Today I forwarded carriage-paid a box marked V4 containing
the still lifes. The two sketches of Amsterdam are
unfortunately somewhat damaged. They got wet on the way, then the panels got warped while
drying and dust stuck on them, etc., but I sent them to show
you that if in an hour's time I want to dash off an impression
somewhere, I am learning to do so in the same way as others who
analyze their impressions, and who account for what they see.
This is a different thing from feeling, i.e. undergoing
impressions, there is perhaps a great difference between
undergoing impressions and analyzing them, that is to say,
taking them to pieces and putting them together again.
But it is pleasant work to dash something off in a rush.
What struck me most on seeing the old Dutch pictures again
is that most of them were painted quickly, that
these great masters, such as a Frans Hals, a Rembrandt, a
Ruysdael and so many others - dashed off a thing from the first
stroke and did not retouch it so very much.
And heads too - eyes, nose, mouth done with a single stroke
of the brush without any retouching whatever. Unger,
Bracquemond have etched it well - just as it was painted - and
one can see in their etchings the way of painting.
Then, how necessary it is to look at the old Dutch pictures
in these days! and at the French painters, Corot, Millet, etc.
The rest might quite well be dispensed with, and it may lead
others more astray than they think.
To paint in one rush, as much as possible in one rush. What
joy to see such a Frans Hals, how different it is from those
pictures - there are so many of them - where everything has
been carefully smoothed down in the same way.
By chance I saw a Meissonier in the Fodor museum on the same
day I saw old Dutch masters, Brouwer, Ostade, especially
Well, Meissonier does it, like they did, a very
well-considered, well-calculated touch - but in one stroke and
if possible correct at once.
I think it better to scrape off with the knife a part that
is wrong, and to begin anew, than to make too many
I saw a sketch by Rubens and a sketch by Diaz almost at the
same time; they were not alike, but what they have in common is
the belief that colour expresses form if well applied and in
harmony. Diaz is indeed a painter to the very marrow - and he
is conscientious to his fingertips.
The Diaz in Fodor is only sketchy, but perhaps for that very
reason it was for me, who had not seen one for years, a great
pleasure to see it again, and it stood up very well, even if
one had just seen the technique of the old masters.
I must refer once more to certain present-day pictures,
which are becoming more and more numerous.
About ten or fifteen years ago they started talking about
“brightness,” about “light.” Originally
this was right, it is a fact that beautiful things were
produced by that system. But when this degenerates into an
overproduction of pictures that have the same light all over
the canvas, in all four corners - I think they call it day tone
and local colour - is this right??? I think not. The Ruysdael
at Van der Hoop's, the one with the mill, isn't it
“plein-air,” isn't it enormously full of space? And
yet the whole picture is in a much darker colour scheme than
people would use now; besides, earth and sky form one whole,
Van Goyen, that Corot of the Dutch, I stood a long time
before that superb picture in the Dupper collection, two oak
trees on a dune in autumn, in the storm. A sentiment, let me
say, like Jules Dupré or “Le Buisson.” But
there is more common yellow ochre than white in the
There is Cuyp - a view of Dordrecht in Van der Hoop's
collection, it is quite reddish-gold - the ochres are
The picture by Frans Hals, you may call it what you like;
citron amorti or jaune chamois, what is it done with? In the
picture it seems very light, but just put white against it.
I think a great lesson taught by the old Dutch masters is
the following: to consider drawing and colour one, which
Bracquemond also says. And this many painters do not do, they
draw with everything except a healthy colour. Oh, Theo, it is
such a nuisance, it is such a bore to listen to a fellow like
Haverman when he talks about “technique”; I do not
mean Rappard, because though he too talks that way, fortunately
for him he paints better than he talks.
I don't care at all to make many friends in the painters'
club, but I repeat - speaking of technique, there is a good
deal more healthy, sound technique in Israëls, for
instance in that very old picture, “The Fisherman of
Zandvoort,” with its splendid chiaroscuro, than in the
technique of those who are always equally smooth everywhere,
flat and distingué in their sheet-iron frigid colour.
You may safely put that “Fisherman of Zandvoort”
beside an old Delacroix - “La Barque du Dante,” it
is of one and the same family.
Those are the things which I believe in, but every day I
hate more and more those pictures which are light all over. It
is a bad thing for me when they say that I have “no
technique”; it is possible that this will blow over, as I
make no acquaintances among the painters; it is true that, on
the contrary, those who talk most about technique are in
my eyes weakest in it!
I wrote you so already. But when I show something of my work
in Holland, I know beforehand what will be said, and by what
kind of critics. Meanwhile I am going quietly to the old
Dutch masters, and to the pictures by Israëls, and to
those who have a direct affinity with Israëls, which the
modern painters do not have. They are almost diametrically
opposed to Israëls.
And I think I have noticed that Israëls himself, and
Mans, Mauve, Neuhuys, too, look disapprovingly on a certain
tendency which we are talking about now. Mesdag, for instance,
who was at first very realistic, as you remember, has
become in his later pictures and drawings deeper of tone and
often somewhat more mysterious.
Witkamp has many good points, is rather like Jules Breton or
Bastien Lepage, but Jules Breton is warm and he is far too
cold. And that's a fault not easily remedied, to
get some warmth into a thing, it must be put in from the very
beginning, otherwise one cannot get rid of the coldness.
What they call brightness is in many cases an ugly studio
tone of a cheerless city studio. The dawn in the morning or the
twilight in the evening does not seem to exist, there only
seems to be midday, from 11 to 3, a very decent hour indeed,
but - often insipid as a milksop.
But for all that, Theo - I am damned hard up at present.
Painting hard is very expensive, I am almost without a cent,
and the end of the month is misery. The saying “l'argent
est le nerf de la guerre” is alas also true of painting.
In war, however, the result is nothing but misery and
destruction, and in painting one sometimes sows, though the
painter himself is not the man who reaps.
How are you, and how is business? I do not know if I am
right, but judging from the show window, the shop in Amsterdam
did not look very flourishing, but oh so quiet and
Indeed, too much courage and enthusiasm are not the
faults(?) of today. I have hardly spoken to anybody, but
indirectly I sounded people out here and there, because I am
curious to see the art trade's results and what will become of
it. I don't think you are exactly overwhelmed with pictures -
This winter I am going to study several things of great
technical skill which I noticed in the old masters. I have seen
much that is of use to me. But above all things - what is
called enlever, that is what the old Dutch
masters did famously.
That enlever in a few strokes of the brush, they won't hear
of it nowadays, but how excellent the results are, and how
masterfully this was understood by many French painters, by
In the museum I was thinking continually of Delacroix, why?
Because standing before Hals, before Rembrandt, before Ruysdael
and others, I was constantly reminded of the saying:
“Lorsque Delacroix peint, c'est comme le lion qui devore
le morceau.” That is how it ought to be, and oh, Theo,
when I think of what I will call the technical club, as they
call themselves, how dull it is. If at any time I should come
into contact with one of those gentlemen or meet one of them,
you may be sure I shall play the fool, but à la
vireloque 1 with a coup de dents [bite]
I hate it when things drag and go amiss.
And isn't it a fatal thing, that forced finishing everywhere
(what they call finish), everywhere that same monotonous
grey instead of light and brown; colour - local colour -
instead of tone, isn't it deplorable and yet isn't it so.
I find all these things wrong because I consider
Israëls, for instance, such a master, and because there
are so many modern as well as old painters whom one can
I ought to have noticed before this that I am very probably
boring you with this letter. But the fact is, I didn't think of
it. For my part, I can tell you that I wish you would write me
your impressions of things in the Louvre, or Luxembourg, or
Write soon if you can, and let me tell you that the end of
the month is very hard. But I am glad to have been in
Amsterdam, though it was at a moment when I could less afford
the expenses than ever. The consequence is that around New
Year's I shall be very hard up, but, oh well, faint heart never
won fair lady and for the sake of painting, I will put up with
always being in difficulties if it has to be.
Goodbye, I hope you will get my parcel in good order. There
is a book by de Goncourt about Chardin, Boucher,
Watteau, and Fragonard; I must read that; have you
got it or one of your friends perhaps? I am afraid not, but do
you happen to know if it is very important?
Ever yours, Vincent
I.e. on a reciprocal basis, by which Vincent means:
casting the other one for the same part.
At this time, Vincent was 32 year old
Vincent van Gogh. Letter to Theo van Gogh. Written October 1885 in Nuenen. Translated by Mrs. Johanna van Gogh-Bonger, edited by Robert Harrison, number 427.
This letter may be freely used, in accordance with the terms of this site.