Purchase cataloguePainted with Words is a compelling look at Vincent van Gogh's correspondence to his young colleague Émile Bernard between 1887 and 1889. Van Gogh's words and sketches reveal his thoughts about art and life and communicate his groundbreaking work in Arles to his fellow painter.
Van Gogh's letters to Bernard reveal the tenor of their relationship. Van Gogh assumed the role of an older, wiser brother, offering praise or criticism of Bernard's paintings, drawings, and poems. At the same time the letters chronicle van Gogh's own struggles, as he reached his artistic maturity in isolation in Arles and St. Rémy. Throughout the letters are no less than twelve sketches by van Gogh meant to provide Bernard with an idea of his work in progress, including studies related to the paintings The Langlois Bridge, Houses at Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer, Boats on the beach at Saintes-Maries, The Sower, and View of Arles at Sunset.
The translations used in this presentation are from the catalogue for the exhibition: Vincent van Gogh
Painted with Words, The Letters to Émile Bernard and are reproduced by kind permission of the Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam.
Major support for Painted with Words: Vincent van Gogh's Letters to Émile Bernard and its accompanying catalogue was provided by the International Music and Art Foundation. Generous support was also provided by the Robert Lehman Foundation and the National Endowment for the Arts.
Vincent van Gogh, letter to Émile Bernard, Arles, 29 July 1888, Letter 12, page 3
However, it's Frenchmen, C. Blanc, Thoré, Fromentin, certain others who have written better
than the Dutch on that art.
Those Dutchmen had scarcely any imagination or fantasy but great taste and the art of arrangement;
they did not paint Jesus Christs, the Good Lord and others. Rembrandt though—indeed, but
he's the only one (and there are relatively few biblical subjects in his oeuvre), he's the only one who,
as an exception, did Christs, etc.
And in his case, they hardly resemble anything by other religious painters; it's a metaphysical magic.
So, Rembrandt painted angels—he makes a portrait of himself as an old man, toothless, wrinkled,
wearing a cotton cap—first, painting from life in a mirror—he dreams, dreams, and his brush
begins his own portrait again, but from memory, and its expression becomes sadder and more
saddening; he dreams, dreams on, and why or how I do not know, but just as Socrates and Mohammed
had a familiar genie, Rembrandt, behind this old man who bears a resemblance to himself, paints a
supernatural angel with a da Vinci smile.