In one of the scenes in
Irving Stone’s novel, Lust for Life,
Vincent van Gogh walks past the synagogue which excommunicated Baruch
Spinoza. A few blocks away was
Rembrandt’s old home. “He died in
poverty and disgrace,” said Van Gogh’s fellow walker, Mendez, about
Rembrandt.
Rembrandt died in poverty
and disgrace. Today his paintings are
worth millions of dollars. His
masterpiece is valued by art dealers “in excess of $150 million.”
“He didn’t die unhappy,
though,” said Van Gogh in response to Mendez.
“No,” replied Mendez, “he
had expressed himself fully and he knew the worth of what he had done. He was the only one in his time who did.”
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Van Gogh – self portrait
Source: Wikipedia
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Some people are like
that. They don’t care what the world
thinks of them and of the worth of their work. Painting is what held Rembrandt together as a
man. It mattered little to him what
others thought about his work. He had to
be himself. There was no other way. He couldn’t live with masks. He couldn’t be anything but himself.
Eventually Van Gogh would
face the same dilemma. He underwent
tremendous mental torture in order to hold himself together as a man. He had to paint in order to be human. He had to express himself in order to be.
He too lived in poverty and died in disgrace. Eventually his paintings too went on to sell
for millions of dollars.
No one may understand
your worth in your lifetime. Your
loyalty to yourself and your perseverance matter more than anything else. Very few people may understand this. Most people don’t face this dilemma. Most people choose a profession for what it
pays. There are some, however, who need to express themselves, who cannot
be but an expression of their very being.
Even if life means misery and disgrace, they persist. They are that persistence. They are just what they are.
Rembrandt could not but
be Rembrandt. The excommunication meant
little to Baruch Spinoza. Rembrandt’s
paintings justified his life. Spinoza’s
philosophy justified his life. Van Gogh
would have gone to pieces without the activity of painting which he did
relentlessly. He killed himself at the age of 37. In just over a decade he had created about
2100 artworks.
“My God, my God, why have
you forsaken me?” Did that lament rise again
and again in the souls of these rare men?
It must have. Van Gogh shot
himself in his chest. The bullet was
deflected by a rib and death came very slowly, hitting him 30 hours later. He was in good spirits as he awaited his
end. “The sadness will last forever,” he
is reported to have said in the end. Was
life that sadness?
“Ah … my work,” says
Irving Stone’s Van Gogh at the end of the novel, “I risked my life for it.”
Of course. It is absolutely correct. Happiness and satisfaction is all about knowing one's true worth through the yardsticks set in by oneself based on self awareness
ReplyDeleteI must confess I missed you here quite a lot.
DeleteSuch a beautiful post! Thanks for the link.
ReplyDeleteI so agree with you regarding perseverance here. And always (can't even say 'often') people judge one's success on how much money one makes. In that sense Van Gogh was never a success in his lifetime (a lot of them infact). He sold only one painting in his lifetime and he was always referred to as that weird man who goes around drawing and making portraits. He was sensitive to the core and he felt he's a burden to his brother Theo who was the only one who understood and supported him in every way and by paying Van Gogh's bills too!
Been wanting to read to read this book, should soon! :)
In case you are interested you could watch this: Vincent Van Gogh - The Story.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FvWHOj79vrw&t=148s
You're absolutely right: not only Van Gogh but the entire set of his contemporary artists failed to make it in the world of commercial success. Yet they lived their life to their own heart's content. That makes a whole lot of sense to me.
DeleteYou'll love this novel about Van Gogh, I'm sure, especially since you are an artist yourself.