Back to my Vincent series

To look at my current drawings, click here: http://www.stushieart.wordpress.com

5 (Anzi, 6) grandiose opera d’arte scoperte in luoghi insospettabili, classificate per voi dagli esperti d’arte di Alt(R)a Fedeltà.

5. Buchi

1) Il 21 Febbraio del 1978, gli operai della società elettrica di Città del Messico stavano sistemando I cavi sotto una delle strade più trafficate della città. Durante i lavori di scavo trovarono un enorme blocco di pietra del peso di 20 tonnellate, cos’era? Un enorme bassorilievo Atzeco raffigurante la storia della dea della notte, Coyolxauqui. Sembra che sia stato scolpito nel quindicesimo secolo e sepolto prima della distruzione della civiltà Ateca da parte dei delicatissimi Conquistador Spagnoli, nel 1521. Il sassone fu successivamente spostato di 300 metri dal sito al Museo del Grande Tempio.

2) Nel 1978 più di 500 film originali datati fra il 1903 e il 1929 furono scoperti in un buco sotto la strada di Dawson City, nello Yukon. In circostanza normali il nitrato delle pellicole 35mm si sarebbe deteriorato in modo irrimediabile, ma la temperatura assurdamente rigida dello Yukon li aveva conservati in modo perfetto…

4. Sul Muro di casa

Una coppia di mezza età, residente in un sobborgo di Milwaukee, Wisconsin, chiese ad un amico, esperto d’arte, quasi per scherzo, di valutare un dipinto che stazionava sul muro del salotto dal giorno dell’acquisto della casa. L’uomo si mise all’opera ed ispezionò con cura il quadro, che alla coppia altro non sembrava che una copia maldestra  di un lavoro di Van Gogh. Insomma, venne fuori che il dipinto era un Van Gogh originale del 1886 e il 10 Marzo del 1991, la famosa “Natura Morta con fiori” fu venduta all’asta per  1.4 milioni di dollari.

3. Mascherata da rastrelliera per Biciclette

Per anni I dipendenti della “God’s House Tower Archaeology Museum” di Southampton, Inghilterra, avevano appoggiato le proprie biciclette ad una curiosa roccia posta all’ingresso del museo. Nel 2000, due Egittologi mentre ispezionavano il museo, identificarono nella rastrelliera un statua Egizia del 7o secolo AC raffigurante il Faraone Taharqa, un Re Cuscita della regione oggi conosciuta come Sudan.

Karen Wordley, la curatrice del museo, riferì ai giornalisti: “E’ un mistero come la scultura sia finita all’ingresso”, contribuendo in modo decisivo alla soluzione della vicenda.

2. Ad un mercatino delle pulci

Un analista finanziario di Philadelphia stava curiosando fra I banchetti di un mercatino delle pulci ad Adamstown, Pennsylvania, quando venne attratto da uno strano dipinto su legno, tirò fuori 4 dollari e se lo portò a casa. Lo portò in garage e con cura rimosse la tela dal supporto di legno, scoprendo, con sua somma sorpresa, un documento nascosto nell’intercapedine. Lo portò ad analizzare e venne fuori che si trattava di una copia, datata 1776, della Dichiarazione d’indipendenza, una delle 24 copie originali scoperte ad oggi.  Giusto per la cronaca, il 13 Giugno 1991, fu rivenduta per 2.4 milioni di dollari…

1. In un campo

Nel 1820, un contadino Greco di nome Yorgos (Che in greco sta proprio per “Agricoltore”, ironia della sorte..) stava arando il suo campo sull’isola di Milo, quando intruppò in una serie di strani blocchi di pietra. Scavò a fondo e trovò 4 statue, tre raffiguranti Hermes, e una Afrodite, la dea dell’ammore. Tre settimane più tardi la spedizione archeologica guidata da Choiseul arrivo via nave, si caricò l’Afrodite e la portò in Francia. Luigi XVIII le diede il nome di “Venere di Milo”, presentandola e stabilendone come sede definitiva il museo del Louvre, dove divenne negli anni una delle più famose e conosciute opera d’arte della storia dell’umanità.

I am reluctant to call myself a “Writer”. I feel it’s a bit disingenuous to hang my whole identity on an activity I do less than 5% of the time – if that. I mean, I spend 33.3% of my time sleeping (or trying to sleep) and I don’t go around calling myself a Sleeper or even (more accurately) an Aspiring Sleeper.

Of course, one might argue that so much of what I do with the rest of my time informs my writing and I’m always thinking about it – thinking, thinking, thinking… But then, one might also argue that so much of what I eat informs my bowel output. ‘Nuff said.

My husband – who is currently working on his own Top Secret writing project – and I often accuse each other of writerly behaviour. 

“Oh, you’re such a Writer!” we say to each other.

When my husband complains about something trivial, I toss a casual “Go write me a sob story, Writer Boy!” his way.

And when I say I need to take some time out for my blog, his retort might be something along the lines of: ”Well, you’d better grab your beret and go find yourself a fucking street cafe.”

Of course, the time he said that to me, we were staying in Blinkton at my mother’s house, which is at least 50 km from the nearest street cafe – unless a cup of instant coffee in a polystyrene cup drunk while squatting outside the local truck stop counts. Is that behaviour befitting a Writer? I can’t remember Nicole Kidman doing it during her turn as Virginia Wolf in “The Hours” so I’d say not. (Note to self: must buy prosthetic nose). 

Anyway, it must be said my husband goes a bit strange when we’re in the country, and not just because he often does a lot of goddamn writing there. For one thing, he fancies himself as a bit of a Country Boy and starts offering to write “Spirit Of The Man On The Land” guest posts for my blog.

For another thing, he makes grand statements like “I understand The Land. Unlike you city writers. You’re like Vincent von Gogh staggering drunk around my sunflower plantation. OF COURSE the sunflowers are going to look all squiggly when you’ve drunk that much absynthe.”

And I’d say he has a good point if he wasn’t being such a goddamn writer about it. 

Anyway, if you’re wondering what has sparked all this writer talk, I’ll give you the lowdown.  I just got one step closer to being able (but perhaps not yet willing) to legitimately call myself a Writer. As of yesterday, I became a guest blogger on kidspot.com.au . There’s a retro-NDM piece up there now but there may be some freshly-baked posts up there one day soon. 

Oooh, look at me! I’m a guest blogger on a major Australian parenting site! La-di-dah!

(What a Writer.)

okay, I wanna talk about bipolar disorder this time..

first, here’s some people that have bipolar disorder..

1. Sir Isaac Newton (1642 – 1727)

Tau, kan? yang terkenal dengan teori gravitasinya ituu..Dengan begitu banyaknya kontribusi di bidang fisika dan mekanika, Sir Isaac Newton terkenal sebagai pemikir ulung. Memang, dari berbagai jajak pendapat mengenai kedua (dan Einstein),  ditunjukkan bahwa publik sepakat kalau Newton bahkan melebihi Einstein dalam hal pengaruh [sumber: The Royal Society]

Menurut ensiklopedia Britannica Newton mengalami psychotic tendencies dan mood swings. Selain itu, berbagai surat yang dibuatnya menyimpulkan bahwa secara teoritis ia menderita skizofrenia [sumber: Glover]. Ayah Newton meninggal sebelum ia lahir, dan ia dipisahkan dari ibunya antara usia dua dan 11.Gangguan mental yang dialaminya mungkin akibat dari trauma yang berkepanjangan akibat masa kecilnya [sumber: Encyclopedia Britannica].

2. Ludwig van Beethoven (1770 – 1827)

Kontribusi Beethoven di dunia musik sangat monumental. Kegairahannya dan musikalitasnya yang begitu intensif dan cemerlang membawa musik instrumental ke jenjang yang baru. Namun, sang komposer memiliki kehidupan yang sukar. Ayahnya seorang pemabuk berat dan besar dalam keluarga yang tidak harmonis sampai umur 18 tahun. Satu masalah tragis yang dihadapinya adalah bahwa ia harus mulai kehilangan pendengarannya sejak berumur sekitar 30 sampai 49 tahun, yang sepertinya dampak dari pemukulan yang dilakukan ayahnya. Hebatnya, ia justru sanggup menggubah karya2 masterpeace-nya saat ia benar-benar tuli.

Beethoven beberapa kali menuliskan sejumlah surat kepada saudaranya, banyak dari tulisan itu menceritakan keinginannya untuk bunuh diri.

Francois Martin Mai berpendapat bahwa sang maestro terindikasi mengidap bipolar depression, hal itu dituliskannya dalam buku “Diagnosing Genious”. Mai juga menduga kuat bahwa Beethoven banyak menghabiskan masa hidupnya mengidap bipolar disorder.

3. Vincent van Gogh (1853 – 1890)

Lukisan-lukisan Vincent van Gogh , seperti “Starry Night” dengan cepat dikenali dari keunikan dan ekspresi sapuan kuas. Namun, itu tidak membuat van Gogh mendapatkan popularitas sampai pada kematiannya. Tetapi sekarang ia dianggap salah satu yang terbesar dalam sejarah pelukis.

Kehidupan Van Gogh sangatlah tersiksa. Hampir semua orang mengenalnya sebagai seorang pelukis yang memotong sebagian telinganya sendiri. Dia diduga kuat pernah “mabuk” terpentin dan pernah mencoba makan cat [sumber: Mancoff]. Tragisnya, ia bunuh diri pada tahun 1890. Penulis D. Jablow Hershman dan Dr Julian Lieb mengatakan dalam buku mereka “Manic Depresi dan Kreativitas” bahwa van Gogh telah mengalami bipolar disorder. Dalam bukunya “Touched with Fire” Dr Kay Redfield Jamison menemukan kesimpulan yang sama. Dia juga membahas seni van Gogh dalam hubungan dengan penyakit mental. Misalnya, ia mencatat bahwa pola musiman yang khas dari suasana hati dan psikosis sejajar dengan produktivitas van Gogh, yang juga bervariasi oleh musim. Sedangkan yang lain mengira ia menderita skizofrenia [sumber: Delisi].

Benernya msih ada lagi, John Nash, Edgar Allan Poe, Florence Nightingale, smpe Russel Brand (yang nge-host VMA’09 kmren),dll..tpi krna cuma bt contoh, jdi cm msukin 3 aja…

data & piccu mad-genius-ppl credit to kaskus

Oke, bt yang ga tau apa itu Skizofrenia, silahkan cari ke mbah google atau wikipedia, soalnya yang mau aku omongin di sini adalah bipolar disorder nya..

Bipolar disorder itu gangguan alam perasaan yang ditandai dengan perubahan mood secara ekstrem dan mendadak yang mana bila berjalan kronis akan berkembang menjadi psikosis. Sesuai namanya maka bipolar berarti berkutub dua yang saling berlawanan, artinya antara “Manik” (Maniak, gembira berlebih, meluap-luap~euphoria), dan “Depresi” (sedih mendalam dan berlarut-larut). Semua ini berkembang dan berubah begitu cepatnya dapat dalam sekejap saja.

Penyakit ini dibagi menjadi dua tipe, yaitu tipe I (terdapat episode Manik dan Depresi) atau tipe II (Depresi saja, tidak pernah ada episode Manik).

Tanda manik dapat berupa hiperaktifitas motorik berupa kerja yang tak kenal lelah melebihi batas wajar dan cenderung non-produktif, euphoria hingga logorrhea (banyak berbicara, dari yang isi bicara wajar hingga menceracau dengan ‘word salad’), dan biasanya disertai dengan waham kebesaran (keyakinan diri yang hebat kadang tak masuk akal, seperti menjadi orang terkaya sedunia, raja, presiden, dll), waham kebesaran ini bisa sistematik dalam artian berperilaku sesuai wahamnya, atau tidak sistematik, berperilaku tidak sesuai dengan wahamnya.

Waham adalah keyakinan patologis yang tidak bisa dikoreksi, terlepas dari nilai agama, adat istiadat, dan sosiobudaya.

Sedangkan pada episode Depresi ya didapatkan rasa sedih yang mendalam dan berlarut, dapat disertai waham nihilistik dan negativisme yang berlebih.

Kedua episode sama berbahayanya, episode Manik akan menganggu orang sekitarnya, sedangkan episode Deprei dapat mengarah pada tindakan bunuh diri.

 

Nah, pada intinya gangguan Jiwa dapat diredakan tetapi dapat berulang kembali.

Kalo sedang dalam keadaan depresi berat dimana dia dapat membahayakan dirinya sendiri, ato kalo lagi manik hingga meganggu aktivitas orang lain..

Nah, menurut Dr. Kay Redfield Jamison (dia jga seorang bipolar disorder), orang yang memiliki kreatifitas tinggi dan jenius cenderung mengidap penyakit bipolar disorder, jadi kekreatifitasan mereka dan ide-ide cemerlang mereka yang orang awam tak bisa memikirkan sampai sana cenderung didasarkan pada ‘kegilaan’ mereka dan imajinasi-imajinasi mereka yang terkadang tidak masuk akal.

Or you can say, orang yang yang mengidap bipolar disorder umumnya orang jenius dan berkratifitas tinggi….

Jadi, bagi yang merasa dirinya jenius, jangan2 kmu kena bipolar disorder..XD

..*~Me~*..

Hhhmm..aku termasuk orang yang moodny kyak roller coaster, jadi sebentar senang bkan main, lalu tiba-tiba karena suatu hal *yang t’kadang nggk jelas apaan* bsa jd down bget..

Klo msalah smpe mw bunuh diri sih nggk pernah, tp pernah dlu krena sedih bnget pingin rasanya ‘mati’..Heuhh,, mulai melankolis ni..wkwkkwk..XD..

Intinya, kalo lg sneeng, aku ya seneng bget, bsa d blang euphoria jga, bsa senyum trz spanjang hari dan ngomongin hal yang mbuat aku seneng itu truzz, tp kalo lg sedih ato sebel, ya sebel dan sedih banget beneran, pernah sampe nangis semalaman gra2 apaaaa gitu,,lupa..hhe..Bner2 moody bget lah,,,

Stelah bca topic ttg Bipolar Disorder ini di forum, aku jadi mikir, jngan-jangan aku ini kena bipolar disorder… *=.=”*, hhe..tpi wajar dong aku mikir gtuu, soalny aku memang gk jelas bget moodnya, dan dlam satu hr2 bsa gnti2 truz.. *tanyalah pd org yg tinggal srumah dganq..XD*,,misalnya, lg ngomong2, tiba2 rasanya bisa marah bget *sweat*, trz tba2 sedih sndri..gak cetho bget too..ckckck..it’s weird, i know..

Brarti kalo aku t bipolar disorder, aku t orang jenius plus kreatif ya..kan pada umumnya orang bipolar disorder t orang jenius dan kreatiff..XD..OOT here..*kidding* *mulai gak nyambung*

Ah, ya sudahlah..intinya bgituu…

Jgn tanya kenapa aku ngepost kyk bginian, aku jg ga tau soalnya…tiba2 rasanya pingin ngepost aja, soalnya bipolar disorder t kyknya menarikk..hhe.. q d dpan laptop seharian nge-search ttg ini lhoo..wkwkwk..selera saia memang anehh..XD XD

Note: not all things in this post are accurate.some of ‘em are just my opinion and my thought.. I’m sorry my blog doesn’t have accuracy count..XD XD..Intinya, belom tentu smua yang ad d atas bnar adanya.. beberpa cm pemikiran *welehh..=.=”* dan hasil imajinasiku sndiri yang gk cetho..wkwkwk..

As a visual artist, BBC 2’s ‘School of Saatchi’ is one of the most depressing representations of the art world I have ever seen televised. These chosen 6 are being exploited. And they love it. Once their work has been exhibited in The Heritage, St. Petersburg, the chances are Saatchi will invest in it and never again will these artists have to worry about income, or getting their work shown (in other words, they will never have to work hard again), as the Saatchi machine will advertise and promote them with the same skill and success it did in the 80s with Silk Cut cigarettes and the Conservative Party .

Yes, Saatchi can make an artists’ career in a second but he can break it just as quickly and with the same ease. In ‘Supercollector’ an account is given of Sandro Chia, an artist whom Saatchi ‘bought up’, but quickly threw out of his collection (or ‘ISA’) ‘for works by other artists more strongly represented in the collection’ [and] hence they had not been sold on the open market ‘for the best possible profit’. They weren’t making money. Something else would. As painter Sean Scully remarked on his similar experience with Saatchi, ‘We are just pawns.’

Now some points about the show itself:

1) On several occasions, the panel, with the exception of Frank Cohen, displayed their shock and incomprehension of the idea that one could make art without having been to art school. Attendance at art school has never, ever been a necessary prerequisite to being an artist or producing artwork. Francis Bacon, Jeremy Deller, Billy Childish, Vincent Van Gogh, amongst many others, none of these now celebrated artists attended art school.

2) Let us remember that Charles Saatchi has no art background of his own, other than as a ruthless profiteer through the collecting of artworks. He is an advertising agent. All the artists selected on the programme are easily sellable, as they are easy on the eye and can be ‘consumed’ within a couple of seconds by the viewer. Note, as Kate Bush pointed out during the show, that Saatchi rarely, if ever buys, video, film, photography, performance. Because it does not provide a high enough, if any, profit margin.

3) Matt Collings on about Tracey Emin’s bed: Mr. Collings suggested that Emin’s ’seminal’ work captured the essence of contemporary art, and part of that essence was that the public found it difficult to understand. 99% of contemporary art is shallow and superficial. There is rarely any content or meaning lying beneath the tenuous surface. There is, therefore NOTHING TO UNDERSTAND. The only difficulty most people have with the dross that is termed ‘contemporary art’ is the fact that it sells for so much money.

What saddens me most about the programme and its very concept is that is gives the very strong impression that the ultimate goal and aspirations of all visual artists, in this country at least, is to be bought by Charles Saatchi. I would rather starve to death than have anything to do with that evil, duplicitous, greedy vulture. But there’s no chance of that happening. He wouldn’t touch me with a well-rendered bargepole.

Did you know Vincent van Gogh was as expressive and perceptive a writer as he was a painter? 

Try this:

What is drawing? How does one learn it?  It is working through an invisible iron wall that seems to stand between what one feels and what one can do.  How is one to get through that wall – since pounding at it is of no use?  In my opinion one has to undermine that wall, filing through it steadily and patiently.*

As American Artist: Drawing magazine said, “Perhaps only Van Gogh … could make learning to draw sound as subversive as a jailbreak.”

*****

The quote is from Vincent’s letter to his brother, Theo, written on a Sunday afternoon in October 1882.

This letter, and over 900 others, have just been freshly translated and published in the six-volume, Vincent van Gogh: The Letters, edited by Leo Jansen, Hans Luijten and Nienke Bakker.  Many of them appear on the magnificent website devoted to the publication: http://vangoghletters.org/vg/

The Sunday afternoon letter is a beauty among beauties.  Full of tenderness for Theo, extreme visual acuity and lively and thoughtful analysis of contemporary culture.  Here are some quotes:

I can agree entirely with what you say about times one occasionally has when one seems to be deadened to the things of nature, or when nature no longer seems to speak to us.

And similarly the figures of either the English draughtsmen or the English writers, on account of their Monday morning-like sobriety and deliberate austerity and prose and analysis, continue to attract me as something solid and firm which gives one something to hold onto on days when one is feeling weak.

At the moment a wonderful effect can be seen from the window of my studio. The city with its towers and roofs and smoking chimneys stands out as a dark, sombre silhouette against a horizon of light. The light, though, is only a broad strip; above it hangs a heavy shower, more concentrated below, above torn by the autumn wind into great tufts and clumps that float off.

It’s the same with them as with the question of the chicken and the egg: should one make figures for a composition one has done first, or combine the figures made separately so that the composition flows from them? I believe it comes down to the same thing. Just as long as one works.

Adieu, old chap, thanks for what you sent, and a hearty handshake.

Ever yours,
Vincent

As the poet W.H. Auden wrote: “.. there is scarcely one letter by van Gogh which I, who am certainly no expert, do not find fascinating.”

*****

Read the full letter with annotations and facsimiles at: http://vangoghletters.org/vg/letters/let274/letter.html

* The quotation is from the previous English translation of van Gogh’s letters and was featured in the magazine, American Artist: Drawing, Fall 2005, 24.

Image: Vincent van Gogh, Rooftops, View from the atelier (1882), watercolour

Vincent Van Gogh 1886

Aftenposten gjorde meg oppmerksom på denne saken om Renathe-Johanne Wågenes og hennes prosjekt om gravminner. I 2004 fikk hun ideen om å samle alle gravminner i Norge med bilder i en egen database. Hittil har hun savnet navn og nummer på gravplassene til ca. 2 millioner døde, og det er foretatt 25 millioner søk i databasen.
- Folk blir rørt og glad når de finner gravminner de leter etter. Blant annet var det noen som hadde lett etter en person i 14 år. De visste ikke hvor vedkommende var blitt av, men da de søkte i vår database, fikk de svaret, sier hun. Målet er å samle en komplett oversikt over alle gravminner i hele landet.
- Vi har fått tilbakemeldinger fra folk som bor langt unna gravstedet til sine kjære. De setter pris på arbeidet vårt, og ser nettstedet som en måte å besøke graven på, forteller Wågenes.
- Det er mange som ønsker å bidra med registreringen. Vi får hjelp av frivillige over hele landet. Alt er basert på dugnadsarbeid, det er ingen som tjener penger på dette, sier hun.

Det er kanskje også mange som ikke vet hvor deres familie/venner er begravd. Nå har de i alle fall muligheten til å søke de opp i databasen, selv om det jo kan innvendes at det er i seneste laget å gå og besøke folk når de allerede ligger markspiste under torva…

De dødes database:
http://www.disnorge.no/gravminner/index.php

Artikkelen i Aftenposten:
http://www.aftenposten.no/nyheter/iriks/article3384305.ece

At the end of a long week, it’s time to relax and link:

• The National Archives is taking a new approach to finding out what was discussed in the 18 minutes erased on the Watergate tapes.  Arlo Guthrie is pretty sure that Nixon and Co. were listening to “Alice’s Restaurant.”  Keep your fingers crossed that Haldeman’s notes bear that out.
• Voters have chosen Flannery O’Connor’s Complete Stories as the best book to have won the National Book Award over the past sixty years.  It’s odd that four of the six contenders were short story collections.  I tend to prefer novels to short stories anyway, but that ratio seems off.
• All of Vincent Van Gogh’s letters have been digitized, transcribed, translated, and annotated and are available here.  Do yourself a favor, and waste some time.
• In the Guardian, Stuart Walton calls for a return to the traditional bookshop.
• If your name is George Evans Patten and you want to prove you met Abe Lincoln, this is your chance.
• And, if you’re only going to watch one internet video about Dock Ellis’s LSD fueled no hitter, it should be this one.

A una hora y media de París se encuentra la última casa de Vincent Van Gogh, en Auver-sur-Oise. Allí vivió hasta su muerte, encima de un restaurant, en un  cuartucho con poquísimo mobiliario, el estrictamente necesario, y una ventana por donde entraba la única luz natural que poseía. Se levantaba a las 5 de la madrugada y se iba a pintar a los campos de trigo, hasta las 9 de la noche. Hasta que allí mismo, el 27 de julio de 1890, se metió una bala en el pecho, regresó sangrando a su cuarto de la Auberge Ravoux, donde lo atendió el doctor Paul Ferdinand Gachet, crítico de arte y pintor, que gozaba de un encumbrado prestigio, era amigo de muchos pintores y de Théo Van Gogh. Sin embargo, el doctor Gachet traicionó a Vincent Van Gogh.

Vincent Van Gogh muere dos días más tarde, a la edad de 37 años, desconocido por el gran público. En dos meses había pintado 78 cuadros, ninguno quedó en la Auberge Ravoux donde vivió. Su hermano le sobrevivió seis meses solamente. Vincent Van Gogh pasó toda su vida buscando el azul puro, el azul cobalto puro, y sólo le interesaba exponer en restaurantes, no le agradaban las galerías ni los museos. Escribió que él pintaba retratos para que cien años más tarde fueran apreciados como apariciones.

Ayer fue un día muy especial, en la Auberge Ravoux, cobijados por el genio de Van Gogh, Enaida Unzueta, Marta Sugrañes, Juan Abreu, Ricardo Vega, Pedro Portal, y yo. Un viaje exuberante, prodigioso. Un viaje de amistad y arte.

Dedico este post a Ramón Unzueta y a Jesús Selgas.

Enaida Unzueta y yo, frente a La Caverne des Livres, librería dentro de una terminal de trenes y en el interior de un vagón, como podrán ver en la foto:

Los campos de trigo, el azul cobalto, o casi...

Fotos y videos: Ricardo Vega y yo. Pedro Portal hizo muchas fotos que aparecerán en Emanaciones de Juan Abreu.

Oito anos pintou Vincent Van Gogh. Raros foram os que não olharam para a sua pintura.E no entanto, Vincent não é apenas pintura.

Vincent Van Gogh nasce a 30 de Março de 1853, em Brabante-Holanda e a sua primeira tela data de Dezembro de 1881. Quando morre a 29 de Julho de 1890, deixa 879 pinturas.

“Cidade violeta, astro amarelo, céu azul-verde. Os trigos têm todos os tons ouro velho, cobre, ouro verde ou vermelho, ou amarelo, …”. As palavras de Vincent traem a sua preocupação: paisagens, casas, pontes, céus, tudo é alimento para os seus olhos. E os múltiplos lugares das suas passagens foram suportes para a sua força criadora.

Natureza-Morta: Jarra com catorze Girassóis

Arles, Janeiro de 1889

Óleo sobte tela,95×73 cm

Nesta tela não existe uma busca de contraste entre cores, mas antes sim de harmonia: o amarelo e o laranja resplandecem graças a umas pinceladas verdes. Uma fina linha define o volume do vaso e da assinatura. Os girassóis são o emblema de Vincent, tema pintado por dez ocasiões. Van Gogh utiliza cores abundantes e pastosas, trabalhadas aqui e ali por pequenos toques a fim de proporcionar corpo e volume aos girassóis tornados perfeitos, graças à matéria cromática.

” Gaugin disse-me outro dia que tinha visto um quadro de girassóis de Claude Monet, num grande jarrão japonês muito bonito, mas que lhe agradam mais os meus.” Vincent Van Gogh

A Esplanada do Café na Place du Forum

Arles, à Noite, Setembro 1888

Óleo sobre tela, 81×65,5 cm

A exaltação das luzes envolvidas, sobressaindo no fundo de noite escura, eis o elemento marcante desta obra, com o café visto de fora.O efeito da luz sobre o chão provém de pinceladas de diversas cores que não se misturam, embora situadas lado a lado. A cor negra desenha com precisão a forma das pedras da calçada.

” A questão de pintar as cenas ou os efeitos da noite ao ar livre, bem como a própria noite, interessam-me enormemente. Esta semana não fiz absolutamente nada para além de pintar, dormir e comer.” Vincent Van Gogh

Auto Retratos

Van Gogh necessita de estudar as figuras. O seu interesse pelas pessoas é manifesto, atento e afectuoso. Mas não é fácil encontrar modelos que se disponham a posar a troco de pouco dinheiro ou por amizade. Por esse motivo, recorre várias vezes ao seu próprio rosto, com a ajuda de um espelho. Conhecem-se 35 auto-retratos de Van Gogh.

“Diz-se – e assim o creio – que é difícil conhecermo-nos a nós próprio; mas tão pouco é fácil pintarmo-nos a nós próprios. (…) Na falta de outro modelo, pinto-me a mim próprio.” Vincent Van Gogh

What music genre relaxes you? Mine is classic folk songs, even if Dan Fogelberg’s Leader of the Band guitar score is one i can only imitate imperfectly. I’ve watched Fogelberg’s solo on Youtube and the rendition is a soulspeak with his husky voice, the string’s simple and distinct variation, and the seriousness of remembrance and dedication of the song for a dad long gone. I am settled with my limits. But listening to folk music artists is an elevating experience, un-settling in a way on how the synergy of human voice, instruments, the many truths captured by words, turns me discourteous: they’re damn good! As if Beauty had pitched a tent like Jacob pitching one anywhere he went, the built one one adores with a sense of sanctifying distance, and if done fanatically brokers the adorer to carve a desert bull out of it.

Romancing Guitars

Backtrack a bit to the personal limit i alluded to. I’m not a guitar virtuoso, learned to play the instrument only in high school while shaving off the off-key edges of my voice. Statistics: it took me about 4 years in high school and another 4 years in college to hew off those edges and led small gatherings with some confidence. Guitar skills aside, the proliferation nowadays of home videoke would have hastened the process. Manny Pacqiuao would likely be happy to testify over this with his Magic Sing! But no, not during our time in the convent, not even a TV set despite the Dutch coffee and cigars. Thanks to this Dutch frugality, TV shows and movies are never my top sources of entertainment. It’s listening to music and playing some of those!

But guitars, yes a convent and church cannot afford not to have one. It’s crippling for a liturgy without its command for unison, rhythm and glee. If you grew up in the countryside, you can imagine what i mean: choir members glancing at each other first to gather hints when to open mouths for the big Am…oopps…Alleluia! Countless were the times when i sabotaged those choir bodies for the wrong chords, messed up introduction, playing the wrong song. Humiliation is always part of any learning. I kept strumming anyway through raised eyebrows and sabotage-pointing: in mananitas, haranas, Christmas carolling, house blessing, Holy Week processions, barrio fiestas, and burial ceremonies. It was learning past the living and the dead, sumptuous meals and Christmas coins, from Ang Mga Minatay (The Dead) to America’s Horse With No Name. The opportunities were there; i only need to scale off incrementally my fear of failure. In the stretch of my experience, no dead came alive again, laughing.

The Dutch Connection

Over a small bottle of Matador brandy, i played one of my faves: Vincent by Don McLean. Slowly, i was reminded of Darbs’ recent comment on my post My Silent Madness: “starry, starry night…” the very first line of the song. Then 3 days ago, i got an email in Dutch from a former Dutch mentor, a confidential one mistakenly sent to my inbox. Strange after not having heard from him for a long time.

Vincent is deep and dark, the message tragic and beautiful. It’s a song in poetic motion, bringing and beholding back the inner beauty and madness of this great Dutch artist we all know by the name of Vincent van Gogh. Now, there are 2 ways of talking: the poetry of the song, and that of van Gogh’s life. Briefly, let’s recap van Gogh’s talent and tragedies first with the aid of Tita Wiki:

• Died at the age of 37
• Fathered Expressionism with 900 paintings and 1,100 drawings and sketches
• Worked as an art dealer
• Fall in love with a landlady’s daughter: rejected
• Grandfather was a minister: failed the entrance exam to study theology; also failed in a 3-month course at a Protestant missionary school
• Became a missionary to a small village; brushed with church authorities and left
• Wanted to marry his widowed cousin: rejected
• Quarreled violently with his father, also with cousin-in-law
• Fall in love with an alcoholic prostitute; Vincent defied his father’s objection
• Fall in love with a neighbor’s daughter: opposed by both families
• Impregnated a young painting session model: Catholic priest forbade modelling for him
• Lived alone through the sale of his paintings with bread, coffee and tobacco
• “Teeth became loose and caused him much pain.”
• Diagnosed with gonorrhea
• Worked with great European artists of his time
• Cut off the lower part of his ear lobe after a fight with a fellow artist, gave it to a prostitute
• Suffered from hallucinations and delusions
• House was closed by police upon his townsfolk’s petition
• Confined to an asylum
• Depression went deeper and “walked into a field, and shot himself in the chest with a revolver
• His last words: “La tristesse durera toujours.” (the sadness will last forever)

There you go, peeps – the beauty and madness McLean tried to capture in his song:

Vincent

Starry
starry night
paint your palette blue and grey

look out on a summer’s day
with eyes that know the
darkness in my soul.
Shadows on the hills
sketch the trees and the daffodils

catch the breeze and the winter chills

in colors on the snowy linen land.
And now I understand what you tried to say to me

how you suffered for your sanity
how you tried to set them free.
They would not listen
they did not know how

perhaps they’ll listen now.

Starry
starry night
flaming flo’rs that brightly blaze

swirling clouds in violet haze reflect in
Vincent’s eyes of China blue.
Colors changing hue
morning fields of amber grain

weathered faces lined in pain
are soothed beneath the artist’s
loving hand.
And now I understand what you tried to say to me

how you suffered for your sanity
how you tried to set them free.
perhaps they’ll listen now.

For they could not love you
but still your love was true

and when no hope was left in sight on that starry
starry night.
You took your life
as lovers often do;
But I could have told you
Vincent
this world was never
meant for one
as beautiful as you.

Starry
starry night
portraits hung in empty halls

frameless heads on nameless walls
with eyes
that watch the world and can’t forget.
Like the stranger that you’ve met

the ragged men in ragged clothes

the silver thorn of bloddy rose
lie crushed and broken
on the virgin snow.
And now I think I know what you tried to say to me

how you suffered for your sanity

how you tried to set them free.
They would not listen
they’re not
list’ning still
perhaps they never will.

Next time, i’ll try to explore some theological openings from such a colorful life. Meanwhile, i’m leaving you this quote from our man:

“…to try to understand the real significance of what the great artists, the serious masters, tell us in their masterpieces that lead to God; one man wrote or told it in a book; another in a picture.”

These are some of Van Gogh’s less famous works and therefore harder to find online. If you are looking for his masterpieces such as ‘Starry Night’ and ‘Sunflowers” we can order too but it will take a few days.

Vincent Van Gogh – Landscape with the Château of Auvers at Sunset

Price: $145

Vincent Van Gogh – View of Arles with Irises

Price: $143

Vincent Van Gogh – Women Mending Nets in the Dunes

Price: $145

Vincent Van Gogh – Lane in Voyer d’Argenson Park at Asnières

Price: $166

Vincent Van Gogh – Houses in Auvers

Price: $136

Anillo circular Noche Estrellada de Van Gogh_15€+gastos de envío
De metal (cobre con acabado plateado) y con base ajustable.No tiene níquel ni plomo.
El círculo mide 25 mm de diámetro.

Brazalete Noche Estrellada de Van Gogh_18,50€+gastos de envío
De metal.

With the magic of photoshop I was about to transform a normal photo of myself into a cartoon version of me like they’ve been doing in some of the commercials recently.  If you remember what commercials please tell me.

And no I’m not obsessed with myself but I’m the only person I have full rights over my picture and I don’t have any models because I don’t have money like that.  So like many artists I will keep doing self portraits until I can get someone to pose for me or something. Look Vincent Van Gogh did a ton of himself.  We share the same birthday among other things.

Kagehime

The Los Angeles Times blog titled Van Gogh’s personal letters debut online in English caught my eye the other day. The post reads:

File this under impossibly cool art websites.

In what is perhaps the first project of its kind, the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam has put English-language translations of 902 of Vincent van Gogh’s personal letters on line.

Find the new website here.

Brief aan Theo uit Nuenen in Drenthe, 17 november 1885. Vincent van Gogh heeft het er wel gezien en verlangt naar Antwerpen, maar hij heeft de middelen nog niet om daar ook daadwerkelijk heen te gaan.

Op ‘t oogenblik zit ik hier een beetje vast met het werk. Het vriest stevig zoo dat het buitenwerken niet meer gaat. Model nemen is beter ik kortaf niet meer doe zoolang ik in dit huis woon … Ik geloof dat dezen winter niet vervelend zal zijn.

Maar er is iets eigenaardigs juist in ‘t gevoel dat men in ‘t vuur moet … Zeker is het dat ik onmiddelijk vertrek zoodra ik weer ‘t maandgeld van U heb.

space cakes, brownies, and all members of the baked-goods family are made with hash or weed. because the thc only takes effect when it gets into your blood and is digested, the drugs take longer to affect a person and longer to filter out. experts warn against going for a second sweet because “you don’t feel anything”. it’s always easier to eat more later than to wait out a higher dose than you can handle. remember that ingesting this form of cannabis is much more dangerous than smoking. (“let’s go europe” travel guide)

en 2003 murieron nina simone, katherine hepburn y roberto bolaño. coetzee recibió el nobel, the return of the king rompió algún record en taquilla y los californianos eligieron a schwarzenegger como gobernador de su estado.

para mí, aquel año fue el último de la preparatoria: no habría más miércoles de flautas, calcetas azul marino hasta la rodilla ni frases célebres de arnulfo. también, y sobre todo, fue el año de viajar a europa con m y g para pasar seis meses estudiando francés en el quartier latin.

reposamos en los gigantescos jardines de oslo, comimos el mejor falafel del mundo en christiania (copenhague), tomamos fotos de todos los osos que aparecían por las calles en berlín, nos maravillamos con el pan dulce de las canastas en salzburgo. todo era nuevo para nosotros, pero no hubo noche tan absurda y tan chingona como la del 10 de agosto. estábamos en ámsterdam y teníamos que probar la mota. ¿cómo no hacerlo? éramos libres, más que nunca, y teníamos la oportunidad perfecta de demostrar (¿al mundo? ¿uno al otro? ¿a nosotros mismos?) que nuestra educación burguesa no nos había condenado al aburrimiento. todo en las calles invitaba a ello: el bullicio de los bares, el volumen de la música, los jóvenes cuerpos holandeses apoyados en las barras.

entramos al primer local que se nos cruzó y pedimos de la que nos recomendaron. tres churros, por favor. ah, y un brownie. esperamos sentados y nerviosos. llegó el brownie, que comimos con entusiasmo. ¿sientes algo? / no, ¿tú? / tampoco. seguro ni tiene nada, mejor fumemos. y lo hicimos. lentamente consumimos uno, dos, tres. ::ahora sí se siente:: (pensamos, pero ya no alcanzamos a decirlo).

salimos caminando del lugar. nomamesguey, estoy como entre nubes, mira. y daba largos, felices pasos con mis piernas de viento por la banqueta. ¿ya viste cómo se mueve esa iglesia? ¡y sus colores! / aguas, ese señor nos está siguiendo / ¿te cae? / obvio, así venía desde que salimos. mejor métete a la estación.

llegamos al barco-hotel en que nos estábamos quedando y nos tiramos, casa quién en su cama. en los audífonos de m sonaba la voz de Bjork ♬ i will take the sun in my mouth and leap pinto the ripe air / alive: with closed eyes ♬. g veía al techo como descubriendo algún secreto que no compartiría. yo no tenía discman pero sí mucho miedo de que la cama que estaba sobre mí cayera estruendosamente, matándome al instante. ni modo, es mi destino. y lloraba con un gozo extraordinario.

en algún momento m y no nos levantamos sin hablar. g nos siguió desconfiado. ¿qué? ¿ustedes qué se traen, a dónde van? / al baño guey, espérate aquí / no ni madres, ya sé me quieren hacer algo. y estoy segura de que eso parecía. no recuerdo mucho más, sólo que, aunque el barco-hotel estaba quieto, esa noche hubo una tormenta descomunal y  viajamos muy lejos mar adentro.

al día siguiente nos despertamos pachequísimos, radiantes. así nos fuimos al museo van gogh, postbus 75366. vimos una versión de los girasoles, los comedores de patatas y la recámara de arlés. nunca me había divertido tanto en un museo (y eso que, como a k, no me gusta nadita van gogh).

Starry, starry night.
Portraits hung in empty halls,
Frameless head on nameless walls,
With eyes that watch the world and can’t forget.
Like the strangers that you’ve met,
The ragged men in the ragged clothes,
The silver thorn of bloody rose,
Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow.

Now I think I know what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen, they’re not listening still.
Perhaps they never will …