...madman hangs in homes
they wouldn't let him near...
Joni Mitchell
When I was young I overheard some adults talking about van Gogh. I knew him only from a very poor print my mother had purchased from a grocery store. It was one of his many sunflowers studies, and it was signed "vincent", right on the vase. I liked it as soon as I saw it. I liked the feeling I had - even though I didn't understand why I had that feeling - when I looked at it. I even liked the way he signed it. I used to just stare at it; experiencing it. I remember studying the flowers closely; wishing I could see the original, just to discover if the texture of the paint was as thick, rough, and wonderful as I imagined it to be.
But the adults in my life said he was crazy. "You can see it in his work. Wild and unreal," they said. From their tone I could infer that this was not a good thing; that it made him - and therefore his work - somehow dangerous, not to be trusted. Because they were adults I believed them and I carried this belief with me for a very long time. I didn't give any value to how his art made me feel, and didn't search out more of his paintings.
Then, one day, when I was at university, I came to realise that, despite my learned misgivings, I couldn't ignore how I felt about his art. I reconnected with my emotional response to his colours, his brushstrokes, his subject matter, his incredible passion. I realised that questions about his sanity were irrelevant. Even if he was, by someone's standards, crazy, the more important fact was that his art simply moved me; struck a chord in me; aroused feelings; inspired me. He is now one of my favourite painters but I'm sad that he was shut out of my life for so long.
And I think now about all the decisions I have made based upon a belief system that was not genuinely mine. I think about the opportunities I have passed up, the people I have excluded from my life - especially those who I truly love - because I accepted other views, other truths than mine. It's so important, I think, to try to achieve one's own understanding of the world. It's so important to find a way to embrace, to understand that which we love, those who we love, rather than reject them, exclude them without understanding them.
And it all begins, I believe, with an understanding of oneself. As an artist, van Gogh knew this, and expressed his self over and over again with every stroke of his brush. Everything in my past, all the fallacies, all the misconceptions, have influenced how I am today. I can't change what was, but I can do something about the future. After a lifetime of hiding from my self, I'm now engaged in an ongoing effort to rediscover my self; to understand what I truly believe and why I believe; to find a way to reconcile the damage done to me; the damage I have done to others - the inevitable outcome of such ignorance - and move forward with an open mind, an honest heart.
It's difficult. I find myself grappling with so many ancient fears. But I think of Vincent, and it's just a little easier.
But the adults in my life said he was crazy. "You can see it in his work. Wild and unreal," they said. From their tone I could infer that this was not a good thing; that it made him - and therefore his work - somehow dangerous, not to be trusted. Because they were adults I believed them and I carried this belief with me for a very long time. I didn't give any value to how his art made me feel, and didn't search out more of his paintings.
Then, one day, when I was at university, I came to realise that, despite my learned misgivings, I couldn't ignore how I felt about his art. I reconnected with my emotional response to his colours, his brushstrokes, his subject matter, his incredible passion. I realised that questions about his sanity were irrelevant. Even if he was, by someone's standards, crazy, the more important fact was that his art simply moved me; struck a chord in me; aroused feelings; inspired me. He is now one of my favourite painters but I'm sad that he was shut out of my life for so long.
And I think now about all the decisions I have made based upon a belief system that was not genuinely mine. I think about the opportunities I have passed up, the people I have excluded from my life - especially those who I truly love - because I accepted other views, other truths than mine. It's so important, I think, to try to achieve one's own understanding of the world. It's so important to find a way to embrace, to understand that which we love, those who we love, rather than reject them, exclude them without understanding them.
And it all begins, I believe, with an understanding of oneself. As an artist, van Gogh knew this, and expressed his self over and over again with every stroke of his brush. Everything in my past, all the fallacies, all the misconceptions, have influenced how I am today. I can't change what was, but I can do something about the future. After a lifetime of hiding from my self, I'm now engaged in an ongoing effort to rediscover my self; to understand what I truly believe and why I believe; to find a way to reconcile the damage done to me; the damage I have done to others - the inevitable outcome of such ignorance - and move forward with an open mind, an honest heart.
It's difficult. I find myself grappling with so many ancient fears. But I think of Vincent, and it's just a little easier.
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