The face of Vincent
Sitting on a bench in the park at Auvers-sur-Oise yesterday, I pondered the face of the statue of Vincent van Gogh. Walking through Giverny this afternoon, there was a sense of how different were Vincent and Monet.
There is an episode of the Eleventh Doctor Who when the Doctor, with his companion Amy, encounter Vincent. In a moving moment, the Doctor transports Vincent to an art gallery in the 21st Century so that the troubled artist can eavesdrop on the words of art lovers who are enjoying the brilliance of Vincent’s work. Amy hopes that the moment might be sufficient to change the course of history, that Vincent will be so affected by what he has heard that he will think again about his future. Of course, the past cannot be changed and history inexorably follows its course.
Vincent’s moment with the Doctor prompted a pondering as to whether The Starry Night and the other works that now grace the walls of the greatest galleries would have been possible if Vincent had been a person for whom a happy ending was a possibility. If the plot of Doctor Who had been viable, would not a person amenable to persuasion have been a person very different from the Vincent remembered? Would a person susceptible to reasoned argument and to accepting the prospect that the future might be happy have been capable of work of such intensity? Is there a link between sadness and beauty?
Perhaps sadness is not a necessary prerequisite of beauty, but rather an intensity of experience.
Claude Monet lived a long and content life, and created works of extraordinary beauty, but there is an intensity in his painting of canvas after canvas after canvas of water lilies. Tomorrow it is my plan to sit in one of the rooms at the Musee Marmottan in Paris surrounded by some of the vast water lily paintings and to be encompassed by a sense of the beauty of Monet’s work. It is an intense feeling.
To stand and look into the night sky, as Vincent did from the window of the asylum to which he had been admitted, is to contemplate infinity, it is to have a different perspective on everything around. Vincent’s brilliant colours bring the night sky vividly alive.
While Vincent focused on infinite beauty, Monet focused on particular beauty, the flowers in the waters at Giverny. Whether it was the general or the particular, it is beauty that is intense.
Perhaps the episode of Doctor Who is memorable because it offered ideas more intense than clashes with hostile aliens, it raised questions of the nature of time and the unchangeability of history – intense things about which to think.
Thank you for this. I recently watched a film biography of VanGogh with Willem DaFoe called “At Eternity’s Gate,” which I found very moving. One scene stood out, in which Vincent is speaking with a priest who is harsh and dismissive of VanGogh’s talent. You remarked on “intensity” in your post, and this sense of intensity came through in the film’s depiction of Vincent’s suffering and focus. Again, thank you for this post.
The number of Artists that died tragically in the 20 years either side of 1900 is prodigious. One of my favourites August Macke died in the opening months of WW1. He was a leader of German Expressionism. But within that group Van Gogh had a extra measure of tragedy. And for me that extra was loneliness.