Vincent van Gogh was born today in 1853. He is famous for cutting off his ear, thus continuing the "crazy artist" stereotype. What people don't know is that he spoke 5 languages, travelled extensively around Europe and was extremely well read. Part of a large family whose father was a minister, a gravestone in the churchyard bore his name. He was the second child named Vincent, after the first one died in infancy.
Before becoming a painter, Vincent worked in London as an art dealer until a love affair ended badly. Then he trained to be a missionary and was posted to Belgium, until he was fired for taking Christ's teaching too literally. Instead of just preaching to the poor miners and farmers, he would give them his food, clothes & furniture. Upon being dismissed for "excessive zeal" he stayed on & unsucessfully tried rescuing a prostitute & her daughter from the streets.He also began to portray the people around him in art, first in pen & ink, then in somber oil paintings.
His younger brother, Theo had begun working at an art dealer in Paris & encouraged Vincent to join him there to study. Seeing the work of his contemporaries such as Pissaro & Lautrec was an ephiphany for Vincent, which completely changed his work. Growing in confidence, he moved to Arles in the hopes of founding an artists' colony. This is when he painted the works that are most familiar with, doing over 100 paintings a year, plus drawings & letters. He would attach candles to the brim of his hat to paint at night. Between feverish activity, abstinthe & a terrible lonliness, the toll on him was tremendous. Gaugin finally joined him in Arles, filling Vincent with hope. But the 2 artists clashed continually, the worse possible combination of personalities. Late one night, in a rage that was possibly fueled by alcohol, Vincent threateded to kill Gaugin, but when the latter left the house, Vincent turned the razor on himself for his most memorable deed. Soon after than, he admitted himself to the insane asylum at St. Remy and painted views from the windows.
After a year or so of primitive treatment, consisting of not much more than cold baths, Vincent moved to the nearby village of Auvers, under the care of a doctor, whose portrait was one of the last he ever painted. He worked there for more than a year, growing ever more distraught & depressed. On one hot July morning he went to a cornfield under a lowering sky & shot himself. But even that was unsucessful and he dragged himself back to his rooms to die in his brother's arms 2 days later. He was 37 years old. Theo, himself died less than a year later & is buried next to his brother in France. Theo's wife, who named their child Vincent, made certain the legacy of art was gathered & exhibited. Though he sold only a single painting in his lifetime, living on money that Theo gave him; today van Gogh's work breaks sales records at art auctions.
Vincent van Gogh was my very first obsession, beginning at 11, after reading a biography as a school assignment. Immediately, I felt a great kinship with him. Here was a man who knew what true lonliness was & who would've been perfectly happy having a loving family, but could never connect with people enough to make that happen. He was so intense it frightened people, so odd they ridiculed him, so idealistic that he was embarrassing to them. I find it heartwrenching to think that someone had to suffer so much just to paint. Surely such masterpieces could've been painted with a little happiness? As the Don McLean song says "This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you..."
The flames were higher than the trees & seemed to be located in the center of the upper part of the house. Despite several firetrucks, the flames couldn't be brought under control until a special truck was arrived with a huge crane spouting water from above. The crane had 2 lights on, looking like a giant praying mantis head, something out of a Godzilla movie. The flames kept spreading across the roof & down the house, it was especially eerie when fire could be seen through the windows. Convoys of cars pulled into the parking lot of my building to sightsee. A few of them parked & discharged excited passengers, some of whom lit up cigarettes. What exactly is it about watching a house on fire that makes someone want to start one in their own fingers? 
The book I'm reading now, "The Fox Woman" is unusual, not only in it's subject, but my reaction. Enlarged from a short story by Kij Johnson, it's about a female fox who falls in love with a human male & through a magic spell, becomes human in order to have a relationship with him. It's a mix of fairy tale, philosophy & romance, all set in Ancient Japan. It's unlike any book I've read and is sad, full of truth & frustrating. I just know it's going to end badly. 