Paul

December 22, 1888

The Yellow House

I am becoming restless in this home and sleepless nights have plagued me. Beautiful as the home may be and inspiring as it was; the elements of its form, no longer give me the edge that I seek. However, I would like to say that living under a roof of artists has done me much good. The art world has always and always will be a tough nut to crack, but I do not seek only gold and treasures; given by bearing a famous name. I seek what my heart seeks. A place where my art feels it has a home. A place where I can feel at home. My soul is one that is meant to be free and roaming. The inspiration of an artist lies in the experience of the artist. It hides behind the color that we paint on canvass. It transcends the time in which we abode. Life – the cycle of constant movement compels me to traverse the terrain from which I inhabit!

I do not write these words in disdain towards my fellow board mates, but I do feel the itch my soul is trying to scratch. The beauty of this house and surrounding environment of the city, Arles, are awe-inspiring, but I would be remiss if I did not mention the more abundant reason as to why I am here, in this small, lovely town.

Opportunities are hard to come by and when they are presented to someone biting their time for excellence – they take it and run with it. I am here because of a joint-venture, of sorts. The brother of my board mate, Theo, is somewhat well inclined to being a financier for our artistic endeavors. The opportunity given to me within the last 60 days or so has done me quite proper. My works have been on display much more than usual. Who would have thought, when I hung up my paintings in Émile’s apartment; that the discovery of two brothers would carve a viable artistic path for me. I have enjoyed their prospects and would have been foolish to have done otherwise.

The day as gone by and I have been only focusing on my reflections. Another sign of my need to explore; my need to see the world and find inspiration!

Most of my actions can go unreported, as of today. Walking into town for some coffee is hardly, eventful. Though, I do not want to diminish the elegance of a small town. The life before me and the life – unseen. Cities can be seen as a work of art. Look at the works of DaVinci. Wonderful manifestations of engineering. Bridges, buildings and cities. The symmetry held in his paintings are a marvel in themselves. The golden ratio, as it is put. The aesthetically pleasing machination of an art piece. Just look at his work on the Mona Lisa. The symmetry at play is remarkable. His works jump out at you with a vibrance of life that no others encapsulate. To me, this was done by his love for the unseen. The formation of light and its many angles, shades and shadows that portray physical form before our very eyes!

I am on my way to pick up some supplies in town: brushes, wood and canvass parchment. I already have enough paint. I will hurry into town. A vision came to me when I went and had a drink and cigarette in a small bar. The night parlor or – I do not know the name as of yet, but I SEE IT.

December 23, 1888

Off to Paris

I can not and will not live in a house that is as mad as that yellow institution! I am now on my way to Paris and am riddled with confusion, concern and anxiousness. I am in a state of utter shock and dismay. My good friend and board mate Vincent have gone and cut off his ear! We were engaged in civil discourse on the meanings of art and all of the sudden he went into a mad fit of rage! That man has gone off before but – not like this. I felt the fear building in his heart right before my eyes. A reverent man would have called him “possessed”!

Holding the bottom part of his ear and shouting in a manic rage, he stormed out and said he was going to give it as an offering to some prostitute that he met a couple fort night’s ago – out of love? That poor man has the devil inside him and it is angry for being caged. I was fortunate enough to have had the pleasure of acquaintance with the beast. However, I wish to no longer be in its menacing presence.

Speaking on the elements of what made art, Vincent went on to say that as an artist we can only strictly find inspiration from life around us. On the contrary, I do not believe in such a meniscal form of expression. The fundamentals of imagination are combined with the elements around us. The creation of the mind is not one simply brought from the thing’s life throws at us, but rather what we throw at it! He did not take that well. I know better than to bite the hand that feeds me. For, his brother Theo has been one of my main lines of financial support. However, I will not be imprisoned in a mad house for any longer! I do not wish ill on poor Vincent who has already done much damage to himself, but I must leave as to ensure no damage is thrusted upon me.  

I wished that I could have stayed in Arles for longer, but the actions of Vincent have shown me the way. My destiny must be taken, now – not later. In Paris, I will find my footing. I will not forget my time here in Arles, however. The yellow home that was my abode was just a stepping stone. I am finally going to be able to scratch at my itchy travel deprived soul. However, in light of all that has transpired and the madness that built up in poor Vincent; I would like to remark that unbeknownst to the public, two men accomplished in that period a colossal amount of work, useful to both of them. Perhaps to others as well? Some things bear fruit.

I will continue to correspond with Vincent through letters, but I am afraid that was our last time being in the same, house and space. I did not admire his paintings, but I admired the man.