Van Gogh: Painted With Words Page #5

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The doctor says he is now completely recovered.

He's making tremendous progress with his work,

and proof of that is that he is starting to make a success of it.

Vincent enrolled at the studio of the artist Fernand Cormon,

where he befriended many of the aspiring artists of the day,

including Toulouse Lautrec,

sitting here on the left,

with, reputedly, Vincent beside him holding the palette.

But he became bored and frustrated after three months working from plaster casts, so he left.

What I think about my own work is that the painting

of the peasants eating the potatoes that I did in Nuenen is, after all, the best thing I did.

What I hope to achieve

is to paint a good portrait, anyway.

For inspiration, he turned to the Dutch master Rembrandt,

who painted more than 90 self portraits from the outset of his career

to the year of his death in 1669.

So, Rembrandt painted angels.

He paints himself as an old man,

wrinkled, toothless, wearing a white cap.

First, painting from life in the mirror,

he dreams,

dreams, and his brush begins to paint his own portrait again,

but from memory,

and his expression is sadder

and more saddening.

For my own part, my fortunes dictate that I'm making

rapid progress in becoming a little old man myself.

But what does that matter?

I have a dirty and difficult occupation -

painting.

Vincent started his self portrait series with the dark brown colours he'd been accustomed to.

But gradually, his colour and brushwork changed,

as he came under the influence of the new art that he saw around him.

The paintings become lighter and more colourful.

My intention is to show that a variety of very different portraits

can be made by the same person.

The painter of the future is a colourist as there has never been before.

He hasn't yet sold any paintings for money,

but exchanges his work for other paintings.

He also has acquaintances from whom he receives a beautiful

delivery of flowers every week

that can serve him as a model.

I've made a series of colour studies in painting simply flowers,

seeking oppositions of blue with orange, red and green,

yellow and violet, seeking the broken and neutral tones

to harmonise brutal extremes.

He's also much more cheerful than before,

and he goes down well with the people here.

To give you an example, hardly a day passes without him being

invited to visit the studios of painters of repute,

or people come to him.

Just a few minutes' walk from Rue Lepic,

and from Le Moulin de la Galette,

a bar and dance hall

masquerading as a windmill, which Vincent loved to paint,

was Pere Tanguy's art supply shop.

This place became the hub

for the whole community of Parisian artists,

who would gather and gossip and exchange their pictures

for materials supplied by Pere Tanguy,

the legendary father figure of the avant garde.

Paul Cezanne,

Edgar Degas,

Toulouse Lautrec,

George Seurat.

They all came here.

It's extraordinary to think that this tiny room

was the principal gathering place for what is probably

the most celebrated group of artists in history.

Vincent, who was socially awkward, had little appetite

for these gatherings or for the competitive environment it fostered.

But there was one artist who like him stood out from the crowd.

His name was Paul Gauguin,

and he shared with Vincent a passion for Japanese prints.

This was the art-form that transfixed the western world in the late 19th century.

Japanese prints are certainly the most practical way of

getting to understand the direction that painting has taken at present.

Colourful and bright.

Theo and I have hundreds of them.

At first, he simply started to copy the prints.

Then, he began to experiment with his own work,

cropping objects at the edges and introducing strong diagonals.

And Japanese prints started to appear in the background

in several of his portraits,

including this one of Pere Tanguy.

However, other Parisian indulgences were not so beneficial.

Vincent was drinking large amounts of absinthe.

The bohemian lifestyle was damaging his already fragile health.

And his relationship with Theo was becoming seriously strained.

'It's as if there are two people in him -

'the one, marvellously gifted,

'sensitive and gentle,

'and the other, self-loving and unfeeling.'

There was a time when

I loved Vincent very much and he was my best friend, but that's over now.

It seems to be even worse, as far as he is concerned,

for he loses no opportunity to let me see

that he despises me and that I inspire aversion in him.

This makes it almost intolerable for me at home.

No-one wants to come by any more because it always leads to rows, and

he's so filthy and slovenly that the household looks anything but inviting.

Vincent had had enough of the quarrels with Theo,

and of the artistic egos of the avant-garde.

Longing for the peace of the countryside,

he left Paris

in February 1888

and headed south to Arles, in Provence.

'I want to begin by telling you that this part of the world seems to me

'as beautiful as Japan for the clearness of the atmosphere

'and the charm of the colour effects.'

Pale orange sunsets,

making the fields almost blue.

Glorious yellow suns.

Soon after his arrival,

Vincent moved into The Yellow House on Place Lamartine,

and set to work at once, experimenting with an increasingly vivid palette,

convinced that this would be his artistic legacy.

'Now that I've found my bearings a little more, I'm beginning to see the advantages here.

'For myself, I'm in better health here than in the north.

'I even work in the wheat fields at midday,

'in the full heat of the sun, without any shade whatever,

'and there you are,

I revel in it like a cicada.'

If only I'd known this country at 25, instead of coming here at 35, but

then I was

enthusiastic about grey, or rather, absence of colour.

Ah, but this!

I don't need Japanese prints here,

because I'm always saying to myself I'm in Japan.

I'd like to do drawings in the style of Japanese.

I can't do anything but strike while the iron's hot.

I hope to make real progress this year, which I really need to do.

However, working alone for days on end took its toll,

and depression set in.

From the letters, it's clear that he was suffering from bipolar disorder.

So many days pass without me saying a word to anyone

except to order

supper or a coffee.

It's been like that from the start.

For my part, it worries me to spend so much time by myself,

alone.

Vincent dreamed of establishing an artists' colony,

a "Studio in the South", as he called it,

where artists could work together in a collegiate culture,

unlike the more combustible Parisian artworld he'd left behind.

Gauguin is in Brittany, but has again suffered an attack of his liver complaint.

I wish I were in the same place as him,

or he here with me.

My...

dearold

Gauguin.

I've just rented a four-room house here in Arles.

It seems to me that

if I could find a painter who wanted to make the most out of the south,

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