As I look forward to your arrival, there is hardly a moment
when my thoughts are not with you.
These last days I have gone on to paint several studies, so
that you may see them at the same time. And that change of work
does me good, for though I cannot do literally as Weissenbruch
does, and go and stay in the polders for a few weeks, yet I do
do something like it, and to look at the green fields has a
Besides, I decidedly hope in this way to make progress in
terms of colour. The last painted studies seem to me firmer and
more solid in colour. So for instance a few I made recently, in
the rain, showing a man on a wet, muddy road, express the
sentiment better, I think.
Well, we will see when you come.
Most of them are impressions of landscape, I dare not say as
well done as those that sometimes occur in your letters,
because still I am often checked by technical difficulties -
yet there is something in them, I think - for instance, a
silhouette of the city in the evening, when the sun is setting,
and a towpath with windmills.
While painting, I feel of late a certain power of colour
awakening in me, stronger and different from what I have felt
It may be that the nervousness of these days is linked up
with a kind of revolution in my way of working, for which I
have been seeking and of which I have been thinking for a long
I have often tried to work less dryly, but it always turned
into the same thing over again. But now that a kind of weakness
prevents me from working in my usual way, this seems to help,
rather than to hinder,
I wonder what it will lead to, and how it will develop. I
have sometimes wondered why I was not more of a colourist,
because my temperament decidedly seems to indicate it - but up
till now it developed very little.
I repeat, I wonder how it will develop - but I see clearly
that my last painted studies are different.
If I remember rightly, you still have one from last year, of
a few tree trunks in the wood.
I do not think that it is really bad, but it is not what one
sees in the studies of colourists. Some colours there are
correct, but though they are correct they do not have the
effect they ought to have, and though the paint is here and
there laid on thickly, even so the effect is too meagre. I take
this one as an example, and now I think that the last ones
which are less thickly laid on are nonetheless becoming more
potent in colour, as the colours are more interwoven and the
strokes of the brush cover one another, so that it is mellower
and more for instance like the downiness of the clouds or of
At times I have been greatly worried that I made no progress
with colour, but now I am hopeful again.
We shall see how it will develop.
Now you will understand that I am very anxious for your
coming, for if you also sawthat there is a change, I should not
doubt that we are on the right track. I dare not quite trust my
own eyes as regards my own work. Those two studies, for
instance, which I made while it was raining - a muddy road with
a little figure - they seem to me exactly the opposite of some
other studies. When I look at them I rediscover the sentiment
of that dreary rainy day; and in the figure there is a kind of
life, though it is nothing but a few patches of colour - it is
not summoned by correctness of drawing, for there is in effect
no drawing. What I mean to suggest is that in these studies I
believe there is something of that mysteriousness one gets by
looking at nature through the eyelashes, so that the outlines
are simplified to blots of colour.
Time must pass over it, but at present I see in several
studies something different in colour and tone.
Recently I often think of a story I read in an English
magazine, a tale about a painter, in which there appears a
person whose health suffered also in a time of trouble, and who
went to a lonely place in the peat fields, and there in that
melancholy setting found himself again, and began to paint
nature as he felt and saw it. It was very well described in the
story, evidently by a person who was well up in art, and it
struck me when I read it, while now of late I sometimes think
of it again.
At any rate I hope we shall soon be able to talk it over and
consult together. If you can, write soon, and of course the
sooner you can send the money, the better it will be for
With a handshake in thought,
For no particular reason, I cannot help adding a thought
that often occurs to me. Not only did I start drawing
relatively late in life, but it may well be that I shall not be
able to count on many more years of life either.
If I think about it dispassionately - as if making
calculations for an estimate or a specification - then it is in
the nature of things that I cannot possibly know anything
definitely about it.
But by comparison with various people with whose lives one
may be familiar, or by comparison with some with whom one is
supposed to have some things in common, one can draw certain
conclusions which are not completely without foundation.
So, as to the time I still have ahead of me for work, I
think I may safely presume that my body will hold up for a
certain number of years quand bien même [in spite
of everything] - a certain number between 6 and 10, say. (I can
assume this the more safely as there is for the time being no
immediate quand bien même.)
This is the period on which I count firmly. For the
rest, it would be speculating far too wildly for me to dare
make a definite pronouncements about myself, seeing that it
depends precisely on those first, say, ten years as to whether
or not there will be anything after that time.
If one wears oneself out during these years then one won't
live beyond 40. If one conserves enough strength to withstand
the sort of shocks that tend to befall one, and manages to deal
with various more or less complicated physical problems, then
by the age of 40 to 50 one is back on a new, relatively normal
But such calculations are not relevant at present.
Instead, as I started to say, one should plan for a period of
between 5 and 10 years. I do not intend to spare myself, to
avoid emotions or difficulties - it makes comparatively little
difference to me whether I go on living for a shorter or longer
time - besides I am not competent to manage my constitution the
way, say, a physician is able to. And so I go on like an
ignoramus, one who knows just one thing: within a few
years I must have done a certain amount of work - I don't
need to rush, for there is no point in that, but I must
carry on working in complete calm and serenity, as
regularly and with as much concentration as possible, as much
to the point as possible. The world concerns me only in so far
as I owe it certain debt and duty, so to speak,
because I have walked this earth for 30 years, and out of
gratitude would like to leave some memento in the form of
drawings and paintings - not made to please this school or
that, but to express a genuine human feeling. So that work is
my aim - and when one concentrates on this idea, everything one
does is simplified, in that it is not muddled but has a single
objective. At present the work is going slowly - one reason
more not to lose any time.
Guillaume Régamey was, I think, someone who left
behind no particular reputation (you know there are two
Régameys, F. Régamey paints Japanese people, and
is his brother), but is nevertheless a personality for whom I
have a great respect. He died at the age of 38, and one period
of his life lasting 6 or 7 years was almost exclusively devoted
to drawings with a highly distinctive style, done while he
worked under some physical handicap. He is one of many - a very
good one among many good ones.
I don't mention him to compare myself with him, I am not as
good as he was, but to cite a specific example of self-control
and willpower, sustained by one inspiring idea, which in
difficult circumstances nevertheless showed him how to do good
work with utter serenity.
That is how I regard myself, as having to accomplish in a
few years something full of heart and love, and to do it with a
will. Should I live longer, tant mieux, [so much the better]
but I put that out of my mind. Something must be
accomplished in those few years, this thought guides
all my plans. You will understand better now why I have a
yearning to press on - and at the same time some determination
to use simple means. And perhaps you will also be able to
understand that as far as I am concerned I do not consider my
studies in isolation but always think of my work as a
At this time, Vincent was 30 year old
Vincent van Gogh. Letter to Theo van Gogh. Written c. 4-8 August 1883 in The Hague. Translated by Mrs. Johanna van Gogh-Bonger, edited by Robert Harrison, number 309.
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