Through the Eyes of the Artist

The Van Gogh Museum, Museumplein 6, Amsterdam

When one embraces the labors and identity of being an artist, there is much that comes from such a decision.  In the early unfolding of such a choice – dare I say vocation? –  there are all the carrots that might seem alluring: the admiration of others, the chorus of praise, the attempted contributions to an ever-evolving landscape of beauty.

But not long into the journey, one finds that there are many other truths, perhaps even shadows, that lurk around the bend.  Artistry is a lonely place, a desert place.  Your ideas, even if they need a group of people to carry them out (e.g., with a theatre or musical work), can haunt you constantly, waking you up in the middle of the night, pulling the rug out from underneath whatever security your psyche has managed to cobble together.  You begin to hear not just from the admirers, but from the critics.  In the realm of sacred music, you also begin to hear from the hierarchy, some of whom most definitely have agendas that perhaps do not match your own.  

But you accept this, because in the end, the only goal is the sacred pursuit of beauty.  "Find beautiful things as much as you can; most people find too little that is beautiful."  These are the words of Vincent van Gogh.  Or, in the simple words of Dostoyevsky: "The world will be saved by beauty."  The desert is indeed tolerable, even needed, when the goal is to bring more beauty into the world.

We have just spent half a day in the Van Gogh museum in Amsterdam. For reasons that I think can be legitimately blamed on Don McLean (Vincent: Starry, Starry Night), I have always been drawn to this artist, to his work, to his story, and to his singular, artistic vision.  But today, partly as a result of the superb presentation of this world-renowned museum, I was drawn all the deeper into the vision of an artist. Which meant partly that I was also exposed to the crosses he had to bear.

Van Gogh did many self-portraits.  And part of the reason for this was because he was so broke that he couldn't afford models to sit.  

He was also deeply enamored of peasants and their own labor intensive lives.  He often did works on the backside of these self-portraits, because he couldn't afford canvasses upon which to work.  

In the end, depression took him from the world – he was just thirty-seven when he took his own life.  Of the more than 850 oil paintings he created (the majority of which were done in the last few years of his life), only one was sold during his lifetime.  Recognition came only after his death, a reputation stewarded by his sister-in-law and nephew (whose name was also Vincent).  The museum we visited today is the living legacy of these two people.

Those of us who work in a community of artists – mine would be with composers of sacred music – we would know something of these crosses that must be borne.  To have music rejected.  To work very long hours in solitude.  To put forward ideas that ultimately are deemed inappropriate by people who are not musicians.  To be placed at the heart of both praise and blame, and to be sought out by strangers at conferences, especially when blessed with an introverted soul.  

For they could not love you, but still your love was true.
And when no hope was left in sight on that starry, starry night,
You took your life as lovers often do.
But I could've told you Vincent, 
this world was never meant for one as beautiful as you....

                                      - Don McLean

The world is saved by beauty.