photography by Shannon O'Neil

I jumped – high and far, and twirling.

Vincent’s Yellow opened in Chicago, IL last Thursday, on the 120th anniversary of Vincent van Gogh’s death.

I performed — my cast and I performed — this thing that has been so intimately tucked between my blood vessels, that has been continuously beating quietly alongside my heart for three years, whether or not anyone heard it. This project, this man who saved me from beyond the grave, who changed my life so significantly I turned my own life upside down for him, for whom I made personal and financial sacrifices… but who has always guided me truly, and rightly. (That is, right back to doing what I was meant to do, and thus myself.)

photography by Shannon O'Neil

Performing in this work is as natural as breathing… or perhaps climbing a mountain is a better metaphor (or I suppose a high dive was the original metaphor I chose). It is not easy, it is exhausting and utterly challenging; it is two hours filled with wonder and vitality. It is a constant, driven force, focused by fierce passion and precision. I have used (I believe) every talent I have to make this show what it is, and I have demanded no less than real Truth, real Beauty, and total commitment.

photography by Shannon O'Neil

The piece is also highly demanding of my actors. Yet my wonderful, amazing ensemble meets the challenges I set them with incredible grace and perseverance. They impress me constantly, bringing 19th century words to vibrating life, becoming paint through dance, and making sweet music and even sweeter love for those that have come to visit.

Opening weekend was a waterfall. I will be chewing over the past week for a long time to come. A critic came opening night and told me she was dazzled. I’ll leave the rest of what she told me for her to put in her review, but needless to say, I was very, very pleased. I have gotten a few responses to my show that were overflowing with gratitude.

I, for one, feel most grateful to have this opportunity, to truly show what I have to give, and to sing and dance and breathe and speak to Vincent for the rest of this month. Last year at this time, I was packing my bags for my YellowEurope trip, for Amsterdam, and for all the rest that would await me (all I could never have imagined). I would spend a month tracking you, Vincent. Now I get to spend a month loving you. Completely and utterly.

This is all I can truly grasp right now. Until soon, readers…

Don’t forget to buy your tickets if you can attend; I have a feeling once the review comes out tickets may begin disappearing quickly…

I will end with a quote of his to which I keep returning:

Thus about my work, thus about my person.
– Vincent van Gogh, August 18, 1885

I couldn’t agree more.

She buys the suit she will dive in.

She chooses one that will move well, that will move well with her, one that is best suited. In this case, the color was inevitable. It must be functional though, and it must be right. When she saw it she thought of the peasants, your peasants, Vincent, and she knew it was right.

After all, she is a worker, a reaper of beauty.

I am gathering together my creative team. I am within a week, probably, of posting an audition notice and getting my business cards printed (finally!) and soon I will be looking at possible performance spaces. Diving boards. They must be the right size and made of the right material. The rest is details.

I also bought my first set piece. The space will look like an artist’s studio when the audience enters; there will be painter’s materials scattered. They will make our theatrical building blocks. Some of those things include paintbrushes and little bottles used to hold pigment. In the Van Gogh Museum I saw the little bottles you would have, Vincent –

Photography by Timothy Caldwell

So when I saw these bottles from an old chemistry set on sale, I knew they were perfect, and I bought them.

I will be in a mode of preparation until rehearsals begin at the end of May. May through July will be the time to practice. And then, the jump, the perfect dive, will happen 18 times between July 27th and August 31st. That is really how I see it, deep down.

I am very excited to be commencing with preparation. I’ll still be studying and planning, the script is not done, there is in fact much to do still with the script, but I am taking this moment to step back. I’ve been writing and editing non-stop for about six weeks. The juices need to marinate. I read through the script, from beginning to end, for the first time the other week. It was exciting, terrifying, disappointing, and inflaming. There is a lot of work ahead.

I take a moment, catch my breath, see the whole. It will be great, but boy oh boy I will sweat a lot between now and August.

I welcome the storm, the journey, the work, with grinning teeth.

And mostly, I remind myself over and over where I’ve come from, and where I’ve been.

“For the great doesn’t happen through impulse alone, and is a succession of little things that are brought together.”

Vincent, 22 October 1882, letter to Theo

As promised, a photo entry today, starting from the beginning of my trip. Unfortunately for you and me, I couldn’t take any photos of the paintings inside this wonderful place. So, even though I offer you my photos from these first six days (click on any photo in the post to be taken to the photo album), most simply show what I found beautiful in Amsterdam, with a few exceptions…

Here’s me working in the Van Gogh Museum library. It was such a perfect, quiet, little haven.

There was also one more thing. I went to No. 13 Jonas Daniel Meyer Plein, an address where Vincent lived for bit, years before ever becoming an artist. At the time, he was hoping to become a clergyman.

Photography by Timothy Caldwell

This was my first experience standing in a place where I knew he had once been many times. After two years of research, and 119 years since his death, it was quite a moment…

Photography by Timothy Caldwell

To my surprise, I was greeted by a particular flower (this is before the sunflower I encountered on his old doorstep in Paris): a rose. My middle name is Rose. So a rose like this one, in exquisite full bloom on a cloudy day, made me feel extraordinarily welcomed.