Van Gogh Speaks To Me!

The above painting by Vincent Van Gogh, entitled 'Self-portrait in a felt grey hat', was painted in Paris, sometime in the winter of 1887-88.

It was the summer of 1984 when I found myself in a lecture theatre at the University's Department of Art and Design History. It had been a long morning of listening to Richard as he flipped through a series of slides on 19th-century French Post-Impressionism. He came to the very last slide, a Van Gogh self-portrait, and left it up on the large screen as everybody got up to leave.

As the last students huddled out through the exit, I remained seated transfixed by the image. Richard came and sat next to me. For a few moments, we sat in silence. Then Richard broke the spell and said...

"Self-assured, established painter, confident with his appearance. That is what the experts say. Do you agree?"

"No, I don't actually," I replied.

"So, in the cause of the democratic pluralism of meaning, what do you see? You're a man of sensibility, of what does this painting speak to you? Don't answer, just sit and think about it for a few moments."

After an inordinate period of time, I said " Mad man or genius, huge success or abject failure, tortured soul or a man at peace with himself? I see degrees of all of those epithets, Richard, and that is just the beginning."

Richard could see I needed time to gather my thoughts and said, "Ok, I'm going to grab myself a coffee, I could be some time. Sit and stare as long as you like. When you're ready to leave, just flick off the lights and close the door behind you." That was the last time I ever saw Richard.

I sat in the dark totally concentrated on the Van Gogh. It is true, it is a masterful rendering of a self-portrait. The artist is clearly in full control of his materials and artistic abilities. It is, without a single doubt, a tour de force,a masterpiece by a giant of the modern art movement, which began almost 150 years ago.

On the surface, it is both a joyous and painful celebration of Van Gogh's newfound ability and confidence. Looking at the bold brush strokes, it is clear that Van Gogh had learned very well indeed from the Pointillists. (How curious it is that a revolutionary style of painting, pioneered by Georges Seurat in the mid-1880s, should prove to be a precursor to modern-day, pixellated images.)

The whole point of Pointillism is to apply tiny dots of pure colour, which, when viewed from a distance, blend together in the viewer's eye to create a more striking image.

In Van Gogh's case, rather than using a multitude of small dots, he used broad and short brush strokes to achieve the same effect. However, Van Gogh achieved so much more than merely creating a more striking image. And this was where Van Gogh began to speak to me, face to face.

Those brush strokes create a certain texture and vibrancy. There is something about Van Gogh's gaunt expression, his sad eyes, the windows to the soul, in particular. Van Gogh is telling me that there are multi-dimensional, hidden depths to his character. He is telling me that he has seen down into the abyss, like Kurtz from Joseph Conrad's novel, 'The Heart of Darkness'. And all he can utter is "The horror, the horror."

It has been said that artists willingly step forward to the edge of the abyss with a flashlight and point it down, deep inside that chasm of humanity, to shed some light on what they see. They then step back and report what they have witnessed. And that immortal phrase is the only thing they can express.

Those bold brush strokes are like three dimensional battle scars, which bear witness to the personal battles fought with unmentionable demons. Witness to the inner turmoil, induced by mental illness and alcohol, of somebody who has plunged into the depths of his own humanity. He has not simply shone a light into the abyss, he has fallen deep inside and scrambled back out, barely alive.

The area around Van Gogh's head and shoulders is referred to as a halo, hinting at sanctity. I accept that interpretation. However, I personally prefer to see it as a vortex through which Van Gogh can travel through the ages to speak to us. If only we would lend him an ear and listen to what he has to say about some of the horrors of the universal, unknown mysteries of life.

As he lay on his deathbed, after shooting himself, it is claimed that Van Gogh's last words were "The sadness will last forever." In Van Gogh's case, the sadness will indeed last for all eternity.

In November 2021, the international news media reported on the sad passing of a leading art historian, specialising in 19th-century French Art, Mr Richard Kendal, in Nyack, the United States of America.

Over the past forty years, I had many times thought to try to contact Richard, to thank him for all of his wonderful help and his kind generosity in passing on his learning about art, and indeed, on life itself. More than anything for opening the portal to VanGogh's art, a vortex into the past. Alas, I left it too late. And I now realise that Van Gogh was right all along, the sadness will last forever.

In Memory of Richard Kendal (1946-2021) Art Historian and wonderful human being. Much loved and sorely missed.