Yours truly,
Vincent
[Sketches 492B–C]
492B. Man and woman planting potatoes
492C. Two women working in the fields
493 | Nuenen, Monday, 13 April 1885 | To Theo van Gogh (D)
My dear Theo,
Many thanks for your registered letter of yesterday and the enclosure. Pursuant to that, I’m writing again right away and enclose herewith a scratch, more precise than the one before, after my latest study.
I haven’t been able to work it up as far as had been my intention. I painted 3 days continuously from early till late, and by Saturday evening the paint started to get into a state that didn’t allow further work. Unless it’s completely dry first.
I’ve been to Eindhoven today to order a small stone, since this is to be the first in a series of lithographs, which I’m planning to start again. When you were here, I asked you about the cost of reproduction by the G&Cie process. You said then, I believe, 100 francs.
Well — the old — ordinary lithographic process, thought so poorly of nowadays, is nevertheless a good deal cheaper — particularly in Eindhoven perhaps.
I’m now getting use of the stone — graining, paper and printing of 50 copies for 3 guilders. I’m thinking of making a series of subjects from peasant life, in short — the peasants at home.
Today I went for a splendid walk for hours with an acquaintance of mine, whose first watercolour of a figure I showed you.
I don’t say that there isn’t even more stirring and more dramatic nature in Brittany, say, in Katwijk, say, in the Borinage, say — yes — but even so — the heaths and the villages here are still very beautiful, and just being here I see in it an inexhaustible resource for subjects from peasant life — and the question is just — to seize it — to work. I have a great desire to start making watercolours and drawings again, too — and when I’m living in my studio I’ll make time for it in the evenings.
I was really immensely pleased that you sent that 100 francs. As I said, it was absolutely essential that I paid a few things — and that was preoccupying me. It’s not that people were pestering me, though, but because I knew that they were in need of it. And that’s why I wrote that I could be obliged to reserve a small part when the affairs were to be settled.
But that’s not necessary, now — although I can tell you I know for sure the year will be very grim.
But I just think about what Millet said: ‘I would never do away with suffering, for it is often that which makes artists express themselves most vigorously’.
I’m thinking of moving about 1 May — although, of course, things are all right with Ma and the sisters — nevertheless I see and feel it’s so much for the better — for living together would become insupportable in the long run. Which I don’t so much ascribe to them personally nor to me personally either, but rather to the irreconcilability of the ideas of people who keep up a position and — a peasant painter — who doesn’t think about it.
When I say that I’m a peasant painter, that is really so, and will become clearer to you in future; I feel at home there. And it’s not for nothing that I’ve spent so many evenings sitting pondering by the fire with the miners and the peat-cutters and the weavers and peasants here — unless I had no time to think — because of the work. I’ve become so absorbed in peasant life by continually seeing it at all hours of the day that I really hardly ever think of anything else.
You write that the public mood — that is, indifference — to Millet’s work — as you just had the opportunity to see at that exhibition — isn’t encouraging, either for the artists or for those who have to sell paintings. I agree — but Millet himself felt and knew that — and, on reading Sensier, what he said about the start of his career struck me so much that although I don’t remember it literally, I remember the sense of it, that is, ‘that (i.e. that indifference) would be bad enough for me if I needed fine shoes and the life of a gentleman — but — because I go around in clogs, I shall manage’. And that’s how it turned out.
So what I hope not to forget is that — ‘it’s a question of going around in clogs’, that is of being content as regards food, drink, clothes, sleep, with what the peasants are content with.
That’s what Millet did — and — didn’t want anything else anyway — and in my view this means that as a human being he has shown painters a way that Israëls and Mauve, say, who live quite luxuriously, do not show, and I say again — Millet is — PÈRE Millet, that is, counsellor and guide in everything, for the younger painters. Most of them I know, though (but I don’t know all that many) would decline this. As to me — I think the same, and entirely believe what he says. I’m speaking about what Millet says at some length, precisely because you write about the question that when city-dwellers paint peasants, their figures, splendidly painted though they may be, nonetheless can’t help reminding one of the Parisian suburbs.
I’ve also had that impression sometimes (although, to my mind, the woman digging potatoes by B. Lepage is certainly an exception), but isn’t it precisely because the painters are so often not deeply enough involved personally in peasant life? Millet said on another occasion — in art one must give heart and soul.
Degroux — this is one of his qualities — painted real peasants. (And they — the State — demanded history pieces of him! — which he also did well, but how much better he was when he could be himself.)
It’s an abiding shame and loss for the Belgians that Degroux still isn’t appreciated as fully as he deserves — Degroux is one of the good Milletesque masters. But even if the general public didn’t and don’t acknowledge him — and although he remains in obscurity, like Daumier, like Tassaert — there are still people, Mellery, for example, to mention just one, who are again making work today that has his sentiment.
I recently saw something by Mellery in an illustrated magazine; a bargee’s family in the little deckhouse on their barge — husband, wife, children — round a table. As far as general sympathy is concerned — years ago I read something about it in Renan that has always stayed with me and that I’ll always go on believing — that anyone who really wants to accomplish something good or useful should neither count on nor wish for general approbation or appreciation, but on the contrary should expect nothing other than that only a very few hearts — and even then only maybe — will sympathize and join in.
If you run into someone from Le Chat Noir, you can show them this little scratch for now, but I can make a better one if they like, because this is very much in haste and serves only to give you a clearer idea of effect and composition than the first. Regards and thanks, with a handshake.
Yours truly,
Vincent
You needn’t tell Le Chat Noir that I’m also planning to make a lithograph of this thing myself. That lithograph won’t be published anyway, but is entirely private. By the way, I don’t really mind if they don’t want it — because I’ll certainly lithograph myself what I want to lithograph.
[Sketch 493A]
493A. The potato eaters
497 | Nuenen, Thursday, 30 April 1885 | To Theo van Gogh (D)
My dear Theo,
Sincere wishes for your good health and serenity on your birthday. I would like to have sent you the painting of the potato eaters for this day, but although it’s coming along well, it’s not quite finished yet.
Although I’ll have painted the actual painting in a relatively short time, and largely from memory, it’s taken a whole winter of painting studies of heads and hands. And as for the few days in which I’ve painted it now — it’s consequently been a formidable fight, but one for which I have great enthusiasm. Although at times I feared that it wouldn’t come off. But painting is also ‘act and create’.
When the weavers weave those fabrics that I believe they call cheviots, and also the singular Scottish multicoloured tartan fabrics — then they try, as you know, to get singular broken colours and greys in the cheviots — or to get the very brightest colours in bala
nce against one another in the multicoloured tartans so that, rather than the fabric clashing, the overall effect of the pattern is harmonious from a distance. A grey that’s woven from red, blue, yellow, off-white and black threads, a blue that — is broken by a green and an orange, red or yellow thread — are very different from plain colours — that is, they vibrate more and make whole colours look harsh, whole, and LIFELESS.
However, it’s not always exactly easy for the weaver, or rather the designer of the pattern or the colour combination, to work out his calculation of the number of threads and their direction — nor is it easy to weave brushstrokes together into a harmonious whole. If you saw the first painted studies that I made when I came here to Nuenen — and the present canvas — side by side — I think you’d see that as far as colour is concerned — things have livened up.
I think that the question of the breaking of colours in the relationships of the colours will occupy you too one day. For as an art expert and critic, one must also, it seems to me — be sure of one’s ground and have certain convictions. At least for one’s own pleasure and to be able to give reasons, and at the same time one must be able to explain it in a few words to others, who sometimes turn to someone like you for enlightenment when they want to know something more about art.
Now, though, I have something to say about Portier — of course his private opinion isn’t at all a matter of indifference to me, and I also appreciate to the utmost that he said that he took back nothing of what he’d said.
Nor does it concern me that it appeared that he hadn’t hung these first studies.
But — if he also wants me to send a painting destined for him, then he can only have it on condition that he exhibits it.
As regards the potato eaters — it’s a painting that looks well in gold, I’m sure of that. Still — it would do equally well on a wall hung with a paper that had a deep tone of ripe wheat. It simply mustn’t be seen, though, without this enclosure to it.
It does not appear to advantage against a dark background, and particularly not against a dull background. And this is because it’s a glimpse into a very grey interior.
In reality, it’s also in a gilt frame as it were — since the hearth and the light from the fire on the white walls — which now lie outside the painting but in real life throw the whole thing backwards — would be closer to the viewer.
Once more, one must enclose it by placing something in a deep gold or copper colour around it.
Please bear that in mind if you want to see it as it should be seen. This association with a gold tone at the same time brings brightness to areas where you wouldn’t expect it and takes away the marbled look that it gets if one unfortunately places it against a dull or black background. The shadows are painted with blue, and the gold colour works with that.
Yesterday I took it to an acquaintance of mine in Eindhoven, who is painting. In 3 days or so, I’ll go over there and lift it with a little white of egg and finish off a few details. This man, who is himself doing his very best to learn to paint and is himself also trying to find a good colour palette, was extremely taken with it. He’d already seen the study from which I made the lithograph, and said that he hadn’t thought that I could have raised the level of both the colour and the drawing so much higher. Since he also paints from models, he also knows very well what a peasant’s head or fist entails, and as to the hands, he said that he now had a very different concept of how to do them himself.
You see, I really have wanted to make it so that people get the idea that these folk, who are eating their potatoes by the light of their little lamp, have tilled the earth themselves with these hands they are putting in the dish, and so it speaks of MANUAL LABOUR and — that they have thus honestly earned their food. I wanted it to give the idea of a wholly different way of life from ours — civilized people. So I certainly don’t want everyone just to admire it or approve of it without knowing why.
I’ve had the threads of this fabric in my hands the whole winter long, and searched for the definitive pattern — and if it’s now a fabric that has a rough and coarse look, nevertheless the threads were chosen with care and in accordance with certain rules. And it might well prove to be a REAL PEASANT PAINTING. I know that it is. But anyone who would rather see insipidly pretty peasants can go ahead. For my part, I’m convinced that in the long run it produces better results to paint them in their coarseness than to introduce conventional sweetness.
A peasant girl is more beautiful than a lady — to my mind — in her dusty and patched blue skirt and jacket, which have acquired the most delicate nuances from weather, wind and sun. But — if she puts — a lady’s costume on, then the genuineness is lost. A peasant in his suit of fustian in the fields is finer than when he goes to church on Sundays in a sort of gentleman’s coat.
And likewise, one would be wrong, to my mind, to give a peasant painting a certain conventional smoothness. If a peasant painting smells of bacon, smoke, potato steam — fine — that’s not unhealthy — if a stable smells of manure — very well, that’s what a stable’s for — if the field has an odour of ripe wheat or potatoes or — of guano and manure — that’s really healthy — particularly for city folk. They get something useful out of paintings like this. But a peasant painting mustn’t become perfumed. I’m curious as to whether you’ll find anything in it that you like — I hope so. I’m glad that now, just as Mr Portier has said he wants to handle my work, I for my part have something more important than the studies alone. As to Durand-Ruel — although he didn’t think the drawings worthwhile, show him this painting. He may think it ugly — very well — but let him see it anyway — so that they may see that we’re putting energy into our endeavours. However, you’ll hear — ‘WHAT A DAUB!’; be prepared for that as I’m prepared myself. But nonetheless go on giving something genuine and honest.
Painting peasant life is a serious thing, and I for one would blame myself if I didn’t try to make paintings such that they give people who think seriously about art and about life serious things to think about. Millet, Degroux, so many others, have set examples of character, of taking no notice of the reproaches of — nasty, crude, muddy, stinking &c. &c., that it would be a disgrace if one were even to have misgivings.
No — one must paint the peasants as if one were one of them, as feeling, thinking as they do themselves.
As not being able to be other than one is.
I so often think that the peasants are a world in themselves, so much better in many respects than the civilized world.
Not in all respects, because what do they know of art and many other things?
I do still have a few smaller studies — you can imagine, though, that I’ve been kept so busy with the larger one that I’ve been able to do little else besides that.
As soon as the whole thing is finished and dry, I’ll just send the canvas to you in a small crate, and then put a few smaller ones in with it. I think it’s best not to delay sending it for too long, which is why I’ll send it. Then the second lithograph of it will probably have to be abandoned. But still — I understand that Mr Portier, for instance, must be confirmed in what he said, so that we can count on him as a friend for ever. I sincerely hope this will succeed.
I’ve been so absorbed in the painting that I’ve literally almost forgotten my move, which nonetheless also has to be done. It won’t reduce my concerns, but the lives of all painters in that genre are so full of them that I wouldn’t want to have things any easier than they had them. And since, despite everything, they still got their paintings done, the material difficulties will also hinder but not destroy or weaken me. Anyway.
I believe that the potato eaters will come off — the last days are always hazardous for a painting, as you know, because one can’t touch it with a large brush when it isn’t completely dry without a great risk of spoiling it. And the changes have to be made very coolly and calmly with a small brush. This is why I simply took it away and said to my friend that he just had t
o make sure that I didn’t spoil it in that way, and that I’d come do those small things at his place. You’ll see that it has originality. Regards — I’m sorry it wasn’t ready for today — again wishing you health and serenity, believe me, with a handshake
Yours truly,
Vincent
Today I’ll work on a few smaller studies, which will then go at the same time. Did you ever send that Salon issue?
502 | Nuenen, on or about Friday, 22 May 1885 | To Theo van Gogh (D)
My dear Theo,
Many thanks for your letter and for the 50 francs enclosed, which was very welcome to me this month in particular, what with the move. I think that I’ll save a very great deal of time in the long run by living in the studio, since I’ll be able to get started first thing in the morning, for instance, whereas the way it was at home I couldn’t do anything.
I’ve been slogging away at drawings these last few days. The old tower in the fields is being demolished. There was a sale of woodwork and slates and old iron, including the cross.
I’ve finished a watercolour of it in the manner of that timber sale, but better, I think. I also had a second large watercolour of the churchyard, which has so far been a failure.
But still, I have a very good idea of what I want in it — and perhaps I’ll now get what I mean on the third sheet of paper. And if not, then not. I’ve just now sponged out the two failures, but I’m going to try it once more.
If you want, though, you can have the one of the sale.
Then I’m working on a large study of a cottage in the evening.
And about 6 heads.
One thing and another was the reason I didn’t send you confirmation of the receipt of your letter before.
I’m working as hard as I can because I’m thinking of going to see the Antwerp exhibition sometime with that friend of mine in Eindhoven, if I can manage it. And then I’d want to take some work with me so as to do something more with it there if possible. I’m longing to hear whether Mr Portier has seen the potato eaters.
Ever Yours Page 64