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Last Sunday I saw for the first time the two large pictures
by Rubens, and as I had looked at those in the museum
repeatedly and at my ease, these two - “The Deposition
from the Cross” and “The Elevation of the
Cross” - were the more interesting. “The Elevation
of the Cross” has a peculiarity that struck me at once,
and that is - there is no female figure in it. Unless on the
side panels of the triptych. Consequently, it is none the
better for it. Let me tell you that I love “The
Deposition from the Cross.” But not because of any depth
of feeling such as one would find in a Rembrandt or in a
picture by Delacroix or in a drawing be Millet.
Nothing touches me less than Rubens expressing human
To explain my meaning more clearly, let me begin by saying
that even his most beautiful weeping Magdalenes or Mater
Dolorosas always simply remind me of the tears of a beautiful
prostitute who has caught a venereal disease or some such small
misery of human life.
As such they are masterly, but one must not look for more in
Rubens is extraordinary in painting ordinary beautiful
women. But he is not dramatic in the expression. Compare him,
for instance, to that head by Rembrandt in the Lacaze
Collection; to the man's figure in “The Jewish
Bride” - you will understand what I mean, as for
instance, that his eight pompous figures of fellows performing
a feat of strength with a heavy wooden cross in “The
Elevation of the Cross” seem absurd to me from the
standpoint of modern analysis of human passions and feelings.
That Rubens's expressions, especially of the men (the real
portraits always excepted), are superficial, hollow, pompous,
yes - altogether conventional, like those of Jules Romain and
even worse fellows of the decadence.
But I still love it because he, Rubens, is the very man who
tries to express, and really succeeds in expressing, a mood of
cheerfulness, of serenity, of sorrow, by the combination of
colours - though sometimes his figures may be hollow, etc.
Thus in “The Elevation of the Cross” the pale
spot of the corpse in a high accent of light - is dramatic in
its contrast to the rest, which is kept in such a low colour
Of the same order, but in my opinion far more beautiful, is
the charm of “The Deposition from the Cross,” where
the pale spot is repeated in the blonde hair, the fair face and
neck of the female figures, whereas the somber surroundings are
enormously rich because of the various low-toned harmonizing
masses of red, dark green, black, grey and violet.
And once again Delacroix has tried to make people believe in
the symphonies of the colours. And one would almost say in
vain, if one remembers how almost everybody understands by good
colour the correctness of the local colour, the narrow-minded
exactness which neither Rembrandt nor Millet nor Delacroix nor
whoever else, neither Manet nor Courbet, has aimed at, as
little as Rubens or Veronese.
I have also seen several other pictures by Rubens in various
And it is very interesting to study Rubens, because his
technique is so very simple, or rather seems to be so. His
means are so simple, and he paints, and particularly draws,
with such a quick hand and without any hesitation. But
portraits and heads and figures of women are his specialty.
There he is deep and intimate too. And how fresh his pictures
remain because of the very simplicity of his technique.
What more shall I say? That I feel increasingly inclined to
do all my figure studies over again, very calmly and quietly,
without any nervous hurry. I want to progress so far in the
knowledge of the nude and the structure of the figure that I
might be able to work from memory.
I should still like to work sometime either at Verlat's or
in some other studio, besides working for myself as much as
possible from the model.
For the moment I have deposited five pictures - two
portraits, two landscapes, and one still life in Verlat's
painting class at the academy. I have just been there again,
but he was not there either time. But I shall soon be able to
tell you the result, and I hope that I shall be allowed to
paint from the model all day at the academy, which will make
things easier for me, as the models are so awfully expensive
that my purse cannot stand the strain.
And I must find something to help me in that respect. At all
events I think I shall remain in Antwerp for some time, instead
of going back to the country; that would be much better than
putting it off, and here there is so much more chance of
finding people who would perhaps interest themselves in it. I
feel that I dare undertake something, and can achieve
something, and things have been dragging on far too long
You get angry whenever I expostulate with you, or rather you
don't give a damn, and all the rest of it, which we know by
now, and yet I believe a time will come when, of your own
accord, you will come to the conclusion that you have been too
weak to persevere in trying to help me regain some credit with
people. But never mind, we are not faced by the past but by the
future. And again I tell you - I am convinced that time will
make you see that, if only there had been more cordiality and
warmth between us, we might have built a business of our own
together. Even if you had stayed with Goupil & Co.
Indeed, you said to me that you know perfectly well you will
be rewarded with stinking ingratitude, but are you quite sure
this isn't a misunderstanding of the type Father himself
laboured under? I for one shall not take it lying down, you can
he sure of that. For there is still too much work to be done,
even at present.
The other day I saw for the first time a fragment of Zola's
new book L'oeuvre, which, as you know, appears as a serial in
Le Gil Blas.
I think that this novel, if it penetrates the art world
somewhat, may do some good. The fragment I read was very
When you get right down to it, I'll admit that when one is
working exclusively from nature, something more is needed: the
facility of composing, the knowledge of the figure, but, after
all, I do not believe I have been drudging absolutely in vain
all these years. I feel a certain power within me, because
wherever I may be, I shall always have an aim - painting people
as I see and know them.
Whether impressionism has already had its last say or not -
to stick to the term impressionism - I always imagine that many
new artists in the figure may arise, and I begin to think it
more and more desirable that, in a difficult time like the
present, one seeks one's security in the deeper understanding
of the highest art.
For there is, relatively speaking, higher and lower art;
people are more important than anything else, and are in
fact much more difficult to paint, too.
I will try hard to make acquaintances here, and I think that
if I worked some time, for instance under Verlat, I would learn
to know better what is going on here, and how to fit in with
So let me struggle along my own way, and for Heaven's sake
do not lose courage, and do not slacken. I do not think you can
reasonably expect me to go back to the country for the sake of
perhaps 50 fr. a month less, seeing that the whole series of
future years will depend so much on the relations I must
establish in town, either here in Antwerp or later on in
And I wish I could make you understand how probable it is
that there will be great changes in the art trade. And,
consequently, many new chances will present themselves too if
one has something original to show.
But that is certainly necessary if one wants to be of
some use. It is no fault or crime of mine if I must sometimes
tell you we must put more vigour into such and such a thing,
and if we haven't got the money ourselves, we must find friends
and new relations. I must earn a little more or have some more
friends, preferably both. That is the way to success, but
recently it has been too hard for me.
As for this month, I absolutely must insist on your sending
me at least another 50 fr.
At present I am losing weight, and moreover my clothes are
getting too shabby, etc. You know yourself that it isn't right
as it is. Yet I feel sort of confident that we shall pull
But you wrote that if I fell ill, we should be worse off. I
hope it will not come to that, but I should like to have a
little more ease, just to prevent illness.
Just think how many people there are who exist without ever
having the slightest idea what care is, and who always keep on
thinking that everything will turn out for the best, as if
there were no people starving or completely ruined! I begin to
object more and more to your pretending to be a financier, and
thinking me exactly the opposite. All people are not alike, and
if one does not understand that in drawing up accounts some
time must have passed over the account before one can be sure
to have counted right, if one does not understand this, one is
no calculator. And a broader insight into finances is
exactly what characterizes many modern financiers. Namely not
pinching, but allowing freedom of action.
I know, Theo, that you may also be rather hard up. But your
life has never been so hard as mine has these last ten or
twelve years. Can't you make allowances for me when I say,
Perhaps it has been long enough now? Meanwhile I have learned
something that I did not know before, that has renewed all my
chances, and I protest against my always being neglected. And
if I should like to live again in the city for some time, and
afterward perhaps to work in a studio in Paris too, would you
try to prevent this?
Be honest enough to let me go my own way, for I tell you
that I do not want to quarrel, and I will not quarrel, but I
will not be hampered in my career. And what can I do in the
country, unless I go there with money for models and colours?
There is no chance, absolutely none, of making money with my
work in the country, and there is such a chance in the city. So
I am not safe before I have made friends in the city - and that
comes first. For the moment this may complicate things
somewhat, but after all it is the only way, and going back to
the country now would end in stagnation.
Well, good-bye. De Goncourt's book is fine.
Ever yours, Vincent
At this time, Vincent was 32 year old
Vincent van Gogh. Letter to Theo van Gogh. Written c. 12-16 January 1886 in Antwerp. Translated by Mrs. Johanna van Gogh-Bonger, edited by Robert Harrison, number 444.
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