Wei Ying

The young man sat in his "study," which he called his workshop, where he created his paintings and sometimes even statuettes and music. He applied one brushstroke after another to the canvas. His hair was gathered with a hair clip; otherwise, his unruly, pancake-like curls would get in the way. He wore a huge, oversized t-shirt, over which he had a special painting apron.

It was quite early in the morning, and he hadn't even gone to bed, nor did he intend to. He wanted to finish this work. He'd had a burst of inspiration over the last few days and had been constantly creating new works of art.

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