I am in Paris. I went to the Musée d’Orsay. I was overwhelmed. A whole room for him, and many of his greatest works.
He has exhausted me. But everytime I feel I am drowning, he smiles.
Sat across from a young man today on the train who is travelling around Europe following Van Gogh, Hemingway, and Baudelaire. I am not really so surprised by these things anymore.
I am still trying to write up the entirety of my Nuenen visit. I am on page 54 in my journal. Wow.
Ok, time to collapse.
Tomorrow to Arles!
Tags: YellowEurope
I just want to say, I went to Nuenen, where Vincent stayed with his parents for two years and painted much of his work from his early, dark period.
I walked for three hours in the pouring rain, with a lousy umbrella and thin poncho and a cheeky grin.
When I arrived at his father’s church, where he saw him preach many times, the bells started to ring right then. Many things happened to me in those hours – I wish I could articulate them now, I took many photos but still cannot upload them…
The rain was a challenge – to me, from him. How far would I go? I kept going. I did not quicken my pace. I did not resent it. I was happy to do something I’m sure he did many times – on the very same dirt.
I took a muddy back road by the weaver’s house he would visit in order to paint him, and four horses in a meadow froze, stared at me, then galloped about twenty feet, then turned around and waited for me. They were exquisite. It was a present.
I was the only person walking there today. I shouted to the storm “I LOVE YOU!”
He heard me.
Tags: church, horses, Nuenen, rain, Travel, walking, YellowEurope
My friend, Tim Caldwell, managed to sneakily get some shots of me a few days ago at the Van Gogh Museum (where they don’t allow photographs), when I saw Vincent’s painting The Yellow House for the first time; I had actually missed it on the first visit.
It seems rather bland in prints, but I should’ve known better. It was precisely my low expectations that made me almost burst into tears when I saw it the first time. So here you go, my heart on my… blog.
As requested, me “experiencing” Vincent.
I die.
I write.
I fall.
I am in him.
Tags: amsterdam, art, museum, Travel, writing, YellowEurope