Following Vincent
Self-Portrait, Vincent Van Gogh, 1887.
There was no question about whether to follow Vincent. Van Gogh (the man, not the artist) has been in my thoughts most days since attending the open-air exhibition of his work in September. I’ve been looking at his paintings, reading his letters, and other people’s writings about his life. And I don’t really know why.
A dozen things cross my path each day that I feel called to know more about. A few I follow the lead on. I trust the others will show up again if there is something for me to find.
“Despite faithfully following this trail, Vincent keeps showing up as if to make sure I don’t lose my way. When you are drawn to the colour yellow, yellow is all you notice. When you are drawn to Van Gogh you realise that, despite being dead for 130 years, Van Gogh is everywhere still.
”
He has been written about by so many people, there is almost no escaping him. His paintings and sketches have been pored over, his life examined, his mental health pathologised. There are books and theses on every aspect of his art. There are fictionalised accounts of his life, in movies and novels. Children’s books proliferate.
Vincent is so very much alive in our collective imagination that I almost didn’t want to follow this trail at all. I didn’t want to read a hundred posited theories about why he painted what he did, and why he painted those things that way. I didn’t want to hear about which diagnoses he would receive if he were alive today. I didn’t want to know what else we might have seen from him if he hadn’t taken his own life.
I wanted, and want still, what I can’t have. I want to sit by him while he paints, and while he paces. I want to sit in the chair by his hospital bed while he sleeps, and in the grass, off to the side, while he watches the changing light of the setting sun. I want him to know he’s not alone. I want him to have someone to listen to the thoughts that drive him crazy.
I’m glad he had his brother. I’m glad he knew he was painting for people that weren’t born yet. I’m glad he painted what he felt, and not just what others saw. I’m glad he persisted so he could follow the call, and I’m glad he let go when he could hold on no longer.
Maybe this is what everyone that follows his trail wants. Maybe we all want to tell Vincent, it’s okay. Maybe we all just want to say thank you.
Mary xx
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The older we get, the harder it is to be surprised in this way. But when we are, the unknown unnamed stands out, sharp in relief and fine in detail. It is like a cut-out scene in a pop up book, curious and enchanting.