“I dream of painting and then I paint my dream.”
–Vincent Van Gogh
I don’t think I have ever like any artist’s works as much as I like Vincent Van Gogh. I was asking myself why just the other day. I knew I always like it but never really sat down and think about it much. But, I did yesterday afternoon. It was my off day and I had some time to myself. I now live in Roxburgh surrounded by lovely mountains and actually really in the nature.
Somehow, the surrounding reminded me of Vincent Van Gogh. I was thinking about him. What was he really like despite of all the stories told. Was he a loner by choice or was he just desperate for someone to love him? Does he see things differently and most importantly, I was asking what did he see when he paints?
To all honesty, my heart cried out wishing that I could paint. I want to slowly learn to draw and eventually paint. It will take times. Sigh!
But, going back to the question about why I like his works; I think it was because of it’s simplicity of his painting. It was so simple yet so alive. I felt different emotion whenever I look at his painting but mainly the feeling of something stirring subconsciously. Each time, it felt like a different story. Like he said, poetry were everywhere and his was in his panting.
His colors, textures, and brushstrokes were just amazing. How I wish to paint like him. But mostly, I think I just like the way he think, perceive and paint.
I must continue to follow the path I take now. If I do nothing, if I study nothing, if I cease searching, then, woe is me, I am lost. That is how I look at it — keep going, keep going come what may.
But what is your final goal, you may ask. That goal will become clearer, will emerge slowly but surely, much as the rough draught turns into a sketch, and the sketch into a painting through the serious work done on it, through the elaboration of the original vague idea and through the consolidation of the first fleeting and passing thought. – Vincent Van Gogh
There is a great difference between one idler and another idler. There is someone who is an idler out of laziness and lack of character, owing to the baseness of his nature. If you like, you may take me for one of those. Then there is the other kind of idler, the idler despite himself, who is inwardly consumed by a great longing for action who does nothing because his hands are tied, because he is, so to speak, imprisoned somewhere, because he lacks what he needs to be productive, because disastrous circumstances have brought him forcibly to this end. Such a one does not always know what he can do, but he nevertheless instinctively feels, I am good for something! My existence is not without reason! I know that I could be a quite a different person! How can I be of use, how can I be of service? There is something inside me, but what can it be? He is quite another idler. If you like you may take me for one of those. – Vincent Van Gogh
Do you know what makes the prison disappear? Every deep, genuine affection. Being friends, being brothers, loving, that is what opens the prison, with supreme power, by some magic force. Without these one stays dead. But whenever affection is revived, there life revives. – Vincent Van Gogh
What am I in the eyes of most people — a nonentity, an eccentric, or an unpleasant person — somebody who has no position in society and will never have; in short, the lowest of the low. All right, then — even if that were absolutely true, then I should one day like to show by my work what such an eccentric, such a nobody, has in his heart.
That is my ambition, based less on resentment than on love in spite of everything, based more on a feeling of serenity than on passion.
Though I am often in the depths of misery, there is still calmness, pure harmony and music inside me. I see paintings or drawings in the poorest cottages, in the dirtiest corners. And my mind is driven towards these things with an irresistible momentum. – Vincent Van Gogh
A weaver who has to direct and to interweave a great many little threads has no time to philosophize about it, but rather he is so absorbed in his work that he doesn’t think but acts, and he feels how things must go more than he can explain it. Even though neither you nor I, in talking together, would come to any definite plans, etc., perhaps we might mutually strengthen that feeling that something is ripening within us. And that is what I should like. – Vincent Van Gogh
For the near future travel plan, I wish to visit the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam one day.