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.

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.

This past week I chose the instruments that will be thrown into our theatrical mix — a set of big, mystical-sounding chimes, a cajon (a wooden box-shaped drum) and a xylophone! I’m eagerly awaiting the latter two in the mail, and all this along with my guitar, the voices of my cast (not to mention our newest cast addition will be bringing in her viola!) will make our soundscape. It’s important to get the toys early so that you have plenty of time to play with them, you see… :)

Last week we also had a series of smaller rehearsals focusing on character work. This is particularly necessary since various members of the cast are playing ideas-made-human. They feel like flesh and blood, but their actions represent much larger movements of knowledge, myth, and history…  One thing this led to was my finally spending some time with Paul Gauguin.

Thanks to www.tate.org.uk

I know I have referred to Gauguin as an unreliable narrator, and while that’s true, that’s watering down my feelings towards him a good bit. I suppose every one needs a scape goat, and well… it’s possible he’s been mine.

The reasons that Gauguin drives me crazy are simple:

1) Vincent never physically harmed himself until he lived with Gauguin. Nor was he in an asylum before then. And while I’m aware that doesn’t prove he’s to blame, I do think things may have been quite different if some else had been in Gauguin’s place.

2) Gauguin’s accounts of his time with Vincent are inconsistent, full of myth and exaggeration, and essentially unreliable. This is also done with the desire of creating mystery, which bothers me as a researcher and someone dedicated to truth.

3) Gauguin and Vincent lived together for a measly nine weeks, and yet they are always hung side by side in museums, and basically are tied up in each other’s reputations forever.

4) Personal reasons: I don’t like his work, he’s pretty obviously self-involved, he slept around while he was married with five children (whom he left behind in Copenhagen, while he ran off to Tahiti), etc etc. I just don’t like him.

However, this past week an actor and I dug around in his childhood and early life, and I found numerous facts enlightening about him. One was that he was born in Paris, moved to Peru when he was three (his father died on the voyage), moved back to France at 7 years old. In Peru, he was raised in the house of upper-class, distant relatives. In Paris, he no longer had servants. He became a sailor at 17, and his mother died at 19. He continued sailing until he was 22.

There is dislocation and loss all over Gauguin’s biography. There is no doubt he had difficulty pinning down his own identity, and this is what led him to gain an interest in myth, in romanticizing his loss of self into mystery. It is also undoubtedly what led him towards egotism – after all he had little that was static and dependable in his life.

While I haven’t suddenly started admiring him, I do think I understand Gauguin a bit better now. Everyone comes from something and somewhere…

It’s time for me to climb into bed now, I got a busy week of fundraising, dancing, playing, singing and blocking ahead of me!

All my love, until next week…