Van Gogh

Vincent Van Gogh, March 30, 1853 - July 29, 1890. On July 27, 1890, he suffered a mental illness and died on the banks of the Zee River in France. Ove committed suicide and died two days later. God is fair. Geniuses must suffer and go through many vicissitudes of life. Just like Edison and Einstein...they are not normal people, they are even inferior to normal people in some aspects and are mentally retarded. The wizard Van Gogh was also not normal.

When Van Gogh was on the verge of a mental breakdown, he once cut off one of his ears with a razor blade. He was trying to use this move to wake himself up and stop the intensifying madness in his heart from pointing at an innocent ear - maybe at that moment, he reached reconciliation with the world, but he hated himself doubly and hated the ugly and ugly person in the mirror. Deformed man. As a result, his gesture was like an out-of-control train rushing off the track, accompanied by a burst of pain-like pleasure or pleasure-like pain, and the bloody ear became his own victim. Could it be that in Van Gogh's mind, the ear has become a lump of fat in this life - it can only hear the noise of the world, but turns a deaf ear to the craze in the heart? Or is he too afraid to listen to his own moans day and night - which are simply more dazzling and unforgettable than the thunder and lightning in the outside world? Otherwise, his blade will not choose the target of venting at random - even if it is aimed at an insignificant ear, it has a purpose. In the initial contact between the icy iron and the hot flesh, Van Gogh was full of destructive desire for himself and the entire world, and he had to break something to gain balance. This is called terrifying:

For Van Gogh's cut off ears, the sound of sea water is also the sound of blood and bright red. He seemed to be drowned in the blood of the world and the dusk of the sea. The ear was the setting sun on his shoulder, which suffered a heavy blow. There is the following passage in a novel by female writer Chen Ran: "I don't love the weirdo with this ear. I only love this weird ear that purely pursues death and burning. I would like to be the eternal widow of this ear." . "The ear that dropped to the ground is the gentlest shrapnel in the world, a souvenir of a silent war - in our imagination, it has been beating in place of the master's withered heart, like a never-ending machine. wall clock. In the eyes of the world, Van Gogh was crazy. But to the hearing of this ear, the world went crazy.

. This is a reaper of pain whose scythe ultimately harvests his own ears.

The world failed to save this dying patient. Van Gogh put down the bleeding razor blade—and soon picked up a revolver. He seemed to regard himself more and more as an imaginary enemy, constantly choosing weapons to attack. The end result was naturally devastating: in a wheat field in Arles, France, he used the hand accustomed to holding a paintbrush to pull the trigger on himself. Whenever I admire Van Gogh's posthumous works (even prints) from more than a century ago, for some reason, I can always vaguely smell the smell of gunpowder smoke - or in other words, the smell of death. But compared to his death, his madness seemed more terrifying. A castrated ear is more shocking than a shot corpse. Van Gogh died, but left behind a famous ear - this last relic did not seem to lose his hearing, collecting comments from future generations. This bleeding ear that exists in the story is still like a stethoscope buried in our lives, probing our consciences. Van Gogh is dead, but his ears are still alive and have memories. Why not support him when he groans and collapses - world, do you hear it? Where are your ears?

With your severe character and original painting style, you use color to explain your works. Since this kind of integrated style of 'Al's women' is so rare to see, one would think it was the work of you and me, the result of many months of collaboration between the two of us. ”

I will probably make an engraving of this painting and other remembered scenes of Provence. I would like to send you one, a complete summary, more thoughtful and planned. I My brother said that Lauzet made some Monticelli lithographs, which are very similar to Albanian heads. But you will understand the confusion after arriving in Paris. I have not seen your oil paintings, but I hope this. Go back in a few days.

The facts hidden behind the mystery of Vincent Van Gogh’s death and the tragedy that happened 100 years ago are still a mystery.

But one day all mysteries will be completely revealed. ． ． ． ． ．