From the Canvas to the Cross | Part II | In the Image

There is a book I own that is so worn I have had to tape in the pages that are falling out. It is called Space for God by Don Postema. It's a book about Gratitude. 

In addition to being on my own library shelf, the book sits on the library shelf of the Vincent Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam. The book is laid out in Landscape format and is an eclectic collection of "windows to insight" - trail cairns of sorts that point us toward The Way. 

Nestled among poems, song lyrics, paintings by artists like Rembrandt, scripture verses, and quotes from monks and theologians, are selected drawings and letters from the tortured mind of Vincent Van Gogh.   

I say tortured because he is quite the textbook definition of the Tortured Artist stereotype. There is a lot of research and controversy around this theory, ranging from the dangers of romanticizing mental illness and necessitating it for creativity, to Appreciating the fact that the arts have played a significant role as an outlet for those suffering from their illnesses. 

Speaking of controversy, Henri Nouwen, a friend of Don's who authored the book's preface, writes: 

"Few people would ever think of 'the man who cut off his ear' as a guide to God. But those who work with this book will come to know that this Dutch artist not only once was a minister who preached God's Word to the poor but also remained a minister through letters, drawings, and paintings. I am Grateful to Don Postema for placing this controversial Dutchman in the same book with John Calvin." 

In the same book. I love that. 

Henri offers that Gratitude, like Goodness, Truth, and Beauty, is an Invitation to Unity:  

"The prayer of thanks is indeed the place where we can all meet - not looking at each other and finding fault with each other but looking together at Him who forgives us our faults over and over again." 

Chapter 1 opens with a quote from Vincent taken from one of his many letters to his younger brother, Theo (think: Steve Wozniak to Vincent's genius): "I must grasp life at its depth." 

A snippet from the stage play Our Town prefaces Don's observation that artists have a certain way of Paying Attention to what is around them and inside of them to "rediscover the world with an Eye of Love, and to 'See' into Reality":

Emily: Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it - every, every minute? 

Stage Manager: No. (Pause) The saints and poets, maybe - they do some. 

But here's the thing: we are all artists of our own lives, created in the image of the Artist of Life itself, whether or not you can oil paint or woodwork or write. Gratitude offers us an Invitation to join those artists who grasp life at its depth by simply Paying Attention, receiving the gift, and responding with thanks.

Vincent created over 2,100 works of art in the ten short years before his tragic death. Of these, some 35-40 were self-portraits - not because he loved the look of himself, but because he was short on money and couldn't afford to hire models to practice portrait painting. In fact, he thought so little of them that he often painted over them or painted them on the backs of canvases to save money on supplies. 

Self-portraits also served as his way of revealing himself and his Story to the world. He wrote only briefly and hesitantly to Theo about the mental breakdown that caused him to sever his ear with a razor, landing himself in a mental hospital for a year, but he did boldly paint about it.    

"People say, and I am willing to believe it, that is is hard to know yourself. But it is not easy to paint yourself, either." ~ Vincent Van Gogh

Here are two of his most well-known self-portraits, painted in the same year by the same artist. Notice their striking difference - the first has a dualistic background, an almost hopeless expression in the eyes, a complete downward curvature of the mouth, and a tobacco pipe. 

The second? What an Image of Hope. The evidence of his mental illness remains in the form of a bandaged ear, and he keeps the fur hat and buttoned-up coat - a reminder of the harsh working conditions he faced in his poor financial circumstances. But also notice what's behind him - a blank canvas and the source of his greatest inspiration - Japanese art. It is the only self-portrait of his face that includes any objects in the background.

Another thing to note in the second portrait is the expression in his eyes in comparison to the first, as well as the ever-so-slight upward curvature of his mouth. A smile as subtle as Mona Lisa's. And the pipe is gone. 

He didn't slap these selfies on street corner light posts or community boards at the brothels he frequented, but rather, he painted them for himself, convinced that painting would help him to heal. 

Despite the fact that he only sold one painting during his lifetime, he kept painting anyway. "I retain all good Hope," he wrote to Theo. 

Just three years ago, a Hidden self-portrait was discovered using x-ray technology at the National Galleries of Scotland. As was common for him, Vincent had used both sides of the canvas when he painted Head of a Peasant Woman. It was then covered up by layers of glue and cardboard, most likely when the painting went on display in the early 20th century.

An Artist's Image Hidden in one of His own Masterpieces. Now that's a discovery worth being Grateful for.