"A starry night
Colour your palette blue and gray.
Look out in summer.
With eyes that know the darkness in my soul
Shadows on the hills
Draw sketches of trees and daffodils.
Catch the breeze and the cold of winter
On the snowy flax land. "
Don mclean said to him in the song, Now I think God knows what you are going to say to me. You have suffered so much, you try your best to get rid of it. But you can't get rid of them They still make you miserable. Maybe they will torture you forever.
He's Vincent. Vincent van Gogh. A person who suffers forever.
I bought one of his decorative paintings "The Rhone River under the Starry Sky" in an art shop. Written in September 1888, two years before his death, 1890 committed suicide. Suicide is regarded as a sin in Christ, and only those who don't believe in God and are accused by the devil will commit suicide. Therefore, after his death, he can't be buried in the churchyard, and he can't stand a cross. His body was taken away by his brother Theo and buried in the manor. In less than a month, my brother will lie with him forever.
In that picture, the stars are as big and bright as yellow lanterns. The lights of the fishing boat have been on for a long time. In a corner of the painting, there is an old couple with their backs to the bright river. I believe this is what he saw, felt and painted in the middle of the night. His simple paintings have a real quality.
Collect his self-portraits. I used to wonder what kind of people can dissect themselves so carefully, lonely people, sensitive people, people who care about life, or real and fragile people.
I bought a copy of his biography Dear Theo through the online bookstore. A week later, it was sent to school. A thick book was wrapped in several bags, intact. When it is opened, it feels warm inside. All the books are written by him, including some letters he wrote to his brother. It should be said that it is a letter from his family.
There are 500 thousand words translated into Chinese, and they are only part of his letters. Finally, I understand that his life includes writing and painting. His thinking and expression are not limited to painting, but also literature.
I read this book in my spare time. Small words, slow reading speed. I'm afraid of missing something. In the text, I also realized his struggle, pain and inescapable.
In the article, many people have heard of Vincent in the comments. The death of artists is often characterized by mental illness. Now, it is often admired by the world. This is an era without poets, but it has been subverting some ethics.
When you mention Vincent, you think of sunflowers. Not my favorite flower. However, big and reserved flowers show persistence and ideals.
Summer of 2007. I got to know Mix.
She was the first girl to mention Vincent to me. She said, you know, this man's painting feels sexy.
At that time, in the studio on the mountain, I studied painting with a group of children who were studying fine arts. Most of them were children preparing for the Academy of Fine Arts, and Xiaoxiao was one of them. And I, just because of the boredom of the holiday, learn simple sketches here to pass the time.
Looking back now, it was a dull but fulfilling time. For more than ten days, they all lived in the mountains, as if isolated from the city. Every morning, you can hear insects chirping. At night, you can clearly see the sparse stars in the city night sky. The handsome art teacher took us to sketch in the Woods. He is a graduate of the Academy of Fine Arts. He built a house on the mountain to create, and also took students to paint. That's what he does for a living.
Most of the studios are cheerful and enthusiastic children. Xiaoxiao, however, has few words. At first, I had little impression of her.
It was not until later that I gradually noticed the silent girl. Because after the course, she will still be in the studio, silently painting plaster for an hour before leaving.
Many nights, there are only two of us in the studio. And we seldom talk. Only occasionally play Keren Ann's songs on an old CD player.
However, she told me about her dream more than once. Academy of Fine Arts. Become a painter. Go to Orville, a small town outside Paris, and look for the lost yellow house.
I saw a firm and bright light in her eyes when she said this.
She said, do you know Vincent's death?
1890 summer. Vincent walked in the field with his picture box on his back, and his eyes were hallucinating. He felt a flock of black crows shrouded in golden wheat fields. Vincent said crows represent death. He came to summon me. So he came to the wheat field with a pistol and shot at the imaginary crow. The bullet went into his chest.
Perhaps, he will feel that the crow not only devoured the light, but also devoured his dreams. Once his dream is lost, he can't go on. So, he chose death. His heart is a fire burning proudly.
I know, Mix likes Vincent very much. I like sunflowers like that.
She told me one of her dreams.
There are two big mountains in the dream. There is a path between the mountains. She walked along the path. But clarity is endless. She doesn't know what to do. Keep walking. Finally, she saw the light and her eyes suddenly opened up. However, what she saw was not heaven, but black land and dark clouds hovering overhead. This is a plain. No one. There is no sign of life. The emptiness is suffocating.
But there are two sunflowers growing on the soil of that plain. One faces the gray sky.
A plant was broken and fell to the ground.
I don't know the true meaning of this dream. Just, that broken sunflower, isn't it Vincent?
Because the summer vacation was over, I left there and stopped studying painting. Xiaoxiao stayed on the mountain with the children who took the art test and painted day and night.
I started my old life again. Go to school by bike in the morning. Go home with heavy homework at night. I think about my poor grades all day.
But to my surprise, I received a small postcard. I will receive one every few days with few words on it.
She said, good morning, I'll start painting colors now. I began to try to match my beautiful colors.
In the morning, I see the sun setting bit by bit every day.
In the morning, there were still so many bugs on the mountain and a lot of little red dot on my arm.
Good morning. Do you remember Vincent?
……
In those days, I listened to Vincent repeatedly.
On many late nights, I finished my homework all day. Turn off the lights. Go into the living room and sit on the sofa. Put on headphones and listen to Vincent's music. However, such a plain song will make your eyes red in the dark.
I often think of Mix, too. Miss the tireless figure in front of the drawing board. The fragile sunshine at dusk stretched her shadow for a long time.
In September, I received a letter from Xiaoxiao.
This letter is very long. I only remember a small part. Maybe, I dare not remember.
She said that her parents were divorced. She lives with her mother. Have no money to learn painting. I must go back to my old vocational high school.
She said, does it really mean that we have grown up only when we learn to give up one thing?
So, is growing up an extremely hurtful thing?
Now, I began to write novels.
I wrote about Vincent and all his paintings in my novel. However, when I write, tears will always flow out of my eyes for no reason. Maybe it's just because the weather is too humid.
When I write, I think of Vincent.
In fact, he is a crow. Crows flying in the wheat field speak a language they don't understand. His voice will never be liked, but no one can control the direction of his flight. His wings are full of lasting and powerful blood. In my opinion, Vincent is about dreams, freedom and dignity.
As Vincent once said, if there is nothing infinite, profound and real in life, I will not miss life.
The southern city where you live has distinct seasons all year round. 65438+February, people have clearly felt the arrival of winter. I know there will be no more crows in this city. Too many people's dreams and even dignity are buried in the vanity face of this city.
There will never be sunflowers in the garden. In winter, all plants will sleep in the past, hoping for a new life in the coming year. They become fragile and have no ability to resist, as if they have lost all their vitality.
It's like being buried in winter.