The Value of The Death of An Original

Dear Theo, The Autobiography of Vincent Van Gogh, edited by Irving Stone

In his autobiography, Dear Theo, Vincent Van Gogh intimately pens the artist’s struggle to his brother. “Painters … dead and buried, speak to the next generation or to several succeeding generations in their work. Is that all, or is there more besides? In a painter’s life death is not perhaps the hardest thing there is.”

What is it that Van Gogh is saying? The hardest thing: to be valued in life as the artist one is. World-renowned only in death, his words beyond the grave paint a picture of the trauma of poverty. “I as a painter shall never stand for anything of importance, I feel it utterly. But if all were changed, character, education, circumstances, things might be different.”

Van Gogh waxes poetic the effects that poverty has on a person’s mental health. He even says money would only distract him from his work—a thought I’ve voiced myself, trying to rewrite feelings of worthlessness. We like to say the struggle is what “make us”, but it is not poverty that makes a person, it is poverty that defeats a person. Van Gogh committed suicide; inside these pages is a man defeated, unable to envision a future. I have suffered similar symptoms. 

“… the new painters alone, poor, treated like madmen and because of this treatment actually becoming so, at least as far as their social life is concerned … the money painting costs crushes me under a feeling of debt and worthlessness, and it would be a good thing if this state of things could cease.”

If he was a madman, I am a madwoman.

Diagnosis does not diminish one’s genius. Becoming an artist—having the integrity to live by my internal compass in the face of adversity and adjusting my life’s entire focus to support my mental health through my practice, Memoirtistry®—has impacted my status in class and career. The loss of invitations because I can no longer pay my way has isolated me. The weight of the absence of a four-year degree is used against me, still; as if my life has taught me nothing. I am poor in the bank. I receive government assistance for food each month. I seek free things. I steal from corporations. I take only what I need and I use all of what I have. Nothing is without purpose. My desires for material things have waned as the money I do receive I pour back into my art.

What you see inside Dear Theo is the artist dismissed in life but capitalized upon in death—a story written of living artists pursuing their craft, that struggle is a “rite of passage”, distracting us from finding solutions for poverty to support mental health. Not everyone has the same opportunities afforded them, and when you are in poverty you are separate from society. You are a have-not, and are treated as such. 

Van Gogh’s appearance, demeanor, lack of social standing, lack of college education, and poverty status affected his impression. He appeals to his brother to forgo comments on his dress—an oversized wool coat of his father’s and even Theo’s too-large hand-me-downs—as it is all he has. Things about him that could not be changed without money or generosity, criticized. When you live day-to-day, what little money you receive, you apply to the most pressing need. For Van Gogh, painting was a greater need than eating; he often fasted and moved about looking for the most affordable accommodations. “Society being what it is, we naturally cannot expect it to conform to our personal needs.”

The needs expressed within the pages were not exorbitant; most he mentioned were basic, human. He speaks of a dream life in an artist’s commune; a peaceful environment where money is not a constant pressure, so he could do his work the way his mastery and his mental health required. I have ached for the same. During one of his periods of being institutionalized for his “madness”, he commented, “They have lots of room here in the hospital; there would be enough to make studios for a score or so of painters.”

How much more could Vincent have created if his basic needs were supplied?  

On July 17, I attended an artist focus group at the Equity Impact Center through Sweetwater Center for the Arts. The EIC partners with local nonprofit and social justice organizations to support the evolution of outdated and harmful systems. We discussed the needs of the artist and were fed and paid for our time. The EIC defines equity as “the creation of conditions and experiences of situational fairness, transparency, and accountability achieved when we apply differential resources to address unequal needs because people are situated differently.” The conversation revived my belief I can make a difference with my own difference.

The prosperity gospel of capitalism paired with the toxicity of manifestation keep those in comfort distracted from the reality that people are situated differently. Van Gogh was blessed to have the support of his brother, but often felt himself a financial burden to Theo. “I am glad you are of the opinion that it would be unwise to take some outside job in hand at the same time. This leads to half measures which make half a man of one.”

As Memoirtistry® has evolved, so has my discipline to continue in my practice. I’ve discarded more than 20 years in Corporate America; I’ve been a barback, a barista, a gas station attendant, a housekeeper, a gallery attendant, and a delivery driver. I’ve been told to go back to school or sell out by using methods that do not align with my values. But suffering a job I can do but am not meant to do, is taxing on my mental health. 

What is the value of the death of an original?

Poverty causes one to come to terms with death; you feel it in the growl of hunger. In his paintings, Van Gogh’s poverty exists underneath the restored layers; we look, but do not see beyond the surface. Two days before his suicide, he wrote, “… at a moment of comparative crisis … my own work, I am risking my life for it and my reason has half-foundered. … You can still choose your side, acting with humanity, but what’s the use?”

What’s the use? Words of defeat. I wonder what Van Gogh would think of the brand his name has become. Would he feel proud of the financial success and fame, or feel… desperately forgotten? Dead artists stir conflict as I consider what is to become of my life’s work in death. I’m an original, too. 

There is no greater pursuit than that of the creative spirit, but let’s not forget that prolonged resiliency without reprieve—surviving, not thriving—can lead us to death long before it is meant for us. I believe poverty killed Van Gogh, and we have to stop sacrificing the artists. 134 years later, organizations like the EIC are still rare to find. 

“‘I am an artist’ … always seeking without absolutely finding. … ‘I am seeking, I am striving, I am in with all my heart.’”

Memoirtistry® is my beating heart. Similar to Van Gogh, I give my life for my work; and perhaps only in death can a life be realized.