[REVISITING] Vincent & Me

Two years ago I was in France, running into a crazy Dutch artist everywhere I went. Eighteen thousand readers came along for the ride. Care to join us? WRITTEN & ILLUSTRATED by PETER MOORE

WHEN I WAS BANGING AROUND IN FRANCE last October I kept on running into Vincent van Gogh.

He glared at me over a crowd at the Musee D’Orsay in Paris…

…and haunted me in the little village of St. Remy-de-Provence, where he was institutionalized in 1889. I even spent an entire day (and nine miles!) on an art-appreciation death march from Pontoise to Auvers-sur-Oise, in hot pursuit of the painter. It shouldn’t have been hard to catch him, because that’s where he was buried.

With his intense stare meeting mine everywhere I went, it was almost as if he were trying to send me a message. No, multiple messages—about all the ways he’d been misunderstood, misrepresented, and maligned during his lifetime, and even during his highly profitable afterlife.

Here’s what I learned: Everything I thought I knew about Vincent was wrong! Including…

I was mispronouncing his name. Turns out, the reason he signed his paintings “Vincent” was because he knew nobody could say Van Gogh like they did in his native Holland.

Expert tip: If you sound like you’re hocking a loogie when you say his name, you’ve got it just right.

He never cut off his ear. Even if you’re completely bonkers, it’s really hard to cut off your own body part. Just try it! No, don’t!

But the alternative theory makes more sense: He and his artist pal Paul Gauguin (an expert swordsman) were fencing, and—oops!—Gauguin lopped that right ear.

A tip o’ Vincent’s straw hat to The Great James Thurber here. “Touche!” is one of the most famous cartoons of all time, which is why I feel privileged to borrow the image, modify it for a laugh, and bow to it at the same time. All hail, James Thurber!

Here’s a quote from Van Gogh’s very first letter to Gauguin, after the ear-ectomy: “I will keep quiet about this and so will you.” Ipso facto: Van Gogh was such a nice guy, he just wrapped up his head wound and left town, so as not to implicate his buddy Paul.

Next stop: the asylum in St. Remy.

I smell a post-impressionist rat there, too.

Van Gogh wasn’t crazy. He just needed studio space!

Asylum my ass! Saint-Paul-de Mausole was where Van Gogh did his best work! “Wheat Field with Cypresses!” “Irises!” “Starry Freakin’ Night!” Plus 147 other priceless paintings, in just one year!

My theory: He checked into that asylum for cheap lodgings in a beautiful place, with plenty to paint.

While we’re at it, he didn’t kill himself, either. If you haven’t seen the animated film Loving Vincent, stream it now. It’s like a Van Gogh painting sprung to life! One thing the filmmakers got wrong: They set up Vincent’s fanboy and caregiver Dr. Gachet as the guilty party.

Nah.

But Vincent didn’t do himself in, either. He bought art supplies just before he died. What, to paint the pearly gates?

I don’t think so.

I suspect his sister-in-law Johanna Van Gogh-Bonger, who buried Vincent and her husband within six months of each other. I think she pulled the trigger, and here’s why: Johanna’s the one who made Vincent famous, by parading his letters and artwork around Europe after he died. That’s why they’re worth such big francs today. Much easier to cash in with Theo and Vincent out of the way, right?

Guilty!

Conclusion: If Vincent was going crazy, I want to go, too. Apropos of that, I cut myself shaving this morning.

Hey, it’s a start.

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

—Vincent Van Gogh

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