Chapter 48 the loneliest man

Vincent van Gogh was one of the loneliest people who ever lived.Here is the foreword written by Owen Stone.He once wrote a biography of Van Gogh.The title of the book is "Longing for Life". The Dutch painter cut off his own ear due to insanity.Finally shot and died. On a sunny field, he shot himself in the body, covered his wounds, returned home, and died a few days later.In the arms of his brother Theo. Only Theo supported his painting.Theo regularly sent money to Van Gogh, who was living in poverty, so that he could continue to create under the premise of satisfying food and clothing.Van Gogh kept writing letters to his younger brother, telling him about his creative process, his confidence and despair in life.In this collection of letters, the lonely Van Gogh finished speaking the language he wanted to speak in his life.

To forget my worries, I lay down on the sand next to the trunk of an old tree and sketched the old tree.I wore a linen jacket, smoked a pipe, and looked out at the deep blue sky, at the moors and meadows, and it made me happy.Life is a rough voyage for me, and I don't know if the tide will rise to the lips or even higher. But I want to move on. Among the Impressionist painters of the 19th century, Van Gogh was an exception.His paintings are somewhat similar to children's creations, with bold and pure lines and colors, and he is obsessed with depicting landscapes, plants and poor people.Irises, sunflowers, starry sky, wheat fields, apple orchards, coffee shops at night, farmers eating potatoes, women gleaning ears of wheat.

Every object in the picture burns its vitality in a unique way. They are not just still lifes.They are miserable lives. No painter's use of color is as strong, bright, and uncontrollable as Van Gogh's.Deep red, bright yellow, indigo, brilliant purple, pale green.Oil paint sometimes appears on the canvas in a solidified state, unable to be diluted and spread evenly, like a kneaded soul, spraying dark red blood on the blank space containing infinite yearning.The viscous blood is distorted because of passion, like confused fingers, unable to grasp the emptiness in the silence of lost confession.

A wheat field under a dangerous sky.A turbulent emotion is entangled in the oppressive and bright colors, and a disturbing atmosphere blows towards the face.It is the fresh and cold wind before the storm.It is the loneliness that the soul cannot break through.Van Gogh finally discovered that the pain of life grows from self-excavated wounds.So he shot himself. Breaking brings joy.Can no longer despair.