All Roads (and Visits) Lead to Vincent

Yesterday David and I finally made it to the Greene and Greene show at the MFA and while in terms of the objects on display it was a fairly enjoyable exhibit, overall it was something of a letdown. The original drawings for their homes, their amazingly delicate stained glass and the furnishings were beautiful works of art in themselves (after all who doesn't love arts & crafts period furnishings?), but the show was really small and sparse. We were in and out of it in less than half an hour, and that was with me lingering over wall texts too.

So instead, I spent the bulk of our time mooning over the Van Goghs. Whenever I go to the MFA I always visit my beloved Vincent and his heart-wrenching works in which I could lose myself for hours. The MFA has only a few pieces and they aren't even remotely my favorites, but beggars can't be choosers and if these are the only Vincents that I'll have in my life, then I'll take them, and happily too. I hate the fact that right next to the version of La Berceuse that he was working on in Arles the night he had chopped off his ear is a Gauguin. I am firmly of the belief that Gauguin played a major role in Vincent's breakdown. I know that Vincent was on a lifelong collision course with madness and I'm not so naive as to believe that Gauguin was the sole reason for his psychotic break at that time, but I truly feel that Gauguin's own behavior didn't help the situation any and as such I think he's partly responsible (and I think he did too, based on his own memoirs later in life). But that's not why I hate Gauguin's work. I hate it because I think it's just plain horrible, nothing more and nothing less.

So the day was redeemed by my extended visit to the Vincents. His colors, his subject matter, his sensitivity, his heart and soul poured into every vibrant stroke make me more joyful than anything. There is no one who will ever be like Vincent and I could spend my life, until my dying breath, sitting before his works. Someday I'd like to visit the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam, but the danger with that is that once I'm inside I'll never want to leave, ever again.