Art Exhibition and a Lesson in "Tax Avoidance"
The air was filled with a faint scent of turpentine, linseed oil, and a certain expensive aromatherapy fragrance with woody and amber undertones.
The light was carefully designed, soft and focused, shining perfectly on the paintings on the wall, some abstract, some realistic, and some experimental.
This is the top floor of a converted old industrial warehouse in downtown Seattle, now home to the "Pioneer Gallery".
Tonight, a private preview exhibition titled "Dialogue Between Color and Soul" is being held here, featuring a young female Painter named Isabella de la Cruz, reportedly a rising star in the Spain art scene with a unique style, highly regarded by some critics in the art world.
There weren't many guests, but they all seemed to be people of high status. The men wore well-tailored casual suits or jackets, while the women wore elegant dresses, holding champagne glasses, standing in twos and threes in front of the paintings, quietly commenting or chatting with acquaintances. In addition to art, the air was filled with an unspoken social atmosphere belonging to a specific circle.
Lin Feng was dressed in a charcoal gray Italy casual suit, without a tie, and the top button of his shirt was undone, giving him a casual and relaxed look. He followed beside Mike Anderson, his gaze calmly sweeping over the paintings on the wall.
To be fair, these paintings are bold in color and unrestrained in brushstrokes, and some of the imagery is indeed impactful, but for him, that's all. In his eyes, art is more often a tool, a symbol, a carrier of value, rather than an object that requires wholehearted appreciation.
Mike was clearly in high spirits tonight. He wore a striking white linen suit with a pink shirt, his hair was impeccably combed, and the diamond-encrusted Patek Philippe on his wrist gleamed under the lights. He had already pointed to several paintings, then waved his hand and instructed the respectful gallery manager beside him, "This one, ' Burning Andalusia,' and that one, ' Midnight Echoes,' yes, and that one in the corner, ' Broken Mirror,' all wrapped up and sent to the address I gave you last time."
The gallery manager beamed with joy, thanking him profusely and taking down the order. The surrounding guests cast admiring or inquisitive glances. Mike's "generosity" earned him considerable attention.
"Lin, what do you think? Isabella's work is quite impactful, isn't it?" Mike turned to Lin Feng, a "I have great taste" smile on his face, and casually took two glasses of champagne from the waiter's tray, handing one to Lin Feng.
Lin Feng took the glass of wine, took a small sip, his gaze still fixed on a painting depicting a distorted human figure, and said in a flat tone, "Hmm, the colors are very intense. But to be honest, Mike, I don't really understand these things. You know, I prefer things that I can see and touch, like docks, warehouses, cash flow." He shrugged, playing the role of a pragmatic businessman who was "completely ignorant" of art but willing to indulge in a bit of sophistication.
Mike chuckled, patted Lin Feng on the shoulder, as if comforting a clueless student. "Lin, my friend, that's where you're wrong. Art, especially contemporary art, isn't just for 'looking at.' It's a... well, a more sophisticated 'tool.'" He deliberately lowered his voice, leaning closer with a sense of intimate sharing of a secret.
"Oh? Tools?" Lin Feng revealed a hint of curiosity at just the right moment.
"That's right." Mike swirled the champagne in his hand, his eyes flashing with shrewdness and a hint of barely perceptible superiority. "Look at these paintings. Do you think they're valuable? To be honest, in my opinion, most of them... are worthless."
He paused for a moment, observing Lin Feng's reaction. Lin Feng's face showed a suitable hint of surprise and confusion.
Mike was pleased with the result and continued his "instruction": "The reason is simple. The artist of these paintings, Isabella, is still alive. As long as a person is alive, you can never control her output, you can't predict whether she'll run out of inspiration tomorrow, or whether her style will suddenly change, and you can't guarantee that she won't get drunk one day and scribble dozens more at a party. Uncontrollable output means that value cannot be truly locked in and increased. So, from a purely investment perspective, the works of a living Painter are essentially just a bunch of... well, debatable things."
He used a relatively polite word, but the contempt in his tone was obvious.
"Then why..." Lin Feng pressed on, pointing to the expensive paintings on the wall and the guests around him who seemed genuinely appreciating them, or at least pretending to, "And why are so many people willing to pay high prices for them? And why are those critics so eloquent in their opinions?"
Mike's smile became even more meaningful, and he leaned closer, his voice almost a Whisper:
"Because, Lin, there's a different game going on behind the scenes. Behind every living 'master' who can sell their work for a high price, there's one or more big players. They might be gallery owners, collectors, or... investors like me. These big players are responsible for packaging the Painter, controlling her exposure, arranging authoritative reviews, holding high-profile exhibitions, and most importantly—controlling the number of her works released. They sign agreements, limiting her to painting only a few pieces a year, or releasing only limited editions of certain series. Scarcity drives up value; this principle applies everywhere."
He took a sip of champagne and continued his "preaching":
"Then, the speculator will use their resources and connections to vouch for, endorse, or even buy up several Painter themselves at inflated prices, thus driving up the market's 'anchor price.' As long as the speculator doesn't run into trouble or cause a collapse, the paintings they manipulate gain 'value backing.' The painting in your hand is no longer just a canvas painted with paint, but a 'hard currency' similar to cash that can be exchanged at any time within a specific circle. When you need money, you find an intermediary to sell the painting to the next 'buyer' arranged by the speculator, or send it to Sotheby's's or Christie's a formality, and the money is 'legally' released. Moreover, because this is 'art investment,' involving complex valuation and depreciation, the room for manipulation in terms of taxation is enormous. Legal tax avoidance, asset transfer, and even..."
He drew out his words meaningfully, not finishing them, but Lin Feng already "understood".
"Even money laundering?" Lin Feng muttered as if suddenly realizing something, a look of "I see" on his face, a mixture of surprise at this "high-end method" and a hint of excitement at "learning something new."
"Shh—" Mike made a shushing gesture, but his eyes were full of smugness, as if to say, "You've finally figured it out," "It's an unspoken understanding, an unspoken understanding. In short, this is a very... efficient and elegant path. It's much safer and more respectable than chasing highs and lows in the stock market and getting fleeced by fund managers."
He patted Lin Feng's arm, his tone enticing. "How about it, Lin? Want to buy some too? This kind of 'hard currency' makes your home look tasteful; when you need it, you can turn it into real money anytime. It's much more reliable than any vague stocks or funds. Look at me, I never put all my eggs in one basket."
Lin Feng looked at Mike's blue eyes, which gleamed with shrewdness and greed, and sneered inwardly. What a brilliant performance! If he hadn't already known that Mike was the one running the art exhibition, his "market manipulation theory" and "hard currency" rhetoric, coupled with his extravagant spending, would have been quite convincing. He was finding "buyers" for his next move, and using this theory to further solidify his image as a "gold digger" and "insider."
"I see..." Lin Feng nodded slowly, as if after a fierce internal struggle, then a determined smile appeared on his face, his tone casual, as if testing the waters. "Mike, now that you mention it, it actually sounds quite interesting. Okay, then I'll... buy some too? To keep up with the times, and to be a little more refined, so people don't always say I'm just a truck driver and warehouse manager."
His gaze swept across the exhibition hall, and he casually picked out three medium-sized paintings with relatively unobtrusive colors—a landscape, a still life, and a somewhat abstract figure.
"Those three will do. I don't really know much about them, just pick the ones that look good to me."
Mike's eyes lit up, and he immediately beckoned to the gallery manager not far away. "Manager! Come here! My friend, Mr. Lin, wants to buy ' Tranquil Valley,' ' Afternoon's Clay Pot,' and ' The Back View '! Yes, those three! Pack them up for my friend in the best wooden crates! Put the bill on my end, we'll settle it all at once!"
He acted even more enthusiastically than Lin Feng, as if he had just closed a big deal, or as if he was showing off his "power" and "generosity" to Lin Feng.
The gallery manager's smile widened, and he thanked her repeatedly before quickly going to complete the formalities.
"Haha! That's more like it, Lin!" Mike laughed heartily, patting Lin Feng on the back. "Investing in art is a double upgrade of taste and wealth! You'll see how wise this decision was later!"
Just then, a small door on the side of the exhibition hall opened, and a young woman in a burgundy velvet dress, with slightly wavy black hair, fair skin, and an elegant demeanor tinged with melancholy, walked out gracefully, led by the gallery manager. She was the star of the evening, the Painter Isabella de la Cruz. She looked to be around thirty years old, with a beautiful face and a certain aloofness reminiscent of an old-fashioned Europe aristocratic lady, but her eyes brightened noticeably when she saw Mike, and her steps became lighter.
"Mr. Anderson, and this gentleman," Isabella approached, her voice soft with a slight Spain accent, but her English fluent, "Thank you so much for your appreciation and support of my work. Especially this gentleman..." She looked at Lin Feng, her gaze inquisitive.
"Oh, Isabella, let me introduce you." Mike immediately switched to a more intimate, even slightly indulgent tone, and naturally put his arm around Isabella's waist (Isabella's body stiffened almost imperceptibly, but she quickly recovered). "This is Lin Feng, Mr. Lin, a very good friend of mine, an investor with a discerning eye. He fell in love with your paintings at first sight and immediately chose three!"
"Mr. Lin, it's a pleasure to meet you. Thank you very much for your patronage." Isabella gave Lin Feng a slight bow, her face bearing a professional and polite smile, but there seemed to be something else deep in her eyes, perhaps nervousness, perhaps helplessness, which she quickly concealed.
"Miss Isabella, your painting is very powerful." Lin Feng nodded politely, his tone indifferent. His gaze lingered on her face for only a fleeting moment before shifting away, clearly showing little interest in the Painter herself. He was more concerned with the "bookmaker" and the "script" of this play.
Isabella seemed somewhat surprised by Lin Feng's coldness, but didn't say much. Mike, on the other hand, struck up a conversation with her enthusiastically, talking about the inspiration for her paintings, the Spain sunshine, the art market, and a recent private gathering. The two became increasingly animated in their conversation, and Isabella's face occasionally revealed expressions of admiration and interest.
"Lin, you keep an eye on things for now. Isabella and I are going over there to talk about our creative ideas for the next batch of paintings. She has some new inspirations she wants to share with me." Mike winked at Lin Feng, giving him a knowing look, and then naturally extended his hand. Isabella hesitated for less than half a second before placing her hand in the crook of his arm.
"You two chat." Lin Feng nodded indifferently, indicating that they should do as they pleased.
Mike, arm in arm with Isabella, chatted and laughed softly as they walked towards the staircase leading to the VIP lounge on the other side of the exhibition hall, a relatively quieter area. Lin Feng was left alone to continue "admiring" the "hard currency" displayed on the wall.
Inside the exhibition hall, soft jazz music flowed gently, people chatted in hushed tones, and waiters moved about silently. Lin Feng stood alone before a huge, wildly colored abstract painting. His gaze seemed to fall on the canvas, but his focus had already penetrated the colors and lines before him, falling deeper into the real world composed of greed, lies, vanity, and meticulously designed deceptions.
He picked up the champagne, took a small sip, and a faint, cold smile curved his lips.
The class ended. The "students" seemed to have learned a lot.
But the "teacher" probably doesn't realize that the "classroom" and "teaching aids" he painstakingly created have already become part of a more interesting hunt in the eyes of the "students."
[End of Chapter 417]