Violet Flowers, August Nights, and Portals
Two nights ago, we were sitting out on the porch having dinner, after a brief but much needed break from the humid summer days that we've been experiencing all too often lately. I had left my phone upstairs, intentionally, so I wouldn't be tempted to grab it to look things up we were talking about, or look to my side to see it light up for one of the few notifications that still slips through (I've been trying to turn off all of them, in an attempt at using digital minimalism to regain some semblance of control over my attention span and life). Our neighbor was across the street, sitting on the porch with her cat, Chicken, and we watched as passersby would all stop to say hi to him. He likes to sit (on a leash) at the bottom of the stairs, or on the garden wall by the sidewalk, and just watch people as they walk by. Chicken is a fixture of the neighborhood.
After dinner, my dad was talking about a certain painting, a Van Gogh, in which the artist originally titled Violet Flowers. In this painting, he was talking about how the actual color has faded to blue, because the paint used by Van Gogh to mix the purple contained a red that had faded in the hundreds of years since its creation. I'd already been familiar with the painting, but found the almost uncontrollable urge to look up the image of it on my phone, to see for myself, immediately, but since my phone was upstairs, I had to watch my dad's hands, gesturing, and listen to the way he was talking about the painting, and how the conservators authenticated it by finding a single pine needle via x-ray, from a tree that stood on the ground of the hospital Van Gogh was living in and working from in his later years, as he painted this flower, all without looking anything up on my phone.
I realized I missed this, being this present with someone I love, as they're talking at dinner, and having only a blurry picture of what they're talking about in my mind's eye. I still haven't looked up the painting (though I might just as I'm writing this, since I'm sitting at my computer, the home of the internet). There is so much joy in being uncertain of the facts, and just listening, trying to put pieces together and forming your own thoughts on a topic without any external resources. Now, two days later, I'm still thinking about this, because I made the conscious effort to not have my phone on my person during that dinner, because I decided to just listen to my dad talk about this Van Gogh painting, the only distraction being some dog barking (and backing away fearfully) at Chicken, across the street, or a jet flying over head at a low altitude.
I would like to share a short (okay its kind of long) section of the transcription of a podcast I found on the Getty's website, Deeper Dive: A Conservator's Visit to Van Gogh's Asylum. In this conversation between the host, Elit Sadoyan, and the conservator, Devi Ormond, we hear of their experience researching and caring for this painting, and traveling to the asylum where Van Gogh painted it, to the actual garden he sat in.
Sadoyan: In the meditation for this week, we focused on sensory awareness inspired by Irises by Vincent van Gogh, or Vincent van Gogh as his name is [pronounced] in Dutch. In this episode, we are diving deeper into what it means to be present. Devi, you had the great privilege of visiting the St. Paul Asylum in Saint-Rémy-de-Provence, where Vincent van Gogh spent time and where he painted Irises. What brought you there?
Ormond: Very good question. Something that was very teeny tiny, would you believe it? Something that we found in the paint of Irises. Uh, we weren’t quite sure what it was, whether it was an insect or perhaps something to do with plant material.
But we were curious about it. We had the wonderful opportunity to study Irises very closely, along with the scientist and curator, really examining every square inch of the painting. And we came across a small little piece of plant material, we thought, and we decided to pursue it. And thank goodness that we did, because it was that small little piece of plant material that brought us to the garden.
I was given the contact details of the current director of the clinic now in Saint-Paul-de-Mausole in Saint-Rémy, Dr. Boulon, and I phoned him up and I asked if I could speak to the gardener because I was very interested in the garden that Van Gogh painted. And he said that the garden hadn’t changed in hundreds of years, and that I should come and find out for myself what this plant material would be. So that was definitely an invitation I could not say no to.
Sadoyan: [laughs] Definitely not. And what was the plant material? What did you discover?
Ormond: Oh, so when, when we got there, first of all, we were just struck by this—this overwhelming sense of tranquility, you know, once we got behind these tall walls. And when you look down at the ground, these tiny little pollen cones were everywhere. And the pollen cones come from the umbrella pine tree, which is indigenous to that part of the country. And these tiny little brown pollen cones were everywhere, very fragile, and they looked exactly like what we were finding in the paint. So there was a wonderful moment where I’m actually down on the ground with an enlarged image of this plant material that we found and sort of comparing what I’m seeing on the ground with what we saw in the painting.
And it was a real sense of, um—yeah, he, this is where he painted it. So we got a really acute sense of location, which felt very, very intimate.
This kind of physical connection that we now have between our reality and the reality Van Gogh painted this in is absolutely incredible. Despite how the colors of the pigments have faded, and the staff at the asylum has changed, the garden is still there, and the pine needles native to that area of France are still littering the ground. In some weird way, thinking about this little pine needle that survived hundreds of years, and fell in a flurry of other pine needles in a gust of wind that rustled through Van Gogh's beard and hair, maybe gave him a slight chill, reminds me of the importance of physical artifacts to connect us to the emotional and physical state of another human being.
What would Van Gogh think if he could see the painting today? Would he be enamored with the new subdued palette, or would he be overly critical of his paint mixing skills, beating himself up for using inferior, non archival pigments?
As I wrap this up, I'm about to go downstairs and begin setting the table for yet another outdoor dinner with my parents. I think, once again, I will leave my phone safely upstairs. Its another beautifully cool summer night, perhaps cooler than two nights ago. We'll be eating cucumbers from the garden (there are lots of them, what is too many?). I wonder what we'll talk about tonight, what will replace the blurry vision of Violet Flowers in my mind's eye?
Sources:
Irises, Vincent Van Gogh - https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/436528
Deeper Dive: A Conservator's Visit to Van Gogh's Asylum - https://www.getty.edu/podcasts/ommm/deeper-dive-conservator-visit-van-gogh-asylum/