I have felt many things over the past few weeks, and it’s made it difficult to clear my head enough to speak clearly here. I regret if my straying has made your curiosity wane (almost a rhyme there), it was not intentional. The other problem has been that my mother and I were commissioned to write a new project – a musical telling the history of flamenco – and not only was I not ready to start a new project, I never finished digesting the end of this one.

photography by Shannon O'Neil

To do Vincent’s Yellow, to offer up such intimate, deep matters for the eyes of all, one must create a wound. After exposing myself like this over and over, my desire is usually to heal, to curl up and – in brief – not to be on display anymore. For the sake of posting on this website, that side effect of performance was not helpful.

I also was distracted by the attention: negative attention that made me question the quality of my work (and my self-image as artist), positive attention that encouraged an encore – to tour, to restage, to re-do. But after much thought, I see I am not ready for this. In fact, I don’t truly *desire* to perform Vincent’s Yellow in the near future. I have been encouraged by many to do so, I have been offered opportunities that make me feel like a fool for rejecting. But my spirit calls – like a distant siren – for my book. I have the building blocks for it strewn all around me. It was always my plan to mount the play, then write the book.

I know I will perform Vincent’s Yellow again. And it will be even better then, more complete after my full journey.

photography by Shannon O'Neil

The truth is, I was always closest to him on the page…

Vincent has not left my side. He encourages me onward, reminds me to listen to my heart, he remains my mentor. He continues to whisper great wisdom all the time through the quotes from his letters I continue to post on facebook and twitter, whenever I can remember… On my desk now, in front of my keyboard lays a note card with words of his I am considering painting large, on my wall:

The weathercocks don’t make the wind east or north, any more than opinions make the truth true.

–Vincent 4 January 1884

I know, deep down, my show was more ritual than story. It showed, to a degree, what all this has been for me, but not all that will be in the book. The book will be more. The book will be travelogue, scrapbook, journal, letter… The book will be all.

I want you to know, Reader, that I have already chosen how I will mark the moment when I am finally done creating at the feet of Vincent van Gogh. I will get a tattoo of his work, a drawing of his cypresses (the painting that I have undoubtedly spent the most time staring at, sighing in front of).

thanks to vangoghletters.org

The tree will begin at my right heel, and swirl up the back of my calf. His signature will be put, simply, along the outside edge of my foot. It will be him with me always, it will be tying my bones to nature (the nature he taught me to recognize that I’ve always seen), and it will make me a tree walking. I do this for him, for me, and because my plan is to grow ever higher, to reach my roots down ever deeper, and to blossom for decades.

That is what Vincent taught me to do.

I thank you deeply for reading, and I promise there’s more to come very soon.

[production photos from Vincent's Yellow, as seen above, are available for viewing in the new Production Photos gallery!]

~

Van Gogh’s Popcorn (aka social riffing on VG — a new section!)

Elizabeth Taylor gets to keep her Van Gogh painting despite a controversy over its Nazi confiscation

thanks to dailymail.co.uk

A Starry Night Themed Wedding (an idea brought to my attention by Michelle‘s comment on the last post, thank you!)

thanks to junebugweddings.com

A Starry Night Hall

thanks to http://community.apartmenttherapy.com

In case you wonder why I care about these things, I see them as proof of the reach of Vincent’s influence. I know he would be confused and astonished by them… These events and images remind me of the power one artist can have, if she or he works honestly and beautifully enough.

It started with a desire for fabric to fall, and for it to give me yellow silhouettes. It was sparked by ideas of creation and procreation. This set piece had to contain the time I thought maybe I met Vincent, that maybe he was with me. That moment of perfect union of course changed everything – in my play, a new character was created. She was born, she was my imagination, and she parted with known facts and I knew that. But she allowed me to imagine his smile.

Now staging this (pro)creation is tricky. In my head it necessitated a yellow tent that would allow me to cast silhouettes, that would then transform into a canopy that revealed the true action – that I was not kissing Vincent at all, it was my imaginary him.

I wanted silhouettes from inside a tent-like structure, then the fabric was to be raised into a canopy position. Inside the tent had to be enough room to dance. That my original plans looked at all like a flower truly did not dawn on me. All I knew was that I wanted the space itself to blossom into impressionism and color as Vincent did about half-way through his career. From colorless to colorful.

I also wanted christmas lights as stars towards the end of the play. What ended up occurring (design and construction developed by myself as well as Shannon O’Neil, Timothy Caldwell & Amy Buckler) was something truly marvelous that is now a piece of art in my apartment.

The center circle of midnight blue speckled with christmas lights is six feet in diameter, with four long yellow chiffon petals at about ten feet. For most of the play, the lights were not on, and a yellow sunflower layer with smaller petals covered the night stars from view.

For months my boyfriend and I have been plotting how we can pack it up, but we’ve never desired to pack it up, and now when we finally move out of the space in three weeks, we are going to bring the sunflower to hang it up in our new apartment. It is simply too beautiful and awesome to put in storage.

Photography by Timothy Caldwell

I never dreamt that I would be left with such an incredible art piece to live with forever, that I might always be able to see stars in my apartment, no matter the weather. In my apartment we often shout — let’s turn on the stars! It’s awfully fun to say.

I realize now that it is the gift that Vincent gave back to me. I gave him a play, my heart, and my life for a few years… and he gave me stars forever.

Photography by Timothy Caldwell

I must be frank with you, dear Reader. I have drifted away from this blog the past few weeks because I honestly feel that I cannot process all that has been happening to me. Things are so radical indeed that I am afraid I might look foolish if I express myself in words. I have felt at the top and at the bottom of things.

Is it good? I think so. It is the best I can possibly do at this time of my life. And I have reason to believe that the best that I can do is above average.

Could it be better? Possibly, in fact, quite probably. When working with something as ephemereal as theater, it takes some time, and various points of view to see something accurately. Everyone sees different things when they come to art because it is nothing more than pure experience. Of course everyone sees my art differently, they all see differently!

What matters most, the collected opinions of everyone else, or your own opinion of your own work? At many moments, this becomes unclear. I feel myself blow in the wind. Both the wind and the root are important. You must bend, but not break. How much to bend… This is still unknown. It is my personal struggle now. A critic says one thing, a woman who has performed her whole life and founded as well as maintained a performance company says quite another.

We all have guides in life. I return to you, Vincent.

Dear brother, don’t think of me as anything other than an ordinary painter who is confronted by ordinary difficulties, and do not think the worries at all unusual. I mean, don’t think of the future as a darkness or as a dazzling light; it will be better to believe in the grey. I try to do the same, and think it wrong of myself to deviate from it. (17 August 1883)

You teach me color yet again, my love… Believe in the grey. Each color with its meaning.

Believe that this is your work, and you do it, because you must. And that is all. With the simplicity of a shoe-maker.

And so suddenly, I felt that basic pride again yesterday when I marked the 926th painting in its spot, after working in my pajamas for two hours. That gut feeling, that keeps you making things in the first place:

I did it!

I finished!

I did what I had set out to do.

And my god, is there anything more incredible than that?

(I mean, it’s not like I ever make things easy for myself.. haha)

There are only two weekends left of performances, so don’t forget to buy your tickets here, in case you haven’t yet!