The Royal Institution is in Mayfair, on a street packed with jewellery shops. The Secretary-General of the Commonwealth eases his tall frame out of a black limousine and follows me in. Everyone’s in suits. The wine’s courtesy of the high commissions of South Africa and New Zealand. All very fancy.
Despite the crowds, this exhibition is utterly absorbing. The RA has gathered an impressive selection of works from the UK, Amsterdam, the States and private collections. The sense of the ‘real’ comes through the display of perhaps twenty of van Gogh’s letters.
He wrote copious short letters, some of which include sketches of planned paintings: a detailed ‘scribble’ of a weaver at a loom on a letter to his brother, Theo, becomes the great painting hung alongside it.
There are seven rooms showing different elements of Van Gogh’s work, progressing chronologically. The exhibition begins with his ‘scratches’ (sketches), follows the introduction of colour and the impact of impressionism, his move to Arles and Provence, before his final move north of Paris. The role of literature is highlighted: we read that he was a great fan of Dickens – much moved by Dickens’ humanity and his true portrayal of the poor.
The curators translate sentences from the Dutch and French letters which concern his works, but more moving are the personal details. He begins one letter with the tragic statement that ‘I have found a restaurant where I eat for a 1 franc’, a sweeping down stroke forming a stylish ‘f’. In another he asks his brother to send him brushes and sketches the types he wants.
His addiction to his work comes through strongly, writing of his desire to constantly paint and sketch, to record the beauty of seasons, landscapes and people, as though under an obligation to constantly improve, to perfect.
His handwriting degenerates as time goes by, he writes on both sides of paper, on the backs of sketches, on envelopes, anything he can get his hands on to explain his enthusiasm, his awesome passion and magnificent ambition that, for him, was always unsatisfied. It drove him to depression, exhaustion and ultimately suicide, though it took the poor man two days to die of his gunshot wounds.
The exhibition includes the last letters between Vincent and Theo, both dated (thurs) 23rd July 1890, and finally the draft that Theo found upon Vincent after he’d shot himself in the chest, complete with still pinkish blood stains.
At the RA
One gallery visitor, stood next to ‘The Yellow House’, a work of breath-taking beauty, says ‘I must admit I’m not enamoured by any of them ’, leaving one wondering what could possibly do it for her.
The RA packed its visitors in, one compared the space to rush hour on the Northern line. And on very dodgy calculations, the gallery must be taking several million pounds from ticket sales. While they must cover the costs of staging, does the surplus simply revert to the general gallery funds? They could spend some of it on decent cycle parking.
The exhibition finishes on the 18 April, but happily, you can view all van Gogh’s letters at the fantastic http://vangoghletters.org/vg/ – and if you have £400, get the book described by the Economist as possibly ‘the best autobiography of an artist yet to appear anywhere’. Could I borrow £400?
Who’d have thought that there was this great Danish artist called Christen Købke?
Not me. Possibly because he only left Denmark once, during which time he was a bit homesick, so went back to Copenhagen. And he died at 37. Poor chap.
But GREAT paintings! Like Denmark’s Constable. Painting at roughly the same time. Stunning romantic images of Denmark following their rather poor show in a face-off against Britain , which helped Danes think warmly of the motherland again. Not excessively romantic, but just glowing enough to make you want to go to Denmark a little bit, clever use of light, and even cleverer framing type stuff. Denmark is also very pink, apparently.
Runs until 13 June.
Watch the little film in the little film room too, cos it gives you a super close-up of the picture of his dad, which is intricate and beautiful, but very small in real life.