我和许多观众一起步入了挂满涂志伟作品的展厅。乐曲在空间里轻柔地回荡,眼前升起了朦胧的薄雾。画幅在面前轻移着。残阳、月色、鸟音、童梦,没有金戈跃马,没有铁水奔流。这里有老街,这里有山村,这里有儿时的记忆,忽而又出现城市喧闹的烟尘。然而一幅幅都如絮絮的低语,为你诉说别后的乡情、被遗忘了的往事和熟悉但又陌生 I joined many viewers into the exhibition hall covered with Tu Zhiwei’s works. Music in the room gently echoed in front of the misty mist rise. Picture in front of the light shift. The sun, moonlight, bird sound, children’s dream, no gold horse, no hot metal rushing. There are streets here, there are villages, there are childhood memories, and suddenly appear the city noisy smoke. However, all of a sudden as Xu Xu whisper, for you to tell other nostalgia, forgotten past and familiar but unfamiliar