Madness and Genius

 

Vincent Van Gogh, the Man Suicided by Society by Antonin Artaud

Antonin Artaud (1896-1948) was a French surrealist writer and actor. Artaud may be one of the most famous mad artists of the twentieth century. In this strange, short book, he writes about a mad artist of the nineteenth century: Vincent Van Gogh, who is (of course) much more famous than Artaud. 

Artaud’s view is that Van Gogh’s doctors, especially Dr. Gachet, were monsters who hated Van Gogh and did all they could to destroy his creativity. This experience Artaud says that he shared with Van Gogh — his own doctors in the asylums where he was confined also tried to convince him to renounce his madness, which he equates with his creativity. Madness and genius: the constant duo from the Romantic era returns with the iconoclastic surrealists. It’s a challenging book for a boringly sane person like me to read. 

Some Van Gogh Paintings Discussed by Artaud

Portrait of Dr. Gachet. Biographies of Van Gogh usually report a cordial relationship between
Van Gogh and the doctor. Artaud portrays this connection in a totally different light, clearly based
on his own personal experience with doctors who treated his mental illness.

“Wheatfield with Crows” — one of the last paintings by Van Gogh, painted just days before his suicide.
Artaud had seen Van Gogh's paintings at a major art exhibit in Paris in 1946.

“The Bedroom” — Van Gogh’s room in his home in Arles. One of three versions he made of this scene.

“Gauguin’s Chair” — Artaud was fascinated by the candle. He finds this painting more expressive
than all the famous tragedies written since the Greeks.

Artaud writes:

“The simple motif of a lit candlestick on a straw armchair with a purplish frame says much more in Van Gogh's creation than the whole series of Greek tragedies, or the dramas of Cyril Tourneur, Webster or Ford... . Without literature, I saw the figure of Van Gogh, red with blood in the explosion of his landscapes, come to me, KOHAN, TAVER, TINSUR, yet in a blaze, in a bombardment, in a burst, avengers of that millstone that poor, mad Van Gogh wore around his neck all his life. The millstone of painting without knowing why. For it's not for this world, it's never for this earth that we've all always worked, struggled, bellowed the horror of hunger, misery, hatred, scandal and disgust, that we've all been poisoned, although by them we've all been bewitched, and that we've finally committed suicide, for aren't we all, like poor Van Gogh himself, suicides of society!” (p. 26, edited translation by Deepl.)

I'm a fan of the Surrealist and Dadaist painters who worked in Paris in era between the two World Wars. Man Ray, Marcel Duchamp, René Magritte, Marc Chagall, Salvador Dali, Joan Miró, and others fascinate me. The Surrealist Manifesto by André Breton was the interesting call to creativity of that era, and it intrigues me. On the other hand, I've always found Artaud rather strange and unapproachable: in contrast, this essay on Van Gogh resonates with me.

Review © 2024 mae sander