And yet there is good reason why my work is sometimes more harmonious nowadays. Painting is unlike anything else. Last year I read somewhere that writing a book or painting a picture was like having a child. I don’t go so far as to make that claim for myself, however - I have always considered the last-named the most natural and the best of these three - if indeed they were comparable. That is why I at times try my very hardest, although it is this very work that turns out to be the least understood, and though for me it is the only link between the past and the present.
There are a lot of painters in this village - next door a whole family of Americans who paint away day in, day out. I haven’t seen any of their work yet - it’s unlikely to be up to much.
Theo, his wife and his child were here last Sunday and we lunched at Dr Gachet’s. There my little namesake made his acquaintance of the animal world for the first time, as there are 8 cats, 3 dogs, as well as chickens, rabbits, ducks, pigeons, etc., in large numbers. As yet he doesn’t understand much of it all, I think. But he looked well, and so did Theo and Jo. It is a very reassuring feeling for me to live so much closer to them. You too will probably be seeing them soon.
Once again thanks for your letter, and hoping that you and Wil remain in good health, I embrace you in my thoughts,
Ever loving,
Vincent
W23 [F] [letter from Vincent to Wil]
[11 or 12 June 1890]
My dear sister,
I am adding a few words for you to Mother’s letter. Last Sunday I had a visit from Theo and his family. It’s very pleasant to be living less far away from them. Recently I’ve been working very hard and quickly; in this way I try to express the desperately fast passage of things in modern life.
Yesterday, in the rain, I painted a large landscape with fields as far as the eye can see, viewed from a height, different kinds of greenery, a dark green field of potatoes, the rich purple earth between the regular rows of plants, to one side a field of peas white with bloom, a field of clover with pink flowers and the little figure of a mower, a field of tall, ripe, fawn-coloured grass, then some wheat, some poplars, on the horizon a last line of blue hills at the foot of which a train is passing, leaving an immense trail of white smoke over the greenery. A white road crosses the canvas, on the road a little carriage, and some white houses with bright red roofs alongside the road. Fine drizzle streaks the whole with blue or grey lines.
There is another landscape with a vineyard and meadows in the foreground, the roofs of the village appearing beyond them.
And yet another with nothing but a green field of wheat, stretching away to a white villa, surrounded by a white wall with a solitary tree.
I’ve done the portrait of M. Gachet with a melancholy expression, which might well seem like a grimace to those who see it. And yet I had to paint it like that to convey how much expression and passion there is in our present-day heads in comparison with the old calm portraits, and how much longing and crying out. Sad but gentle, yet clear and intelligent, that is how many portraits ought to be done. At times it might well make some impression on people.
There are modern heads that may be looked at for a long time, and that may perhaps be looked back on with longing a hundred years later. If I were ten years younger and knew what I know now, with how much ambition should I not be working on this! Under the circumstances I can’t do much, I neither keep company with, nor know how to keep company with, the sort of people I should like to influence.
I very much hope to do your portrait one day.
I’m greatly looking forward to another letter from you. I do hope to see you soon, I embrace you warmly in my thoughts,
Ever yours,
Vincent
Van Gogh continued his efforts to forge links between his painted works, the better to create a solidly structured overall ‘oeuvre’. In a letter to Theo written a few days later, he called the landscape he had described in such detail to his sister in the preceding letter ‘a study in the style of the Harvest’.
Because Gachet was a keen amateur printmaker, Van Gogh felt inspired to try his hand at etching again. In particular, he planned to make prints of his Arlésienne and of the landscape with cypress. Under the influence of the series of lithographs the artist Auguste Lauzet had made after Monticelli’s work, he wrote, ‘I shall probably be making etchings of this and other landscapes and subjects, so many memories of Provence […]’. His trial attempt, a print of his portrait of Dr Gachet, earned him Theo’s admiration: ‘It is a real painter’s etching. No refinement in the execution, but a drawing on metal.’ It was to be the only print he managed to do before his death.
At the end of June, Van Gogh did several paintings of flowers, and planned to paint Daubigny’s garden, of which he had already made a small study. On narrow, elongated canvases, possibly based on dimensions favoured by Puvis de Chavannes, he painted panoramic landscapes and a ‘sousbois [undergrowth]’, as well as a portrait of Gachet’s daughter, Margu6rite, playing the piano, with a landscape in complementary colours as a pendant. His reason for doing so was that ‘people are still a long way from appreciating the remarkable links between one piece of nature and another, even when the two clarify and enhance each other’. He was also hoping to paint Marguérite at a small organ, as a modern St Cecilia.
In Paris, Theo and his family were suddenly beset with problems. In late June, in what for him was an unusually emotional letter, Theo made his brother privy to his worries about his job, his finances and his little boy’s health. Should he leave ‘those skinflints Boussod & Valadon’ and set up in business as an independent art dealer? Ought they to move to Auvers, or to Holland? Whatever was decided they would all have to tighten their belts. However, he took comfort from the knowledge that Vincent was in good health: ‘You have found your way, dear brother, your carriage is already nearing its destination and can stand up to a good many knocks.’
The fact that Vincent was suddenly expected to take over the role of fraternal adviser came as a shock. He was far from convinced that his own situation had become so much rosier: ‘I must tell you honestly that I dare not count on my health never letting me down again. And don’t hold it against me if my illness should return.’ Theo, by contrast, enjoyed Johanna’s constant support, while marriage was something Vincent could no longer depend on: ‘I still love art and life very much, but as for ever having a wife of my own, I have no great faith in that. I am rather afraid that towards, let’s say, the age of forty - or rather, let’s not say anything at all, for I must tell you that I absolutely, and I mean absolutely, do not know what course things are going to take with me.’ Although Vincent had felt certain that his presence in Paris would only make things worse, out of concern he did visit his brother all the same. We know from Johanna that Vincent’s first instinct had been the right one, and that the visit turned out to be an especially unhappy one. The child’s illness had made everyone overtired. The brothers did have serious discussions about Theo’s leaving Boussod & Valadon, but even these were constantly interrupted by the many callers who came during his visit. Moreover, Vincent was dissatisfied with the way in which his paintings had been stored. The short note he sent Theo upon his return to Auvers makes it clear that there had been much irritation on both sides. A sweet letter from Johanna helped clear the air, however, as we can tell from what Vincent wrote to his brother and his sister-in-law on about 10 July, shortly before they left for a short holiday in the Netherlands.
647 [F]
[7 July 1890]
Dear brother and sister,
My impression is that since we are not quite ourselves, and rather preoccupied anyway, there is relatively little point in insisting on a clear definition of the position we are in. It rather surprises me that, there being no agreement, you seem to want to force the situation. Can I do anything about it? Perhaps not -but have I done anything wrong, or is there anything you would like me to do?
Anyhow, once again a good handshake in my thought
s, and despite everything it gave me a great deal of pleasure to see you all again. Be very sure of that
Ever yours, V.
649 [F]
[c. 10 July 1890]
Dear brother and sister,
The letter from Jo has really been like a gospel for me, a deliverance from the distress caused by the hours I shared with you, which were rather difficult & trying for us all. It is no small matter when we are all made aware that our daily bread is at risk, no small matter when for different reasons we are also made aware of the precariousness of our existence.
Back here, I, too, still felt very sad, and the storm which threatens you continued to weigh heavily on me as well. What is there to be done? Look, I try to be reasonably good-humoured in general, but my life is also under attack at its very root, my step is also unsteady.
I was afraid - not entirely - but a little nevertheless - that my being a burden to you was something you found intolerable - but Jo’s letter proves to me clearly that you do realize that I am working and making an effort just as much as you are.
So - having arrived back here, I have set to work again -although the brush is nearly falling from my hands - and because I knew exactly what I wanted to do, I have painted three more large canvases. They are vast stretches of wheat under troubled skies, and I didn’t have to put myself out very much in order to try and express sadness and extreme loneliness. I hope you’ll be seeing them shortly since I’d like to bring them to you in Paris as soon as possible. I’m fairly sure these canvases will tell you what I cannot say in words, that is, how healthy and invigorating I find the countryside.
The third canvas is Daubigny’s garden, a picture I’ve had in mind ever since I came here.
I hope with all my heart that the proposed journey will help a little to take your minds off things.
I often think of the little one, I don’t doubt it’s better to bring up children than to spend all one’s nervous energy on making pictures, but it can’t be helped, I am, or at least I feel I am, too old now to retrace my steps or to long for anything else. That longing has left me, but the mental suffering remains.
I was very sorry not to have seen Guillaumin again, but am pleased he’s looked at my canvases. If I had waited for him, I should probably have stayed talking to him so long I would have missed my train.
Wishing you both luck, a stout heart and comparative prosperity, may I ask you to tell Mother and our sister once again that I think of them very often. Indeed, I had a letter from them this morning and will be replying soon.
Handshakes in thought,
Ever yours,
Vincent
My money won’t last me very long this time, for on my return I had to pay the bill for the luggage from Aries. I have some very good memories of that journey to Paris. A few months ago I hardly dared hoped to see my friends again. I think that Dutch lady is most talented.1 Lautrec’s picture, Portrait de musicienne, is quite wonderful, it moved me when I saw it.
Vincent wrote to his mother and Wil that he was ‘absorbed in that immense plain with wheat fields up as far as the hills, big as the ocean, delicate yellow, delicate soft green, the delicate purple of a tilled and weeded piece of ground, with the regular speckle of the green of flowering potato plants, everything under a sky of delicate tones of blue, white, pink and violet. I am in a mood of almost too much calm, just the mood needed for painting this.’
Following Johanna’s letter, Theo, too, tried to boost Vincent’s spirits. In a letter dated 14 July, he repeated the simile of the horse and cart he had used in an earlier letter, writing, ‘Disappointments - certainly, but we are no beginners & are like wagoners who by their horses’ supreme efforts almost reach the top of the hill, do an about-turn, and then, often with one more push, manage to gain the top.’ Another letter from Theo, written a week later, tells us of new tensions during the third week of July. Theo had gathered from one of Vincent’s letters that Vincent thought there was trouble between Theo and his brother-in-law Andries Bonger, who lived in the same house, and Theo did his best to refute the story. In turn, Theo was worried by Vincent’s remark that he was having difficulties with writing, and advised him to consult Dr Gachet.
A short, unfinished note to Theo dated 24 July 1890 was long thought to have been the last letter Van Gogh wrote. Theo had marked the note with, ‘Letter he had with him on 29 July’. In reality, it was a draft for a somewhat longer letter with illustrations that Vincent did post. He may have decided not to send the earlier version because its tone was somewhat gloomy. The central theme once again was the conflict between artist and art dealer, and for many years its dramatic conclusion was - quite understandably in the light of subsequent developments - taken for a farewell message. That passage reads: ‘Well, I have risked my life for my work, and it has cost me half my reason - all right […] as far as I can tell, you are not one of those traders in human beings, I am sure you act with real humanity. But what do you expect’…’
In the letter he actually posted, these musings had been toned down. The main topic was again Van Gogh’s ideal of an association of artists. Although the letter was disillusioned in tone, it contained the usual order for paints, and he ended with the description of one of his last paintings, Daubigny’s Garden.
651 [F]
[24 July 1890]
My dear brother,
Thank you for your letter of today and the enclosed 50 fr. note.
I should try, perhaps, to write to you about a great many things, but in the first place I have completely lost the inclination, and then, it seems useless to me.
I hope you found those gentlemen favourably disposed towards you.
As far as the peace of your household is concerned, I am as much convinced that it can be preserved as I am that it is threatened by storms.
I would rather not forget the little French I know, and am certainly unable to see the sense in delving deeper into the rights or wrongs of one side or the other in any discussions. It wouldn’t be my concern anyway.
Things move quickly here. Aren’t Dries, you and I rather more convinced of that, don’t we understand that rather better than those ladies? So much the better for them - but in the long run we can’t even count on talking coolly about it.
As far as I am concerned, I am giving my canvases my undivided attention. I am trying to do as well as some painters I have greatly loved and admired.
Now I have returned, my feeling is that the painters themselves are increasingly at bay these days.
All right… but hasn’t the moment for trying to make them understand the usefulness of an association already passed? On the other hand an association, should it come about, would go under if the rest were to go under. In that case, you might say, the dealers could throw their lot in with the impressionists - but that would be very short-lived. All in all, it seems to me that personal initiative is of no avail, and’given the experience we’ve had, should we really be starting all over again?
I’ve noted with pleasure that the Gauguin from Brittany I saw is very beautiful, and it seems to me that the others he’s done there will probably be so as well.
Perhaps you’ll take a look at this sketch of Daubigny’s garden - it is one of my most carefully thought-out canvases. I am adding a sketch of old thatched roofs and sketches of two size 30 canvases representing vast stretches of wheat after the rain. Hirschig has asked if you would be kind enough to order him the enclosed list of paints from the same dealer where you buy my paints.
Tasset could send them to him direct, cash on delivery, but then he’d have to give him the 20% discount, which would be the simplest. Or else you could put them in the batch of paints for me, adding the bill, or telling me how much the total amount comes to, and then he would send the money to you. You can’t get good paints here. I have cut my own order to the absolute minimum.
Hirschig is beginning to get a better idea of things, it seems to me. He has done a portrait of the old schoolmaster, who has given him a �
�well done’. And then he has some landscape studies which are almost the same colour as the Konings at your place. They may turn out to be just like these, or like the things by Voerman we saw together.
Goodbye for now, keep well and good luck in business, etc., remember me to Jo and handshakes in thought,
Ever yours,
Vincent
Daubigny’s garden.
Foreground of green & pink grass, to the left a green & lilac bush and a low clump of plants with whitish foliage. In the middle a rose bed, to the right a wicket gate, a wall, and above the wall a hazel tree with purple foliage. Then a lilac hedge, a row of rounded yellow lime trees. The house itself in the background, pink, with a roof of bluish tiles. A bench and 3 chairs, a black figure with a yellow hat, and in the foreground a black cat. Sky pale green.
According to Johanna, Theo had difficulty in making sense of this letter. At any event, the shot that rang out on 27 July in the wheat fields behind the château in Auvers took him completely by surprise. Johanna van Gogh wrote later, ‘Fear of the illness that was threatening him once again, or an actual attack, drove him to his death.’ Severely wounded, Van Gogh stumbled to the Auberge Ravoux, where Dr Gachet was summoned when the suicide attempt was discovered. At first, Van Gogh seemed to be holding his own and, despite the severe pain, lay on his bed smoking a pipe. Theo, sent for from Paris by a note from Dr Gachet, also thought at first that things were not as bad as he had feared. The doctor probably underestimated the severity of the wound, and no attempt was made to remove the bullet. Vincent finally fell into a coma, and died in the early hours of 29 July in his brother’s arms.
In the presence of a number of his painter friends - Bernard, Laval, Lucien Pissarro and Pére Tanguy - Van Gogh was buried in a sunny spot among the wheat fields. Bernard described to Aurier how the coffin had been covered with yellow flowers, ‘his favourite colour […] a symbol of the light of which he dreamed both in his heart and in his work. Close by, too, his easel, his camp stool and his brushes had been placed on the ground beside the coffin.’
The Letters of Vincent van Gogh Page 53
