Chenxi and the Foreigner

A lake sped past my window and I looked up quickly to see the tail end of it disappear from view. I was torn. Finish my book or stare out the window at the gorgeous Newfoundland wilderness racing past the shuttle? I kept my eyes up for a few more minutes reveling in the stubby, wind-shaped evergreens, rocky hillsides and glistening waters painting ever-changing pictures through the glass. But soon my head dropped again to the book I held open in my lap, "Chenxi and the Foreigner" by Sally Rippin. I wasn't thoroughly impressed with the book's premise or language, but wanted to finish it before starting a new one. Just a few pages later, when I came across a passage that fully captivated my attention, I was grateful that I hadn't discarded the book earlier.

In the following paragraphs the main character, Anna, a teenager visiting China for a month, is talking to a fellow artist, Chenxi, from her fine arts college in Shanghai. I've taken out the extra words as much as possible, so just the essence of her longing remains.

"I think an artist's responsibility is to show a different world to the viewer. No, not a different world, the same world, but a different way of looking at it. It's an artist's responsibility, and I'm talking about writers and musicians too, to take the smaller paths that come off the main road. To go down them and to bring back what they find for those people who never dare to go themselves. Or never have the chance."

Anna goes on to voice one of my own deepest desires, although hers is for painting whereas mine is for writing.

"You know, if I painted one painting that changed the life of one person, affecting them deeply enough to make them see something in a completely different way – even if only one person – I feel like I would have achieved something."

I read those words over and over again for the next fifteen minutes and then put my book away to gaze out the window and think them over for the rest of the trip from St. John's to Grand Bank, NL.