Van Gogh: Painted With Words Page #6

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and who was sufficiently absorbed in his work like me,

to be inclined to live like a monk,

bound up in his work and not inclined to waste his time, then

the thing would be very good.

"And you would give my brother one painting a month,

"while you'd be free to do whatever you liked with the rest."

In the hope of living in a studio with Gauguin, I'd like to do a decoration for the studio.

'Nothing but large sunflowers.'

I also did a canvas of my bedroom with the whitewood furniture that you know.

It amused me enormously doing this bare interior.

My aim was to give it colours like stained glass,

and a design of solid outlines.

Unfortunately, Gauguin procrastinated,

so Vincent bided his time,

determined to focus on his work

in preparation for the great man's arrival -

even prepared, in principal at least, to curtail some of his favourite pursuits.

Painting and screwing around a lot aren't compatible -

it weakens the brain,

and that's what's really so dammed annoying.

I'd prefer to be cloisted up like the monks.

Free to go to the brothel, just like the monks,

or to the wine shop, if my heart chooses to!

In my painting of the night cafe, I've tried to express

the idea that the cafe is the place

where you can ruin yourself, go mad,

commit crimes.

Included here, a square canvas, the starry sky -

actually painted at night, under a gas-lamp.

The fields are mauve.

The town is blue and violet.

Two small coloured figures of lovers in the foreground.

He's an odd fellow, but

what a head he has on him.

It's enviable.

I shall count myself very happy if I manage to work enough to earn my living

for it makes me very worried when I tell myself

that I've done so many paintings and drawings without ever selling any.

Gauguin finally arrived on the 23rd October 1888.

Turquoise, a vibrant, alive turquoise, as if the sea was bubbling

A few days later, the two artists set off for the nearby Roman cemetery

at Les Alyscamps, intent on depicting the same subject, side by side.

Vincent painted what he saw and what he felt,

the industrial scene in the background is framed by the trees.

By contrast, Gauguin had little time for reality.

He painted, as a rule, from memory.

And in the time it took Gauguin to complete this picture,

slowly and methodically,

Vincent, at top speed, had knocked out two more.

Gauguin, in spite of himself and in spite of me

has proved to me a little it was time to change things a bit.

I'm now working from memory,

and all my earlier studies will still be useful for that work,

as they will remind me

of former things that I have seen.

And one of these was a subject he painted again and again,

The Sower.

Now, the influence of Gauguin can clearly be seen.

Immense lemon yellow disk for the sun,

green-yellow sky with pink clouds.

The field is violet,

the sower and the tree, Prussian blue.

But Vincent found it difficult painting purely from memory,

and soon returned to subjects directly in front of him.

The last two studies are rather funny canvases,

a wooden and straw chair all yellow on red tiles against a wall.

Then Gauguin's armchair, red and green,

night effect.

On the seat, two novels and a candle.

On sailcloth, in thick impasto.

But it wasn't long before tensions developed between the two artists.

Gauguin's work was selling well in Paris -

Vincent still couldn't find buyers.

He started to drink heavily again.

His behaviour was becoming odder and odder,

and after just eight weeks, Gauguin became increasing exasperated.

I feel completely disorientated in Arles.

I find everything so small

and mean,

both the landscape and the people.

In general, Vincent and myself do not see eye to eye,

particularly on painting.

He likes my pictures very much,

but when I'm painting them,

he criticises me for this and that.

Vincent and I can absolutely not live side by side without trouble.

In December 1888,

Gauguin painted this, Portrait Of Van Gogh

Painting Sunflowers.

Vincent looked at it in silence, then said,

"It's me all right, but me gone mad."

But is it?

When I look at this picture, I don't see van Gogh at all.

I see Gauguin.

And that seems to me to explain a lot about their relationship.

A few days later, the two artists got into a heated argument.

'It was so bizarre I couldn't take it.'

He even asked me, "Are you going to leave?"

I felt I must go out alone

and take the air

along some paths

when I heard behind me a familiar step

short, quick, irregular.

I turned around on that instant

as Vincent rushed towards me, an open razor in hand.

Vincent returned to the Yellow House,

where, with perhaps the very same knife that he threatened Gauguin with,

he mutilated his left ear.

I wouldn't exactly have chosen madness

had there been a choice,

but once one has something like that, one can't catch it any more.

I find that his condition has improved a little.

I don't believe his life is in danger - for the moment at least.

He's eating quite well

and his physical strength enables him to withstand his crises.

My assessment is that he'll be able to recover in a short time,

while retaining the extreme excitability that must form the essence of his character.

From his hospital room,

Vincent painted this self-portrait,

one of the most arresting works of art

in the world.

The advantages I have here are that they are all sick

and so at least I don't feel...

alone.

I'm quite absorbed in reading Shakespeare.

I've first taken the kings series

of which I've already read Richard II,

Henry IV, Henry V,

parts of Henry VI.

Have you ever read King Lear?

But anyway, I think I shan't urge you too much to read such

dramatic stories.

when after reading them myself I

I'm always obliged to go and gaze at a blade of grass

a pine tree branch,

an ear of wheat

to calm myself.

Vincent suffered repeated episodes of mental instability

whilst in the hospital here in Arles.

But in between these fits, he was well enough to find comfort in his art,

painting the grounds here and the ward.

After five months in hospital,

mindful perhaps of his precarious mental state,

he was reluctant to return home alone to the Yellow House.

And with Theo's help,

he voluntarily admitted himself to the nearby asylum at Saint-Remy.

Dear Director, with the agreement of the person involved, who is my brother,

I am writing to request the admission into your institution of Vincent Willem van Gogh.

I ask you to admit him with your third-class residents.

I hope you will have no objection to allowing him the freedom to paint

outside your institution whenever he wishes to do so.

Further,

without elaborating on the attention he will require,

but which I assume is given with the same care to all your residents,

I hope you will be so kind as to allow him to have at least

half a litre of wine with his meals.

Vincent arrived here at Saint-Remy on 8th May 1889,

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