Immersed by the allure of Van Gogh

As fourth-graders, my class had the opportunity to see the Van Gogh exhibit at the Detroit Art Institute. By dinner time, a poster of “The Potato Eaters,” which he considered one of his masterpieces, was hanging prominently on one of the walls in my frilly pink and apple green bedroom. I was obsessed with an obviously poor, coarse looking, peasant family, sitting in a dark, shabby room, eating potatoes. The painting had literally moved me to tears. 

 

Everyone else seemed to be engrossed with “The Starry Night” and any image they could find of the artist sans his ear – if you don’t know this part of his story, Van Gogh actually cut off his ear while in a sanitarium in Arles, France. The theory that he did it because he was just crazy has been challenged in modern times and is very interesting to read about.

 

Throughout the years, I have seen Van Gogh exhibits in other cities – I think many of us have certain artists that we are fascinated with either by their works, personal story, or both, and he is right up there at the top of the list for me.

 

But, I have to say that nothing has even compared to the Beyond Van Gogh immersive experience that my sister and I immersed ourselves recently at the Charleston Area Convention Center. Imagine this impressionist art – most of which we are all quite familiar, enveloping us in its beauty absolutely everywhere – on the walls, the ceiling, the floor. We saw the raw talent, torment, agony and ecstasy of this one man who never quite knew or understood who he was nor his incredible gift. The familiarity of the provencal towns, country-side and rustic rooms was like déjà vu in a format that was bigger than life. The colors that we associate with his artistry were warm and inviting. “The Potato Eaters” were still having that meal – I could really scrutinize that painting as if I were actually in the room with them.  

 

The experience was an hour from start to finish, but we didn’t want to leave. However, the gift shop was the next stop – the piece de resistance. It felt like the end of an old, favorite movie when you hope against hope that the sad ending will be different this time. In spite of a new way to experience this art, it wasn’t. Van Gogh still had that dirty bandage where his ear used to be.

 

The gift shop didn’t disappoint and we were walking out at the same time as a woman and two young boys. One of the boys was clutching a flat paper bag and I could only assume that it was a copy of a painting in some form. I had to know.  

 

“Did you buy something good?” I asked him. He smiled at me with his big new teeth and said:  “There’s art in here.”

 

(I knew it!) “Which one did you buy?” I asked.  He looked at his mom and she answered for him.  “He loved “The Starry Night.”

 

Of course he did. Everyone does. It’s the one where Van Gogh expelled his inner conflict on a canvas during the day from memory through his asylum room window at night. I’m guessing most people don’t know that, and don’t care, just allowing it to speak to them on the

level of its beauty.

 

I guess one of my little life’s mysteries will always be that “The Potato Eaters” still speaks to me, still makes me cry and I still don’t understand why.