Remembering Manfred

Van Gogh once said that he would rise above the stars after his death. I believe that all people who are virtuous and who do good for mankind will shine amongst the stars, the sun and the moon after they have left this world. At this moment, Manfred must be having tea with Van Gogh while they chat about art. When they are bored, they will look down to see how we are all being tortured by art and life. It may even be an entertaining pastime for them.

Our relationships with each other are probably predestined. What is this predestined relationship actually? We as mere mortal beings may not understand it thoroughly. Yet to those who are weak and helpless, it adds affection and power to life, making survival incomparably beautiful. My acquaintance with Manfred was predestined, masked as a coincidence in disguise. A photo of my painting tied us two former strangers together, like two separate streams that finally meet and run into one river. At our first meeting, he struck me as an easy-going person. His attractive appearance, his healthy body and his perpetually spirited and optimistic outlook made me feel ashamed of myself. As we got to know each other better, it was those very qualities that began to endear him to me. I believed that the key to his success lay in the humanity he expressed when dealing with people and when conducting business, coupled with his love for his job, his diligence and his sharp artistic judgement. These rare qualities served as the cornerstone for his approach to life. Every time I travelled overseas for an exhibition, no matter where I went I was always well taken care of by Manfred. His care awakened my long insensitive soul, enriching my grey life with vivid colours. More importantly, I saw hope. I was blessed and grateful to have such a soul-mate, who deeply appreciated my talent and I regarded this as the only good fortune that I had in my life.

What a pity that such an invaluable friendship was cut short, interrupted by a tragedy that happened so abruptly. Could this also be the work of God? Death is as incomprehensible as life. Only when one accepts this does another side to life present itself: that of cruelty and apathy, melancholy and helplessness. The recognition of this fact can chill to the bone.

One April morning in Hong Kong, I waited at the entrance of a hotel for a friend to take me to the railway station for the train back to Beijing. To my surprise Manfred turned up in his racecar, a beaming smile on his face and my friend in the passenger seat. Though this was only a small gesture, the fact that he was such a busy man and had still managed to come added even greater weight to our friendship. How could I have known, that in only a few days, I would find out that this trip to Hunghom Railway Station would be the last time we would see each other? This twist of fate put a perfect yet regrettable full stop to our long friendship. Though a number of subsequent dark days have passed, my fragile soul is still being haunted from time to time. Within a mere ten days I have lost two people who were very close and dear to me, the first the man who raised me, my father, the second a very rare friend and my mentor, Mr. Manfred Schoeni. Then the most unimaginable thing occurred, their funerals were planned for the same day. Was this also a coincidence? This is the reality, whether you can bear it or not is out of the question. Never have I felt such loneliness and sorrow. I feel none of the joys of spring this year. Even if you are born with the toughest soul, the world can still put you into an ignorant and impotent state by its enormous, secret will. All that man can do is to trust and hope.

In the boundless wilderness under a silent sky, there seems to be a continuous hum caused by the chanting of a thousand million voices. The souls of these voices rise up to the heavens to the music of this hypnotic murmur, passing through thousands of years and millions of miles. Though their faces and voices may fade away, their spirit is still with us. I hope that the soul of my friend Manfred, and that of my father will walk hand in hand through the dawning rays of heaven. Take care.

Zhang Lin Hai weeping at his studio in Beijing
July, 2004