24: Vincent van Gogh • The Asylum (Madness, Genius, & Tragedy: Part 3)

[large asylum door opening]

When you hear the term ‘mental asylum’… what comes to mind?

Perhaps padded rooms [locking door or cell] straight jackets, [leather belt tightening] and people in leather restraint beds…[distant scream] that’s certainly what comes to my mind. It’s the imagery that over the years, I’ve come to associate with mental asylums through novels and films. Such as One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, Girl Interrupted, 12 Monkeys, even Arkham Asylum in Batman, and the list goes on.

It is often shown to be a wretched place, where those with mental illness go as a last resort, only to be abused and mistreated.

And so, when you hear that one of history’s most beloved artists, Vincent van Gogh, went to a mental asylum, you may think ‘uh oh… this isn’t going to end well.’

But here is the weird thing: the year that Vincent spends in St. Paul’s mental asylum is one of the most productive years of his life. Between May of 1889 to May of 1890, he completes 141 masterful paintings. Each one better than the last. These paintings are so good, that even if we had no other Van Goghs, these 141 completed oil paintings would be enough evidence to convince us that —

Vincent is a creative genius. That’s how good they are.

Over the last two episodes, we have explored a great deal of Vincent’s life and writings, painting a vivid picture of his early years and personality in Part One. Then drawing you into his mind as it wrestles with the contradictions of creative genius and madness in Part Two.

But as much as we have explored, there are still two huge mysteries about Vincent van Gogh, which we will attempt to answer in this episode. They concern his year in the asylum, from May 1889 to May 1890. The two mysteries are: 1) Did his psychotic episodes continue once he was in the asylum? 2) If so, how did he manage to complete 141 masterpieces?

These are huge question marks that hover over any attempt to understand Vincent. But a noble quest requires valiant effort. So get your detective hats on.

We have our work cut out for us in this one. There is no one to interview from that time period who is still alive. The only sources we have are the many many letters, doctor’s notes, newspaper articles, and police reports from that time; to try and piece together the truth, once and for all. I’ve been sifting through all of them for months now, and I’m excited to share the discoveries with you.

1) Did Vincent’s psychotic episodes continue once he was in the asylum? 2) If so, how did he manage to complete 141 masterpieces?

This is Creative Codex, I am your host, MJDorian.

Let’s get to work.

[music cue]

Chapter Six: Madness & Grace

On May 8th, 1889, Vincent enters St. Paul de Mausole, a mental asylum in the Province of St. Remy, in Southern France. Theo expects that it will be a temporary stay, just two or three months. Vincent is hopeful that it will be beneficial to his mental health. And I’m sure there is some solace for Vincent, in knowing that he chose this asylum, as there are certainly worse institutions Vincent could have gone to.

St. Paul’s is located on a hill, the way old monasteries used to always be built, surrounded by trees and a garden, with a picturesque view of the distant town of St. Remy, along with the rolling hills that surround it. As far as settings go, this one is ideal for an artist like Vincent, who has always found inspiration and comfort in nature. If he was entering an asylum in the city, the effect on his mental health may have caused him to simply wither and spiral downward. But here… contrary to everyone’s expectations, the opposite will happen… Vincent will flourish.

On May 9th, 1889, Vincent sends his first letter to Theo from inside the asylum, to update him on his situation.

[music cue]

“My dear Theo,

Thanks for your letter. […]

I wanted to tell you that I think I’ve done well to come here, first, in seeing the reality of the life of the diverse mad or cracked people in this menagerie, I’m losing the vague dread, the fear of the thing. And little by little I can come to consider madness as being an illness like any other. Then the change of surroundings is doing me good, I imagine.

As far as I know, the doctor here is inclined to consider what I’ve had as an attack of an epileptic nature. But I haven’t made any enquiries.

Have you by chance yet received the crate of paintings, I’m curious to know if they’ve suffered more, yes or no?

I have two others on the go — violet irises and a lilac bush. Two subjects taken from the garden. The idea of my duty to work comes back to me a lot, and I believe that all my faculties for work will come back to me quite quickly. It’s just that work often absorbs me so much that I think I’ll always be absent-minded and awkward in getting by for the rest of life too.

I won’t write you a long letter — I’ll try to answer the letter from my new sister, which greatly touched me, but I don’t know if I’ll manage to do it.

Handshake, and ever yours,
Vincent”

After being in St. Paul’s for just over a day, Vincent is feeling pretty optimistic. Aside from the stability that this place will provide him, he mentions that there is some comfort in being around other people who also suffer from mental afflictions, as he calls them ‘the diverse mad or cracked people in this menagerie.’ It allows him to view his predicament as an illness, like any other physical malady, and one which is not his fault. It certainly eases some guilt he may have felt in that regard.

At the end of the letter, he refers to a letter from his new sister, which he intends to write a response to. This is in reference to Theo’s fiance, Johanna, whom everyone simply calls Jo.

As she steps into the potential role of ‘sister-in-law’ to Vincent, Jo begins to write to him. And Vincent happily welcomes this new family member in his life. You can even see it in the length of his letters, the response he writes to Jo’s letter is three times the length to the one he writes to Theo from that same day.

In that letter to Jo, we learn even more about Vincent’s living situation at the asylum. In one passage, he writes:

[music cue]

“Although there are a few people here who are seriously ill, the fear, the horror that I had of madness before has already been greatly softened.

And although one continually hears shouts and terrible howls as though of the animals in a menagerie, despite this, the people here know each other very well, and help each other when they suffer crises. They all come to see when I’m working in the garden, and I can assure you are more discreet and more polite to leave me in peace than, for example, the good citizens of Arles.

It’s possible that I’ll stay here for quite a long time, never have I been so tranquil as here and at the hospital in Arles to be able to paint a little at last. Very near here there are some little grey or blue mountains, with very, very green wheat fields at their foot, and pines.

I shall count myself very happy if I manage to work enough to earn my living, for it makes me very worried when I tell myself that I’ve done so many paintings and drawings without ever selling any. Don’t be in too much of a hurry to consider this an injustice, I don’t know anything at all about it.

Thanking you again for writing to me, and being very happy to know that now my brother doesn’t return to an empty apartment when he comes home in the evening, I shake your hand in thought, and believe me…

Your brother,
Vincent”

So despite the pastoral setting of St. Paul’s, Vincent reminds us that it is still a mental asylum: saying that he hears shouts and terrible howls continually.

In a letter from May 31st, we find this paragraph:

“A new person has arrived who is so agitated that he breaks everything and shouts day and night, he also tears the straitjackets, and up to now he scarcely calms down, although he’s in a bath all day long, he demolishes his bed and all the rest in his room, overturns his food &c. It’s very sad to see — but they have a lot of patience here and will eventually get there, however.”

But again, he reiterates his optimistic state of mind, stating ‘never have I been so tranquil as here… to be able to paint a little at last.’

It’s here, in the highly structured setting of St. Paul’s, where Vincent doesn’t have to worry about his next meal, where he doesn’t have the anxiety of dealing with the disdain of his neighbors, there is a simplicity to life now, it’s also here that he doesn’t have to wrestle with the temptations of drinking… He can simply wake up, follow the asylum’s schedule for the day, paint in the mornings and afternoons, go to bed at a reasonable time, and do the same thing again tomorrow.

Vincent paints 7 paintings in May. Two of which are mentioned to Theo in that first letter. The first painting is of irises in the garden, and the second is of a lilac bush.

Both of these are beautiful paintings which show Vincent’s mastery of color in full display. The first painting is simply called Irises, and depicts a flower bed of blue irises, the flower heads have a deep azure hue and touches of white where the petals reflect the light. They stretch triumphantly upward on warm green stems, borne from an auburn dirt. The palette of colors gives this painting a feeling of optimism. The azure flower heads lend an energy and rhythm to the composition, as they seem to dance in an upward arc across the canvas, each with its own distinct pose.

The angle we are viewing the irises from suggests that Vincent must have been crouching low to the ground to paint this unique view. It gives us an up close and personal glimpse at a flower bed in full vitality.

Side note: you can enjoy viewing this painting, as well as all the others we will be discussing by visiting the companion gallery I have put together for this episode on my site: www.mjdorian.com/vincent. Just head over there and you will find Irises along with dozens of other paintings from Vincent’s asylum period. You can click the link in the episode notes below, or simply visit www.mjdorian.com/vincent.

The second painting Vincent completes at St. Paul’s is called Lilacs. Now, before you assume this is going to be some boring painting grandma made over the weekend, think again. This painting is unlike anything you’ve ever seen, and even more than that, it exemplifies a secret trick of Vincent’s color theory that makes the colors vibrate before your eyes.

Lilacs shows Vincent filtering the world into an array of magnificent colors, whose sharp brushstrokes no longer delineate clear forms of petals and stems like in Irises, but instead, it borders on abstraction. Look at the painting. It might as well not even be a painting of a lilac bush. It seems instead to be a painting of the impression a lilac bush leaves in the brain. Very few people have photographic memory, and so, I believe our brain records the impression things leave on us, abstractions, rather than the thing itself. In this case, it is the impression made by light bouncing off a thousand petals and leaves.

But there is also a magical effect Vincent employs here, which is a characteristic feature of many of his paintings. We will call it ‘colors in matching luminance.’ Let me explain.

Take a look at this painting, Lilacs, from 1889. Do you notice anything strange in those first few seconds when viewing it? When the colors first hit your eye. It is best to view it as large as possible for the full effect. Whenever I open the painting up again on my screen it just seems to come to life, it seems to radiate, especially the brightest colors seem to vibrate in the air.

What is that? What’s going on here? It happens in many other Van Gogh paintings too. The trick he is employing has to do with the luminance of pairs of colors. Notice how in the middle and the top of the lilac bush, there are frequent pairings of yellow and green. He keeps putting them side by side in these little pointed brushstrokes.

Luminance is a scientific term that refers to the amount of light created from a source or reflected from a surface. Our perception of luminance is usually called brightness.

In this painting, Lilacs, the yellow and green pair which so frequently dots the canvas is made of two different colors in equally bright shades. If we were to analyze the luminance of that yellow and compare it to the luminance of that green, they would match almost exactly. To our perception, they are essentially equally bright.

This is where the magic happens.

In trying to understand this I stumbled on some fascinating information about how the brain perceives color.

The visual cortex is a region in the far back end of your brain, it’s responsible for integrating and processing all of the visual information your eyes receive. The most primitive region of your visual cortex recognizes light contrast and motion, but not color. It can immediately distinguish the variations of brightness in the world around you. But if two colors have the same brightness, it blends them together as one color.

And then, working separately in the primate subdivision in the center of your brain, is an area that perceives the variations of color, but does not blend them together. This area works simultaneously with the more primitive visual cortex region.

The result? A turbulence in your mind. One that is created when seeing two colors close together with a matching luminance. The two regions of your brain wrestle for the correct perception of the image, the more primitive part tells you they are one bright color, the more evolved region tells you they are two distinct colors.

The result is a curious radiating effect, which we see on the lilac bush in Vincent’s painting: Lilacs. And in many others as well. There is the painting Vincent completes the following month, in August 1889, called Enclosed Field With Plowman, which also seems to be alive with color. Look closer and you see the colors of matching luminance in close proximity. The clearest example of it is the yellowish blue in the sky next to the yellow of the sun. Then other color combinations paired together dash through the landscape.

Or how about one of my favorites from July 1889, Tree Trunk With Ivy, I only discovered this one a few months ago, but the moment I saw it, my eyes just widened in awe. Again, here we see the sunlight reflecting off of the leaves in various shades of color in matching luminance, and the thing just vibrates.

[music cue: tremolo strings]

Did Vincent know about luminance and the two regions of the brain that struggle for perceiving it? I don’t know, I haven’t seen him mention it in the hundreds of letters I’ve seen. But there is not doubt he was obsessed with color, and the most minute nuance in color variations and their pairings. This aspect of painting was a science to him. Either way, he likely saw this vibrating effect too… this strange glitch of the brain, that seems to bring a landscape to life… and he loved it.

We even see it in his most famous work, Starry Night, arguably one of the most recognizable paintings in the world, next to Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa. As we mention in Episode 22, Vincent completed this in June 1889, while in the asylum. Even in this painting, we see Vincent using this luminance trick to bring the stars of the night sky to life. This is the secret to their peculiar twinkling effect. It is colors of matching brightness, placed close enough together, that they seem to vibrate in the air.

[music tremolo cue / music break]

Vincent once wrote: “Be clearly aware of the stars and infinity on high. Then life seems almost enchanted after all.”

“I don’t know anything with certainty… But seeing the stars makes me dream.”

[end music]

+

There are some writers and fans of Vincent’s work who claim the unique genius of these paintings was the result of his madness. That in the moments of his psychotic episodes, he would be able to see the world so differently, that the paintings are born from such visions.

I hate this theory.

And I imagine Vincent would hate it too.

Because after all the work he did, all the studying, all the obsessive hours of fixating on mastering color… that instead of us giving him credit, where credit was due, that people would credit his mental illness. That’s patronizing and insulting.

There is no doubt the man was a brilliant painter, with a singular focus to master his craft.

It reminds of this passing phrase I stumbled on in one of Vincent’s letters to Theo:

“I put my heart and soul into my work, and I have lost my mind in the process.”

While in the asylum, Vincent writes to Theo with surprising frequency. And Theo keeps every letter. Sometimes Vincent writes him two days in a row. Sometimes there is a three or four day break. But the letters always come. And Theo always writes back without delay.

In the biographies of Vincent, I read numerous passing comments that he did experience psychotic episodes while in the asylum. But what’s weird is that no one ever gives any exact dates. Unlike the psychotic episode that led to the ‘ear incident’ on December 23rd, biographies don’t list exactly ‘when’ the psychotic attacks happened to Vincent in the asylum.

And then it hit me… The letters. Maybe Vincent or Theo mention the attacks in the letters.

Let’s rifle through Vincent and Theo’s letters.

Does Vincent ever stop writing to Theo for over a week? This might indicate that he was suffering from something during those times…

[letter paper ruffling]

July 6th, 1889, Vincent writes Theo a letter to congratulate him on the good news: Johanna is pregnant. Vincent is elated. And writes to reassure Theo’s concerns, who voiced his worries that he and Jo were not in the best health and were worried on account of their future child. But Vincent reassures them that the most important thing a child needs is the thing they already feel for it, their love.

He also ends the letter by saying:

“My health is good, though, and I have a feeling quite similar to the one I had when I was much younger, when I was also very sober, too much so, I believe they used to say. But it’s all the same, I’ll try to get by.”

July 7th, Vincent takes a supervised trip to Arles, to pickup his old paintings from the Yellow House, which he intends to send to Theo.

July 8th, Vincent writes a letter to his mother, in it mentioning this:

“Well, I’ll end by telling you that I think you’re delighted that your son Theo has at last got round to marrying. If I were you, I wouldn’t worry about his health, but in your place I would see to it that I got his wife and him to come and visit you twice a year instead of once. This would be good for you and them…”

July 14th, Vincent writes Theo a letter about his brief supervised trip to Arles, and about the paintings he is sending him in a consignment. As well as a letter to Gauguin.

July 16th, Theo sends Vincent a letter in response.

July 17th… nothing
July 18th… nothing
On the 19th… still no letters

This is unlike Vincent. But Theo, busy with work, planning a wedding, and preparing for a child, assumes Vincent must be busy.

Ten days pass… and no one has heard from Vincent. On the 13th day, Theo’s concerns are unavoidable.

July 29th, he writes:

[music]

“My dear Vincent,

I’m a little worried that you haven’t received my letter, which contained a postal order for 10 francs. You usually write immediately after you receive it, otherwise I’d say that you haven’t had the time.

I reproach myself for writing to you so seldom, but writing letters has been extremely difficult for me of late—I don’t know why. I received your last consignment in perfect condition, and find it extremely beautiful. […]

Jo’s parents are here at the moment, her mother with us and her father at André’s. It’s a good distraction, especially for Jo, and it forces her to move about, which appears to be necessary. She’s looking well and is merely a little weak.

As for me, I look like a corpse, but I’ve been to see Dr. Rivet, who gave me all kinds of drugs, which are good, though, in that they’ve stopped that cough that was killing me. I think it has gone now. It’s the change of life, and with the way I’m looked after now that I’ll regain strength, once the illness is over.

Yesterday we all went to St-Germain. How beautiful the countryside is! Why do people go and wear themselves out in towns when they could breathe some of that good air that gives back life? Do you now leave the building sometimes?

Write to me when you can – tell me something of how things are going, don’t work too hard. Good handshake, from Jo as well.

Yours,
Theo

PS: Thank you a thousand times for the beautiful consignment.”

[music out]

July 30th… no letter.

31st… no letter.

August, 1st, 2nd, 3rd, and 4th… still no word. It’s been two weeks and five days since Vincent’s last letter. Theo starts to assume the worst, something has happened, a relapse, or a dire situation that has left his brother incapacitated.

And so, he sends Dr. Peyron a telegram. The doctor responds via telegram, and a letter, to update Theo. Unfortunately, these can’t be found… But I found a mention of Dr. Peyron’s telegram in the strangest place: a letter that Jo, Theo’s fiance, sends to her sister.

On August 9th, 1889, Jo writes:

[music in]

“Bad news from Vincent. On Saturday at 6 o’clock we got a telegram from the doctor – ‘Vincent ill, letter follows.’ We worried all day Sunday, but fortunately a letter arrived around 4 o’clock; he’s having another crisis and tried to poison himself with his brush and paints.

After that letter, nothing – you can imagine how upset Theo is – he’s coughing again and looks worse than he did before – tomorrow he has to see Dr. Rivet again”

[music out]

And here… we find the first passing details about Vincent’s troubles in the asylum. Based on the gap in his writing, the timing of the letters, and Dr. Peyron’s telegram, we can place this particular psychotic attack around July 16th or 17th.

Exactly the same day Theo’s first unanswered letter arrives.

The details that Johanna offers in her letter to her sister are disturbing, that Vincent tried to poison himself with his ‘brush and paints.’ The question remains, whether this was the impulsive logic of a psychotic episode at play or a genuine suicide attempt. I would lean toward the former, but again, we do not have all the details.

What we do know is that the staff of St. Paul’s take away Vincent’s brushes and paints during this time. As long as he remains unstable, they will not allow him access to anything he could potentially harm himself with.

So a gap in the letters is one telling sign we can use to determine periods of mental instability. But what about his productivity in painting? Is it possible to catalogue how many paintings he did per month, and see if there are sharp drops in productivity in some months?

With a little detective work, we can determine the periods of Vincent’s psychotic episodes by the quantity of paintings completed in that month, paired with the frequency of letters sent to Theo.

Let’s check the dates…

May 1889: 7 paintings
June: 15 paintings
July: 6 paintings
August: 2 paintings

Wow. It seems he was hitting his stride in June, completing 15 paintings. Then, if his attack occurred on July 16th, it would imply he finished 6 paintings in the first half of the month… Then the two paintings of August were likely toward the tail end of that month.

Now let’s cross reference that with the next time he is able to send Theo a letter… August 22nd. 37 days since his last letter. Is it really possible that Vincent was unable to write or paint for over 30 days? What kind of mental affliction can cause something so debilitating? It’s clear the doctors around Vincent have only vague theories.

When Vincent was admitted on May 8th, his former doctor from Arles Hospital, Dr. Rey, informed the director of the asylum, Dr. Peyron, that it was his opinion that Vincent may suffer from a rare type of epilepsy called ‘latent epilepsy.’ This was a variation of epilepsy that was only just beginning to be recognized, one which doctors hadn’t yet fully studied. The medical community today refers to it as ‘frontal lobe epilepsy.’

In frontal lobe epilepsy, the patient does not experience the characteristic physical seizures of epilepsy, but instead, the seizures are entirely confined to the frontal lobe of the brain, causing auditory and visual hallucinations, as well as a lack of impulse control. One of the convincing details for this possible diagnosis is that Vincent’s family tree is notably affected by epilepsy diagnoses, and since Dr. Rey would have known it was hereditary, there would be reason to include that as a frontrunner.

And so, on August 22nd, Theo finally receives a letter from Vincent, he writes:

[music in]

My dear Theo,

I thank Jo very much for writing to me, and knowing that you wish me to write you a line I’m letting you know that it’s very difficult for me to write, so disturbed is my mind. So I’m taking advantage of an interval.

Dr Peyron is really kind to me and really patient. You can imagine that I’m very deeply distressed that the attacks have recurred when I was already beginning to hope that it wouldn’t recur.

You’ll perhaps do well to write a line to Dr Peyron to say that working on my paintings is quite necessary to me for my recovery. For these days, without anything to do and without being able to go into the room he had allocated me for doing my painting, are almost intolerable to me.

(I’ve received catalogue of the Gauguin, Bernard, Schuffenecker &c. exhibition, which I find interesting. Gauguin also wrote me a kind letter, still a little vague and obscure, but anyway I must say that I think they’re quite right to have exhibited among themselves.)

For many days I’ve been absolutely distraught, as in Arles, just as much if not worse, and it’s to be presumed that these crises will recur in the future, it is ABOMINABLE. I haven’t been able to eat for 4 days, as my throat is swollen. It’s not in order to complain too much, I hope, if I tell you these details, but to prove to you that I’m not yet in a fit state to go to Paris or to Pont-Aven unless it were to Charenton.

It appears that I pick up filthy things and eat them, although my memories of these bad moments are vague, and it appears to me that there’s something shady about it, still for the same reason that they have I don’t know what prejudice against painters here.

I no longer see any possibility for courage or good hope, but anyway it wasn’t yesterday that we found out that this profession isn’t a happy one.

All the same it gives me pleasure that you’ve received that consignment from here, the landscapes.

Thank you above all for that etching after Rembrandt. It’s surprising, and yet it makes me think again of the man with the staff in the La Caze gallery. If you want to do me a very, very great pleasure, then send a copy of it to Gauguin. Also the Rodin and Claude Monet brochure is really interesting.

This new crisis, my dear brother, came upon me in the fields, and when I was in the middle of painting on a windy day. I’ll send you the canvas, which I nevertheless finished. And it was precisely a more sober attempt, matte in color without looking impressive, broken greens, reds and rusty ochre yellows, as I told you that from time to time I felt a desire to begin again with a palette like the one in the north.

I’ll send you that canvas as soon as I can. Good-day, thank you for all your kindnesses, good handshake to you and to Jo.

Vincent”

In the letter, Vincent mentions that his throat has been swollen, and because of this, he has not eaten for four days. This is likely a consequence of eating harmful things that irritate or injure his throat. It was documented by Dr. Peyron, in his notes, that Vincent would attempt to eat inedible things, including paint, turpentine, kerosene, and dirt.

It’s important to note, that as Vincent reiterates in this August letter to Theo, he does not remember eating these things, which is another indication that the episodes seem to have an amnesia associated with them, followed by a return to lucidity, matching the characteristics of the fateful ’ear incident’.

What may be labeled as suicidal behavior in the doctor’s notes, may instead be the illogical behavior of a psychotic episode.

…But in due time, Vincent fortunately recovers.

He resumes painting in late August of 1889.

In September he completes 24 paintings.
In October: 20 paintings.
In November: another 20 paintings.
In December: 15.
And in January: only 4.

A pattern again. A sharp drop in productivity, occurring between the end of December and the beginning of January. Curiously, exactly one year after the fateful ‘ear incident.’

Let’s check the letters…

[paper letter ruffling]

We hardly have any letters written by Dr. Peyron, most of what the doctor observed is instead recorded by Vincent or Theo in letters, based on their conversations with him.

But I stumbled on this one passing paragraph that really sticks out, in a letter Theo wrote to Vincent on October 4th. It captures Dr. Peyron’s opinion about Vincent’s condition, after having known and observed him for five months at the asylum. Theo writes:

“Dr Peyron came to see me, and he seems well disposed towards you. I like his physiognomy very much. Here’s what he told me —

He doesn’t consider you mad at all, and says that the crises you have are of an epileptic nature.

For the moment, he says that you’re absolutely healthy, and if it weren’t such a short time since you’d had a crisis he would already have encouraged you to go outside the establishment more often. He tells me that as your trip to Arles brought on a crisis one would have to see if you can now bear a change before changing residence. If you bear these ordeals well, he sees nothing against your leaving him.”

It’s so interesting to hear that. I have to wonder: is there something about traveling to Arles that triggers Vincent’s psychotic episode in July? If so, perhaps he traveled to Arles again in January? Which would explain the second sharp drop in productivity.

There is mention in the archives that a letter was sent by Dr. Peyron to Theo on January 29th, which reveals Vincent took another trip to Arles from January 18th to 19th. Dr. Peyron reveals that Vincent had his second attack upon his return from the trip, on January 20th. This would explain the sudden drop in productivity to only 4 paintings in January. In the letter, the doctor mentions: “He is incapable at present of any kind of work, and only responds with incoherent words when asked questions.’

But with this awful news, which Theo receives on January 29th, life mixes in some wonderful news, worth celebrating: On January 31st, Johanna gives birth to a healthy baby boy.

Theo writes to Vincent:

“My dear Vincent,
Dr Peyron writes to me that you have again been seized by an attack of your illness. My poor brother, I’m infinitely sorry that things aren’t going as they should. Fortunately, the previous times this didn’t last long, and so we hope with all possible fervor that you may soon be better this time too.

It’s the only cloud in our happiness, for my dear brother, the bad moment for Jo is over. She has brought into the world a fine boy who cries a lot but who seems to be in good health. My poor little wife suffered a great deal because the waters broke too soon, but fortunately we had an excellent doctor with extraordinary patience, for any other in his place would certainly have used the forceps. Jo is very well and hasn’t yet had any fever, but it could still come.

The child is already beginning to cry intensely. How happy I’d be if in a while, when Jo’s well again, you’ll be able to come and see her and see our little one! As we told you, we’ll name him after you, and I’m making the wish that he may be as determined and as courageous as you.

As soon as you can, write to me to tell me how you are and if there were any incidents that provoked the new crisis.

We often talk about you and we think about you even more. I hope with all my heart that you may soon be better.
Be of good heart and

Ever yours,
Theo”

Wow… What a powerful sentiment. Theo and Jo named their firstborn son after Vincent…

On February 1st, Vincent immediately writes a letter in response. Congratulating the new parents, sending his love, and thanking Theo for sending him an article in the last letter, in which an art critic reviewed several of Vincent’s paintings favorably. All this, the life affirming news and the good review significantly boost Vincent’s spirits.

He returns to work. Completing 10 paintings in February. He begins to dedicate some of his paintings to his newborn nephew, who shares his name. In a letter to his sister, Vincent writes that he’s started painting a ‘large sky-blue canvas against which branches covered in blossoms stand out.’ This is one of my personal favorite paintings by Vincent, it is called Almond Blossoms, there is such an effortless beauty to it. And until now, I had no idea he had painted this in dedication to his nephew… little Vincent.

But then something strange… in March. Vincent completes only 4 paintings… and in April, only 5.

Could he yet again be in a downward spiral? This would be the third.

Dr. Peyron contacts Theo on February 22nd. He writes:

‘He has had another attack, which prevents him from writing to you, and which occurred following a visit to Arles. I note that the crises are recurring more frequently and come after each journey he makes outside this home.

I do not believe he is succumbing to any excesses when he is able to move freely, as I have only ever known him to be sober and reserved. I am forced to acknowledge, however, that he becomes ill every time he makes a little journey…

I was obliged to send two men with a carriage to Arles to collect him, and it is not known where he spent the night of Saturday to Sunday. He took a painting with him of an Arlésienne, which was not recovered.’

March 17th, Vincent sends Theo a letter, he expresses difficulty focusing, hardly able to read and write.

Despite knowing that Vincent may not be able to read them, Theo continues to send Vincent letters, and continues to stay in contact with Dr. Peyron.
March 29th, Theo and Jo each write a letter, wishing Vincent a Happy Birthday, he turns 37 years old on March 30th.

On April 1st, Dr. Peyron updates Theo:

“This attack is taking longer to abate than the previous one. At times, he seems almost himself again; he understands what he is feeling, only for the situation to change again a few hours later, when the patient once more becomes sorrowful and troubled, and no longer answers the questions put to him. I am confident that he will regain his reason as he did on the previous occasions, but it is taking much longer this time.”

On April 15th, Theo writes to their mother:

“It is now more than a month since I received a letter from Vincent’s own hand. The doctor wrote the last time that it is still very rare for him to be his old self. He usually sits with his head in his hands, and if someone speaks to him, it is as though it hurts him, and he gestures for them to leave him alone. How sad that condition is, and Dr Peyron says that although he has hope that the crisis will soon be over, it will leave its mark on his constitution. If only we could do something for him, but having him come here would be irresponsible unless one were sure that there is not one moment of danger that the crisis will return during the journey or while here. It is such a pity, just now when he is having such success with his work. Many people have taken notice of his work, including Obreen, the writer of the article in the N. Rotter. Nice of those people in Nuenen to send it to you.”

April 23rd, Theo sends another letter to Vincent, which starts with this passage:

“My dear Vincent,
Your silence proves to us that you’re still suffering, and I need to tell you, my dear brother, that Jo and I are also suffering, knowing that you’re still ill. Oh, we’d be so happy if we could do something for you that might give you relief. Dr Peyron writes to us that we mustn’t worry, and that this crisis, although longer than the others, will also pass. If the distance weren’t so great I would certainly have come to see you already, and I’m counting on you, the day you need me, or feel that it could do you some good to talk with me, to let me know and I’ll come running immediately.”

April 29th… Theo finally receives a letter from Vincent. After 43 days of silence. The wave of relief that passes through Theo in seeing that envelope must have been unreal.

Vincent is back. And feels an urgency to resume painting, to make up for lost time. And he recovered just in time to wish his brother a happy birthday.

He writes:

“My dear Theo,
I haven’t been able to write to you until now, but as I’m feeling a little better these days I didn’t want to delay wishing a happy year to you, your wife and your child, since it’s your birthday. At the same time, please accept the various paintings I’m sending you with my thanks for all the kindnesses you’ve shown me, for without you I would be most unhappy.

You’ll see that first there are canvases after Millet. As these aren’t destined for public viewing, perhaps you’ll make a present of them to our sisters sooner or later. But first you must keep the ones you consider good, and as many as you wish, they’re absolutely yours. One of these days you must send me some other things by ancient and modern artists to do, if you find any.

The rest of the canvases are meagre, I’m very much behind, not having been able to work for two months. You’ll find that the olive trees with the pink sky are the best, with the mountains, I would imagine; the first go well as a pendant to those with the yellow sky. As regards the portrait of the Arlésienne, you know that I’ve promised our friend Gauguin one, and you must see that he gets it. Then the cypresses are for Mr Aurier. I would have liked to redo them with a little less impasto, but I don’t have the time.

Anyway, they must be washed again several times in cold water, then a strong varnish when the impasto is dry right through, then the blacks won’t get dirty when the oil has fully evaporated. Now I would necessarily need colors, part of which you could well get from Tanguy’s if he’s hard up, or if that would please him. But of course he mustn’t be dearer than the other.

Here’s the list of colours I would need

Large
tubes.

12 zinc white, 3 cobalt, 5 Veronese green
1 ordinary lake
2 emerald green, 4 chrome #1, 2 chrome #2
1 orange lead, 2 ultramarine

Then (but from Tasset’s) 2 geranium lake, medium-sized tubes.
You would do me a service by sending me at least half of it at once, for I’ve lost too much time.

Then I would need 6 brushes [sketch A] 6 fitch brushes10 [sketch B]
around these sizes, and 7 metres of canvas, or even 10.

What can I tell you of these two last months, things aren’t going well at all, I’m more sad and bored than I could tell you, and I no longer know what point I’m at.

As the order for colours is a little large, let me wait for half if that suits you better.
While I was ill I nevertheless still did a few small canvases from memory which you’ll see later, reminiscences of the north, and now I’ve just finished a sunlit corner of a meadow which I think is fairly vigorous. You’ll see it soon.

As Mr Peyron is away I haven’t yet read your letters, but I know that some have come. He has been quite kind in informing you of the situation, as for me I don’t know what to do or think. But I have a great desire to leave this place.

That won’t surprise you, I don’t need to tell you any more about it.

Letters have also come from home, which I haven’t yet had the courage to read, so melancholy do I feel. Please ask Mr Aurier not to write any more articles about my painting, tell him earnestly that first he is wrong about me, then that really I feel too damaged by grief to be able to face up to publicity.

Making paintings distracts me – but if I hear talk of them that pains me more than he knows. How is Bernard? Since there are duplicates of some canvases, if you want you could do an exchange with him, because a good-quality canvas of his would look well in your collection.

I fell ill at the time I was doing the almond-tree blossoms. If I’d been able to continue working, you can judge from that that I would have done others of the trees in blossom. Now the trees in blossom are almost finished, really I have no luck.

Yes, I must try to leave here, but where am I to go? I don’t believe one can be more shut up and imprisoned in the places where they don’t pretend to leave you free, such as at Charenton or Montevergues.

If you write home, give them my warm regards and tell them I think of them often.
Then good handshake to you and Jo.

Believe me — Ever yours,
Vincent.”

Vincent is back. And clearly lucid. He mentions some studies he completed which he is sending Theo. On first hearing this, it’s easy to assume these must be some sketches or half finished works. As he mentions they are not for public display. But no, he is being modest. I looked at Vincent’s painting studies and they are themselves masterpieces.

You can view these on my site: mjdorian.com/vincent, just click on the gallery for this episode.

He does very many painting studies. They served two purposes: when Vincent is in the asylum, he doesn’t always have permission to venture outside of the asylum grounds to paint, so he asks Theo to send him various prints and interesting imagery to work on.

But what is so striking is that he takes these references, which are often black and white lithographs, and he reinvents them, making them his own. Very much like a musician covering a song with such originality that he or she has claimed new authorship of it. Something like Jimi Hendrix’s song All Along the Watchtower, which is actually a cover of a Bob Dylan original. Or Nirvana’s cover of Man Who Sold The World, which is originally a David Bowie song. The newer artist can somehow elevate the original to something even more spectacular.

Take a look at Vincent’s painting from February 1890, called ‘Prisoner’s Round.’ It is jaw droppingly good. I gasped the first time it hit my eyeballs. It depicts prisoners in a strangely confined brick wall space, walking in a circle, the bricks of the space climb up, towering over them, ending somewhere out of view of the painting, heavily symbolic of the futility of their existence. There is no way not to assume that Vincent reflected on this painting as symbolic of his current situation in the asylum, and the patients as the other prisoners there. But in the most delicate expression of hope, one can see two tiny white butterflies above them, just left of center… or perhaps, those two butterflies represent Theo & Johanna?

There’s something about Vincent’s choice of colors here and his masterful understanding of light. You can feel the depth of the space. This really surprised me about this painting, because you get so used to assuming Vincent is only good at landscapes. It is based on an etching by Gustave Dore which he used for reference, yet when you compare the two, Vincent’s is clearly superior in the impression it leaves on your mind. I love this painting, and it is such a surprise to discover, as whenever a Vincent van Gogh conversation is happening, this painting is never mentioned. Yet I think it’s in my top twenty Van Gogh’s. It just proves that he has such a depth of artistry in him.

Then there other notable painting studies, like First Steps and Siesta, both based on illustrations by Millet. Vincent’s signature use of color just brings both of these subjects to life in his paintings, which I think give far superior impressions on the viewer than the originals… and that’s saying a lot. Vincent held Millet in the highest regard, and here he is, holding his own with him.

Two other details stick out in that letter Vincent sends Theo. That his work is starting to receive the attention it deserves. Publicity in local newspapers. The first indications of… a buzz.

The other detail is his desire to leave. To be free again. Or at least, to have a change of scenery.

Vincent completes 10 paintings in May 1890. He is feeling well. They begin to make plans for Vincent to leave the asylum, and make his way north, to join with Theo and Johanna, and their son. Some hope is growing, people are talking about Vincent’s work now, and finally, in June, for the first time… Theo will sell a Vincent van Gogh.

On May 13th, Vincent writes:
“I’ll leave as soon as you’ve written to Mr Peyron, I feel calm enough, and I don’t think that a mental upset could easily happen to me in the state I’m in.

In any event, I hope to be in Paris before Sunday to spend the day, which you will have off, quietly with all of you.”

After Theo contacts the asylum, and confirms approval for Vincent’s release, Dr. Peyron writes this on his discharge notice:

“During his stay in the home, this patient, who was calm for most of the time, had several attacks, lasting for between two weeks and a month; during these attacks, the patient is subject to terrifying fears, and on several occasions he has attempted to poison himself, either by swallowing colors that he used for painting, or by ingesting paraffin, which he had taken from a worker filling his lamps.

The last attack he had, occurred following a journey that he made to Arles, and it lasted approximately two months. In the interval between attacks, the patient is perfectly calm and lucid, and passionately devotes himself to painting.

He is asking to be discharged today, in order to go to live in the north of France, hoping that that climate will suit him better.

Signed and approved, [stamp sound]
Dr T. Peyron”

In a letter to Theo from that week, Vincent writes:
“This morning, as I’d been to have my trunk stamped, I saw the countryside again – very fresh after the rain and covered in flowers – how many more things I would have done. […]

In Paris, if I feel up to it, I’d immediately very much like to do a painting of a yellow bookshop, which I’ve had in my mind for so long. You’ll see that I’ll be at work right from the day after my arrival. I tell you, as regards work, my mind feels absolutely serene and the brushstrokes come to me and follow each other very logically.

Anyway, until Sunday at the latest, I shake your hand firmly in the meantime, warm regards to Jo.

Ever yours,
Vincent.”

May 16th, 1890. After a year’s stay, three major debilitating psychotic episodes, and 141 paintings, Vincent van Gogh is released from St. Paul de Mausole …

[wooden door unlocking and opening… awash in the sound of birds]

He steps out into a sunny Friday afternoon [step in dry dirt – pause – breathing] clean shaven and with a shimmer in his eye. He looks toward the horizon and the winding path that leads to it.

… and smiles.

+

[music and sound effects as he begins walking…]

[Sound of birds, and wind, and Vincent walking, a door closing behind him… walking with the sound of birdsong.]

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