Vincent Van Gogh spent just over a year in Arles, in the south of France. During that time he painted roughly 300 paintings. An astonishing production of nearly one finished painting a day.
He was joined by Paul Gauguin, who fled when Van Gogh flew off into one of his violent, psychotic breaks, but they both benefited from their brief association. Gauguin's colors became more vibrant and Van Gogh learned from Gauguin he could paint without a scene directly in front of him, and his paintings became freer, bolder and more vibrant.
Van Gogh's brother, Theo, sold the paintings. He advised Vincent that buyers liked color. Van Gogh's paintings in the early 1880's had been monochromatic, cleaving to rules, but as Vincent took his brother's advice, and his palate became more electric, his paintings leaped to a new level, and that year's paintings are the masterpieces we now all know and immediately recognize as Van Gogh.
But Van Gogh went to his death never knowing, we suspect, just what an impact he had on the world. And not just the art world. People who have never paid much attention to art know Van Gogh, understand when the gaze upon "Starry Night" what he was doing. Not so when Van Gogh was bucking the academy. Now people go to museums and see his work, and are left breathless. His work is astonishing, breathtaking--you choose the word, it is inadequate.
Somehow, knowing Van Gogh never knew how important or successful he was makes his work even more profound and affecting.
Had he known, had he been celebrated, he might have changed it; he might have tried to please his public. Instead he raced through his canvases, splashing out one magnificent creation after another, never satisfied, always striving to make the next one rise to the level of composition, color and concept to which he aspired. He was painting for that thing which drove him to paint, not to please. Yes, he changed his palate in a concession, but anyone can see, he saw the change was good, had got him where he needed to go.
Beethoven was successful in his time, but by the end of his career he was deaf and could hear his music only in his head. Perhaps he saw colors. But whatever he heard, it was not what his public heard.
Malcolm Gladwell, speaking on Radio Lab described how he decided to give up running track. Gladwell was one of the best runners in Canada from age 13-15, but he had other loves--reading, debate, friends, school. One day he realized he simply did not love running enough to forsake all others. So he quit.
Van Gogh could not quit. Nor could Beethoven. There is something single minded and utterly dedicated about the truly great. As Gladwell suggests what makes them great is not some genetic difference, but the willingness, like Tiger Woods, to go out and hit 10,000 golf balls before breakfast. It is John Coltrane playing his sax 18 hours a day.
And you can see it in the outcome. "Talent" whatever that is, is not enough.
This may be why you hear in certain voices, often voices which are not famous, sometimes voices which are, a certain quality which makes you stop and listen. Ray Charles had that voice. So does Bob Dylan. Their essence is connected to their work. That cannot be faked.
The difference between Van Gogh and everyone else is the purity of his commitment. Beside him, almost every other artist is a dilettante.
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