Tracing Van Gogh's Footsteps (in Provence)

In 1990, Van Gogh's portrait of Dr. Gachet sold for a record .5 million at Christie's Auction in New York City, making it the highest paid painting to date. Yet, the struggling artist, who survived on a monthly allowance from his brother, sold only one painting during his lifetime. That of Red Vineyards for 400 francs.

"Even if I have not succeeded, all the same I think that what I have worked at will be carried on," Van Gogh wrote his brother, Theo, two weeks before his suicide. "I feel so strongly that it is the same with people as it is with wheat, if you are not sown in the earth to germinate there, what does it matter? In the end you are ground between the millstones to become bread."

Germinate indeed. This post-Impressionistic artist, considered the greatest Dutch painter since Rembrandt, influenced the art of Expressionism and Fauvism, and became a household name. It was here in Provence that he zealously created over half of his paintings during the last two years of his life, intoxicated by brilliant colors under the pure light of the Provencal sun.

My fascination with Van Gogh began a couple years ago when I was decorating my daughter's nursery. Seeing a reproduction of his mustard-yellow sunflowers inspired the decor of sunflowers in her forest green studio-like turret-shaped room, even though I passed on that print.

Later that year, our local film festival showed Lust for Life. I watched Kirk Douglas portray Van Gogh in the moving dark dramatization, learning for the first time about the manic depression and delusional thinking that shortened his life. Surprised to discover that he died at age 37, I developed a morbid curiosity about his illness and how it affected his art.

Besides, I liked his art.

So while my purpose in Provence was to attend IGO's travel writing workshop in L'Isle-sur-la-Sorgue and a photography workshop in Ansouis, I knew I couldn't visit the south of France without making a diversion to Arles and St. Remy where Van Gogh spent his last two years. I wanted to explore the shadows of his life and photograph the sights that inspired him in the pure Provencal light.

And purchase a Van Gogh sunflower print for my daughter's room–in Arles–where he painted it.

Quick Tips:

Provence is a lovely region steeped in medieval and Roman history. Tourists flock here, yet, organized day tours–beyond trips to nearby Camargue–are few. Expect to do your own exploring in Arles and St. Remy, both located in the southwestern region of Provence. (www.visitprovence.com.)

Arles, a large medieval city on the Rhone, brims with Roman ruins, art museums, cloistered churches and outdoor cafes among narrow winding streets. Wander at whim or pick up a Walking Tour brochure at the Information Bureau (Boulevard Lices) to find ten easels scattered throughout the city and compare the actual scenes to Van Gogh paintings.

Don't skip visiting the tranquil monastery in St. Remy where he lived his last year, creating such masterpieces as the Reaper and Starry Night. You can see his mock room, learn about 19th century asylum treatments, and view places he painted. Then hike the surrounding Alpilles, and tour Glanum, where Greek and Roman temples, columns and baths have been unearthed steps away from St. Paul's Monastery. See www.saintremy-de-provence.com.

How: Take the 20 minute train from Arles to Avignon (check www.sncf.com for rail/bus schedules) then take a bus to St. Remy, and a taxi to the monastery.

Best Way To Get Around:

Arles:
Nearest airports are Avignon (30 minutes) and Marseille (1 hour) which both offer bus and train transport to a shared station just outside the walled city.

Caution: when flying to Avignon, it's necessary to change airports in Paris as most international flights arrive de Gaulle but only depart Avignon from Orly. I attempted this, assured that 2 hours was plenty of time to make the connection. It wasn't. Even without checked luggage. The airport shuttle took an hour, not twenty minutes. And the shuttle spot at de Gaulle was impossible to find–despite consulting Information clerks and an outdated map. Thankfully another bus driver took pity, and drove me ten minutes to the shuttle spot I would've never found on my own. Once in Orly, I had an entire day to wait for the only other flight out that day.

My advice: take the TGV train! It leaves Paris from de Gaulle airport directly and travels to both Avignon (3 hours) or Arles (4.5 hours).

St. Remy:
Buses leave from Avignon 4-9 times per day, but not from Arles. From there, a rental car or taxi is required for the 30 minute trip.

Located at the Place du Forum in the center of Arles, the cheery yellow Café du Nuit is the subject of Van Gogh's Cafe Terrace at Night–his painting of an outdoor cafe with bright yellow walls against a navy star-swirled sky. Actually, the limestone walls were beige, just illuminated yellow from gas lights newly installed in Arles, September 1888.

An interesting side note: Van Gogh had gas lights installed in the kitchen and studio of his Yellow House the same September–leaks which, according to medical speculation, contributed to his epileptic fits that began the following month.

To appease fans disappointed to find beige walls in their search for the yellow café, the owner simply painted the exterior to match the painting–which is displayed (a replica) inside. A century later tourists still flock to sit where Van Gogh sat, drank and painted. And I was no different.

Bypassing the outdoor seating area, I sat at a marble-topped table inside the dimly lit tavern and ordered a cola light and nicoise salad. After all, it was 11am. The bartender was busy filling two trays of cappuccinos, although I was the only visible customer. Until a German couple came in. We chatted and photographed the murals and replica Van Gogh self-portraits on the wall behind our tables.

The bar was a massive manly bar of polished wood, bronze and iron. It was easy to see the appeal for Van Gogh and imagine him reading novels, writing letters to his brother Theo, or socializing with friends drinking absinth late into the evening. But where was space large enough for a pool table, shown in his Arles Cafe at Night painting?

A little digging led me to the Café de la Gare across the street from Van Gogh's Yellow House outside the city wall. It was there that he frequented almost daily and often spent the night. And likely there where angry outbursts with fellow artist Gauguin were overheard, and where he splashed a drink in Gauguin's face in a heated argument the night he severed his ear.

But he must've hung out at Café du Nuit too. Didn't he? If not, tourists erroneously think so. Great for business. And revenue. My diet coke was 9 Euros. Giant-sized granted, but 12 bucks? At least my salad was a better deal. And delicious. Ten Euros for a healthy portion of lettuce, corn, green beans, carrots, tuna, saucy cubed potatoes topped with a tasty vinaigrette.

Good food and friendly service in this fittingly moody atmosphere made me wonder why a week later, traveling through Arles for a day, the café was closed. Why were outdoor tables chained together at high noon when other cafes lining the Forum square bustled with business? Asking around, I heard whispered claims that the owner newly indicted was forced to close the cafe. Hmmm. Glad I experienced it when I did. Although it won't stayed closed for long.

I don't know if he ever wore glasses. But two holes in a limestone crest high in the Alpilles mountains now bear his name, Van Gogh Glasses.

In my preliminary research preparing for my trip to Provence–looking for hiking routes and day trips–I'd come across a hiking description of a trail that led to this rock formation on the website of a defunct tour company. Nobody else, that I could find, knew of the trail that led to the rocks themselves, where one could sit in the hole and look over the valley to St. Remy. So I hired a guide and brought along my description.

The hike winds through forested terrain behind St. Paul's monastery in St. Remy, where Van Gogh spent 13 months in the asylum as a patient, "resting" under the care of Dr. Peyron who believed his illness was primarily epileptic. As such, this patient was allowed to wander the grounds and paint when he was not experiencing bouts of madness.

Certainly he had seen the Glasses, as they are highlighted in his 1889 landscape painting Olive Trees with the Alpilles in the Background. Perhaps he had even hiked there with his attendant, Poulet, who accompanied him on longer journeys.

Regardless, it was my aim to do so the day I arrived in France. I visited the monastery to see where he lived, then followed my guide down an unmarked path.

The trailhead was the directly behind the monastery across from an elegant private residence. We straddled a bar and followed the gravel road past fragrant thyme, rosemary, buttercups and "Julie" purple trees, ascending through a grove of towering cedars. The moderately difficult section lasted 25 minutes as we slipped on loose gravel and climbed up over deeply gorged sections that had been washed away.

At the top, ominous clouds began to form and rain began to sprinkle. But the brightness of the sky illuminated the valley and the Glasses, barely visible in a tangible bluff. I spotted a divergent path leading through the woods, consulted my copied description, and asked my guide if it likely led to the Glasses. Whether or not it did, she wasn't about to find out, citing the weather to prevent further dawdling.

I snapped a quick photo and caught up with her. The trail being a loop, we continued through cedars, descending easily, sliding down gravely-scree. An inviting section of strange-looking rocks along a hidden creek drew my attention, but my guide ignored my hesitation and kept on walking. We past an ancient aqueduct then faced unexpected ruins distanced behind a fence. I stopped to stare.

The excavated white columns and temples belonged to Glanum, a buried city dating from 3BC just discovered in 1921. Although my guide said there wasn't much to see, I knew I'd be back to revisit at leisure. And when I did, guess what I saw from Glanum's entrance? A 20-20 view of those elusive Glasses.

This is a find for Van Gogh fans that isn't mentioned in many guide books. Not too many local guides or taxi drivers know about it either. And to add to the confusion it's address is listed under Hotel Estrine, yet it's not in a hotel. The museum is located a few blocks off the main square in a beautiful 16th century mansion, once the court of the Prince of Monaco, in the same neighborhood as Nostradamus' house and museum.

Across from the Hotel Estrine entrance, an illustrated easel marks the spot where Van Gogh painted a small garden. Inside, on the first floor, are large reproductions of Van Gogh paintings–the closest thing you'll find to his real art in the Provencal region. Originals are in Paris, New York, London, Moscow, and of course, Amsterdam which celebrates their most famous son since Rembrandt. The sheer variety and quantity of the realistic reproductions surprised me.

But the gem of this quiet place was the ten minute audio-visual show.

I entered the curtained room, a small space large enough for six chairs across that felt spacious under the high arched ceiling. Tapestries hung on stone walls between sculptures, all dramatically lit by sconces. And then classical music began.

Colored images of Van Gogh's paintings appeared one by one on a screen set into a niche in the wall. The slides were narrated in French but English text summarized them periodically. Trees, especially cypress and olive trees, were omnipresent in his paintings during his stay in St. Remy's St. Paul Monastery. He treated them as his brothers, an extension of his expression whether it was joyful blossoms or gnarled trunks of olive trees.

Quite often he painted the black line of a tall cypress touching the moon or sky to "give equilibrium to the universe." He prided himself in his communion with nature, painting swirly stars and leaves of elms, oaks, plane and mulberry trees. Bold blues and yellows dominated colored scenes of flowers, mountain landscapes, and peasant people working in the wheat fields.

The soft music, lilting narration and ever-changing images was indeed a "garden of poetry" that I found peaceful and highly enjoyable. Relaxed, and better acquainted with his art, I continued upstairs to visit the rest of the museum.

The 2nd floor smelled of fresh paint although the art displayed was from 1998. Huge abstract pieces hung on the wall. The central work was a red bed, brushed in wide strokes, on a black background. I followed the winding staircase up to the 3rd story and breezed past an odd assortment of modern art from 2003. Teepees, skeletons and a painting of a mattresses seemed to communicate something, I'm just not sure what.

Back downstairs, I lingered in front of replica Van Gogh paintings one last time...viewing cypress trees, olive groves, and purple irises already familiar in the Provencal landscape in just a mere week.

You should be a fan of modern art to visit. And don't come expecting to see any of Van Gogh's work, or really anything much resembling it.

In fact, a sign at the door, warns you of this. Van Gogh may have painted a prolific 200 paintings in the short year he lived in Arles, but none of them remain here. To see his largest collection, you'll have to visit Amsterdam's Foundation Van Gogh. The purpose of Arles' Foundation according to it's creator, Yolande Clergue, was to "fulfill a life-long ambition to pay tribute to one of the world's greatest artists and the time he spent in my fascinating and historic city."

She established the gallery in 1983 and invited 75 contemporary artists to create an art form–whether it be painting, sculpture, music, literature, photography or fashion–to pay homage to Van Gogh. Contributors such as her husband, well-known photographer Lucien Clergue, Jeanne-Claude, David Hockney, Jasper Johns and Larry Rivers created pieces exclusively for the Foundation based on their interpretation or response to Van Gogh's work.

Curious to see how Van Gogh influenced contemporary artists, I took a later train to squeeze in a visit before my departure. I stored my backpack and walked toward the landmark Amphitheatre peeking above the maze of narrow winding streets. The Foundation was easy to find on the eastern rim of the Amphitheatre past souvenir shops and outdoor cafes.

Inside the three-level structure, past the gift shop, the first piece that caught my eye was a large webbed chair, it's wooden frame tightly wound by heavy string. Knowing that artists are trying to convey emotional responses to his work, or perhaps what they imagine Van Gogh may have felt himself, helps understand the contemporary pieces.

Next to it was a massive painting–taking up the space of an entire wall–of a bloody ear. No reflection needed there. Or was there? Perhaps the artist was making a deeper statement that society's misplaced consumption with Van Gogh's mental illness overpowers his art.

Nearby, I studied a hodgepodge collage of assorted objects that didn't seem to be associated with Van Gogh, or that time period, although I'm sure I missed the intended aim. I did see one painting by Hockney that resembled Van Gogh's style and even his subject–his simple rush chair. There were a few interesting paintings on the 2nd floor, and an playful doll house modeled after the Yellow House sitting on a table in a tiny closet-sized space on the 3rd floor.

But truth be told, most of the art was lost on me, as I struggled to see connections between the abstractions and Van Gogh. At least beyond the bold color imitations of Expressionism or Fauvism–which he greatly influenced by distorting reality and exaggerating colors to intensify emotional expressions with non-Impressionistic aggressive strokes.

Exiting, I glanced at the modern art a second time, shaking my head. But then, Van Gogh wasn't understood in his lifetime either.

"Feeling nowhere so much myself a stranger as in my family and country," Van Gogh wrote Theo, he left the Netherlands–rejected by his father, disinterested women and finally his church–and joined his brother in Paris, France. He abandoned clergyhood altogether and enrolled in Cormon Studio's art academy.

Three years later, at the age of 35, he followed the advice of fellow painter Lautrec and traveled south to settle in sunnier Provence. He arrived Arles by train Feb 19th, 1888 and within three months rented 2 rooms in a yellow house facing the Rhone not far from the train station.

During his 15 month stay in Arles, Van Gogh produced over 300 paintings and drawings in the captivating Mediterranean light. Ten reproductions on easels spread throughout the city allow visitors to compare actual scenes to those Vincent painted. I picked up a self-guided walking tour brochure at the Visitor's Center, and set out to find them.

On the north end of town, I retraced his steps from the train station to the grassy square of Place Lamartine. A newstand and boulangeri now stand on the corner of his former residence, next to a discount store. I stood in front of what used to be his Yellow House, bombed during WWII, and saw the appeal. Van Gogh had found a rare open space outside the congested city walls that stretched to the Rhone beyond.

I followed the Van Gogh tile in the sidewalk, and walked along the walled riverfront toward the city proper. In a few minutes, I saw the easel illustration of Starry Night Over the Rhone marking the spot where the artist painted this familiar nighttime scene. Of course the landscape looked different being mid-morning, but the couple walking near the water's edge in the mosaic-like painting wouldn't be there today with the concrete wall in the way.

A 20 minute walk further down the river would've led me to the easel illustrating his Trinquetaille Bridge painting, but I turned left at Thermes Constantin, the Roman baths, and headed into the heart of the city.

In the Roman Place du Forum, I searched for the easel outside the eye-catching Van Gogh restaurant, which the owner had painted vivid yellow to match Van Gogh's nighttime painting of the Café Terrace. But didn't find it until I wandered in for lunch and spotted it back at the bar. A tasty nicoise salad and large cola lite cost 20 euros, but sitting in the atmospheric tavern where Vincent sat was worth it.

I followed La Rue Des Arenes to the Amphitheatre, a massive city landmark whose grand double arches peek above narrow streets of tiny shops, cafes and rows of limestone homes. Distracted by the monument itself, I forgot about the easel until I'd explored the tunnels and arches of the first and second levels of the Roman Arena and climbed up the medieval tower for a bird's eye view. Ten thousand seats still surround the sandy arena where bullfights have replaced gladiators for centuries. I wondered if Van Gogh had attended any of the games here.

Which reminded me, where was his easel? And what did he paint here? As I descended the slippery stone steps, I exited the Arena and walked around the entire exterior before I spied the easel–back near the entrance stairs. And the scene? Van Gogh chose to highlight a spectator crowd rather than the Antiquity.

I consulted my map. After several false starts–it's very easy to become disoriented with circular landmarks–I saw a street sign pointing to the Roman Theatre and followed the maze of curving alley streets to the main entrance of the next Antiquity. I passed a white statue of a Roman goddess, headed left and spotted his easel Arles Park half-hidden under bushy trees at the Jardin d'Ete city park. More intriguing to me was a nearby monument of him surrounded by purple flowers. The expression on his face, cast at the top of the stone marker, looks shocked, a wee bit crazed. Was that how the locals remembered him? City records show that the people complained about his wily behavior and signed a petition recommending his hospitalization when he began having fits, wandering the streets in a confused drunken state, paranoid and aggressive, angrily striking at imagined conversationalists.

Even prior to these sudden outbursts, he lived a lonely existence most of his life, yearning for love and acceptance but never finding satisfying relationships. Except with his brother, Theo, who answered Vincent's 700 letters and financially supported him from Paris. Van Gogh did befriend several people in Arles who remained loyal to him despite his unpredictable behavior. They included a number of prostitutes, a postman Roulin, lieutenant Milliet, young Dr. Rey, and the young couple Ginoux–subjects of many paintings–who owned Café de la Gare where he spent evenings reading novels and writing letters.

But Van Gogh desired the companionship of other artists. He dreamed of creating a Studio of the South in his Yellow House where painters could live together and be together. Like he had experienced the previous spring, in Paris. He had been part of the post-impressionist group of painters that included Gauguin, Bernard and Lautrec, who spent hours together painting and discussing art over absinth in Clichy Boulevard cafes.

Vincent wanted to replicate that in sunny Provence and began planning "a shelter for poor and exhausted impressionists" in his happy Yellow House. Excited about creating an artist's colony, he persistently invited Gauguin to join him, decorating empty walls with fresh paintings while he waited.

Six months later, Gauguin arrived, finally persuaded by Vincent's promise of a 250 franc monthly allowance–which his brother, Theo, provided in exchange for one of Gauguin's paintings. But the honeymoon was short-lived. They often quarreled about art.

Gauguin criticized Van Gogh's work, writing to another that "Vincent was floundering considerably...and had only arrived at subdued, incomplete, and monotonous harmonies; the sound of the clarion was missing." Indeed the predominant colors in his Provencal paintings are shades of golden yellow. Yet, today Van Gogh's Sunflowers, Café by Night, Starry Night, Yellow House, Vincent's Room and Self-Portrait for my friend, Gauguin, all of which Gauguin highly disapproved, are considered his best work and prized masterpieces.

Sounds and sights of an open market diverted my attention. Across the street from the city park was the end point of an unexpected market. I turned right on Boulevard Des Lices and walked among stalls displaying fresh cheese, sausages, Provencal fabrics, olives, Arabian spices, and breezy Indian clothes. Then quite by chance looked up to see a sign pointing to Espace Van Gogh. Intrigued, I followed, not knowing where it would lead. I walked down a narrow street and ducked under a doorway which led–surprise–to the Hospital Courtyard that Van Gogh painted while recovering from self-mutilation of his right ear.

The square garden is clearly recognizable, comparing the courtyard to the easel illustration–although a copper sculpture has replaced a center pool and overgrown trees obliterate part of the view. The former hospital is now a private cultural center, but a cheery shop on the ground floor sells every Van Gogh souvenir imaginable from prints, books and postcard paintings to starry night ties and swirling impressionistic scarves.

I zeroed in on Van Gogh's sunflower prints and selected one for my daughter's room. Appropriate that I should buy it here, in the city where he painted it. Sunflowers brightened the Yellow House walls of Paul Gauguin's guest bedroom, Vincent's warm welcome for the long-awaited presence of his respected artist friend.

I glanced through a book to see more of his paintings. Arles was a sprawling, confusing city for a scavenger hunt, slowing my progress in finding the ten easels representing Van Gogh's work, much less an additional seven in outlying areas near the Camargue. A book would have to do. At least I'd visited some of the places he'd painted, experienced the pure, bright Provencal light and the sights that had inspired him.

In October 1888, Gaugin moved in with Van Gogh. And lasted two months. He announced plans to leave Arles and return to Paris, to the grave disappointment of Vincent who had hoped that Gaugin's presence would encourage others to join his idealized Artist Colony.

Longing for acceptance and intimacy, and failing at both, Van Gogh sunk deeper into depression when he learned that his brother–and sole financial supporter–Theo, was newly engaged. That evening, December 23rd, he escalated into delirium and cut off a portion of his right ear. Covering his hemorrhaging head in a beret, he walked to a brothel and delivered an envelope to a prostitute named Rachel.

"Here's a remembrance of me," he said, leaving his ear.

Later that evening, Gaugin returned to the shared Yellow House where a crowd was gathered. A police commissioner confronted him, "What have you done to your comrade? He is dead."

But he was not. The bewildered Gaugin found him asleep, then bid a silent farewell. Vincent spent two weeks at Arles hospital, then returned to his Yellow House lonely and depressed. A month later he had another "attack," hallucinating and accusing people of poisoning each other. His fearful neighbors filed a complaint, prompting the landlord to terminate Vincent's rental contract.

Vincent had nowhere to go. His clergy recommended a short stay at the mental hospital in St. Remy. Van Gogh accepted that he was ill–at least mad in the manner that he deviated from social conventions like Moses, Rembrandt and Luther–and agreed to a stay if he was allowed to paint and go outside.

Not only did they allow him to paint, but gave him an additional room for a studio. Van Gogh produced a prolific 189 paintings and 10 drawings during his 53 week stay.

I was eager to see the place that inspired him and visited twice, returning by car to Arles and L'Isle la-sur-sorge, 30 and 60 minutes away.

I walked along the worn cobblestone road under a canopy of towering cedar trees leading to the entrance of St. Paul's 10th century monastery. Chirping birds accentuated the otherwise still silence. Tall narrow cypress trees and thick green shrubs almost hid the colored easels depicting Van Gogh paintings of his favorite subjects–curly swirled renditions of olive trees, cypress trees, irises–anything in nature.

I analyzed each one, comparing his paintings with the actual scene. His silvery olive trees, purple irises and evergreens appear untouched, still standing in places where he painted them.

Oddly enough, he did not paint or write about Les Antiques, two massive Roman monuments located a hundred yards across the grove from the monastery. Surely in his wanderings he would've walked under the gigantic triumphal arch and stared at the battle scenes depicted on the mausoleum. Stranger yet is the realization that Vincent walked and painted in an adjacent olive grove where the ancient city of Glanum was buried, its only tell-tale sign an ornately carved column sticking out of the ground near an olive tree. If Vincent saw it, he made no mention of it, other than to admit to Theo that the olive trees–which to him symbolized peace and glory–created a "tremendously old murmur." Old indeed. Intact temples, baths and alters, excavated in 1921, were found in Glanum, inhabited by Gallo-Greeks in 3BC.

Instead, the subjects of his paintings and frequent letters were landscapes of the surrounding Alpilles mountains, reapers in wheat fields, trees, flowers, scenes of the asylum, and himself. In his replica bedroom upstairs, I saw the two self-portraits he completed here hanging on pale green walls. One shows the guardedness, loneliness and distress of a fairly distinguished red-haired gentleman, while the other depicts nonchalant acceptance of his illness with a resigned expression and heavily bandaged ear.

His room, simple but poetic, looked out onto fields which he often painted. "There are vast fields of wheat under troubled skies, and I did not need to go out of my way to try to express sadness and extreme loneliness. I think these canvases will tell you what I cannot say in words... I see in this reaper a vague figure fighting like a devil in the midst of the heat to get to the end of his task–the image of death, in the sense that humanity might be the wheat he is reaping...but there is nothing sad in this death, it goes its way in broad daylight with the sun flooding everything with a light of pure gold," he wrote Theo, describing his famous Reaper.

He was permitted to paint ‘one hour away on foot from the asylum' or wander farther when accompanied by his attendant, young Francois Poulet. He was generally content here. "I assure you that I am well here and that at the moment I have no reason at all to go back to Paris or the surroundings," he wrote a month after his arrival–the same month he produced his masterpiece, Starry Night.

But over the course of his stay, he experienced four distinct fits lasting between 15 and 30 days, followed by lengthy periods of unproductiveness. During such fits he became terrified of the nuns, experienced visual and auditory hallucinations, and tried to poison himself by ingesting paint and lamp oil. Therapy practiced at that time–irrelevant of the illness–was hydrotherapy. All patients endured baths in form-fitting tubs with wooden covers restricting all but one's head. Two such baths are displayed across from Vincent's bedroom, along with French posters illustrating traditional hydrotherapy treatment.

He would've experienced surprise baths–abrupt jets of icy water on his head–during mania episodes to distract him from delirium, destructive or delusional thoughts. It's less clear if he was also exposed to shock treatments, restrained in a straightjacket or rotary machine, all common asylum practices during early 19th century.

Between fits he resumed normalcy. "Now I feel completely normal. My health is OK. I think that Doctor Peyron is right when he says that I'm not crazy because my mind is absolutely clear, even more so than before..." he wrote Theo, late 1889.

On May 17th, 1890, Van Gogh left the monastery and arrived in Paris as a "robust man with healthy colors, a happy expression and something solid emanating from his person" according to Theo, who introduced Vincent to his wife and namesake son. Vincent continued on to Auvers su Oise a few days later and re-integrated himself in society under the guidance of Dr. Gachet.

But depression snuck back in. By late June, Theo had expressed financial difficulties with Vincent's allowance, and Dr. Gachet forbade him to come over again when Vincent proclaimed his love for his 21 year old daughter. On July 27th, Van Gogh ran out to a wheat field, shot himself in the chest, and died two days later in his brother's arms. (Theo was subsequently institutionalized after threats to kill his wife and son, and died six months after his brother.)

Dr. Jean-Marc Boulon, the current psychiatrist practicing and living at St. Paul de-Mausole, sheds interesting light on the life of Van Gogh in his book. He examines his family history of melancholy and suicide, summarizes symptoms gleaned from letters and past medical records, and concludes that Van Gogh likely suffered from a manic-depressive bipolar disorder worsened by epileptic fits caused by a combination of carbon monoxide poisoning, bromide and absinth ingestion.

There is no doubt that Van Gogh would be treated differently in the 21st century. We can only wonder what masterpieces he could've created, experimenting and expanding on his ten year career. Clearly he had an inner drive to produce those 879 paintings, even though many he gave away were used for target practice or for repairing holes in hen houses and barns.

He sold only one during his lifetime, "Red Vineyards" to Anna Boch, for 400 francs. Yet he persisted, a glimmer of hope resurrecting between each psychological torment. "If I am worth anything later, I am worth something also now, for wheat is wheat, even if people think it is grass in the beginning," he wrote Theo.

I thought of his humbling words as I wound down the massive limestone staircase curving down from his hallway. Echoes from my footsteps ceased when I stepped into the gift shop, Valetude, and looked at the artistic expressions emerging at the monastery.

Van Gogh may have left in 1890, but his influence lingers. Art therapy now dominates the treatment scene, not hydrotherapy. Patients, encouraged to paint on the tranquil grounds of this peaceful retreat, exhibit their artwork beside Van Gogh prints in this Center Valetude near the cloisters.

Van Gogh would be pleased. It was his dream to unite artists, to create a "shelter for poor and exhausted impressionists." His Yellow House Artist Colony may have failed, but the St. Paul Monastery continues to provide a caring shelter for poor, mentally exhausted patients yet today.