Art & Critique » Vincent van Gogh

Vincent van Gogh: Self-Portrait with Bandaged Ear

elijah — Mon, 24 Sep 2007 20:54:23 +0000

It is easy to identify a tormented soul in this face. This is van Gogh after the infamous incident of cutting off his earlobe. The tortured, retired and introspective gaze leaves no doubt as to the state of mind of the portrayed man.

Self-Portrait with Bandag…

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Yet despite the surfacing inner pain, this countenance and the self-portrait as a whole communicate, and even impose, an infinite tranquility and peace of mind. We witness only the aftermath of the breakdown; the bandage has been applied, the medicine taken — the artist regained his faculties and was able to paint again. The price paid for this recuperation transpires from the eyes, but the merchandise bought is evident throughout: assured artistic skill that enabled this painting. Thus, a complex correlation between the ability to perform and the psychic prerequisites and consequences is established: a tense and a difficult exchange. It appears that eventually the man’s mental resources have dried out, which resulted in the known tragic outcome. Perhaps, if it is possible to recognize an ongoing spiraling process in this piece, it is similarly possible to predict its result. This self-portrait represents another coil of the spiral that was destined to snap.

Van Gogh possessed an unusual, distinctive physiognomy, and perhaps it can bear on this clash between the confident craftsmanship and mercurial temperament. I think that the genre of the discussed painting makes physiognomy especially relevant. The man boasted a very high and broad forehead but a relatively small chin. While the former may declare a strong intellectual capacity, the latter, along with the chiseled, almost feminine lips, may betray susceptibility to spiritual instability and emotional highs and downs. This evident physiognomic imbalance may be seen as the extension of van Gogh’s personality, or vice versa — but it is only a pseudo-scientific argument. However, as already mentioned, the portrait itself evinces similar distribution of power and weakness: a technically confident and calm execution, which presents an emotionally broken man. Both qualities are made visible, one on the physical level, the other on the metaphysical.

There is an interesting expressionistic streak: the green of the overcoat travels on to the eyes. This may seem as a mere clever trick of economy in a color (the original blue of the painter’s visual organs) that might appear too bright and optimistic. But green here has a meaningful symbolic, as well as more direct reference: it usually signifies poison, and, in van Gogh’s case, the poison was absinthe, the alcoholic beverage known for its distinctive green hue. The psychosomatic effects of absinthe became infamous and equally sought for by artists, largely due to van Gogh’s personal experience. The terrible price he paid doesn’t seem to deter the drinkers; on the contrary, most insist on mixing it in their favorite cocktail — perhaps in a hope to borrow some of the inspiration.

Vincent van Gogh: Sunflowers

elijah — Sun, 23 Sep 2007 22:51:57 +0000

While van Gogh grieved at his inability to pay for human models, this financial drawback harbored a bright side, prompting him to seek other subjects, mostly in nature. Thus, a series of still lives featuring sunflowers came from under the artist’s brush. Though there are common elements shared between them, each piece carries unique characteristics that set it apart from the rest.

Sunflowers, c.1888

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Singling them out would require a compare and contrast type of analysis, which is not what I intend to do in this article. Instead, I will try to delve into the specifics of this particular painting and find out why it can be so attractive, as well as unattractive. Yes, unattractive: it presents fading, worn blossoms, some of which lost their plumage altogether, corpses of what used to be flowers. This is a naturalistic and uncompromising representation, and the result is not pretty, at least not in the conventional sense. One could claim that the beauty of this piece lies in its naked truth, but then, someone said once that realism, as opposed to fancy and allegory, is boring. In a way, this piece can serve as a litmus test for the viewer’s preference in art and art movements.

The artist is very meticulous in handling the ugly details. He provides almost every possible unflattering angle. All of the flowers appear to be in various stages of decay; some have only begun to droop, others are completely broken. One head already lost its color, others are on the way, having lost all of their petals. Differences in value also account for these metamorphoses: the darker the yellow, the closer the sunflower to the total withering. But even the livelier, fresher flowers are somehow exposed, showing their green hinder parts in a nearly indecent turn. It seems as though the artist makes this still life a botanical study — a painterly herbarium. Ultimately, the flowers appear to be in trouble, which brings out the worst in them. If this sounds familiar — perhaps it should: van Gogh may have used these subjects to comment on others, those who refused to pose for free.

Along with scientific interest, or instead of it, the sunflowers evoke pity and sympathy. The painting works on the emotional, rather than on the aesthetic level. This, by itself, is an achievement, as it is not easy to make a still life trigger a living sentiment. Personally, I wouldn’t stare at this painting for too long. It makes me feel unpleasant and uneasy, and even voyeuristic. Although, I do have a sensitive stomach; maybe too sensitive — after all, this is only a bunch of sunflowers.

Vincent van Gogh: Potato Eaters

elijah — Fri, 21 Sep 2007 21:27:01 +0000

Sometimes, during family reunions, when everybody is at the table, eating, a sudden moment of silence intrudes and makes itself almost palpable. Only the chewing sounds are heard, and everyone becomes, just for a second, very self-conscious and uncomfortable, — until someone talks again, and the strange sensation is gone. Such a moment is captured in this painting; though, without the uneasiness, as it appears a less festive and tense gathering. In fact, the only one who might feel uncomfortable, is the viewer — the intruder on this rather intimate scene.

The Potato-Eaters, c.1885

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The first thing that struck me as unusual was how these faces resemble each other. They are almost identical, and I don’t think that family resemblance can account for this peculiarity. Perhaps the artist wasn’t (yet) very proficient in rendering different countenances, and went for a general, summarizing look. But I don’t really like this argument, as it goes beyond the capacity of judgment of what’s at hand. It is best to interpret this phenomenon as if it was a deliberate artistic device. Historically, identical faces appeared in early icons and frescoes, where depicted figures represented saints or apostles, rather than replicated actual people. They needed to convey a universal message, and so were their faces: without much detail, clear geometrical forms for the eyes and other features — that way anybody could empathize and internalize the message.

Here the faces represent the worker, or the farmer. They appear tired and worried; perhaps tired of the worries, too. The man’s face radiates quiet dignity, while the woman on the utmost right shows bitterness and disillusionment. These are the two edges of the usual emotional spectrum of this family. The other two eaters appear more neutral; consumed by the meal, they appropriately sit in between the two outermost characters. Interestingly, we do not see the face of the girl — perhaps an indication of hope and opportunity. She stands right in the middle, which may also imply that she is yet to be swayed to either direction, and to become either like her father, accepting and calm, or like her grandmother, embittered and frustrated.

There is a single source of light, right above the plate loaded with the potatoes — a compositional placement that marks food as the central concern for those who gathered around the table. This meal could be the only bright moment in these people’s lives, so this lamp may also bear a symbolic meaning. Formally, this piece is not yet impressionistic, not to speak of post-impressionism. Van Gogh made a few stylistic leaps during his career, but this painting was completed before any of them occurred. It makes one wonder how he would have evolved had he not moved to Paris.

Vincent van Gogh: Starry Night

elijah — Wed, 19 Sep 2007 17:39:40 +0000

Another classic, probably the best known of Van Gogh’s paintings. It hangs in the Museum of Modern Art, New York. While looking for things to say about it, I tried to avoid the usual psychobabble — but in vain. This piece exudes psychological meanings and evading them would eventually result in a crippled, and even dishonest review. I would like to focus on several details and make some conclusions about” the bigger picture.”

Starry Night, c.1889

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I think that this piece is all about contrasts. Dark blue and black hues oppose the bright whites and the yellows in the sky. The sharp needle-like tops of the cypress tree almost pierce the round halos around the stars. Interestingly, the whites and yellows of the stars resemble chicken egg contents, which in particular cooking styles must be kept unmixed and intact when pan fried.

Van Gogh Visions

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This “must” makes the breaking of the shell a rather tense and strenuous moment. I think it is possible to draw a parallel between that kind of tension and the artist’s emotional state and compare him to a delicate egg, being poked by the menacing cypress needles. In a way, he “asks” for such a comparison. Eventually the pressure was too much for him and the painter cracked. He has gone mad; the view we are seeing is one from his mental asylum in Saint-Remy-de-Provence, France.

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But there is an even more striking contrast: the enormity of the stars vs. the seemingly Lilliputian buildings of the town. What is and was the city, particularly for such a man as Vincent Van Gogh? Well, it was a collection of banalities and mundane problems, a Ferris wheel of everyday life — something he might have preferred to avoid and ignore.

Starry Night and Starry Night over th…

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It makes sense that these houses appear so small — for the artist, they indeed were small. What was big for him — the universal questions about life, death and God, and how they all relate to each other — was depicted in appropriate cosmic proportions; the stars and how they came to be often allude to these questions. The artist expressed his world view on this canvas, making it a brooding, philosophical work of art.

Starry Night, c.1889

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Another contrast is that of nature and the city, of the untamed and the civilized. It is well demonstrated by the opposition of the tree in the foreground to the church on the outskirts of the town. This contrast may also be seen as the manifestation of the artist’s personal conflict with the religious institution, ensuing from his personal experience. After all, he failed as a clergyman, largely due to his rebellious and uncompromising character.

Van Gogh brings forward elemental ecstasy as an alternative to the stiffness of established clergy; unbridled sentiment expressed in art vs. prettified channeling through the fixed text of a prayer — this painting may be seen both as a personal prayer and a defiance.

Starry Night, c.1889 (det…

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The composition is very unbalanced, and dynamic; appropriately, it spirals the painting to psychological heights or depths, depending on the viewpoint. If it is true that van Gogh engendered expressionism, this piece of his may be considered as one of the springboards for this art movement.

Starry Night, c.1889

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Vincent van Gogh: Wheatfield with Crows

elijah — Tue, 18 Sep 2007 05:42:50 +0000

So many interpretations are available out there, in books and on the web — and mine will be just another one. If you Google “Van Gogh” and you will find plenty of information, including articles. Here’s a link to Britannica article on Vincent van Gogh.

Wheatfield with Crows, c.1890

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I’d like to discuss some of my thoughts on this painting, which hangs in the Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam — and which I had the pleasure of seeing while visiting this great European city

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I tried to find a new angle when looking at the crows, and kept asking myself simple questions: Why are the birds there? What are they doing above the wheat field (besides flying)? Why are they so many? Here are a few things I have come up with.

First, it may be that the artist himself scared the crows, which might have been feeding on the crops. Of course, it is difficult to learn (and probably impossible. And it’s more interesting that way) whether this scene is indeed a reflection of what was, or more of an artificial construct, with the crows, the most literally portable/movable element, added later. But, if it was the painter who scared the crows, then he is the scarecrow, a comparison which brings along many sarcastic and ironic meanings, that somehow connect with the man’s life story.

Second, the are quite a few birds there, which may appear odd — I always thought of crows as rather solitary creatures. Perhaps there were just a few, and the artist multiplied them into a flock. Here’s an idea: when we hear one or two crows croaking, we can tell that they are few but, when there are three or four , or more, it becomes impossible to discern the voices and make out the number. So, five crows will sound just the same as a twenty birds strong flock would.

I think it could be interesting to translate that vocal phenomenon to painting. If seeing can be interchanged with hearing, then seeing five birds would render the same effect as seeing twenty. Hence, it is possible to assume that the number of birds on this painting is more of a guide than even a more or less accurate rendering.

The three paths have also spawned interpretations and theories. Here is mine: they actually form a bird! The middle path shapes the head and the body, the other two are the wings. I will not even try to point out the allegorical implications, because they can be infinite. But I do find that enlarged reflection quite fascinating, regardless of whether it was intentional or not: it’s just there.

Wheatfields with Crows

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Besides that, the paths divide the painting into harmonious segments, a two (field patches) by three (paths) rhythm — tight and solid. This division, two thirds, appears again in color distribution: the ominous blue fills one third of the canvas, the warm yellow and green two thirds. This recurrence contributes to harmony, and unity.

That is what I find particularly fascinating about this piece: despite strong color contrasts, it instills a sense of harmony and inner calm. If I were to guess on what was the emotional state of the artist while working on this canvas, I would mention self-acceptance and resignation besides emotional torment and turmoil, with the former sentiments, however, taking the upper hand. Ultimately, this is a bright painting, with compositional and rhythmic effects contributing to this general impression no less than light and color itself.

Art & Critique » Vincent van Gogh

Vincent van Gogh: Self-Portrait with Bandaged Ear

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Vincent van Gogh: Sunflowers

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Vincent van Gogh: Potato Eaters

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Vincent van Gogh: Starry Night

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Vincent van Gogh: Wheatfield with Crows

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