Letter from Vincent van Gogh to Theo van Gogh (3 February 1883) ... they were on the old
Bridge of Sighs.
I have been feeling very weak lately. I am afraid I have
been overworking myself, and how miserable the
“dregs” of the work are, that depression after
overexertion. Life is then the colour of dishwater; it becomes
something like an ash heap.
On such a day one would like to have the company of a
friend. That sometimes clears up the leaden mist.
On such days I am sometimes terribly worried about the
future and am melancholy about my work, and feel quite
helpless.
But it is dangerous to speak or think too much about it, so
enough of it.
In spite of this, I have been working on a watercolour,
another sketch of diggers, or rather, road menders, here on the
Schenkweg; but it's rotten.
Letter from Vincent van Gogh to Theo van Gogh (22 July 1883) ... Hague, 22 July 1883
Dear brother,
It may be
feverishness, or nerves, or something else, I
don't know, but I don't feel well. Perhaps I am thinking more
than is necessary about that expression in your letter
concerning various things; I hope so. And I have an uneasy
feeling I can't shake off, though I have tried to overcome
it.
There isn't any reason for it, is there? If there is
anything, then tell me straight out what kind of obstacles
there are.
At all events, write too, by return of mail if possible,
whether there is anything or not. I can't help it if there is
no reason for it, but all at once I'm in the dumps. It may be a
reaction from my overexerting myself.
At all events, write soon, boy; did you get the photographs?
I'm going to take a long walk to try to shake it off.
Adieu,
Yours sincerely, Vincent
Letter from Vincent van Gogh to Theo van Gogh (23 July 1883) ... Dear brother,
Since I wrote you yesterday, I could not shake off an
anxious, restless feeling, and it kept me awake last night.
It is, Shall I be able to go on or not? - that, in short, is
why I'm worrying.
You have the photographs now, and you will be able to
imagine my state of mind better with those in front of you than
before you saw them. The drawings I make now are only a shadow
of my intentions - but the shadow which already has a definite
shape, and which I seek, which I aim at, is not vague, but
consists of things taken from full reality, which can only be
mastered by patient and regular work. The idea of working in
fits and starts is a nightmare to me. Nobody can work without
money; I think it's right to work with as little as possible,
but the thought of being left absolutely without what's
strictly necessary would make anybody depressed and
melancholy.
Oh, Theo, the work brings its troubles and cares, but what
is it in comparison to the misery...
Letter from Vincent van Gogh to Theo van Gogh (27 July 1883) ... all his life, he will be cleverer than I.
Now what shall we say about the fact that at times one feels
there is a certain fatality which makes the good turn out wrong
and the bad turn out well.
I think one may consider these thoughts partly the
consequence of overwrought nerves, and if one has them, one
must not think it one's duty to believe that things are really
as gloomy as one supposes; if one did, it would make one mad.
On the contrary, it is reasonable to one's physique then, and
later set to work like a man; and even if that doesn't help,
one must still always continue to use those two means, and
consider such melancholy fatal. Then in the long run one will
feel one's energy increase, and will bear up against the
troubles.
Mysteries remain, and sorrow or melancholy, but that eternal
negative is balanced by the positive work which is thus
achieved after all. If life were as simple, and things as
little complicated as a goody-goody's story or the hackneyed
...
Letter from Vincent van Gogh to Theo van Gogh (c. 15 September 1883) ... it makes my heart melt inside.
How much sadness
there is in life, nevertheless one must not
get melancholy, and one must seek distraction in other things,
and the right thing is to work, but there are moments when one
only finds rest in the conviction: “Misfortune will not
spare me either.”
Goodbye, write soon and believe me,
Ever yours, Vincent
...
