my writing

Tag: Van Gogh

  • Cycling the Green Meridian: 7

    Day 7: St-Ouen to Fleury-Mérogis, 53 miles. The flea market. Reuniting two lovers. Suzanne’s grave. A hectic ride across Paris. Satie’s flat. The undertaker. Erik’s grave. Cultural tourism. Gabrielle. The bell not pressed. Depression in a metal cell. I eat breakfast in the bar. Bright sun outside, washed streets, deep shadows, few people. A bar…

  • A Walk across, Paris along the Meridian : 4

    I walk down towards Pigalle. Cheap, grim hotels. Graffiti, ‘CHA CHA I HEART YOU’, many times, obsessively, I remember someone we knew in London, fixated on a call girl associated with a politician, fired shots through her door, blew up a scandal. Walking in front of me an oriental woman in black wide-brimmed hat, leopardskin…

  • A Walk across Paris, along the Meridian : 3

    The Blut-Fin (location of the Mire du Nord, first siting post for Picard’s measuring of the meridian across France, to begin the first accurate survey of Louis XIV’s realm) was one of thirty Montmartre windmills in 1700, milling grains, pepper, spices, locally-quarried gypsum for plaster and porcelain, crushing grapes. By 1830s most had gone, as…

  • Vincent, Anselm and I

    In 1963 school student Anselm Kiefer received a grant to travel ‘In the footsteps of Van Gogh’, through the Netherlands, Belgium, Auvers and Paris, to Arles. With remarkable self-confidence the eighteen-year-old left his village near the Rhine for the first time, hitchhiked across countries occupied by Germany less than twenty years before, sleeping in barns…

  • When Vincent met Arthur : Van Gogh and Rimbaud meet in London.

    Monday 30th March 1874, and a young man dressed smartly for the City, in a new top hat, is striding past Waterloo Station in London. He proudly shoots his cuffs to display the cuff-links sent by his beloved younger brother. In the evening he will write to thank him, while reminding him that, with his…

  • Vincent and I: Auvers

    Auvers-sur-Oise, 2006. ‘Vincent van Gogh, et Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec,’ the patronne says firmly, and proudly, when I ask who are the men in the old photograph on the wall. My heart leaps – an unknown photograph of the mature Vincent? Only one is known, blurry and from the back. Vincent refused to be  photographed, embarrassed…

  • Vincent and I: Paris.

    Vincent arrives in Paris in March 1886, ten years to the month after he had left in ignominy – on his birthday, oh these anniversaries! – having been sacked by Goupil’s. His younger brother, Theo, is now manager of a Goupil’s Paris gallery. And he comes as an artist. He arrives from Antwerp without telling…

  • Vincent and I: Nuenen.

    From age 15, a dozen times, Vincent leaves the family home, with a plan and full of optimism, and within a year he is back, a broken failure. I’ve followed him to each place. To London to work in his uncle’s art gallery, Ramsgate to be a teacher, Isleworth to preach, Dordrecht to work in…