I wish I could provide him with some company and diversion, I wish I could share his ups and downs more often and perhaps cultivate his friendship a bit more. Do you remember the painting La folie d’Hugues v. d. Goes, by Wauters? In some respects Breit-ner reminds me a little of V. d. Goes’s mental state. I don’t want to be the first here to say so, but I believe that people have been talking along these lines about his work for quite some time now.
The cure for him would be to take a good long look at some potato plants, which have lately had such a deep and distinctive colour and tone, instead of driving himself mad looking at pieces of yellow satin and bits of gold leather. Well, we shall have to wait and see. He is intelligent enough, but he persists quand meme7 with a sort of eccentric parti pris.8 If he were merely departing from normality with a rational motive, well and good, but with him it is also a question of no longer taking trouble with his work. I think it is a very bad business and just hope he will come out of it all right, but he has badly lost his way.
Well, I shall be making a start in Scheveningen this week. I could have done with a little extra to buy some painting material.
I am going to have a few drawings photographed in cabinet size9 or a little larger (to see how they would look on a smaller scale) by a photographer who has taken photographs of drawings by Ter Meulen, Duchatel and Zilcken. He does it for 75 cents, which isn’t expensive, is it? I shall have him do the Sower and the Peat Cutters for now, the one with a lot of small figures, the other with 1 large figure. And if those come off, then if I should later have any drawings I shall be able to send you photographs of them, which you could show to, say, Buhot, to see if he thinks he can find buyers. They could reproduce those they want from the actual drawings, or else I could copy them on to their paper.
Regards once again, Theo, all the best. Write again soon. I am having those photographs done because we must keep going after Buhot & Cie, I must earn a bit of money so that I can start something new and also do some painting, as I am just in the mood for it now.
Mauve has fallen out not just with me but also, to name but one other, with Zilcken. The other day I saw Z.’s etchings and just now at the photographer’s I saw photographs of Zilcken’s drawings. Leaving myself out of it, I must say that, going by those, it is beyond me what M. has against Z. His drawings were good, not bad at all. It’s just capriciousness on Mauve’s part.
Apés tout,10 I don’t think it’s very nice of C. M. not to have sent one syllable in answer to my letter, when I took the trouble to enclose two croquis11 of the drawings in question.
Nor do I think it nice of H. G. T., now that I, for my part, have tried to thaw the ice between us, not to come to see me. It’s stuff and nonsense to say he’s busy, for that isn’t the reason, he could easily find the time to come round once a year.
I am adding another half-page to say something about Brabant. Among the figures I’ve done of working types there are several with what many would call a distinctly old-fashioned character, even in conception, for instance a digger who looks more like those one occasionally comes across on the carved wooden bas-reliefs of Gothic church pews than on a modern drawing. I think of the Brabant figures very often because I find them particularly appealing.
What I should tremendously like to do, and what I feel I could do, too, on the understanding that circumstances made patient posing possible, is the small figure of Father on a path across the heath, the figure rigorously drawn, with character, and as I have said, on a stretch of brown heathland crossed by a narrow white sandy path and a sky applied and suggested with just a touch of passion. In addition, Father and Mother arm in arm, let’s say - in autumnal surroundings - or against a small beech hedgerow with shrivelled leaves. I should also like to use Father’s figure when I do a peasant funeral, which I fully intend to try, although it won’t be easy.
Leaving aside less relevant differences in religious opinion, the figure of a poor village clergyman is for me, in type and character, one of the most sympathetic there is, and I would not be who I am if I did not tackle it some day.
When you come, I should very much like to consult you about arrangements for a trip there. When you see my drawings of orphan men, for instance, you will understand what I want and how I intend to set about it.
I want to do a drawing that not quite everybody will understand, the figure simplified to the essentials, with a deliberate disregard of those details that do not belong to the actual character and are merely accidental. That is, it mustn’t be, say, a portrait of Father, but rather depict the type of a poor village clergyman on his way to visit the sick. Similarly, the couple arm in arm by the beech hedge will be a typical husband-ç-wife who have grown old together in love & fidelity, rather than portraits of Father & Mother, although I hope that they will pose for it. But they will have to understand that it is a serious matter, which they might perhaps not realize if the likeness isn’t exact And so they will have to be gently warned that if it comes off, they will have to adopt the pose I choose and not change it. Anyhow, it should turn out all right, and I don’t work so slowly that it need be a big effort for them. And I for my part should set great store by doing it.
The simplification of figures is something that greatly preoccupies me. Anyway, you’ll be able to see it for yourself in the figures I’ll be showing you. Should I go to Brabant, then I don’t think it should be some sort of an outing or a pleasure trip, but a short period of very hard work done at lightning speed.
Speaking of expression in a figure, I am increasingly coming round to the idea that it lies less in the features than in the whole tournure.12 There are few things I detest more than most of the academic tétes d’expression13 - I would sooner look at Michelangelo’s Night or a drunkard by Daumier or Millet’s diggers and that well-known big woodcut of his, La bergere - or at an old horse by Mauve, &c.
A worrying letter from Theo at the end of July 1883 unsettled Van Gogh badly, and financial worries began to surface again more frequently in his letters: ‘I am looking on the black side of things right now. If I were still alone, all right, but now there is the thought of the woman and the children, the poor lambs, whom one would like to keep safe and for whom one feels responsible. […] Working is the only thing one can do, and if that doesn’t help, one is at one’s wits’ end.’ In order to demonstrate how much he had been weakened by malnutrition, he described to Theo how, unable to deal with a creditor, he had been floored by the man when they had come to blows.
When Theo pointed out that he had five people to look after in addition to his brother, Vincent retorted, ‘The subdivision of my 150 francs among 4 human beings, when all the expenses for models, drawing materials, painting requisites and rent have been taken, makes one sit up and think too, doesn’t it?’
His gloomy mood led him, at the beginning of August, to unburden himself abruptly to Theo in a postscript to a letter in which he outlined the course of his career, and, referring to the painter Guillaume Re-gamey, who had died at the age of thirty-eight, voiced the presentiment that he himself had at most another ten years of life in which to realize his ideals.
309 [D] [postscript]
[c. 4–8 August 1883]
[…]
For no particular reason, I cannot help adding a thought that often occurs to me. Not only did I start drawing relatively late in life, but it may well be that I shall not be able to count on many more years of life either.
If I think about it dispassionately - as if making calculations for an estimate or a specification - then it is in the nature of things that I cannot possibly know anything definite about it.
But by comparison with various people with whose lives one may be familiar, or by comparison with some with whom one is supposed to have some things in common, one can draw certain conclusions that are not completely without foundation.
So, as to the time I still have ahead of me for work, I think I may safely presume that my body will hold up for a certain number of years quand
bien même1 - a certain number between 6 and 10, say. (I can assume this the more safely as there is for the time being no immediate quand bien meme.)
This is the period on which I count firmly. For the rest, it would be speculating far too wildly for me to dare make any definite pronouncements about myself, seeing that it depends precisely on those first, say, 10 years as to whether or not there will be anything after that time.
If one wears oneself out during these years then one won’t live beyond 40. If one conserves enough strength to withstand the sort of shocks that tend to befall one, and manages to deal with various more or less complicated physical problems, then by the age of 40 to 50 one is back on a new, relatively normal course.
But such calculations are not relevant at present. Instead, as I started to say, one should plan for a period of between 5 and 10 years. I do not intend to spare myself, to avoid emotions or difficulties - it makes comparatively little difference to me whether I go on living for a shorter or longer time - besides I am not competent to manage my constitution the way, say, a physician is able to. And so I go on like an ignoramus, one who knows just one thing: within a few years I must have done a certain amount of work - I don’t need to rush, for there is no point in that, but I must carry on working in complete calm and serenity, as regularly and with as much concentration as possible, as much to the point as possible. The world concerns me only in so far as I owe it a certain debt and duty, so to speak, because I have walked this earth for 30 years, and out of gratitude would like to leave some memento in the form of drawings and paintings - not made to please this school or that, but to express a genuine human feeling. So that work is my aim - and when one concentrates on this notion, everything one does is simplified, in that it isn’t muddled but has a single objective. At present the work is going slowly - one reason more not to lose any time.
Guillaume Regamey was, I think, someone who left behind no particular reputation (you know that there are two Regameys, F. Regamey paints Japanese people and is his brother), but is nevertheless a personality for whom I have great respect. He died at the age of 3 8, and one period of his life lasting for 6 or 7 years was almost exclusively devoted to drawings with a highly distinctive style, done while he worked under some physical handicap. He is one of many - a very good one among many good ones.
I don’t mention him to compare myself with him, I am not as good as he was, but to cite a specific example of self-control and willpower, sustained by one inspiring idea, which in difficult circumstances nevertheless showed him how to do good work with utter serenity.
That is how I regard myself, as having to accomplish in a few years something full of heart and love, and to do it with a will. Should I live longer, tant mieux,2 but I put that out of my mind. Something must be accomplished in those few years, this thought guides all my plans. You will understand better now why I have a yearning to press on - and at the same time some determination to use simple means. And perhaps you will also be able to understand that as far as I am concerned I do not consider my studies in isolation but always think of my work as a whole.
These last few sentences sum up the crux of a view Van Gogh was to expand upon later, namely that the importance of an artist should not be judged by individual, more or less successful works of art, but by his artistic output as a coherent whole. This concept of the artist’s oeuvre was to become an article of faith with Van Gogh. His high opinion of his profession forbade him, in life as in art, to make the slightest compromise, even at the expense of social and family ties. His relationship with Theo also suffered. During the latter part of August 1883, relations between the brothers cooled appreciably following a visit Theo paid to The Hague. Sien was the direct cause, but ‘much deeper questions’ were at stake. Van Gogh expressed his own point of view tersely and uncompromisingly on 18 August.
313 [D]
[18 August 1883]
Dear brother,
I wish you could understand that there are various things about which I must be consistent.
You know what an ‘erreur de point de vue’1 is in painting, namely something quite different from and much worse than the faulty drawing of some detail or other. A single point determines the inclination and whether the side plane to the left or to the right of the objects is more fully developed throughout the composition.
Well, there is something similar in life. When I say that I am a poor painter and still have years of struggle to face - that I have to arrange my daily life a peu pres2 like a farm labourer or a factory worker, then that is a fixed point from which many things follow, and these things are taken out of context if they are viewed otherwise than as a whole.
There are painters in different circumstances who can and must act differently. Each one has to decide for himself. Of course, if I had other opportunities, were in different circumstances and nothing decisive had happened - that would have influenced my actions. Now, however - and a plus forte raison3- if there were the slightest question of my being accused of presuming rights to which I have no claim, even if it turned out that I had such rights apres tout,4 the mere suggestion of it would make me withdraw of my own accord from association with people of a certain standing, even from my family. So we are faced with this fact: my firm resolve to be dead to everything except my work.
However, it is hard for me to speak about things that would really be quite simple were they not unfortunately bound up with much deeper questions. Nothing causes more ‘angoisse’5 than an inner struggle between duty and love, both considered in their highest sense. When I tell you that I choose my duty, everything will be plain to you.
Just a word on the subject during our walk made me realize that nothing in me had changed as far as that was concerned, that it is and remains a wound I have to live with, but one that is buried deep and cannot be healed. Years from now it will be as it was the first day.
I hope you understand what a struggle I have had lately with myself. Still, quoi qu’il en soit6 (without calling that quoi? into question, for I have no right to inquire into it), I will be on my qui vive to remain a man of honour and doubly attentive to duty.
I have never suspected her, nor do I suspect her now, nor shall I ever suspect her, of having had any but right and proper financial motives. She did no more than was reasonable, other people exaggerated. But you will understand that I make no presumptions about her love for me, and what we said on the walk must not go any further. Still, things have happened since that would not have occurred if I had not been confronted at a certain moment firstly with a flat no, and secondly with a promise that I would not cross her path again.
I respected her sense of duty - I have never suspected her and shall never suspect her of anything mean.
For myself, I know only this, that it is of primary importance not to swerve from one’s duty and that one must not compromise with duty. Duty is an absolute. The consequences? We are not responsible for them, but we are for taking the initiative in doing or not doing our duty. Here you have the diametrical opposite of the principle that the end justifies the means. And my own future is a cup that cannot pass from me unless I drain it.
So fiat voluntas.7
Regards, have a pleasant journey, write soon - but you know now how I shall face the future, with serenity and without a line on my face to betray the struggle in my very depths,
Ever yours,
Vincent
However, you will also understand that I must avoid everything that might tempt me to hold back, and that I must thus shun whatever might remind me of her. This thought has in fact made me more determined this year than I should otherwise have been, and you will see that I shall be able to do this in such a way that nobody will know the real reason.
Van Gogh complained more than once in his letters that the unspoilt character of The Hague and its surroundings was beginning to be eroded by the advance of urban expansion and fashionable seaside-resort life. During a visit, Van Rappard repeated an earlier suggestion that Vincent
should move to the lonely and untouched province of Drenthe, where a number of his colleagues had recently gone. Van Gogh now became convinced that he would discover a Dutch Barbizon there and dreamed of realizing his ideal of an artists’ community: ‘Once there, I think I should stay for good in that region of heath and peat-cutting, to which more and more painters are moving and where a sort of artists’ colony may perhaps arise in time.’
A mere look at the map made him wax lyrical: ‘I have a small map of Drenthe before me. On it I can see a large white space devoid of any village names. It is crossed by the Hoogeveen canal, which suddenly comes to an end and I can see the words “Peat Moors” written right across the blank space on the map. Around that blank space a number of small black dots with the names of villages and a red dot for the little town of Hoogeveen. Near the boundary a lake – the Black Lake – a name to conjure with – I picture all sorts of workmen dredging the banks. Some of the village names, such as Oosterheuvelen [Eastern Hills] and Erica, also exercise the imagination.’
Though life in Drenthe would be much cheaper, Van Gogh was loath to leave Sien and the children behind. He felt responsible for preserving the ‘depths’ in the ‘ruins of her soul and heart and mind’ and he was also convinced that without him Sien would fall by the wayside again. However, her lack of steadfastness - and the intrigues of her mother - increasingly irritated him until in the end he tried, as it were in stages, to rid himself of her for good. Though his sense of duty gave him qualms of conscience, step by step he rationalized his decision to go to Drenthe. He declared that he had become discouraged by her failure to gain the slightest insight into her own problems. By shifting an important part of the blame for the hopeless situation on to her tyrannical mother, Van Gogh provided ‘the woman’ no less than himself with a moral alibi and so justified the impending separation - to himself and to Theo. In Van Gogh’s view, his departure for Drenthe was inevitable: ultimately Sien would always listen to the voice of her authoritarian mother, while he hearkened to that of the Muse.
The Letters of Vincent van Gogh Page 25