Nuenen
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.
(mute, exceptionally mute, but understanding…I think)
Thanks, K.