby, why didn't you tell us?" Mrs. Bulwark asked, wiping the tears from her eyes quickly.

"I have drawn them all, and you are very happy and value them, but you just don't care." Steve Bulwark said conflicting words, "I have drawn so much, but you just turn a blind eye!"

Looking at the weeping Mrs Bulwark, Isaac couldn't say anything but sympathy.

To be fair, the numbers representing the proportions are hidden too deep. Even if a professional like Defoe found those lines, he might not be able to associate them with the map.But for Steve, he had laid out everything clearly, but was ignored again and again...

It is completely unreasonable to pursue this matter seriously, and even words of comfort are so weak.

Isaac sighed, "I found the map, now can you tell me where this belongs?"

"I don't know." Steve shook his head. "It's just that, it's all the roads he's taken me. Someone knows him."

Isaac finally understood what it meant to be extremely sensitive to directions and numbers on Steve Bulwark's medical certificate.