Paris in the Drizzle

Paris was good for me.  It was good to walk in the place where so much of what I've read took place.  It was good for my tummy and for my soul. 

One evening, with Elaine and Jin, there was the outstanding fish soup followed by to-die-for small steamed (Spanish) mussels done the French way with wine and lots of butter.  As someone once said, you can never have too much butter.  With the whole group there was the outstanding galette (salty crepe made from buckwheat flour) with cheese and bacon and I-don’t-remember-what-else in a neighborhood creperie that Brigitte, our fearless leader took us to on the day when we braved the rain climbing the hills of Montmartre.   If my galette didn’t recharge my batteries, the apple crepe with Calvados that I had for dessert certainly did. 

In fact, I felt so fortified that instead of inspecting the two churches on offer at the top of the butte, I stood in the drizzle arguing with our lecturer James about whether Vincent committed suicide or was shot by someone.  I am of the latter opinion but James, who is a graduate of the Sorbonne, holds a Ph.D. from Southampton-Solent University, and is an expert on art history, didn’t agree.  Even experts can be mistaken.

Passing by the apartment building where Vincent van Gogh lived with his brother when he came to live in Paris, James gave the group a brief history of the artisst.  A history full of errors.  Vincent went to teach in England before he became an evangelist in Belgium.  Maybe it isn’t important the order of his jobs, but it is important to mention that he couldn’t keep any job, not even his first one that had been for an art dealer – a family member.  His whole working life was a failure.

James also said that Vincent was mad.  That he had shown symptoms earlier and then had the crisis when he cut off his ear.  Madness ran in the family.

In the 1880s people talked of madness because there were many illnesses that had not yet been defined.  Look a little further back and madness was thought to be the work of witches or the devil.  But no one talks of madness now.  Now, people suffer from schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, epilepsy, and other illnesses that doctors couldn’t diagnose or didn’t have treatment for in Vincent’s day.   Vincent’s illness had a diagnosis, even if it wasn’t known at the time.  A recent theory was that he had bipolar disorder, but it has lately been convincingly argued that he suffered from temporal lobe epilepsy.  Ironically, epilepsy was the diagnosis of Dr. Reyes who initially treated Vincent in Arles when he mutilated (but did not cut off) his ear.  Unfortunately, even though Dr. Reyes was probably correct, there was no treatment for it then.

James went on to say that Vincent went to Avers-sur-Oise in order to stay with Dr. Gachet and because there was an artist community there.  Vincent’s brother Theo knew Dr. Gachet, who was an amateur painter and art collector, and had arranged for him to stay with the doctor in order to receive treatment for his illness.  There was no artist community.  When he arrived Vincent discovered that the doctor was not able or willing to have him in his home, so he went to stay at the village inn. 

Some of these erroneous bits weren’t really important, but all together they painted a picture taken out of Lust for Life rather than any real biography of Vincent. 

The most important error, in my opinion, was to say that Vincent committed suicide.  There is convincing new research presented in the excellent book Van Gogh: The Life by the Pulitzer Prize-winning authors Steven Naifeh and Gregory White Smith that says that Vincent did not kill himself, but that he was shot by someone – probably by a wealthy teenager whose family summered in the village and who used to taunt Vincent.  Earlier research pointed to the same conclusion.  If he had shot himself and walked back to the inn, what happened to his painting kit?  His easel, paints, brushes, and canvas were never found.  And the gun?  Where did he get and what did he do with the gun?  That was never found either.  He hadn’t been out in the wilderness; he was in the cultivated fields by a village and yet none of these things have ever been found.  But besides these questions, there is new forensic evidence that makes it very unlikely that the gunshot could have been self-inflicted.  (Link to article)

All these myths being presented as facts annoyed me enough to stand in the drizzle and argue.  Vincent is one of the world’s most important artists who never found the love and understanding he sought during his lifetime (except from his brother) and deserves the respect to be presented accurately.

Calvados crepes and Vincent aside, my food highlight in Paris was our dinner at Miss Lunch, a tiny restaurant and food shop run by Claude, a food artist.  The food was good but Claude was the tour de force of that tasty and very entertaining evening.

Other highlights?  The Van Gogh and the Art Nouveau collections at the Musee d’Orsay, walking in the Marais, seeing the Allee des Justes with the names of those brave people who had helped French Jews escape the Nazis, the evening boat ride on the Seine, paying my respects at Colette’s tomb, just BEING there where so much of what I’ve read about happened.

I took no food photos at meals.  In fact, I took fewer photos than usual during the whole week, partly because of the weather, and party because I didn’t want to be bothered.  Of the ones I did take, a good number turned out to be rubbish.  I think if I want decent church interiors and night shots of the Eiffel Tower and Notre Dame Cathedral taken from a moving boat, I need to take my better camera that has more possibilities for settings.  And I never did make it into Shakespeare and Co.   I guess I’ll have to go back.

Cashmere and Croissant

On my recent trip to Avignon, I also spent a day in Arles, one of my favorite places.  One of the reasons I love Arles is because Vincent van Gogh, my favorite painter, lived there for some months and being there allows me to see some of the places he painted and feel closer to him.  Arles is where he lived in the Yellow House, where Gauguin came to live with him, but ended up only spending some weeks.  The climax of that ill-fated visit was when Vincent mutililated (not cut off) his ear.  His illness was certainly not caused by Gauguin, but their stormy relationship probably contributed to making it worse.  This attack was the first of several episodes, probably a form of epilepsy, that he suffered from for the rest of his life. So visiting Arles, for a van Gogh fan, is necessarily a pilgrimage. The other reason is simply that it is a very pretty place to be.

 

Les Arenes, Roman amphitheatre

 

Les Alyscamps

 

 

Musee Reattu, those are carobs
afixed to two different buildings

This trip, going to Arles was a double pleasure because in addition to being able to spend a day in a place I love, I also got to meet one of my new friends who I got to know through the internet.  Delana is an American who lives in Aix-en-Provence.  Delana moved to France about four years ago and in the last year we have corresponded a few times.  She was kind enough to make the journey to Arles one day during my stay so that we could finally meet and what else?  Go treasure-hunting at a brocante fair.

Photo by waitress

 

Delana is a sucker for old linen, especially linen bed sheets.  But we combed through all the stalls, not just the linens, because we both know that at an antique/collectibles fair, you never know what you might find.  And we did find two treasures, neither one of them linen, both made of leather.  These were two fine leather bags, Delana’s in the form of a backpack, and mine in the form of a battered little handbag with a lot of character which I was assured was a designer bag, although which designer the lady couldn’t say.  It doesn’t matter.  The bag is clearly a one-of-a-kind (now, if not when it was new) and I will remember my great day in Arles every time I use it.
 

Brocante shopping wasn’t my only spree.  I always pay a visit to the second-hand clothing stores in Avignon where you can often find designer treasures.  There I scored with an Eric Bompart cashmere cardigan that suits me perfectly, adding to the Avignon second-hand stash that I already have at home.  Lots of good memories hang in my closet.



My new cashmere sweater
Photo by Delana

Delana writes a blog www.delana-dujour.blogspot.com and recently started a Provençal rug business.  You don’t have to travel to buy her Provençal rugs, they’re online at www.provencerugs.com.

My most surprising and genial experience in Avignon took place at the café near the hotel where I went each day for my morning coffee and croissant.  There was a very cute, young waiter (maybe the owner) who, by my second visit, already knew I wanted a café au lait et un croissant.  (Week after week, the waitress in the café here in Figueres where I go on Sundays has never given any sign that she has ever even seen me before – not so much as a nod.)  He encouraged me to use the little French I knew while he practiced his superior English.  On my first visit he was friendly, explaining the difference between a café au lait and a café crème (the former has more milk).  On that second day¸ he made me feel at home. 

There were two days when I went in quite early for my coffee, and both times there was a group of eight or ten men sitting together at several adjacent tables.  This was a small café and they were taking up about half of it.  At first I thought they might be work colleagues having an early morning meeting even though some were dressed in business clothes and others were dressed casually.  But they didn’t all leave together.  And not only did they leave at staggered times, I noticed that some didn’t pay on their way out.  I asked the friendly waiter about them.  He told me they were friends who met before work every day.  The first man who left had paid for them all.  Apparently they take turns.  What a nice way to start the day – so much nicer than taking your coffee to go in a styrofoam cup and drinking it alone in your car.

My last day I went to pay and told the waiter au revoir, that I was leaving.  He gave me three kisses on the cheeks and wouldn’t take my money.  He said I had been a loyal client for the duration of my visit and this last breakfast was on the house.  Whoever says the French are unfriendly, needs to visit this café. 

At home in Avignon

 

Visiting Van Gogh

Remember van Gogh’s painting of the almond blossoms that I posted last week (and that appears again here at the left)?  To my surprise, it appeared on the back cover of a book that I had ordered from Amazon and that arrived this week.

The book is Theo: The Other Van Gogh by Marie-Angelique Ozanne and Frederique de Jode.  It is about Vincent’s brother Theo without whom, it is unlikely that there would be all those hundreds of van Gogh paintings.  That a painting by Vincent should appear on the cover of a book about his brother Theo isn’t necessarily surprising.  But this did surprise me because this one is far from being one of Vincent’s most famous paintings and I had just posted it on my blog.  It would have been more likely that they would have used one of the more emblematic paintings: Irises or Sunflowers, a self-portrait, or a starry night.  So finding this painting on the back when I turned the book over was a pleasant surprise and an interesting coincidence.

Van Gogh didn’t used to be my favorite painter.  If I had to choose one, it would have been Rembrandt.  What happened to change this is that about three years ago I saw the tail end of the movie Lust for Life on TV.  I had never seen it before but remembered my mother liking it, so when I saw it listed I tuned in.  It didn’t make me a van Gogh fan, but it sparked my interest in him, in part because not long before, I had visited Arles for a few days.

My previous visit to Arles and the little bit of story I saw on the television drew me in and I started reading about Vincent.  When I started to read about him and looked at the paintings that I found on the internet, I saw that I had been inspired to photograph many of the same images that he had painted.  But I didn’t know that at the time.  Then again, Arles is a small town.

I started reading through his letters to his brother Theo that I found on a wonderful site on the net.  A new book of his letters had just been published, but it was multiple volumes, beautiful illustrated with his paintings, and I couldn’t afford it.  So instead I found The Vincent van Gogh Gallery, looked at drawings and paintings, and read letters for free.  They have all the letters.  The more I read, the more van Gogh became a real person rather than a media myth.  And the more real he became, the more I liked him… and his paintings.

Since then I’ve been on a mini van Gogh quest.  If you would like to learn more about this highly intelligent, troubled, polyglot, genius, here is my reading list.  Some of the books were better than others.  They included (I read them in this order):

The Yellow House by Martin Gayford.  This is a non-fictional account of the few weeks that Gauguin spent with Vincent in Arles.  I thought it was well done and very interesting.

Sunflowers by Sheremy Bundrick.  I found this a poor attempt at historical fiction at the expense of Vincent.  In this absurd, concocted tale, Vincent is in love with the prostitute to whom he (in real life) presented with the piece of his mutilated ear.

Vincent and Theo Van Gogh by Jan Hulsker.  Hulsker is one of the leading experts on Van Gogh.  This biography explains the lives of the two brothers and provides many illustrations and parts of their correspondence.  Unfortunately it is out of print but I managed to find a relative inexpensive used copy that my (then) stepson Manuel Serge was kind enough to schlep to Spain when he came for vacation.  As I recall, the book weighs something like five pounds!  If you want to read it, look for it in your library or for a used copy.

The Letters of Vincent Van Gogh edited by Mark Roskill.  There are hundreds of van Gogh letters.  Roskill provides enough to give you a sense of Vincent’s life and his character.  He also says, in the introduction to my edition, that he made some revisions to the edition “as a record of my feelings towards this great artist and intensely lovable man.”  These are my sentiments too.

Lust for Life by Irving Stone.  Having seen the last bit of the movie, I thought it was time to read the book.  The story is good because Vincent’s life is a compelling story.  But I thought the writing was poor.

Leaving Van Gogh by Carol Wallace.  This is the fictional story of the last few weeks of Vincent’s life, as imagined by Carol Wallace and told in the voice of Dr. Gachet.  Dr. Gachet was the doctor who took charge of Vincent’s care in Auvers-sur-Oise   , where Vincent went to stay after leaving the asylum in St. Remy.  It is fiction.  Although I liked it (all but the ending) when I read it, after reading the Naifeh biography later (see below) I was incensed that someone could write a novel of historical fiction and stray so far from the known facts.  I do not recommend the book and am getting rid of my copy. (If I burned books I would burn this one.  But I don’t, which makes it difficult to know what to do with it.  Pass it on to someone who will likely be misled? Or keep the public safe from it by keeping it on my own shelf?  Right now it sits on the back seat of my car where it can do no harm.)

Van Gogh: The Life by Stephen Naifeh and Geoffrey W. Smith.  This well-researched and detailed biography is an excellent source if you want to know about Van Gogh the brilliant and troubled painter and Van Gogh the brilliant and troubled man. 

Portrait of Dr. Gachet by Cynthia Saltzman.  This non-fiction book is said to be well-researched and yet I found several errors in the early parts concerning Van Gogh.  I assume the rest of the story, which is really a kind of biography of the painting – who painted it, who owned it, what the world and the art world as like during the years of its existence and its travels – is correct.  I found it an extremely interesting history.

I’m looking forward to reading the new arrival, Theo: The Other van Gogh.  When you read about Vincent, Theo is always there, in the foreground or the background.  I’m very eager to learn more about this very important figure in Vincent’s life.