What do you think?
Rate this book
عزيزي تيو
Each night, Vincent van Gogh put pen to paper and poured out his heart through letters to his brother Theo. Van Gogh's letters lay bare his deepest feelings, as well as his everyday concerns and his views of the world of art.
123 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1914
1722 people are currently reading
24179 people want to read
About the author
Vincent van Gogh
537 books2,341 followersVincent Willem van Gogh, for whom color was the chief symbol of expression, was born in Groot-Zundert, Holland. The son of a pastor, brought up in a religious and cultured atmosphere, Vincent was highly emotional and lacked self-confidence. Between 1860 and 1880, when he finally decided to become an artist, van Gogh had had two unsuitable and unhappy romances and had worked unsuccessfully as a clerk in a bookstore, an art salesman, and a preacher in the Borinage (a dreary mining district in Belgium), where he was dismissed for overzealousness. He remained in Belgium to study art, determined to give happiness by creating beauty. The works of his early Dutch period are somber-toned, sharply lit, genre paintings of which the most famous is "The Potato Eaters" (1885). In that year van Gogh went to Antwerp where he discovered the works of Rubens and purchased many Japanese prints.
In 1886 he went to Paris to join his brother Théo, the manager of Goupil's gallery. In Paris, van Gogh studied with Cormon, inevitably met Pissarro, Monet, and Gauguin, and began to lighten his very dark palette and to paint in the short brushstrokes of the Impressionists. His nervous temperament made him a difficult companion and night-long discussions combined with painting all day undermined his health. He decided to go south to Arles where he hoped his friends would join him and help found a school of art. Gauguin did join him but with disastrous results. In a fit of epilepsy, van Gogh pursued his friend with an open razor, was stopped by Gauguin, but ended up cutting a portion of his ear lobe off. Van Gogh then began to alternate between fits of madness and lucidity and was sent to the asylum in Saint-Remy for treatment.
In May of 1890, he seemed much better and went to live in Auvers-sur-Oise under the watchful eye of Dr. Gachet. Two months later he was dead, having shot himself "for the good of all." During his brief career he had sold one painting. Van Gogh's finest works were produced in less than three years in a technique that grew more and more impassioned in brushstroke, in symbolic and intense color, in surface tension, and in the movement and vibration of form and line. Van Gogh's inimitable fusion of form and content is powerful; dramatic, lyrically rhythmic, imaginative, and emotional, for the artist was completely absorbed in the effort to explain either his struggle against madness or his comprehension of the spiritual essence of man and nature.
In 1886 he went to Paris to join his brother Théo, the manager of Goupil's gallery. In Paris, van Gogh studied with Cormon, inevitably met Pissarro, Monet, and Gauguin, and began to lighten his very dark palette and to paint in the short brushstrokes of the Impressionists. His nervous temperament made him a difficult companion and night-long discussions combined with painting all day undermined his health. He decided to go south to Arles where he hoped his friends would join him and help found a school of art. Gauguin did join him but with disastrous results. In a fit of epilepsy, van Gogh pursued his friend with an open razor, was stopped by Gauguin, but ended up cutting a portion of his ear lobe off. Van Gogh then began to alternate between fits of madness and lucidity and was sent to the asylum in Saint-Remy for treatment.
In May of 1890, he seemed much better and went to live in Auvers-sur-Oise under the watchful eye of Dr. Gachet. Two months later he was dead, having shot himself "for the good of all." During his brief career he had sold one painting. Van Gogh's finest works were produced in less than three years in a technique that grew more and more impassioned in brushstroke, in symbolic and intense color, in surface tension, and in the movement and vibration of form and line. Van Gogh's inimitable fusion of form and content is powerful; dramatic, lyrically rhythmic, imaginative, and emotional, for the artist was completely absorbed in the effort to explain either his struggle against madness or his comprehension of the spiritual essence of man and nature.
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 30 of 795 reviews
August 14, 2017
An extraordinary document! What other inner view of a great artist's creative processes and life do we have like this one? (The Autobiography of Benvenuto Cellini perhaps, but it is boastful precisely where Dear Theo is introspective, materialistic where Dear Theo is threadbare, highly social where Dear Theo is solitary.)
We bear with Vincent when he abandons an early attempt to enter the church, during which he becomes about as parable spewing and pious as any pastor one can imagine. Then as he turns away from his family--except for brother Theo, to whom these letters were addressed--and to the life of a solitary painter. We are with him as he studies under Anton Mauve at The Hague, as he learns and speaks at length about what he has learned about artistic technique.
We feel the heartbreak keenly when he is rejected by a cousin whom he wishes to marry, and during his subsequent emotional crises. When out of deep loneliness he befriends and falls in love with a pregnant streetwalker, who had been abandoned by her lover, I felt for him in his outcast situation keenly. His extended family is outraged. Nevertheless, he takes her in, changes her life, and makes both her and himself briefly happy. These particular passages touch on the hard lives of poor single women during this time of puritanically repressed society as nothing else I have ever read. In the meantime we get van Gogh's verbal descriptions of what he sees, and it's as if we're looking into one of his extraordinary paintings. For example:
I like the way editors Irving and Jean Stone have cut the letters into a continuous manuscript, leaving out salutations and much mundane material. But there's a little problem in that there are few dates. One is never quite sure where one is chronologically. I think this could have been remedied by putting the month and year in the margin, much as Robert Graves did in I, Claudius. This would have left unimpeded the free flow of the "autobiography" as they call it, with some justification.
A few things about his painting. Because of his liaison with Sien, Anton Mauve ejected him from his studio and he did not learn to paint from Mauve. What a blessing this was for all of us, since he then had to virtually teach himself. This, I believe, is why his painting is so closely related to his drawing. His original drawings are often replicated in oil almost to the very penstroke.
In my view, if Mauve had taught him the standard techniques, there's a good chance, and he expresses a fear of this, that the paintings we would have today would be somewhat more conventional in execution. So losing Mauve as a mentor was enormously fortunate, though it did not seem so at the time.
Vincent's staunch romanticization of manual labor reminds me of the idiotic Soviet propaganda to come, though he has none of its strident militancy. He had no interest in politics despite the fact that he was miserably poor and living hand to mouth off of insufficient cash infusions from brother, Theo. Often he did not even have enough money for materials (paint, ink, paper, etc.). Imagine that! Vincent van Gogh sitting on his hands without even paper to draw upon!
As the early infatuation with Sien fades, he begins to see her for what she is--an uneducated woman who can't begin to appreciate his work; an illiterate woman whose brutish mother has instilled in her prejudices against all men as dirty rotten scoundrels and despicable violators of innocence. Ironically, it's her mother who seems to want her to return to her former position as breadwinner. Finally, after years of cohabitation, Vincent leaves Sien and her children, whom he loves, in The Hague, in part because the cost cannot be sustained by Theo. He has come to realize she is too far gone to "save," but this only after he has estranged many of his family members.
Now he moves to the countryside around Drethen (Netherlands) known for its exceptional natural beauty. At once the reader senses how much freer he is, unfettered. He grows almost sunny as he begins to assimilate the landscape and its inhabitants, the shoreline and canals--he rides barges through the very heath--the unusual local dress, the strangely cave-like cottages which are masterpieces of housekeeping and comfort inside.
When he moves to Arles in 1888, he becomes truly proficient as a painter. His industry is astounding. "Night Cafe" for instance was done in three consecutive nights. His "Sunflowers," a series of canvases, took about ten days. Often he would complete a canvas in a single day. His prose becomes chattier, livelier. He finishes the Rulin Family portraits, countless landscapes which must be worked on in the grip of the terrible regional wind, the mistral. There is much planning for the arrival of Gauguin, much discussion of starting a Southern School of sorts for the jaded artists of Le Petit Boulevard (the impressionists generally). But when Gaugain comes, after a few weeks of productive work, Vincent cuts off part of his ear and offers it to one of the sex workers in the local brothel who faints. He is later found by the gendarmes back at his house unconcious from loss of blood. Thus begins van Gogh's decline and it's one of the saddest, most heartbreaking prose sequences you'll ever read. Manic Depression is the disease and at the time there was no treatment; there wasn't even a reliable diagnosis. He was treated for epilepsy which he decidedly did not have.
The thoughts of suicide he mentions to Theo must have been terrifying for the younger brother. Yet he has always been financially dependent on Theo and the time is fast approaching when he will no longer allow himself, especially in the grip of his illness and with all the new costs of his care, to remain a burden. Throughout there has always been the hope that the paintings would eventually sell. They never do. And then he becomes all too aware of the dichotomy between starving, living artists like himself, and the recently dead artists whose work goes for great sums. He must have felt on some level that he'd be better off dead, especially since his demise would be such a relief to Theo, who had married and started a family. It's hard not to read the final pages as valedictory. Two days after the last letter Vincent is dead by his own hand. Theo survives him by a mere six months.
By all means read it, but be prepared to bleed.
We bear with Vincent when he abandons an early attempt to enter the church, during which he becomes about as parable spewing and pious as any pastor one can imagine. Then as he turns away from his family--except for brother Theo, to whom these letters were addressed--and to the life of a solitary painter. We are with him as he studies under Anton Mauve at The Hague, as he learns and speaks at length about what he has learned about artistic technique.
We feel the heartbreak keenly when he is rejected by a cousin whom he wishes to marry, and during his subsequent emotional crises. When out of deep loneliness he befriends and falls in love with a pregnant streetwalker, who had been abandoned by her lover, I felt for him in his outcast situation keenly. His extended family is outraged. Nevertheless, he takes her in, changes her life, and makes both her and himself briefly happy. These particular passages touch on the hard lives of poor single women during this time of puritanically repressed society as nothing else I have ever read. In the meantime we get van Gogh's verbal descriptions of what he sees, and it's as if we're looking into one of his extraordinary paintings. For example:
I have attacked the old whopper of a pollard willow, and I think it is the best of the watercolors--a gloomy landscape, that dead tree near a stagnant pool covered with reeds, a car shed of the Ryn railroad, where tracks cross each other; the sky with drifting clouds, grey with a single bright white border, and depths of blue where the clouds are parted. I wanted to make it as the signalman in his smock and with his little red flag must see and feel it when he thinks: "It is gloomy weather today." (p. 141)
I like the way editors Irving and Jean Stone have cut the letters into a continuous manuscript, leaving out salutations and much mundane material. But there's a little problem in that there are few dates. One is never quite sure where one is chronologically. I think this could have been remedied by putting the month and year in the margin, much as Robert Graves did in I, Claudius. This would have left unimpeded the free flow of the "autobiography" as they call it, with some justification.
A few things about his painting. Because of his liaison with Sien, Anton Mauve ejected him from his studio and he did not learn to paint from Mauve. What a blessing this was for all of us, since he then had to virtually teach himself. This, I believe, is why his painting is so closely related to his drawing. His original drawings are often replicated in oil almost to the very penstroke.
What is called black and white is in fact painting in black--"painting" in this respect, that one gives in a drawing the depth of effect, the richness of tone value which must be in a picture [painting]. Every colorist has his own peculiar scale of colors. This is also the case in black and white; one must be able to go from the highest light to the deepest shadow, and this with only a few simple ingredients. (p.184)
In my view, if Mauve had taught him the standard techniques, there's a good chance, and he expresses a fear of this, that the paintings we would have today would be somewhat more conventional in execution. So losing Mauve as a mentor was enormously fortunate, though it did not seem so at the time.
Vincent's staunch romanticization of manual labor reminds me of the idiotic Soviet propaganda to come, though he has none of its strident militancy. He had no interest in politics despite the fact that he was miserably poor and living hand to mouth off of insufficient cash infusions from brother, Theo. Often he did not even have enough money for materials (paint, ink, paper, etc.). Imagine that! Vincent van Gogh sitting on his hands without even paper to draw upon!
As the early infatuation with Sien fades, he begins to see her for what she is--an uneducated woman who can't begin to appreciate his work; an illiterate woman whose brutish mother has instilled in her prejudices against all men as dirty rotten scoundrels and despicable violators of innocence. Ironically, it's her mother who seems to want her to return to her former position as breadwinner. Finally, after years of cohabitation, Vincent leaves Sien and her children, whom he loves, in The Hague, in part because the cost cannot be sustained by Theo. He has come to realize she is too far gone to "save," but this only after he has estranged many of his family members.
Now he moves to the countryside around Drethen (Netherlands) known for its exceptional natural beauty. At once the reader senses how much freer he is, unfettered. He grows almost sunny as he begins to assimilate the landscape and its inhabitants, the shoreline and canals--he rides barges through the very heath--the unusual local dress, the strangely cave-like cottages which are masterpieces of housekeeping and comfort inside.
When he moves to Arles in 1888, he becomes truly proficient as a painter. His industry is astounding. "Night Cafe" for instance was done in three consecutive nights. His "Sunflowers," a series of canvases, took about ten days. Often he would complete a canvas in a single day. His prose becomes chattier, livelier. He finishes the Rulin Family portraits, countless landscapes which must be worked on in the grip of the terrible regional wind, the mistral. There is much planning for the arrival of Gauguin, much discussion of starting a Southern School of sorts for the jaded artists of Le Petit Boulevard (the impressionists generally). But when Gaugain comes, after a few weeks of productive work, Vincent cuts off part of his ear and offers it to one of the sex workers in the local brothel who faints. He is later found by the gendarmes back at his house unconcious from loss of blood. Thus begins van Gogh's decline and it's one of the saddest, most heartbreaking prose sequences you'll ever read. Manic Depression is the disease and at the time there was no treatment; there wasn't even a reliable diagnosis. He was treated for epilepsy which he decidedly did not have.
The thoughts of suicide he mentions to Theo must have been terrifying for the younger brother. Yet he has always been financially dependent on Theo and the time is fast approaching when he will no longer allow himself, especially in the grip of his illness and with all the new costs of his care, to remain a burden. Throughout there has always been the hope that the paintings would eventually sell. They never do. And then he becomes all too aware of the dichotomy between starving, living artists like himself, and the recently dead artists whose work goes for great sums. He must have felt on some level that he'd be better off dead, especially since his demise would be such a relief to Theo, who had married and started a family. It's hard not to read the final pages as valedictory. Two days after the last letter Vincent is dead by his own hand. Theo survives him by a mere six months.
By all means read it, but be prepared to bleed.
March 25, 2022
"Nosotros no nos sentimos morir, pero sentimos la realidad de que somos muy poca cosa, y que para ser un anillo en la cadena de artistas pagamos un precio muy duro en salud, en juventud, en libertad, de la cual no gozamos en lo más mínimo, no más que el caballo del carruaje que arrastra un coche lleno de gente que se va a gozar de la primavera".
El género epistolar es una de las formas más interesantes en la literatura para acercarnos al modo de vida de una persona y aunque mucho tiempo no era considerado de relevancia dentro de la literatura misma, fue cambiando y siendo aceptada por los lectores de todo el mundo.
Leer un libro basado en cartas, sea ficcional en famosas novelas como “Las penas del joven Werther” de Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, “Pobres gentes” de Fiódor Dostoievski, “Cartas a un joven poeta” de Reiner María Rilke, “La dama de blanco” de Wilkie Collins y otras que no son ficción sino que son escritos confesionales como “De profundis” de Oscar Wilde o la famosa “Carta al padre” de Franz Kafka (sólo para destacar algunos casos) que tomaron una relevancia notable por la manera en que fueron escritos.
Un acercamiento similar podemos encontrar en los numerosos diarios que se han publicado a lo largo del tiempo así también como el intercambio de correspondencia entre autores, filósofos o personajes políticos importantes.
En el caso de las “Cartas a Théo”, descubrimos la dura, difícil y sufrida vida de quien todo el mundo considera como el mejor pintor de la historia, Vincent Van Gogh.
Me viene a la mente otro artista que sufrió al igual que Van Gogh las misma vicisitudes, me refiero a Edgar Allan Poe e incluso Fiódor Dostoievski y que aún así al igual que Van Gogh crearon belleza y genialidad más allá de las necesidades y la enfermedad.
Como advertía un lector de Goodreads por allí, aquellos a los que no les guste la pintura, que corresponde al 100% de lo que Van Gogh escribe en sus cartas, puede abstenerse de leer este libro, puesto que en ellas le cuenta a su hermano Théo (y a nosotros indirectamente) todo lo que atañe a su mundo: la pintura, los colores, los paisajes, los cipreses, los girasoles, la gente trabajadora del campo, los humildes artistas y las estrellas del cielo así también como su idolatría por los grandes pintores como Rembrandt, Giotto, Manet, Millet (la lista de sus preferidos es extensísima) y de su estrecha relación y corta convivencia con otro genio, Paul Gauguin y las colaboraciones con Paul Cézanne.
Por otro lado, Van Gogh confiesa su pasión por la lectura, especialmente admiraba a los realistas y naturalistas franceses como Balzac, Flaubert, Maupassant y Zolá y se maravillaba con sus obras literarias.
Pero claro, por otro lado todas estas cosas bellas contrastaban con su vida al límite de la indigencia, pasando hambre y viviendo de los pocos francos que su hermano le enviaba para sobrevivir. Théo que era marchand hacía lo imposible por ayudar a su hermano a la distancia, lo que demuestra un amor de hermanos inconmensurable.
Se nota con el correr de la lectura del libro cómo lo que Van Gogh nos cuenta va pasando del entusiasmo y la alegría de pintar al sufrimiento, la angustia y los problemas de salud que lo van arrinconando al suicidio.
La paradoja de Vincent Van Gogh, que nunca pudo vender en vida ni siquiera uno de los más de 850 cuadros que pintó, se transformaría ya muerto en la leyenda que conocemos y admiramos hoy y todo ese sufrimiento, esa angustia y su inclusión por decisión propia en sanatorios psiquiátricos se transforman en un legado que podemos apreciar cada vez que observamos un libro, un exposición o un documental sobre él para seguir confirmando por qué Van Gogh es (a mi humilde entender) el mejor pintor de todos los tiempos.
El género epistolar es una de las formas más interesantes en la literatura para acercarnos al modo de vida de una persona y aunque mucho tiempo no era considerado de relevancia dentro de la literatura misma, fue cambiando y siendo aceptada por los lectores de todo el mundo.
Leer un libro basado en cartas, sea ficcional en famosas novelas como “Las penas del joven Werther” de Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, “Pobres gentes” de Fiódor Dostoievski, “Cartas a un joven poeta” de Reiner María Rilke, “La dama de blanco” de Wilkie Collins y otras que no son ficción sino que son escritos confesionales como “De profundis” de Oscar Wilde o la famosa “Carta al padre” de Franz Kafka (sólo para destacar algunos casos) que tomaron una relevancia notable por la manera en que fueron escritos.
Un acercamiento similar podemos encontrar en los numerosos diarios que se han publicado a lo largo del tiempo así también como el intercambio de correspondencia entre autores, filósofos o personajes políticos importantes.
En el caso de las “Cartas a Théo”, descubrimos la dura, difícil y sufrida vida de quien todo el mundo considera como el mejor pintor de la historia, Vincent Van Gogh.
Me viene a la mente otro artista que sufrió al igual que Van Gogh las misma vicisitudes, me refiero a Edgar Allan Poe e incluso Fiódor Dostoievski y que aún así al igual que Van Gogh crearon belleza y genialidad más allá de las necesidades y la enfermedad.
Como advertía un lector de Goodreads por allí, aquellos a los que no les guste la pintura, que corresponde al 100% de lo que Van Gogh escribe en sus cartas, puede abstenerse de leer este libro, puesto que en ellas le cuenta a su hermano Théo (y a nosotros indirectamente) todo lo que atañe a su mundo: la pintura, los colores, los paisajes, los cipreses, los girasoles, la gente trabajadora del campo, los humildes artistas y las estrellas del cielo así también como su idolatría por los grandes pintores como Rembrandt, Giotto, Manet, Millet (la lista de sus preferidos es extensísima) y de su estrecha relación y corta convivencia con otro genio, Paul Gauguin y las colaboraciones con Paul Cézanne.
Por otro lado, Van Gogh confiesa su pasión por la lectura, especialmente admiraba a los realistas y naturalistas franceses como Balzac, Flaubert, Maupassant y Zolá y se maravillaba con sus obras literarias.
Pero claro, por otro lado todas estas cosas bellas contrastaban con su vida al límite de la indigencia, pasando hambre y viviendo de los pocos francos que su hermano le enviaba para sobrevivir. Théo que era marchand hacía lo imposible por ayudar a su hermano a la distancia, lo que demuestra un amor de hermanos inconmensurable.
Se nota con el correr de la lectura del libro cómo lo que Van Gogh nos cuenta va pasando del entusiasmo y la alegría de pintar al sufrimiento, la angustia y los problemas de salud que lo van arrinconando al suicidio.
La paradoja de Vincent Van Gogh, que nunca pudo vender en vida ni siquiera uno de los más de 850 cuadros que pintó, se transformaría ya muerto en la leyenda que conocemos y admiramos hoy y todo ese sufrimiento, esa angustia y su inclusión por decisión propia en sanatorios psiquiátricos se transforman en un legado que podemos apreciar cada vez que observamos un libro, un exposición o un documental sobre él para seguir confirmando por qué Van Gogh es (a mi humilde entender) el mejor pintor de todos los tiempos.
Read
September 11, 2016Neredeyse her mektubunu "Bana inan" notuyla bitirmesi ama yaşarken kimsenin ona inanmaması çok acı.
January 5, 2018
I finished reading Irvine Stone's Lust for Life within one day like finishing a page turner, but I spent long time to read Dear Theo - letters of Van Gogh - each time I turned the page, I heard myself saying: slow down, take time, and digest every word slowly, as if the sooner I finished reading, the quicker the joy of being with him would vanish.
Van Gogh struck the world with his paintings, he also touched my heart with his words. If we take language as a vehicle of thoughts, Van Gogh deserved to be remembered as a great thinker. Through his words, I saw a man with deep contemplation, a soul that had a close connection with nature by every visible detail: trees, mountains, sky, and every inch of crop field.
If Van Gogh instilled his passion in all his art works, he recorded his thoughts in his words. We see frenzy colors in his paintings, but we will meet a lucid mind in his writings. He was not crazy, like many his contemporaries believed, he was just a special being with some simple needs that the world failed to give. In other words, the world was/is sick, not Van Gogh. Yet he offered to the world a tremendous amount of treasure. The world gave him grief, but he returned with the brilliance of Sunshine.
It has been over 25 years when I read this book. It was one of my precious collection, and shaped my view on art and life: an artist has to be true to him/herself before to be "great". By my opinion, Van Gogh may not be the most "skillful" (from traditional view) artist in history, but he was the most talented, and the first one who depicted himself without any "decoration" - such as techniques or concepts. He was completely "naked" in his works.
And I believe, the world would be different if we all naked like he was.
Van Gogh struck the world with his paintings, he also touched my heart with his words. If we take language as a vehicle of thoughts, Van Gogh deserved to be remembered as a great thinker. Through his words, I saw a man with deep contemplation, a soul that had a close connection with nature by every visible detail: trees, mountains, sky, and every inch of crop field.
If Van Gogh instilled his passion in all his art works, he recorded his thoughts in his words. We see frenzy colors in his paintings, but we will meet a lucid mind in his writings. He was not crazy, like many his contemporaries believed, he was just a special being with some simple needs that the world failed to give. In other words, the world was/is sick, not Van Gogh. Yet he offered to the world a tremendous amount of treasure. The world gave him grief, but he returned with the brilliance of Sunshine.
It has been over 25 years when I read this book. It was one of my precious collection, and shaped my view on art and life: an artist has to be true to him/herself before to be "great". By my opinion, Van Gogh may not be the most "skillful" (from traditional view) artist in history, but he was the most talented, and the first one who depicted himself without any "decoration" - such as techniques or concepts. He was completely "naked" in his works.
And I believe, the world would be different if we all naked like he was.
February 9, 2018
Vincent Van Gogh'un Ocak 1873'den Temmuz 1890'a kadar kardeşi Theo'ya yazdığı mektuplarından oluşan eser.
Mektup en sevdiğim türlerden biri. Yapısı gereği, okuyucuyu yazanın iç dünyasına çok çabuk buyur ettiğinden ve olanı biteni sansürsüz ilettiğinden vurucu olduğunu düşünürüm hep. Theo’ya mektuplarda da Van Gogh’un melankolik iç dünyası hakkında oldukça bilgi sahibi oluyoruz.
Yaşadığı parasal sıkıntılar, kendi tekniğini bulabilmek ve yaptığı şeyin üstüne bir şey koyup koymadığından emin olamamanın verdiği paranoyak ruh hali, dönemin diğer ressamlarıyla ilişkileri, tablolarındaki renklerin seçimi, şehir betimlemeleriyle, dönemine ve döneminin sanat dünyasına da ışık tutması açısından güzel bir kitap.
Öte yandan hiçbir edebi kaygıyla yazılmamış olmasına rağmen, bir sanatçının elinden çıktığı gün gibi ortada mektupların. Hassas bir ruhun kaleminden çıktığı için mektuplar, kelimelerin gücü kitabı edebi bir zemine oturtmayı başarıyor.
Benim için en üzücü nokta; kitabın ilk yarısına hakim olan "bana inan" umudunun, sonlara doğru hüzne, çaresizliğe dönüşmüş olması ve Van Gogh’un o çok merak ettiği “acaba daha iyiye gidiyor muyum?” sorusunun cevabını ve eserlerinin başkaları için ne ifade ettiğini hiçbir zaman öğrenememiş oluşu.
“İşte böyle anlarda, dile gelmeyen, sözle anlatılmayan bir çaresizlik karşısında –yalnızlık, yoksulluk, bahtsızlık, her şeyin sonu bitimi –işte o anda Tanrı düşüncesi doğar birdenbire kafamızda. Başkaları değilse de ben bunu duyarım.”
"Yorgunsak eğer, bu daha önceden çok uzun bir yolu yürüdüğümüzden değil midir?"
Mektup en sevdiğim türlerden biri. Yapısı gereği, okuyucuyu yazanın iç dünyasına çok çabuk buyur ettiğinden ve olanı biteni sansürsüz ilettiğinden vurucu olduğunu düşünürüm hep. Theo’ya mektuplarda da Van Gogh’un melankolik iç dünyası hakkında oldukça bilgi sahibi oluyoruz.
Yaşadığı parasal sıkıntılar, kendi tekniğini bulabilmek ve yaptığı şeyin üstüne bir şey koyup koymadığından emin olamamanın verdiği paranoyak ruh hali, dönemin diğer ressamlarıyla ilişkileri, tablolarındaki renklerin seçimi, şehir betimlemeleriyle, dönemine ve döneminin sanat dünyasına da ışık tutması açısından güzel bir kitap.
Öte yandan hiçbir edebi kaygıyla yazılmamış olmasına rağmen, bir sanatçının elinden çıktığı gün gibi ortada mektupların. Hassas bir ruhun kaleminden çıktığı için mektuplar, kelimelerin gücü kitabı edebi bir zemine oturtmayı başarıyor.
Benim için en üzücü nokta; kitabın ilk yarısına hakim olan "bana inan" umudunun, sonlara doğru hüzne, çaresizliğe dönüşmüş olması ve Van Gogh’un o çok merak ettiği “acaba daha iyiye gidiyor muyum?” sorusunun cevabını ve eserlerinin başkaları için ne ifade ettiğini hiçbir zaman öğrenememiş oluşu.
“İşte böyle anlarda, dile gelmeyen, sözle anlatılmayan bir çaresizlik karşısında –yalnızlık, yoksulluk, bahtsızlık, her şeyin sonu bitimi –işte o anda Tanrı düşüncesi doğar birdenbire kafamızda. Başkaları değilse de ben bunu duyarım.”
"Yorgunsak eğer, bu daha önceden çok uzun bir yolu yürüdüğümüzden değil midir?"
July 29, 2018
It's July, still. Just for a couple of days more. According to the official calendar today it's 29th July, 2018. I had to look into the phone app as I don't keep any paper calendar in my room [and I don't trust my harddisk on weekends] and going to the kitchen would have cost me changing my present comfortable writing position.
I was reading a letter dated July 1880. So, again with the precious help of the calculator app inside the phone, I am able to capture the time gap between my present and the letter's present time. A total of 138 years time span between myself and Vincent van Gogh letter. How can one beat the passing of time? Or, how can one go back in time, whenever one feels like it?
It's not as impossible as it might seem at first instant. I don't know what number of letter it is this one that I stopped for now. It doesn't even matter. It's by far the longest letter he wrote so far. It is spread on 11 pages. I'm only 10% finished which counts as page 71 out of total of 662 pages.
This July letter is the best I've savoured so far. I'm sure the ones to follow will be of same quality or even better. It's just unshakable and unshattered trust. I feel tremendously for the man behind the words. I and him are not anymore foreingers or strangers. If there was any abstract veil it's now gone. I seem to grasp and understand more than I have expected fromeverything he is writing about. Could be it's a perfect timing from my side in keeping this book close to my eyesight.
I know I am not yet finished but the remainder of the Letters will be read so very slowly that it won't make any difference then when that would be completed. It might never be, because I definitely will rummage through them time and again.
Well, now I can go for a cheerful outing with my puppies, enjoying the splendid July sun, brightly and gloriously invading my room space.
I was reading a letter dated July 1880. So, again with the precious help of the calculator app inside the phone, I am able to capture the time gap between my present and the letter's present time. A total of 138 years time span between myself and Vincent van Gogh letter. How can one beat the passing of time? Or, how can one go back in time, whenever one feels like it?
It's not as impossible as it might seem at first instant. I don't know what number of letter it is this one that I stopped for now. It doesn't even matter. It's by far the longest letter he wrote so far. It is spread on 11 pages. I'm only 10% finished which counts as page 71 out of total of 662 pages.
This July letter is the best I've savoured so far. I'm sure the ones to follow will be of same quality or even better. It's just unshakable and unshattered trust. I feel tremendously for the man behind the words. I and him are not anymore foreingers or strangers. If there was any abstract veil it's now gone. I seem to grasp and understand more than I have expected fromeverything he is writing about. Could be it's a perfect timing from my side in keeping this book close to my eyesight.
I know I am not yet finished but the remainder of the Letters will be read so very slowly that it won't make any difference then when that would be completed. It might never be, because I definitely will rummage through them time and again.
Well, now I can go for a cheerful outing with my puppies, enjoying the splendid July sun, brightly and gloriously invading my room space.
Read
December 1, 2018No voy a puntuar este libro. Son cartas reales de una persona real que existió y no soy nadie para puntuarlas, me parece feo. Es correspondencia real y creo que su destino no es ganar más o menos estrellas.
Es una lectura muy concreta, qué voy a decir. A quien le interese la figura de Van Gogh, como es mi caso, le gustará acercarse a su correspondencia, porque es una forma de conocerlo mejor. Lo que recomiendo es haber leído previamente una biografía suya, porque si no las cartas no se disfrutan igual.
Es una lectura muy concreta, qué voy a decir. A quien le interese la figura de Van Gogh, como es mi caso, le gustará acercarse a su correspondencia, porque es una forma de conocerlo mejor. Lo que recomiendo es haber leído previamente una biografía suya, porque si no las cartas no se disfrutan igual.
January 21, 2021
Mektup okumanın ayrı bir tadı var.
Hikaye/roman okumak; yazar-kitap-okur olarak bir rüzgar gülünün rüzgarda dönen yaprakları olmaksa
Mektup okumak karşılıklı ip çeviren iki kişinin ortasına izinsiz atlamak gibi.. biraz aykırı bir keyfi var.
İlk defa bir ressamın (sadece ressam diyerek onun çilekeş, doğacı, saf kalbine haksızlık etmiş olmak istemem tabi) mektuplarını okuyorum.
Bilmediğim bir alanda (resim) Van Gogh sayesinde -onun resimlerindeki çizgiler için kullandığı tabir ile- hareler dönmeye başladı kafamda, pırıltılar, ışıklar uçuşmaya başladı.
Öyle güzel tasvir etmiş ki..
Resimlerini severdim ama neden sevdiğimi bilmezdim.
Yazdıklarından sonra neden sevdiğimi çok iyi anladım.
Çünkü diyor ki;
"Ressamın görevi tüm benliği ile doğaya almak ve yapıtlarında duyguyu anlatabilmek için tüm zekasını kullanmaktır ki yapıtı başkaları için de anlaşılabilir olsun.
Gerçek ressamların er ya da geç sevilmelerinin nedeni içtenlikleridir."
Onun sevilmesi pek er değil oldukça geç olmuş.
O kadar geç ki akıl hastanesinde yazdığı şu satırlarını her okuduğumda insanlık adına kötü hissediyorum;
"Buraya geleli neredeyse 1 ay oldu. Bu süre içinde başka bir yerde olma isteğini bir kez bile duymadım. Yalnızca çalışma isteği her an artıyor.
Burada kalan öteki kişilerde de belirgin bir istek görmüyorum dışarıda olmak için. Belkide bu, dışarıdaki yaşama hiçbir zaman katılamayacak kadar paramparça olduğumuz duygusundan ileri geliyor."
Hikaye/roman okumak; yazar-kitap-okur olarak bir rüzgar gülünün rüzgarda dönen yaprakları olmaksa
Mektup okumak karşılıklı ip çeviren iki kişinin ortasına izinsiz atlamak gibi.. biraz aykırı bir keyfi var.
İlk defa bir ressamın (sadece ressam diyerek onun çilekeş, doğacı, saf kalbine haksızlık etmiş olmak istemem tabi) mektuplarını okuyorum.
Bilmediğim bir alanda (resim) Van Gogh sayesinde -onun resimlerindeki çizgiler için kullandığı tabir ile- hareler dönmeye başladı kafamda, pırıltılar, ışıklar uçuşmaya başladı.
Öyle güzel tasvir etmiş ki..
Resimlerini severdim ama neden sevdiğimi bilmezdim.
Yazdıklarından sonra neden sevdiğimi çok iyi anladım.
Çünkü diyor ki;
"Ressamın görevi tüm benliği ile doğaya almak ve yapıtlarında duyguyu anlatabilmek için tüm zekasını kullanmaktır ki yapıtı başkaları için de anlaşılabilir olsun.
Gerçek ressamların er ya da geç sevilmelerinin nedeni içtenlikleridir."
Onun sevilmesi pek er değil oldukça geç olmuş.
O kadar geç ki akıl hastanesinde yazdığı şu satırlarını her okuduğumda insanlık adına kötü hissediyorum;
"Buraya geleli neredeyse 1 ay oldu. Bu süre içinde başka bir yerde olma isteğini bir kez bile duymadım. Yalnızca çalışma isteği her an artıyor.
Burada kalan öteki kişilerde de belirgin bir istek görmüyorum dışarıda olmak için. Belkide bu, dışarıdaki yaşama hiçbir zaman katılamayacak kadar paramparça olduğumuz duygusundan ileri geliyor."
July 12, 2019
Верујем да издање које сам читао, приређено за Киндл, не садржи сва писма Теу која је Ван Гог написао (с обзиром да страна издања имају и по 500 страница).
У сваком случају, у огромној већини њих реч је о Винсентовом односу према сликарству и његова запажања боја (невероватно је како је запажао боје, у најнеобичнијим односима и контрастима); у њима он прича о процесу настанка својих дела, идејама, заносима и слично. Иако занимљиви и значајани, морам признати да су ми далеко занимљивији били делови у којима Винсент пише о својим осећањима, дилемама и страховима пред наступајућом болешћу. Ти делови нам пружају (иако шкрто) један сјајан поглед у душу уметника.
Из тих реченица види се колико је он био једна крхка људска природа, у суштини дубоко хуманистичка. Уметник који није био за овај груби, неправедни свет.
Осећам да ми је након читања ових писама његово сликарство још приближније.
У сваком случају, у огромној већини њих реч је о Винсентовом односу према сликарству и његова запажања боја (невероватно је како је запажао боје, у најнеобичнијим односима и контрастима); у њима он прича о процесу настанка својих дела, идејама, заносима и слично. Иако занимљиви и значајани, морам признати да су ми далеко занимљивији били делови у којима Винсент пише о својим осећањима, дилемама и страховима пред наступајућом болешћу. Ти делови нам пружају (иако шкрто) један сјајан поглед у душу уметника.
Из тих реченица види се колико је он био једна крхка људска природа, у суштини дубоко хуманистичка. Уметник који није био за овај груби, неправедни свет.
Осећам да ми је након читања ових писама његово сликарство још приближније.
November 22, 2018
This is probably not something for the casual art fans who have gathered a summary of van Gogh's life from various library collections of his works. In fact, the first four hundred pages can be a rather "more of the same" struggle for Vincent's loyal devotees even though he is an excellent writer.
Then, the unfortunate illness begins to take control and Vincent actually becomes a more likable human being. It is also worth noting that during this last year, even as he was shuttling between hospitals and asylums, van Gogh produced over 200 of his best works.
The last year of letters to his brother Theo compensates for the reader's efforts . When you finish, go to your library and pick up a collection of Vincent's works from Arles. A gentle epiphany awaits you.
Then, the unfortunate illness begins to take control and Vincent actually becomes a more likable human being. It is also worth noting that during this last year, even as he was shuttling between hospitals and asylums, van Gogh produced over 200 of his best works.
The last year of letters to his brother Theo compensates for the reader's efforts . When you finish, go to your library and pick up a collection of Vincent's works from Arles. A gentle epiphany awaits you.
June 23, 2023
van gogh sever olarak bayılarak okudum 😍
March 10, 2013
It feels a bit strange that this book is finally over. It took me longer to read than most books and still I feel like the end came quite quickly. But then again, isn't that exactly the case with his life?
I read this book to learn more about van Gogh as a person and I must say that I was surprised. He wasn't what I expected him to be. If you have a somewhat mysterious or divine image of him, this book will probably crush it - in a good way. For me it meant putting an end to any sort of romanticizing on his personality or life. After reading this book I don't anymore think that he was only a misunderstood poor soul neither do I see him as a mad genius. I think this book gives you a quite realistic image of him as a regular (yet extraordinary) human being. Through these letters you can see his flaws as well as his good features. And as a person he is very interesting.
For me one of the most interesting things in this book was van Gogh's relationship with Sien. There was something very unromantic yet moving about it. He also admired the peasants and their hard work and often saw himself as one of them. It is quite understandable since the amount of work he put into drawing and painting is incredible. Since I love drawing and painting, I found this very inspiring and motivating for myself too.
I feel a bit silly saying this, now that I've actually read the book, but I was surprised at how much he actually put work into his career. He sacrificed everything for it and that's why it's so heartbreaking that he didn't get the appreciation he deserved during his lifetime.
I would recommend this book to anyone who's interested in van Gogh, his art, his thoughts and his life. Especially if you like art in general as well. If you have some knowledge of the artists and writers he talks about (Delacroix, Millet and Zola for example) you will probably get even more out of it than I did. Also, I believe that this book can be a great inspiration on many areas, not only on painting and drawing.
I read this book to learn more about van Gogh as a person and I must say that I was surprised. He wasn't what I expected him to be. If you have a somewhat mysterious or divine image of him, this book will probably crush it - in a good way. For me it meant putting an end to any sort of romanticizing on his personality or life. After reading this book I don't anymore think that he was only a misunderstood poor soul neither do I see him as a mad genius. I think this book gives you a quite realistic image of him as a regular (yet extraordinary) human being. Through these letters you can see his flaws as well as his good features. And as a person he is very interesting.
For me one of the most interesting things in this book was van Gogh's relationship with Sien. There was something very unromantic yet moving about it. He also admired the peasants and their hard work and often saw himself as one of them. It is quite understandable since the amount of work he put into drawing and painting is incredible. Since I love drawing and painting, I found this very inspiring and motivating for myself too.
I feel a bit silly saying this, now that I've actually read the book, but I was surprised at how much he actually put work into his career. He sacrificed everything for it and that's why it's so heartbreaking that he didn't get the appreciation he deserved during his lifetime.
I would recommend this book to anyone who's interested in van Gogh, his art, his thoughts and his life. Especially if you like art in general as well. If you have some knowledge of the artists and writers he talks about (Delacroix, Millet and Zola for example) you will probably get even more out of it than I did. Also, I believe that this book can be a great inspiration on many areas, not only on painting and drawing.
June 27, 2021
ESSERE VINCENT VAN GOGH
Affrancarsi dalla visione ristretta della propria famiglia. Accumulare esperienze in cerca di sé stesso. Inseguire l’amore e non trovarlo. Avere un rapporto simbiotico con il fratello, come raramente si è visto. Lavorare duramente, con la disperazione nel cuore, in solitudine e nella miseria più nera, senza riconoscimenti e consolazioni. Lottare con la malattia. Creare arte, comporre bellezza, regalare al mondo esplosioni di colori.
Caro Vincent e caro Theo, con questo vostro dialogo, lungo una (breve) vita, ci avete fatto emozionare.
“Ora, riuscire a fondere quegli ori, e quei toni di fiori – il primo venuto non riesce a farlo, ci vuole tutta l’energia e l’attenzione di un individuo.”
“Nel mio quadro sul Caffè di notte ho cercato di esprimere l’idea che il caffè è un posto dove ci si può rovinare, diventar pazzi, commettere dei crimini. Inoltre ho cercato di esprimere la potenza tenebrosa quasi di un mattatoio, con dei contrasti tra il rosa tenero e il rosso sangue e feccia di vino, tra il verdino Luigi XV e il Veronese, con i verdi gialli e i verdi blu intensi, tutto ciò in un’atmosfera di una fornace infernale di zolfo pallido. E pur tuttavia sotto un’apparente levità giapponese e una bonomia alla Tartarin.”
“...quando si sta bene si deve poter vivere di un pezzo di pane, pur lavorando tutto il giorno, e avendo ancora la forza di fumare e di bere il proprio goccio. E allo stesso tempo sentire in modo chiaro che esistono le stelle e l’infinito. Allora la vita diventa quasi incantata.”
Affrancarsi dalla visione ristretta della propria famiglia. Accumulare esperienze in cerca di sé stesso. Inseguire l’amore e non trovarlo. Avere un rapporto simbiotico con il fratello, come raramente si è visto. Lavorare duramente, con la disperazione nel cuore, in solitudine e nella miseria più nera, senza riconoscimenti e consolazioni. Lottare con la malattia. Creare arte, comporre bellezza, regalare al mondo esplosioni di colori.
Caro Vincent e caro Theo, con questo vostro dialogo, lungo una (breve) vita, ci avete fatto emozionare.
“Ora, riuscire a fondere quegli ori, e quei toni di fiori – il primo venuto non riesce a farlo, ci vuole tutta l’energia e l’attenzione di un individuo.”
“Nel mio quadro sul Caffè di notte ho cercato di esprimere l’idea che il caffè è un posto dove ci si può rovinare, diventar pazzi, commettere dei crimini. Inoltre ho cercato di esprimere la potenza tenebrosa quasi di un mattatoio, con dei contrasti tra il rosa tenero e il rosso sangue e feccia di vino, tra il verdino Luigi XV e il Veronese, con i verdi gialli e i verdi blu intensi, tutto ciò in un’atmosfera di una fornace infernale di zolfo pallido. E pur tuttavia sotto un’apparente levità giapponese e una bonomia alla Tartarin.”
“...quando si sta bene si deve poter vivere di un pezzo di pane, pur lavorando tutto il giorno, e avendo ancora la forza di fumare e di bere il proprio goccio. E allo stesso tempo sentire in modo chiaro che esistono le stelle e l’infinito. Allora la vita diventa quasi incantata.”
August 28, 2015
This book is in serious need of a re-read. I read this when I was about thirteen, and aspiring to be an amazing artist. Vincent Van Gogh fascinated me. I never really loved his art (shhh) but the mad, passionate artist appealed to me. And can you get any madder, any more passionate than Vincent?
I also read this with much sympathy for Vincent's brother, Theo. What a long suffering, sweet person to stand by your side. Hero Theo.
I loved this book and Irving Stone's sister book, Lust For Life. Both are amazingly memorable almost thirty years later.
I also read this with much sympathy for Vincent's brother, Theo. What a long suffering, sweet person to stand by your side. Hero Theo.
I loved this book and Irving Stone's sister book, Lust For Life. Both are amazingly memorable almost thirty years later.
January 24, 2009
Van Gogh was clearly not mad, rather he was articulate, well read, thoughtful (and perhaps a bit desperate). Heartbreaking at times since we all know how it ends
August 15, 2022
Como documento es genial, como libro no tanto. Van Gogh es un artista, pero no necesariamente un literata. En sus cartas lo que más hace es hablar de pintura con su hermano, lo cual es tierno, le describe cada cuadro que va a hacer o que está haciendo, pero todavía aún más que de pintura habla de las finanzas. Se nota que lo pasa pésimo sin poder sostenerse económicamente. Es un diario muy humano, muy normalito, por así decirlo, que no refleja el espíritu que sí reflejan sus cuadros.
Y en general la recopilación es buena pero, por eso mismo, un poco tediosa. Es que las cartas son más que nada descripciones cotidianas del quehacer diario, de cosas que a nadie le importan, listados de precios claramente desactualizados de colores para pintar, etcétera. Aunque sí hay algunos fragmentos especialmente bonitos y decidores, yo diría que son los menos. Lo cual tiene sentido: Van Gogh nunca pensó que sus cartas iban a ser publicadas y leídas décadas después, entonces no fue por ahí por donde explotó su veta artística. De hecho, siento cierto pudor al acceder a ellas, porque no estaban dirigidas a mí, sino que a su hermano, en la más íntima de las intimidades, y eso me (nos) convierte básicamente en una voyeurista. Jajaja.
En fin, de todos modos fue un viaje interesante, y lo terminé con pena, pena de la profunda soledad de este hombre. Pero no solo por el libro de ahora, sino que también por cómo fue su vida en general. Si uno lee su biografía, da la impresión de que se la pasó corriendo de un lado a otro, sin poder realmente quedarse en ninguna parte. Murió hacia los 37, pero apenas llevaba una década pintando, y antes de eso pasó por todas las fases posibles, trató de ser profesor, de ser religioso, vivió en tantos países distintos... y nada, fue rechazado en los trabajos, en el amor (nadie quiso casarse con él, nunca), y ni siquiera tenía plata. Los esfuerzos, de fruto invisible.
Yo creo que el pobre se sentía como un cacho máximo al final de su vida, y que eso lo tenía comprensiblemente deprimido, y se nota. Sus cartas a Theo están llenas de amor y compañerismo, pero también de vergüenza camuflada, siempre sintiéndose una carga, siempre tan triste e irritado de ser mantenido, y aún así (o quizá por eso mismo), siempre tan deseoso de salir adelante... sin nunca (casi) vender ningún cuadro. Hasta su muerte.
Con tal que es muy triste.
Lo más lindo de las cartas es el compañerismo entre Vincent y su hermano, pero igual el tema mayor son los detalles de las pinturas. Por eso creo que es un libro más para fanáticos de Van Gogh y/o del arte que para los que buscamos ver algo más allá vía literatura. Porque lo más profundo no lo dice, y es que Vincent apenas dice nada. Está tan ocupado tratando de salir adelante y de venderse a sí mismo la idea de que puede, que nunca habla directamente de su dolor o de sus ansiedades, en el fondo porque no quiere que existan. Uno solo sabe que hay intentos de suicidios porque los lee en las aclaraciones de la edición, o en la biografía. Y porque, bueno, al final todos sabemos que se mata de un disparo en el pecho. Lo agridulce es que después Theo muere el mismo año por motivos de salud tan ambiguos como su hermano. Agrio porque es terrible, dulce porque están juntos. Aunque a estas alturas, todos los de esta época ya están juntos (suponiendo que efectivamente haya un juntos).
Volviendo a Van Gogh, yo siempre he tenido la duda de si en verdad estaba loco, o si simplemente estaba muy cansado y muy asustado, y entonces el diagnóstico no hizo más que cansarlo o asustarlo más. O tal vez sí tenía crisis y no supieron manejarlas, pero creo que parte del problema estaba en que era un ser aislado, y que su diagnóstico lo aislaba aún más. Y bueno, la psiquiatría tampoco estaba muy adelantada por esos tiempos. Ni siquiera hoy siento que lo esté tanto, jejeje. Y LO PEOR que se puede hacer con alguien es llegar y tacharlo de loco. Es como descartarlo simbólicamente, de la vida. Según yo.
También siempre he tenido la duda de si Van Gogh es tan genial como dicen, o de si el mito relacionado a su vida infló su fama. Es que es muy, muy bueno (aunque a mi parecer solo en la última etapa), pero hay pintores tanto o más que él, entre ellos quizá su amigo Gauguin, y que tienen mucho menos nombre. Cortarse (parte de) una oreja definitivamente es una manera de pasar a la posteridad, eso está claro, aunque si no hubiera tenido talento, quizá lo recordarían solamente por eso y no también por esos cuadros tan preciosos.
En fin, muy interesante la historia, un poco menos interesante el libro. Aunque de gustos no hay nada escrito.
Citas subrayadas.
1. Pelando a Gauguin con su hermano, cual centro de madres, jajaja (me causó gracia).
Si Gauguin fuera a París para que lo revisaran un poco lo estudiara un médico especialista, te juro... no sé muy bien qué resultaría. Yo le he visto hacer, en diversas ocasiones, cosas que tú y yo no nos permitiríamos, porque tenemos conciencias más sensatas, y he oído dos o tres cosas que se decían de él, del mismo tenor, y yo que lo he visto de muy, pero de muy cerca, lo creo arrastrado por la imaginación, por el orgullo quizá, y bastante irresponsable.
2. Des-pelando a Gauguin, entre otras cosas (esta es linda).
Creo y creeré siempre en el arte de crear en los trópicos y pienso que debe ser maravilloso, pero en fin, personalmente soy demasiado viejo y demasiado acartonado para ir. ¿Gauguin lo hará? No es necesario. Porque si hay que hacerlo, se hará solo. No somos más que eslabones de la cadena.
Este bueno de Gauguin y yo, nos comprendemos en el fondo del corazón, y si somos un poco locos, sea, ¿no somos también un poco bastante profundamente artistas para contrarrestar las inquietudes al respecto por lo que decimos del pintor? Todo el mundo tendrá quizá un día neurosis, histeria, baile de San Vito y otra cosa, pero... ¿no existe el contra veneno? ¿En Delacroix, en Berliox, en Wagner? Y en verdad la locura artística, en todos nosotros, yo no digo que sobre todo en mí, tal vez me haya herido hasta la médula, pero digo y mantendré que nuestros venenos y consuelos pueden, con un poco de buena voluntad, ser considerados como ampliamente eficaces.
3. Vincent solo quería ser uno más :(
2 de mayo de 1889
Me gustaría enrolarme, pero me da miedo (como en la ciudad ya conocen todos el accidente) que aquí me rechacen. Lo que temo, entonces o, más bien, lo que me vuelve tímido, es la posibilidad, la probabilidad aquí, de una negativa. Si yo tuviera alguna certidumbre de que podría alistarme por cinco años en la legión, iría. Pero sucede que no quiero que esto sea considerado como un nuevo acto de locura de mi parte (...). Quizá, me digo, en fin... sea lo que sea, si yo supiera que me iban a aceptar, iría a la legión. Es que me he vuelto tímido y vacilante desde que vivo maquinalmente.
Si te hablo de enrolarme por cinco años, no vayas a pensar que hago esto con la idea de sacrificarme o de hacer el bien. Yo estoy "atravesado" en la vida y mi estado mental no sólo es, sino que ha sido también abstracto, de manera que cualquier cosa que se haga por mí, no puedo pensar en equilibrar mi vida. Cuando debo seguir una regla, como aquí en el hospicio, me siento tranquilo. Y en el servicio, pasaría más o menos lo mismo. Claro que aquí me arriesgo mucho a que me rechacen, porque saben que soy alienado o epiléptico probable, por lo menos.
Quizá en París, hablándole por ejemplo a Detaille o a Caran d'Ache, me incorporarían pronto. Podrá parecer una cabezonada, no peor que otra; en fin, reflexionemos, pero para obrar. Mientras tanto, hago lo que puedo.
Y en general la recopilación es buena pero, por eso mismo, un poco tediosa. Es que las cartas son más que nada descripciones cotidianas del quehacer diario, de cosas que a nadie le importan, listados de precios claramente desactualizados de colores para pintar, etcétera. Aunque sí hay algunos fragmentos especialmente bonitos y decidores, yo diría que son los menos. Lo cual tiene sentido: Van Gogh nunca pensó que sus cartas iban a ser publicadas y leídas décadas después, entonces no fue por ahí por donde explotó su veta artística. De hecho, siento cierto pudor al acceder a ellas, porque no estaban dirigidas a mí, sino que a su hermano, en la más íntima de las intimidades, y eso me (nos) convierte básicamente en una voyeurista. Jajaja.
En fin, de todos modos fue un viaje interesante, y lo terminé con pena, pena de la profunda soledad de este hombre. Pero no solo por el libro de ahora, sino que también por cómo fue su vida en general. Si uno lee su biografía, da la impresión de que se la pasó corriendo de un lado a otro, sin poder realmente quedarse en ninguna parte. Murió hacia los 37, pero apenas llevaba una década pintando, y antes de eso pasó por todas las fases posibles, trató de ser profesor, de ser religioso, vivió en tantos países distintos... y nada, fue rechazado en los trabajos, en el amor (nadie quiso casarse con él, nunca), y ni siquiera tenía plata. Los esfuerzos, de fruto invisible.
Yo creo que el pobre se sentía como un cacho máximo al final de su vida, y que eso lo tenía comprensiblemente deprimido, y se nota. Sus cartas a Theo están llenas de amor y compañerismo, pero también de vergüenza camuflada, siempre sintiéndose una carga, siempre tan triste e irritado de ser mantenido, y aún así (o quizá por eso mismo), siempre tan deseoso de salir adelante... sin nunca (casi) vender ningún cuadro. Hasta su muerte.
Con tal que es muy triste.
Lo más lindo de las cartas es el compañerismo entre Vincent y su hermano, pero igual el tema mayor son los detalles de las pinturas. Por eso creo que es un libro más para fanáticos de Van Gogh y/o del arte que para los que buscamos ver algo más allá vía literatura. Porque lo más profundo no lo dice, y es que Vincent apenas dice nada. Está tan ocupado tratando de salir adelante y de venderse a sí mismo la idea de que puede, que nunca habla directamente de su dolor o de sus ansiedades, en el fondo porque no quiere que existan. Uno solo sabe que hay intentos de suicidios porque los lee en las aclaraciones de la edición, o en la biografía. Y porque, bueno, al final todos sabemos que se mata de un disparo en el pecho. Lo agridulce es que después Theo muere el mismo año por motivos de salud tan ambiguos como su hermano. Agrio porque es terrible, dulce porque están juntos. Aunque a estas alturas, todos los de esta época ya están juntos (suponiendo que efectivamente haya un juntos).
Volviendo a Van Gogh, yo siempre he tenido la duda de si en verdad estaba loco, o si simplemente estaba muy cansado y muy asustado, y entonces el diagnóstico no hizo más que cansarlo o asustarlo más. O tal vez sí tenía crisis y no supieron manejarlas, pero creo que parte del problema estaba en que era un ser aislado, y que su diagnóstico lo aislaba aún más. Y bueno, la psiquiatría tampoco estaba muy adelantada por esos tiempos. Ni siquiera hoy siento que lo esté tanto, jejeje. Y LO PEOR que se puede hacer con alguien es llegar y tacharlo de loco. Es como descartarlo simbólicamente, de la vida. Según yo.
También siempre he tenido la duda de si Van Gogh es tan genial como dicen, o de si el mito relacionado a su vida infló su fama. Es que es muy, muy bueno (aunque a mi parecer solo en la última etapa), pero hay pintores tanto o más que él, entre ellos quizá su amigo Gauguin, y que tienen mucho menos nombre. Cortarse (parte de) una oreja definitivamente es una manera de pasar a la posteridad, eso está claro, aunque si no hubiera tenido talento, quizá lo recordarían solamente por eso y no también por esos cuadros tan preciosos.
En fin, muy interesante la historia, un poco menos interesante el libro. Aunque de gustos no hay nada escrito.
Citas subrayadas.
1. Pelando a Gauguin con su hermano, cual centro de madres, jajaja (me causó gracia).
Si Gauguin fuera a París para que lo revisaran un poco lo estudiara un médico especialista, te juro... no sé muy bien qué resultaría. Yo le he visto hacer, en diversas ocasiones, cosas que tú y yo no nos permitiríamos, porque tenemos conciencias más sensatas, y he oído dos o tres cosas que se decían de él, del mismo tenor, y yo que lo he visto de muy, pero de muy cerca, lo creo arrastrado por la imaginación, por el orgullo quizá, y bastante irresponsable.
2. Des-pelando a Gauguin, entre otras cosas (esta es linda).
Creo y creeré siempre en el arte de crear en los trópicos y pienso que debe ser maravilloso, pero en fin, personalmente soy demasiado viejo y demasiado acartonado para ir. ¿Gauguin lo hará? No es necesario. Porque si hay que hacerlo, se hará solo. No somos más que eslabones de la cadena.
Este bueno de Gauguin y yo, nos comprendemos en el fondo del corazón, y si somos un poco locos, sea, ¿no somos también un poco bastante profundamente artistas para contrarrestar las inquietudes al respecto por lo que decimos del pintor? Todo el mundo tendrá quizá un día neurosis, histeria, baile de San Vito y otra cosa, pero... ¿no existe el contra veneno? ¿En Delacroix, en Berliox, en Wagner? Y en verdad la locura artística, en todos nosotros, yo no digo que sobre todo en mí, tal vez me haya herido hasta la médula, pero digo y mantendré que nuestros venenos y consuelos pueden, con un poco de buena voluntad, ser considerados como ampliamente eficaces.
3. Vincent solo quería ser uno más :(
2 de mayo de 1889
Me gustaría enrolarme, pero me da miedo (como en la ciudad ya conocen todos el accidente) que aquí me rechacen. Lo que temo, entonces o, más bien, lo que me vuelve tímido, es la posibilidad, la probabilidad aquí, de una negativa. Si yo tuviera alguna certidumbre de que podría alistarme por cinco años en la legión, iría. Pero sucede que no quiero que esto sea considerado como un nuevo acto de locura de mi parte (...). Quizá, me digo, en fin... sea lo que sea, si yo supiera que me iban a aceptar, iría a la legión. Es que me he vuelto tímido y vacilante desde que vivo maquinalmente.
Si te hablo de enrolarme por cinco años, no vayas a pensar que hago esto con la idea de sacrificarme o de hacer el bien. Yo estoy "atravesado" en la vida y mi estado mental no sólo es, sino que ha sido también abstracto, de manera que cualquier cosa que se haga por mí, no puedo pensar en equilibrar mi vida. Cuando debo seguir una regla, como aquí en el hospicio, me siento tranquilo. Y en el servicio, pasaría más o menos lo mismo. Claro que aquí me arriesgo mucho a que me rechacen, porque saben que soy alienado o epiléptico probable, por lo menos.
Quizá en París, hablándole por ejemplo a Detaille o a Caran d'Ache, me incorporarían pronto. Podrá parecer una cabezonada, no peor que otra; en fin, reflexionemos, pero para obrar. Mientras tanto, hago lo que puedo.
Read
January 19, 2023Whoever looks at Van Gogh's works now, cannot consider them complicated or difficult to understand. But in 1889, for his contemporaries the same paintings were considered at least bizarre. What artist, at that time, painted the sky in green, yellow and red ? Who would have dared to draw blue shadows on the ground, back then, or to give the olive so manny striking colors instead of the natural green ?
I will not comment, however, here, on the artistic value of his paintings, although this could throw a cone of light on the man Van Gogh, and not even the content of the letters he sent to his brother Theo, a content that can easily be considered quite common here and there, and could even strike a discordant note with the originality of his style. With the exception of a few considerations on art, those letters can only reveal the immense love that Vincent had for his brother, but also the evolution of his transition from monastic life to that of an artist, and the influence of the former on the latter. What struck me the most, though, is the absolute discernment of Van Gogh in the context of the degradation of his mental state. It must be heartbreaking to realize your own decay. Maybe that marked me even more than his suicide. And his last words on his death bed - " The sadness will last forever ".
I will not comment, however, here, on the artistic value of his paintings, although this could throw a cone of light on the man Van Gogh, and not even the content of the letters he sent to his brother Theo, a content that can easily be considered quite common here and there, and could even strike a discordant note with the originality of his style. With the exception of a few considerations on art, those letters can only reveal the immense love that Vincent had for his brother, but also the evolution of his transition from monastic life to that of an artist, and the influence of the former on the latter. What struck me the most, though, is the absolute discernment of Van Gogh in the context of the degradation of his mental state. It must be heartbreaking to realize your own decay. Maybe that marked me even more than his suicide. And his last words on his death bed - " The sadness will last forever ".
October 2, 2012
La sensibilità, non solo artistica; la coscienza dei propri limiti; le difficoltà economiche; le ombre della personalità; un'ingenuità genuina; e una caparbietà rara, da animale da tiro, contro tutto e tutti. Si passeggia con un senso di pudore dietro le quinte del genio, per trovare scintille.
Read
August 11, 2017حسنًا لم تكن هذه الرسائل عادية أبدًا حيث شدّتني بشكلٍ أكبر للبحث حول حياة جوخ النفسية واضطراباته الواضحة لذا رافقت القراءة بفيلم وثائقي وقراءة سريعة مختصرة عن حياته .
---
فانسنت فان كوخ ، رسام هولندي ، أصيب بالزهري وأعطاه الأطباء مدة 7 سنوات للعيش بعد سنوات انخراطه في ارتياد الحانات ومصاحبة من فيها ، هو ابن قسيس معروف وحياتهم كانت جيدة منذ الصغر حيث لم تكن عائلته ضمن عوائل الفلاحين بل كانوا ضمن العوائل التي كان وضعها جيدجدًا، ولد قبله بسنه أخوه فنسنت فان جوخ الذي توفي بعد 6 أشهر وكان فانسنت يرى قبر أخيه دومًا ، لم تكن طفولته عادية حيث كان يبعد عن البيت 10 كم لانسجامه مع الطبيعة ، الأخ المفضل له : ثيو ، الرسمات المشهورة : آكلو البطاطا ،زهور الخشاش.
نهى حياته بطلق ناري على الصدر بعد فترة من اطلاقه النار على أذنه ، وكانت هناك رسالة أخيرة مع رسمة سميّت "جذور الشجرة" وأرسل إلى أخيه ثيو رسالة أخيرة تقول : " أن حياته ضربت في جذورها".
الرسائل هنا يتكلم فيها فنسنت عن شغفه في الرسم ، فشله ، شغفه مرًة أخرى بالرسم ، لوحاته ووصفها لأخيه ثيو ، الكثير من الفن ، الكثير من التفاصيل الفنية الذي لا يستطيع أي إنسان أن يعيّها حيث ذُكر في سيرته الذاتية بأنه " لم يعر اهتمامًأ للمال كان اهتمامه الأوحد " الشغف" ، الذي باعتقاده سيوصله للشهرة ، للفن.
في المصح النفسي استطاع رسم 70 لوحة خلال 75 يومًا فقط ، في الحقيقة لولا الشغف لا نستطيع الإنجاز ، لا نستطيع أن نرى عالمًا لا يراه أحد غيرنا .
يعجبني في كوخ مبدأه الذي عاش عليه دومًأ بأن " المبادئ تحتاج إلى فعلٍ دومًا " وهي مقتبسة من أحد رسائله لثيو
---
سيرته الذاتية غنية ، رافقني فيديو الوثائقي بمعلوماتٍ جميلة وتشبيهاتِ أجمل
يعدّ جوخ من الفنانيين الذين اعتنقوا التجريبي ، ما بعد الإنطباعي والتعبيري أيضَا.
الفن لا يحتاج أكثر من شغف ، نحن أيضًا لا نحتاج أكثر من شغف حتى ننجح في نهاية الأمر ، ربما وصل متأخرًا حيث شهر واكتشف بعد 30 سنة من وفاته لكنه وصل ، وصل لما يريد أن يقال له ، كان يريد لقب " الفنان" بشدة من تلك الرسائل الذي ارسلها لثيو وحصل عليه في النهاية.
---
فانسنت فان كوخ ، رسام هولندي ، أصيب بالزهري وأعطاه الأطباء مدة 7 سنوات للعيش بعد سنوات انخراطه في ارتياد الحانات ومصاحبة من فيها ، هو ابن قسيس معروف وحياتهم كانت جيدة منذ الصغر حيث لم تكن عائلته ضمن عوائل الفلاحين بل كانوا ضمن العوائل التي كان وضعها جيدجدًا، ولد قبله بسنه أخوه فنسنت فان جوخ الذي توفي بعد 6 أشهر وكان فانسنت يرى قبر أخيه دومًا ، لم تكن طفولته عادية حيث كان يبعد عن البيت 10 كم لانسجامه مع الطبيعة ، الأخ المفضل له : ثيو ، الرسمات المشهورة : آكلو البطاطا ،زهور الخشاش.
نهى حياته بطلق ناري على الصدر بعد فترة من اطلاقه النار على أذنه ، وكانت هناك رسالة أخيرة مع رسمة سميّت "جذور الشجرة" وأرسل إلى أخيه ثيو رسالة أخيرة تقول : " أن حياته ضربت في جذورها".
الرسائل هنا يتكلم فيها فنسنت عن شغفه في الرسم ، فشله ، شغفه مرًة أخرى بالرسم ، لوحاته ووصفها لأخيه ثيو ، الكثير من الفن ، الكثير من التفاصيل الفنية الذي لا يستطيع أي إنسان أن يعيّها حيث ذُكر في سيرته الذاتية بأنه " لم يعر اهتمامًأ للمال كان اهتمامه الأوحد " الشغف" ، الذي باعتقاده سيوصله للشهرة ، للفن.
في المصح النفسي استطاع رسم 70 لوحة خلال 75 يومًا فقط ، في الحقيقة لولا الشغف لا نستطيع الإنجاز ، لا نستطيع أن نرى عالمًا لا يراه أحد غيرنا .
يعجبني في كوخ مبدأه الذي عاش عليه دومًأ بأن " المبادئ تحتاج إلى فعلٍ دومًا " وهي مقتبسة من أحد رسائله لثيو
---
سيرته الذاتية غنية ، رافقني فيديو الوثائقي بمعلوماتٍ جميلة وتشبيهاتِ أجمل
يعدّ جوخ من الفنانيين الذين اعتنقوا التجريبي ، ما بعد الإنطباعي والتعبيري أيضَا.
الفن لا يحتاج أكثر من شغف ، نحن أيضًا لا نحتاج أكثر من شغف حتى ننجح في نهاية الأمر ، ربما وصل متأخرًا حيث شهر واكتشف بعد 30 سنة من وفاته لكنه وصل ، وصل لما يريد أن يقال له ، كان يريد لقب " الفنان" بشدة من تلك الرسائل الذي ارسلها لثيو وحصل عليه في النهاية.
December 18, 2022
LEEROS ESTO POR FAVOR (las cartas digo)
Me ha gustado mucho conocer un poquito la personalidad de van gogh. He disfrutado muchísimo leer sus cartas y sus pensamientos, que no dejan de ser personales. A veces a la gente se le olvida que detrás de un gran don puede haber también una persona atormentada y que, como todos los demás, tiene sus problemas, tanto personales como psicológicos.
Para mí van gogh siempre ha sido un artista que ha estado ahí, pero que nunca me había llamado especialmente la atención. Gracias a sus cartas he podido ver el mundo del arte como él lo hacía y no puedo decir otra cosa que no sea que me ha enamorado, fascinado y impactado. Ha sido increíble ir viendo su progreso y como, poco a poco, se iba dando cuenta de a dónde se encaminaba su pintura y de cómo estaba creando un nuevo estilo.
En el arte no solo se sigue y se admira al artista por su obra, sino por el conjunto de la persona y su unión con el arte, que es eso, una perspectiva del mundo directa del artista. Lo que más me ha fascinado la manera que tenía de ver el mundo y como sobrellevaba el estrés como artista. Ha sido como crecer artísticamente con él, muy bonito.
Volveré a leer sus cartas, y seguramente volverá a fascinarme. De verdad, os guste el arte o no, dadle una oportunidad a este hombre pq se merece mucho más de lo que recibió. No os va a decepcionar y vais a ser capaz de entender más sus obras y su manera de hacer las cosas.
18/12/22
Quiero mucho a este hombre, de verdad que nunca había sentido una conexión así con un pintor y sus pinturas, este hombre se merecía muchísimo más de lo que recibió y es una pena que no pueda ver lo que la gente llega a valorarle hoy en día, le haría muy feliz.
Me ha gustado mucho conocer un poquito la personalidad de van gogh. He disfrutado muchísimo leer sus cartas y sus pensamientos, que no dejan de ser personales. A veces a la gente se le olvida que detrás de un gran don puede haber también una persona atormentada y que, como todos los demás, tiene sus problemas, tanto personales como psicológicos.
Para mí van gogh siempre ha sido un artista que ha estado ahí, pero que nunca me había llamado especialmente la atención. Gracias a sus cartas he podido ver el mundo del arte como él lo hacía y no puedo decir otra cosa que no sea que me ha enamorado, fascinado y impactado. Ha sido increíble ir viendo su progreso y como, poco a poco, se iba dando cuenta de a dónde se encaminaba su pintura y de cómo estaba creando un nuevo estilo.
En el arte no solo se sigue y se admira al artista por su obra, sino por el conjunto de la persona y su unión con el arte, que es eso, una perspectiva del mundo directa del artista. Lo que más me ha fascinado la manera que tenía de ver el mundo y como sobrellevaba el estrés como artista. Ha sido como crecer artísticamente con él, muy bonito.
Volveré a leer sus cartas, y seguramente volverá a fascinarme. De verdad, os guste el arte o no, dadle una oportunidad a este hombre pq se merece mucho más de lo que recibió. No os va a decepcionar y vais a ser capaz de entender más sus obras y su manera de hacer las cosas.
18/12/22
Quiero mucho a este hombre, de verdad que nunca había sentido una conexión así con un pintor y sus pinturas, este hombre se merecía muchísimo más de lo que recibió y es una pena que no pueda ver lo que la gente llega a valorarle hoy en día, le haría muy feliz.
Read
July 30, 2017İntiharından sonra cebinde bulunan mektubu da okuyup boğazım düğümlenerek kapattım kitabı.
"Yıldızlara baktığımda düşlere dalıyorum, tıpkı bir haritada kentleri ve köyleri gösteren siyah noktalara bakarken düşlere daldığım gibi. Neden, diye soruyorum kendime, gökte pırıl pırıl parlayan noktalar da Fransa haritasındaki kara noktalar kadar ulaşılabilir olmasın? Bizi Tarascon ya da Rouen'a nasıl bir tren götürüyorsa, yıldızlara da ölüm götürür. Yaşadığımız sürece yıldızlara varamayız, nasıl ki öldükten sonra trene binemeyiz, öyle."
Umarım düşlediğin yıldızlara varabilmişsindir sevgili Vincent. Ellerini sıkı sıkı sıkarım ve sana inanıyorum.
"Yıldızlara baktığımda düşlere dalıyorum, tıpkı bir haritada kentleri ve köyleri gösteren siyah noktalara bakarken düşlere daldığım gibi. Neden, diye soruyorum kendime, gökte pırıl pırıl parlayan noktalar da Fransa haritasındaki kara noktalar kadar ulaşılabilir olmasın? Bizi Tarascon ya da Rouen'a nasıl bir tren götürüyorsa, yıldızlara da ölüm götürür. Yaşadığımız sürece yıldızlara varamayız, nasıl ki öldükten sonra trene binemeyiz, öyle."
Umarım düşlediğin yıldızlara varabilmişsindir sevgili Vincent. Ellerini sıkı sıkı sıkarım ve sana inanıyorum.
February 3, 2018
Resim ve ressamlar hakkında bilgi birikimi olan veya ilgili olanların çok rahat okuyup keyif alacakları bir kitap. Benim için öyle olmadı:) kitaptaki mektuplardaki abi kardeş diyaloglarını çok beğendim, dili çok akıcı ancak bazı sayfalarda o kadar ressam ve resim ağırlıklı bölümler vardı ki isim isim isim sürekli bakmak gerekti. Madem resimle ilgin yok neden okudun derseniz merak ettim, okudum, pişman değilim 136 sayfanın 95inden gayet keyif aldım :)
January 21, 2019
Grazie Vincent adorato.
Grazie Theo.
"Vorrei fare il ritratto di un amico artista, che sogna i grandi sogni, che lavora come l'usignolo canta, perché è questa la sua natura. Quest'uomo dovrebbe essere biondo. E vorrei mettere nel quadro la stima e l'amore che ho per lui."
Grazie Theo.
"Vorrei fare il ritratto di un amico artista, che sogna i grandi sogni, che lavora come l'usignolo canta, perché è questa la sua natura. Quest'uomo dovrebbe essere biondo. E vorrei mettere nel quadro la stima e l'amore che ho per lui."
July 3, 2018
Caro Vincent,
in una delle lettere che scrivevi, con tanto trasporto, a tuo fratello Theo ti auspicavi ciò:
A distanza di 128 anni posso affermare con assoluta certezza che sì, ci sei riuscito.
Questo compendio di epistole mi ha dato modo di scoprire il lato umano di un grande artista, che ho da sempre idealizzato e stimato per l'impatto dei suoi dipinti, emblema dell'arte figurativa impressionista.
in una delle lettere che scrivevi, con tanto trasporto, a tuo fratello Theo ti auspicavi ciò:
Voglio fare dei disegni che vadano al cuore della gente. […] voglio fare tali progressi che la gente possa dire delle mie opere: «Sente profondamente, sente con tenerezza» – malgrado la mia cosiddetta rozzezza e forse perfino a causa di essa.
A distanza di 128 anni posso affermare con assoluta certezza che sì, ci sei riuscito.
Questo compendio di epistole mi ha dato modo di scoprire il lato umano di un grande artista, che ho da sempre idealizzato e stimato per l'impatto dei suoi dipinti, emblema dell'arte figurativa impressionista.
November 1, 2024
Ho impiegato una vita a leggerlo perché non si tratta di un romanzo, ma dello scambio di corrispondenza fra Vincent Van Gogh e il suo adorato fratello, Theo. Desideravo da tanto tempo saperne di più della sfortunata vita di uno dei miei pittori preferiti e questo libro è servito al suo scopo. Lascia davvero un po’ l’amaro il bocca sapere che sia in morto in una clinica
Psichiatrica da solo, ancora povero e con la convinzione che i suoi quadri non avessero alcun valore. Dalle lettere mandate al fratello ne esce il ritratto di una persona molto fragile, sola e sensibile, che si adoperava x gli altri e che amava molto la lettura. Che bello sarebbe se potesse vedere come sono amati oggi i suoi quadri che, all’epoca, nessuno voleva e che oggi invece valgono milioni !!
Psichiatrica da solo, ancora povero e con la convinzione che i suoi quadri non avessero alcun valore. Dalle lettere mandate al fratello ne esce il ritratto di una persona molto fragile, sola e sensibile, che si adoperava x gli altri e che amava molto la lettura. Che bello sarebbe se potesse vedere come sono amati oggi i suoi quadri che, all’epoca, nessuno voleva e che oggi invece valgono milioni !!
February 15, 2016
This is one of my Top Five All Time Favorites, in a permanent position. Vincent's letters reveal his tormented yet beautiful soul. If you love, admire, or just appreciate his art, you will learn to love, admire, and appreciate him as a writer, a Christian, and brother. This is one of the "old friends" I like to re-visit.
November 2, 2025
Neden resimleriyle ve yaşamıyla beni bu kadar kendisine çekiyor bilmiyorum. Hikayesinin başlangıcindaki dini tutum ve görüşleriyle hayatinin sonu arasinda cok ciddi bir ucurum var. Çok ilginc bir karakter. Yasamının gündelik detaylarina erisemiyoruz bu mektuplarda. Sadece kendini nasil yansitmak isterse onu goruyoruz.
December 11, 2019
In these excerpts of letters to his brother, Van Gogh’s words are powerful and insightful, making this one of the best books of letters I’ve read with thoughts on art, faith, and life as well as on Van Gogh’s own work and experience. One could quote a passage from almost every page. Reading Van Gogh's words about his mental illness toward the end of his life was especially painful. He struggled so long to find his way in life and came to Arles with such bright hopes for his own work and for others, only to become chronically ill.
This is the kind of unscholarly collection of letters that would usually drive me crazy: most of the letters are not specifically dated; the text of numerous letters is run together; omissions are not indicated; and, there is no key identifying many of the people referred to. However, when this book was originally published in 1937, there was no reasonably priced edition of Van Gogh’s letters available, and the author’s intention was to fit in as many of Vincent Van Gogh’s words as possible, so adding lines for dates, spaces between each letter, etc. would have reduced the space available for the letters themselves.
I recommend reading this book with some supplemental information to fill in the blanks; the short, well illustrated biography “Van Gogh: The Passionate Eye” by Pascal Bonafoux worked well to provide background.
“What you wrote to me about the painter Serret greatly interests me. Such a man, who finally produced something with pathos, as the blossom of a hard and difficult life, is a wonder, like the black hawthorn, or, better still, the crooked old apple trunk that at a certain moment bears blossoms which are among the most delicate and most virginal things under the sun.
‘When a rough man bears blossoms like a flowering plant’— yes, that is beautiful to see, but before that time he has had to stand a great deal of winter cold, more than those who afterwards sympathize with him can know. The artist’s life, and what an artist is, that is very curious. How deep it is —how infinitely deep.” 1883
“Have patience with me, brother, and do not suspect me of ill-will. You will point out to me that I myself know full well that in many respects I am very difficult to deal with. Yes, that is true, and I too have to reckon with this. There is, however, an excuse for me; that is the passion and the frequent absorbedness which everyone who paints, writes, or composes must needs have.” 1883
This is the kind of unscholarly collection of letters that would usually drive me crazy: most of the letters are not specifically dated; the text of numerous letters is run together; omissions are not indicated; and, there is no key identifying many of the people referred to. However, when this book was originally published in 1937, there was no reasonably priced edition of Van Gogh’s letters available, and the author’s intention was to fit in as many of Vincent Van Gogh’s words as possible, so adding lines for dates, spaces between each letter, etc. would have reduced the space available for the letters themselves.
I recommend reading this book with some supplemental information to fill in the blanks; the short, well illustrated biography “Van Gogh: The Passionate Eye” by Pascal Bonafoux worked well to provide background.
“What you wrote to me about the painter Serret greatly interests me. Such a man, who finally produced something with pathos, as the blossom of a hard and difficult life, is a wonder, like the black hawthorn, or, better still, the crooked old apple trunk that at a certain moment bears blossoms which are among the most delicate and most virginal things under the sun.
‘When a rough man bears blossoms like a flowering plant’— yes, that is beautiful to see, but before that time he has had to stand a great deal of winter cold, more than those who afterwards sympathize with him can know. The artist’s life, and what an artist is, that is very curious. How deep it is —how infinitely deep.” 1883
“Have patience with me, brother, and do not suspect me of ill-will. You will point out to me that I myself know full well that in many respects I am very difficult to deal with. Yes, that is true, and I too have to reckon with this. There is, however, an excuse for me; that is the passion and the frequent absorbedness which everyone who paints, writes, or composes must needs have.” 1883
June 23, 2016
¿Por que se disparó en el pecho? ¿Por que nadie intentó salvarlo? ¿Por que la gente lo llamaba loco? ¿Por que la gente de hoy en día sigue nombrandolo como 'el pintor loco' sin haber leído sus maravillosas cartas o haber investigado siquiera su vida?
Son muchas preguntas las que quedan sin contestar después de terminar las cartas de Vincent, respuestas que nunca sabremos. Después de leer esta maravillosa recopilación de cartas me siento mucho más apasionada por aprender, siento la necesidad de pintar todo aquello que este en mi mano (también soy artista), veo el mundo con otros ojos gracias a Van Gogh.
El hombre se definió a si mismo 'con una hoguera en el pecho a la que nunca nadie se hacerca a calentarse'.
Un hombre que inteligente, bondadoso y aficionado a la lectura, sus cartas nada aparentan signos de locura, están perfectamente redactadas y estructuradas, entonces ¿estaba realmente loco? Nunca lo sabremos.
Antes de juzgar a un pintor o a cualquier otra persona invetigat sobre su vida, sus obras, su camino en la vida... Algunas veces esta bien leer otros géneros, y yo agradezco al más allá por haber encontrado esta maravilla.
Sin duda seguiré investigando sobre la vida de este pobre pintor.
PD: AVISO!! Si alguien lee el libro queda avisado del riesgo de un llanto profundo y muy feo.
Son muchas preguntas las que quedan sin contestar después de terminar las cartas de Vincent, respuestas que nunca sabremos. Después de leer esta maravillosa recopilación de cartas me siento mucho más apasionada por aprender, siento la necesidad de pintar todo aquello que este en mi mano (también soy artista), veo el mundo con otros ojos gracias a Van Gogh.
El hombre se definió a si mismo 'con una hoguera en el pecho a la que nunca nadie se hacerca a calentarse'.
Un hombre que inteligente, bondadoso y aficionado a la lectura, sus cartas nada aparentan signos de locura, están perfectamente redactadas y estructuradas, entonces ¿estaba realmente loco? Nunca lo sabremos.
Antes de juzgar a un pintor o a cualquier otra persona invetigat sobre su vida, sus obras, su camino en la vida... Algunas veces esta bien leer otros géneros, y yo agradezco al más allá por haber encontrado esta maravilla.
Sin duda seguiré investigando sobre la vida de este pobre pintor.
PD: AVISO!! Si alguien lee el libro queda avisado del riesgo de un llanto profundo y muy feo.
February 4, 2016
This was an emotional journey inside the mind and soul of one of the artists -if not the artist- that, in my opinion, better expressed the whole world through their pantings. Not to mention that he is my favorite painter of all time.
I had always felt a strong connection with him toward his works, and now, while reading, I felt it again and even more. His letters to his beloved brother, trough the ups and downs of their relationship and of Vincent's life, show a sensitive, insecure man, aware of the impossibilities to make art for art's sake. The way he described his theories about art and color really made me shiver for the passion he reveled. The final descent into madness (if we want to use a simpler but inaccurate term) was the only outcome possible.
One of the way I will always remember V. van Gogh is with the words of Pissarro about him: "I thought when I first met Van Gogh, that he would either go mad, or surpass us all. Little did I know he would do both.".
I had always felt a strong connection with him toward his works, and now, while reading, I felt it again and even more. His letters to his beloved brother, trough the ups and downs of their relationship and of Vincent's life, show a sensitive, insecure man, aware of the impossibilities to make art for art's sake. The way he described his theories about art and color really made me shiver for the passion he reveled. The final descent into madness (if we want to use a simpler but inaccurate term) was the only outcome possible.
One of the way I will always remember V. van Gogh is with the words of Pissarro about him: "I thought when I first met Van Gogh, that he would either go mad, or surpass us all. Little did I know he would do both.".
Displaying 1 - 30 of 795 reviews