Vincent Van Gogh.....

When Raghu asked me to write about what I feel about him, I should admit that I never am having any
idea, as to how to begin, and what to say.... it's only because of Raghu that I reluctantly started reading
his biography "Lust for life" written by one of a legendary storyteller Irving Stone. But being frank to
myself, what he has handed me was not a book, but a mirror in itself!

There are only a few genuine people to have outlived their life; Van Gogh is certainly one of them.

Hereby I would like to put my few paisas, as how I have understood the art of Vincent as a painter only
and will try to recollect what are my "impressions" about his paintings.

We will begin with a question; Is painting a mere faithful reproduction of reality? Or is it another way of
building up the fragments of our memory as a response to the current encounter?

How would the images created by an artist synthesise their own counterpart in our psyche? The very art
of expression, be it literature or music, we always perceive a reality and re construct it in our own
imagination..... The success of an artist is to make our own response- images to mimic his own, and to
bring about a resonance of a "living experience" that he himself could have witnessed.

The audience or the reader would perceive it again according to his own share of traits and "Samskaras"

Take one of his painting, "the potato eaters" here no image, no figure is properly drawn, the human
peasants, their hands are deliberately crooked (he always draw twisted and mutilated fingers in his

characters, until they become irrelevant and convey the essence of person they belong to) those hands
are completely out of the conventional drawing. No wonder, the contemporary art critics treated this
painting a trash! But we will see that the painting is a celebration of the labour life.....the work culture!
those hands don't know the difference between as to how to get into mud or a potato bowl, they rest in
the solace of earning their rightful bread, the contempt in their routine, monotonous, greatly reduced
 but profoundly simple life style, their indifference to
sorrows and pleasures, all the roughness, all their
sufferings, more emphasized was their authority of
assuming a leisure, it has a piece of their living in a
nutshell.

The only light they could see are the baked potatoes in a
bowl, those humble downward hands picking up their
share of food, remind me the image of a devotee, bowing
down, standing before the altars of a deity only to get
consumed by its grace, not to consume itself....

Those hands of pouring the coffee, those which hold the cup, those which are lifting a piece, they tell
you everything; so expressive all in their crude, raw lines, appear to be primordial cavemen sketches, a
novice work, yet so profound and overwhelming. They are great! Loafer Van Gogh!! His paintings are like
folk songs rather than a full fledged orchestra, so simple, raw, highly outpouring and straight to the
heart. If you are looking for the epic elements, etiquettes of the complex theories, lo! It is bestowed and
scattered everywhere..... Break your sense of elite superiority, come home to their humble table and
press those hands against your shut eyes.

The shapes of objects that Vincent has lined in his paintings are just name sake. He never bothers to give
shading or illustrate the foreplay of light and darkness as all the mainstream painters do. But He brings
those effects by smearing thick strokes of gaudy colours at their place, and ta-da!! Magic blasts straight
into your face!

He merely "suggests" the shape and perspectives. If we have a closer look at his infamous "12 sunflowers
in a vase" the roundness of vase is suggested, there is no shadow, see his paintings of shoes, the shadow
is there, but highly suggestive. Those shoes have a story, you can see a personality in them. May be a
shadow and shading could have spoiled it's character. I think this is the unique style of Van Gogh as a
painter. That's his little secret.

We can see that the shining surface of the vase, where a skill full artist could have meticulously worked
day and night bring it alive, he has just brought the shining light on its curve by putting solid stacks of
different colours.

And about those bright sunflowers along with the dead ones.... less said is the better.

For Vincent, Nature is not a continuous variation in the arrangement of intensities of light, it's like a
discrete pallet of Colors, as it appears to be.

His rendering of bright lit - sky during sunset can't be

orange or yellow, it could even be green or purple.
But you will smell a real evening there.

These paintings of him are called impressionist

paintings for this matter......His exclusively yellow
corn fields, the hot air, and the warm silence of the
day (ಕಕಯಯಣಯವರರ ಹಹಹಳದ ಮರಮಬಹಬ ನಗರದ ಕಕರರಕರ
ಕಟಟಡಗಳ ಮಮಲಹಗಳಲಲನ ಬಹಚಚನಹಯ ಮಮನ) haunting
sunshine and the eternal hangover of our drowsy
afternoons, they create an altogether terrain where
you could be lost and stand naked.

These pictures will haunt you like the forest of Kuvempu novels,with all their consistent chirping of
cicadas and with all their might and glory, filling your soul with their mystery.
Take this masterpiece, "Starry night" where the depth of the pitch dark of night is replaced by a Prussian
blue, and larger than life images of the sizzling beauty of stars! You can see them flickering, with their
simmering auras and un- intentionally conveying a secret call to the sleeping town beneath. Town
doesn't seem to heed for their cry, for whom are they pouring out all their light? For a nobody, for
Vincent alone? They continue to sing their solitary song of twilight sonata....the tranquil, but equally
vibrant and more equally turbulent night is just frozen in a single shot!! Only a great visionary painter

could be able to "pause" this mesmerizing moment.

Another category in this night series is " starry night over the Rhone" I say, this painting is singing the
satire of all human beings, those couples standing at the shore immediately relate to us, being orphans
at the majesty of darkness and just standing helplessly at the twinkling stars. Those city lights, reflecting
on the water, are the only hope they could consider to console each other. This is a very disturbing
painting indeed for me. You can see the same hopeless, apparently orphan couples in many of his
paintings, standing naive and native amidst the fields, finding their home, helplessly together, standing in
a way to remind him of a family that he always craved for......Probably they were himself and Theo.
Another interesting thing about his human figures is, compulsorily there will be man standing always
spreading his legs. He is everywhere in all of his paintings. And he will stand for all our miniscule
existence under the patronage of great nature and the whole canvas of this cosmos.

I am not going to say anything about his corn fields and his obsession for yellow, scared of the length it
would take me write, and also for the one to read. Would like to conclude by compulsion that, the
obsession of a poet to a theme is no less than the obsession of colour to a painter. For example,
Kuvempu sitting on the cliff of kavishaila, taken away by the lush green of the forest and lost, exclaims
somewhere in his poem, "ಹಸರತತಲ,ಹಸರತತಲ, ಹಸರರಹತತಲ ಕಡಲನಲ; ಹಸರಕಯತರ ಕವಯಕತತಮ, ಹಸರರ ನಹತತರ
ಒಡಲನಲ! " What more to say?

I would like to try for more further.

- GB Swamy