"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.