Post event let down

Had a very pleasant war (Potrero), but I am trying to decide if I want to write a nice, warm friendly letter to a friend about the experience or if I want to wander into the dark for a bit.  See, the thing is, I spent the weekend camped with my sweetie.  We spent quality time together.  He let me cook for him (this is a BIG DEAL) and generally spoil him a bit.  This was something I've been needing to do...yah, it's weird, but it made me feel like more than simply a passive recipient of the relationship.  I got to participate and share equally.  I went shopping and got foods that everyone would enjoy and that he could eat.  I packed the camper and set up a comfortable camp, a place to relax and just enjoy the days going by.  Other than specific tasks that HAD to be accomplished during the event, I pretty much stayed in camp, mostly with him...and the whole thing was a beautiful fiction.  I really enjoyed pretending that I had a right to take care of someone and that he had the right to take care of me, but it can never last for more than a day or two at most, and even then only off in a quiet corner where few will notice.  Where our relationship is right now is about where it will ever be and it's no use pretending that it will ever be different.  I know this.  I knew this going in.  I'm still sitting here after my very nice, very fictional, weekend feeling utterly depressed and alone. Sigh.  I set myself up for this, and I don't get to be mad at anyone else about it either...which stinks.

At some point, I need to figure out why I do this, because you see, this is a pattern in my relationship life.  When I look back at the people with whom I have been involved, really none of them were able (for varying reasons, sometimes due to circumstances in their lives and sometimes due to circumstances in mine) to have a full and complete relationship with me...and I chose that.  Invariably, I get into relationships that are inherently self-limiting (or I would make sure that they were so).  At some point I need to investigate what little broken bits inside my head are telling me that I can't have (or don't really want or don't deserve or whatever) a full relationship.

Otherwise, I foresee several more depressing "day after" experiences in my future.  

Vincent part six

1883 (At least through the end of August)

So, in 1883, Victor has been immersed in his art to the exclusion of everything else, it seems. Yet he hasn't lost that quick sympathy that makes his family so nuts.  He loves that which is worn and bent and nearly broken by life.  He can be so utterly myopic when he's talking about his current obsession, but then he looks at something (usually someone) that everyone else dismisses, and he really sees it (or him or her), and that redeems him from all of the requests for money and wild fancies...at least to me.

Victor Hugo says: “Par-dessus la raison il y a la conscience.” [Above the intellect there is conscience]; there are things which we feel to be good and true, though many things remain incomprehensible and dark in the cold light of reason and calculation. And though the society in which we live considers such actions thoughtless, or reckless, or foolish, or I don't know what else - what can we say once the hidden forces of sympathy and love have been aroused in us? And though it may be that we cannot argue against the reasoning which society usually employs, against those who allow themselves to be led by sentiment and to act from impulse - arguing is not the principal thing, and he who has kept his faith in God sometimes hears the soft voice of conscience; then one does well to follow it with the naïveté of a child, without saying more about it to others than can be helped. - Letter from Vincent van Gogh to Theo van Gogh, The Hague, c. 11 January 1883

Perseverance is the great thing in love, once it has taken hold of us. That is, if the love is returned, for if it is decidedly not returned, one is literally absolutely helpless.- Letter from Vincent van Gogh to Theo van Gogh, The Hague, c. 11 January 1883

In early February, he caught a cold and was feeling very dreary, that life was "the colour of dishwater". I understand this feeling completely just at the moment. I should also probably not listen to "Bookends" while reading Van Gogh's letters.
Suppose a man experiences a disappointment through a cruel injury to his love, a disappointment so deep that he is calmly desperate and desolate - such a condition is possible, for there is something like the white heat of steel or iron. Feeling that he has been disappointed irrevocably and absolutely, and carrying within himself the consciousness of it as a deadly, at least an incurable, wound, and yet going about his ordinary affairs with an unruffled countenance... would it be inexplicable to you that a man in this condition should feel a singular sympathy, involuntary and unintentional, for somebody he meets who is deeply unhappy, oh, perhaps unhappy beyond redress? And that, notwithstanding this, that sympathy or love or tie should be and remain strong? When Love is dead, is it impossible for Charity to be alive and awake still? - Letter from Vincent van Gogh to Anthon van Rappard, The Hague, c. 7 February 1883

I tell you this because you spoke of disenchantment; no, no, it is true there is a withering and budding in love as in nature, but nothing dies entirely. It is true there is an ebb and flow, but the sea remains the sea. And in love, either for a woman or for art, there are times of exhaustion and impotence, but there is no permanent disenchantment.
I consider love as well as friendship not just a feeling but also a positive action, and as such it requires doing things and exerting oneself, and exhaustion and impotence are the consequences.
A sincere and true love is a blessing, I think, though that doesn't prevent occasional hard times. - Letter from Vincent van Gogh to Theo van Gogh, The Hague, 11 February 1883

In his letter of February 20, Vincent complains about the harsh light that new buildings let in, and it made me giggle a bit. I think he would _hate_ our modern, high powered, high definition everything.

I believe such things are true, the influence exerted by a good person is sometimes far reaching. Curiously enough, it has been compared to leaven. Two good people - man and woman combined - with the same intentions and object in life, actuated by the same serious purpose, what couldn't they accomplish!
I have often thought of that.
For, by co-operating, the power of goodness is not just doubled, but multiplied many times, as by involution, to use a mathematical term. - Letter from Vincent van Gogh to Theo van Gogh, The Hague, c. 21 March 1883

I even find something animating in the thought that one works in one direction, the other in another, yet there is still mutual sympathy. Competition, when it proceeds from jealousy, is quite a different thing from trying one's best to make the work as good as possible, out of mutual respect. “Les extrêmes se touchent.” I do not see any good in jealousy, but I would despise a friendship which did not call for some exertion on both sides to maintain the same level.- Letter from Vincent van Gogh to Theo van Gogh, The Hague, c. 21 March 1883

We are surrounded by poetry on all sides, but putting it on paper is, alas, not as readily done as looking at it. - Letter from Vincent van Gogh to Theo van Gogh, The Hague, 21-28 March 1883

I believe that the more one loves, the more one will act; for love that is only a feeling I would never recognize as love. - Letter from Vincent van Gogh to Anthon van Rappard, The Hague, c. 8 May 1883

Look, man has no stauncher friend than his duty, and though at times it may be a rough and stern taskmaster, as long as one works in its service, one will not easily become a bankrupt. - Letter from Vincent van Gogh to Theo van Gogh, The Hague, 3 June 1883

This year has been incredibly difficult financially. Throughout July and August he speaks of debtors knocking at the door and of he and his small family going without food and feeling weak and faint. The stress over money worsens his depression, which comes out now and again in his letters. With it all, he remains firmly committed to his art, refusing to simply create watercolors that may be adequate, instead pursuing some internal ideal. It's infuriating to watch, but it is how he has always been - determined to make his own path.

Music and our house

So, I have been realizing lately (or maybe recognizing, since it's a thing I already knew) how very omnivorous our household tastes in music really are, and further, how much we celebrate music around here. I mean, ok, my daughter, Twinkie is in band, so there's that, but what I mean is something more than just supporting our local teenaged musician crowd. If you were to sit around our house for a day, you might see the Nephew (Mr Perfect Pitch, curse him) stroll by humming a bit of "Stars" from Les Miserables, while in the bathroom, you'd hear Cupcake singing kids songs to the boys. If the littlest boy, Squidge, happens to be in the living room watching "She-Ra" on Netflix, you'll hear him singing the theme song in his best two-year old lisp. In the kitchen, one of my girls, likely Twinkie, will be belting out a range of songs from the Eurythmics to Michael Buble with admirable enthusiasm. Then Boogey or I might wander in, humming one song (Sinatra) or another (Taylor Swift) under our breath. That's what I mean by celebrate. See, we're always enjoying and joining in song. We aren't musicians, far from it, really. Aside from the Nephew, the rest of us are possessed of fine, strong voices, but a sense of pitch that is best described as approximate. My mother always decribed it as "Making a joyful noise".

 Something else that happens in our house that I have been told is unusual is our tendency to burst into joint choruses with minimal provocation. This happened the other day when Twinkie's new boyfriend Timmy was over for a first visit. The kids were watching "Fellowship of the Ring", folks were wandering back and forth, and someone made the comment that I am the one in charge around here, the master of the house. Immediately, Cupcake and I leapt out of the kitchen with "Master of the House/Keeper of the zoo" to have Twinkie and Boogey join in with the next two lines of the song (from LesMis)"ready to relieve 'em of a sou or two/Watering the wine, making up the weight/ picking up their knick-knacks when they can't see straight." All, sung at the top of our lungs. Carlos/Timmy's eyes grew to dinner plate size at this, which led Twinkie to giggle and assure him, "Oh, we do this all the time. Watch this." And she came out with the opening lines to "I Have a Dream" from "Tangled"
 Twinkie: I'm malicious, mean and scary
Cupcake: my sneer could curdle dairy
Me: and violence wise my hands are not the cleanest
Twinkie: but despite my evil look
Boogie: and my temper
Cupcake/Me: and my hook
All: I've always dreamt of being a concert pianist /Can't you see me on the stage performing Mozart /Tickling the ivories till they scream

 At this point, we dissolved into helpless giggles at the terrified look on Timmy's face. It was just a picture. He didn't know what he had walked into, but I'm pretty sure he was praying to escape it as quickly as possible. The thing is, this happens all the time. One of us will start a line, and the rest of the household joins in. We've gotten Baby Bear (the older of the two boys) into trouble in pre-school more than once because he'll start singing some of the songs we sing, but his pronunciation is...not as clear. But this is a way that we share joy. If we're really feeling relaxed, and a really good swing tune (or Latin) comes on, then the singing transmogrifies into dancing around the living room until we're all giggly and out of breath and dizzy from spinning 'round and round.

 Friends and visitors are frequently sucked into the musical moments, and frequent visitors are often relaxed enough now to start songs on their own, knowing that our little gang of backup singers will likely join in. It's one of the things that I enjoy about home, that we feel safe enough to just enjoy, without having to worry about how we sound.

late night heartache

Never mind.
I know what silence means.
 "This has been fun, but..."
"I never meant..."
 "You took me too seriously."
Silence sternly condemns -
"You went too far"
"You said too much"
 "I never meant..."

 I understand. Message received.
And it's ok.
I will withdraw
Behind my own walls
As before
 In Silence.
 I withdraw, but
Changed. Aware.

Let my silence
Speak For itself -
 "As you wish"

*Note: Inspired by observations of conversations on social media*

Thoughts

 I had time to think today, in between research and driving around, and I think I can finally explain some of how I feel...and why that doesn't really change anything.

Say I love someone who is married to a third party.  The thing is, the fact that I love that person does not place on them any expectation of action or even of returning feelings.  I love that person,  nothing more or less. The third party holds my loved one's oath, and it falls to me to simply accept that reality freely and without question.  If I cannot do this, simply accept what is, then what I feel is not love but covetousness, and it is unworthy.

I thought about how I feel today, and that was the conclusion at which I arrived.  There is an oath in place.  I respect and honor that oath, though it is not mine, because it belongs to one whom I love.  I willingly defer to that oath because it is good and right to do so.  And at the same time, I love, without a doubt.  It may be that the love burns itself up in its own fire, but it will do so cleanly, as gold, rather than as a cheap gilt disguise for baser emotions. (I'm not sure that the last metaphor works right there, but it will do for now).

Vincent, part the fifth

Being selections and thoughts about his letters from 1882

He spent January and February in a fever of painting and drawing, always seeking to improve, to reach some internal standard. His letters to Theo mention this and his anxiety over money. He doesn't know how he is going to live from month to month.

His opinions on money haen't changed, however much he happens to need it to survive. The problem is, Theo, my brother, not to let yourself be bound, no matter by what, especially not by a golden chain. - Letter from Vincent van Gogh to Theo van Gogh, The Hague, c. 11 March 1882

Odd, but I did not realize from his earlier letters that he had spent some time homeless, living under bridges in London and Belgium. This makes sense though, considering the worry from family members. He finally says it out loud in a letter from April of 1882, years later. His letters to Theo mention this and his anxiety over money. He doesn't know how he is going to live from month to month and this is a major source of stress for him. Is it one of the stressors that sends him over the edge for the first time?

He makes me want to play with graphite and pen.

IN May of 1882, Vincent confesses to Theo that he has taken up with a woman he met in the streets. She had been betrayed by a man and was pregnant and ill when she and Vincent met. He sees in her a perfect assistant, and enjoys working with her. She seems to understand his rages (as he puts it). He says, "She and I are two unhappy people who keep each other company and share a burden, and that is precisely why unhappiness is making way for happiness, and the unbearable is becoming bearable." - Letter from Vincent van Gogh to Theo van Gogh, The Hague, 1-2 June 1882

By June, Vincent's carefully constructed world seems to be unraveling. He isn't sleeping well (at all), and the money troubles are more pronounced. I did not realize that someone could be placed under guardianship for not being able to manage money. I wonder if Vincent would have had the same challenges had he lived in a different time.

Do you know that drawing with words is also an art, which sometimes betrays a slumbering hidden force, like small blue or grey puffs of smoke indicate a fire on the hearth? - Letter from Vincent van Gogh to Theo van Gogh, The Hague, 6 July 1882

Feeling and love for nature sooner or later find a response from people who are interested in art. It is the painter's duty to be entirely absorbed by nature and to use all his intelligence to express sentiment in his work, so that it becomes intelligible to other people. - Letter from Vincent van Gogh to Theo van Gogh, The Hague, c. 1 August 1882

They will never be able to understand what painting is. They cannot understand that the figure of a labourer—some furrows in a ploughed field - a bit of sand, sea and sky—are serious subjects, so difficult, but at the same time so beautiful, that it is indeed worth while to devote one's life to expressing the poetry hidden in them. - Letter from Vincent van Gogh to Theo van Gogh, The Hague, 19 August 1882

So what is needed is courage and self-sacrifice and risking something, not for gain, but because it is useful and good; one must retain one's trust in one's fellow creatures and fellow countrymen in general. - Letter from Vincent van Gogh to Theo van Gogh, The Hague, 1 December 1882

I want something more concise, more simple, more serious; I want more soul and more love and more heart. - Letter from Vincent van Gogh to Theo van Gogh, The Hague, c. 11 December 1882

One must go on working silently, leaving the result to the future. If one prospect is closed, perhaps another will open itself - there must be some prospect, and a future too, even if we do not know its geography. Conscience is a man's compass, and though the needle sometimes deviates, though one often perceives irregularities when directing one's course by it, one must still try to follow its direction. - Letter from Vincent van Gogh to Theo van Gogh, The Hague, c. 12-18 December 1882

So ends 1882.

Vincent, part four

So, I am working my way through 1881. He has committed to being a full time painter, but like his work in ministry, he starts from zero and builds up. His obstinate non-conformity still causes him problems, but he is somewhat reconciled to his family (living at home with them in Etten for a time) and is out of the coal country, so often he sounds quite happy.

I wish all people had what I am gradually beginning to acquire: the power to read a book in a short time without difficulty, and to keep a strong impression of it. In reading books, as in looking at paintings, one must admire what is beautiful with assurance - without doubt, without hesitation...I am busy rearranging all my books; I have read too much not to work on systematically to get at least an idea of modern literature. Sometimes I am so sorry that I do not know more about history, especially modern history. Well, being sorry and giving up doesn't help us on; the only thing to do is to push forward. - Letter from Vincent van Gogh to Theo van Gogh, Etten, early August 1881

He has fallen in love, but she does not return his feelings, being still hung up on an old love. Being Vincent, he loves anyway. That man does not seem to have a "just relax" bone in his body.

So I remain calm and confident through all this, and it influences my work, which attracts me more than ever just because I feel I shall succeed. Not that I shall become anything extra-ordinary, but “ordinary”; and by ordinary I mean that my work will be sound and reasonable, and will have a right to exist, and will serve some purpose.
I think that nothing awakens us to the reality of life so much as true love. And whoever is truly conscious of the reality of life, is he on the wrong road? I think not. But to what shall I compare that peculiar feeling, that peculiar discovery of love? For indeed when a man falls seriously in love, it is the discovery of a new hemisphere. - Letter from Vincent van Gogh to Theo van Gogh, Etten, 7 November 1881

If ever you fall in love, do so without reservation, or rather, if you should fall in love simply give no thought to any reservation.
Moreover, when you do fall in love, you will not `feel certain' of success beforehand. You will be `un âme en peine' [a lost soul] and yet you will smile.
Whoever feels so `sure of his ground' that he rashly imagines `she is mine', even before he has waged the soul's battle of love, even before, I say, he has become suspended between life and death on the high seas, in the midst of storm and tempest - there is one who knows little of what a woman's heart is, and that will be bought home to him by a real woman in a very special way. When I was younger, one half of me once fancied that I was in love, and with the other half I really was. The result was many years of humiliation. Let me not have been humiliated in vain. - Letter from Vincent van Gogh to Theo van Gogh, Etten, 10-11 November 1881

He really is determined in his love.

The clergymen call us sinners, conceived and born in sin. Bah! What confounded nonsense that is. Is it a sin to love, to feel the need for love, not to be able to live without love? I consider a life without love a sinful and immoral state. - Letter from Vincent van Gogh to Theo van Gogh, Etten, c. 21 December 1881

1881 ended with an argument between himself and his father and Vincent leaving the family home in Etten, possibly this time for good. He is devoting himself to drawing, but he got a paint box from a cousin (?) for Christmas, so he is enjoying exploring that.

This set of blog entries is taking quite a while, but I am very much enjoying spending the time with Vincent. More as I continue. If I keep up with a year at a go, there will likely be about 10 more Vincent entries, interspersed with other things. Enjoy :)

Note: The letters can be found in their entirety at http://www.webexhibits.org/vangogh/