Van Gogh – My Reason To Create by Zbigniew Fitz
Each young artist must have someone to identify with and believe that it is worth to live and convince the world to his vision of it.
I “met” Van Gogh in very early youth, when I was not yet formed and I did not know who I was. I knew only one thing: I have a talent for painting and natural craving to do just that. Nothing else could satisfy me. I knew Van Gogh’s paintings from reproductions only. It may seem that it is not the same as viewing the original. However, the strength and power of his art is so great, that it beats the limitations of reproduction and the impact on young personality is overwhelming. I received, even through the distance of a reproduction, the intensity of the image; each brush stroke had incredible strength and uniformity. After a while, I was drawn to look at the inner world of man I did not know and which became close to me. I was still young, I didn’t experience yet great events or emotions in my life, but Van Gogh opened my eyes to human suffering and raised awareness of the human identity. I didn’t know anything about his life; I knew only what his brush said. Violent clashes of color told me he was full of pain and unjustly hurt for a long time. I looked at as many of his paintings as I could and I understood that his psychological struggle lasted his whole life.
So I asked myself a question: What was this force holding him with art?
His desperation and perhaps outrage, he defeated with faith in light. What was this great light that filled his whole being and dominated the ton of his art? I read about his life and shocked, I understood his pain, abandonment by people and my indignation that so it should not be.
It was so much greatness in his work that it projected feelings of worth to be an artist. His talent has outgrown my disgust and aversion to the era in which he lived. I thought that I live in a better time of understanding and intellectual openness. I believed that I will become a good artist, understood and supported by society in which I live and will have time and means to be able fully develop my talent.
Internal decision made, I will paint and I cannot live otherwise. I thought no more about the future; I did not ask the question if will have strength of character such as Van Gogh’s, in difficulties and adversities of life.
Would I paint for the light which is in me? I can imagine myself in all hellish conditions and even see myself in the convulsions of despair, throwing at the wires and wounding in a metal cage, roar like a wild beast in helpless non-acceptance.
I can see myself overcoming inhumane situations in which physical poverty seems to be nothing compared with the suffering of great awareness. Van Gogh is the Prometheus of culture who sacrificed himself for people like me, so I’ll be able to identify with him and take over the Flame of Creation.
I can’t help to insert a little digression: For some reason I’m absolutely not able to identify with contemporary artist who produced a stuffed shark, sold later for 12 million dollars.
Who Van Gogh was? The margin of society, reduced by poverty to almost being beggar, not respected, just tolerated. Alone among his contemporaries, he saw their mediocrity and their loss in ignorance. I see his loneliness in a gray, dark room suspended in the void of bone dried Arles impacted by Mistral. Old, large cypress trees with good hearts, tried to protect exhausted living things by their shadows and wind breaking abilities. Birds stopped singing, dogs stopped barking and people closed their windows. Everybody hid inside their homes, fleeing from gusts of Mistral. Only one man had the courage to put his face against the wind to tame it and understand its power. He was a small, thin and malnourished man – Vincent Van Gogh. His gray room had no hope, but he refused that. He took his empty canvas and easel, came out of the narrow room, slammed the door awakening neighbors from their Siesta and left outside. The world was drowned in the sun and its light denied hopelessness. The sun, old and full of wisdom, showed distance to human scuffling and pettiness. Vincent closed his eyes, understood the light and invited it to his inside, to tell each of body cells that his life is worth living.
In the paroxysm of almost ecstasy, Vincent painted what he felt looking at scorched landscape with dramatic cypresses battling the powerful gusts of Mistral. After few hours his painting was ready and Vincent came back to his room and suddenly discovered another dimension of it. He knew that it was not gray anymore.
With the eyes of his soul he penetrated the threshold of apparent earthly reality and discovered the depth of the universe inside of his small room.
HIS BRUSH, OBEDIENT TO HIS SOUL, MOVED OUT EVERYTHING WHAT CAN BEE SEEN, TO THE AREAS WHERE YOU CAN UNDERSTAND MORE.
He knew his value; he knew that one day everybody will be convinced. He had so much to say: About the world, about himself, about people. He knew that speaking about himself sincerely and honestly, he will say same thing about the others. People will see themselves in his face, in his trees and fields. His eloquence, virtuosity, is of spiritual nature. He came to the point, where he felt fused with his brush, which was extension of his soul, heart and thoughts. Van Gogh knew his place in the world and his mission as an artist beyond mediocrity. In his purity and innocence he could not understand the indifference of people toward his talent… No artist who wants to give himself to others is worthy of misery and lack of support. He was tormented by injustice and ingratitude. Perhaps, during the sleepless nights, he wondered about his dedication. Why should he suffer? For whom he painted in a hurry, feeling superhuman instinct that he has little time left. In what name he took upon himself the weight, the sacrifice to paint after all. Who of his contemporaries could tell him for whom he painted?
Maybe he asked the stars on the endless sky of the night? Maybe he plucked these stars from the sky and threw them into his soul? Maybe they protested, trapped inside his guts? So, furiously, he took his brush and throw them back into the sky. Now, they are more human, with understanding of pain, misery and fury in search of beauty.
The stars are twisted like Van Gogh’s soul, but they say: Rise above and be part of humanity’s Opus, true and eternal and shine with us over dark ignorance as light of understanding. You will wipe the tears of artists in future generations with your soul enchanted in paint.
Vincent listened to the wind torturing the yellow field of wheat where ravens flew casting the black shadow on the bottom of his soul.
It was July 27, 1890 in Auvers-Sur-Oise. Poverty-stricken. unappreciated Vincent Van Gogh died this day.
He was 37 years old.
Van Gogh by Zbigniew Fitz
We are living in the spectacular time of progress and technology. We’d like to believe proudly in our knowledge. Are we any better than people living in Van Gogh’s time? Can we trust Today’s opinions, definitions and judgements about art? How many Van Goghs are here today? How many of them are ignored without any chance for fulfillement, only because they don’t fit?
IMMORTALITY BRIDGE
New York City. Majesty of skyscrapers. It is springtime in the city, but for majority of busy working people the seasons have not been visible. Only two segments of the day are important: commuting to work in the morning and rushing back home in the evening. Many of the same traffic jams day after day.
Like one of many, I was going home after a long day in the city. My husband Adam has been driving and I was thinking: “He is still my high school sweetheart. We have a good, secure life and I wish it’ll never end.”
Our daily round trip was through George Washington Bridge, leading to many suburban communities.
Suddenly, I started to feel something unusual. I saw crowds of excited people, smiling, dancing and applauding something. Some of them were weeping. Traffic became very dense and slow. I noticed many policemen trying to understand what’s going on.
Just before entering the bridge I’ve noticed a huge board with gleaming letters:
“ENTER WITH CAUTION! THIS IS IMMORTALITY.”
More instructions were given by loudspeakers installed around toll booths:
“Enter at your own risk, no refunds if not satisfied!”
Everybody wanted to live forever, crowds were growing very fast. The news about immortality quickly became global. People emailed, texted, phoned and twitted like crazy. You Tube videos about Immortality Bridge became viral and were viewed billions of times on any possible electronic device. The new records had been set. All media were present, filming and interviewing personalities. What an opportunity to see so many of them in one place! Paparazzi’s Heaven!
Those with money came with armored trucks, full of cash. The suspicious looking men in black limousines tried to bribe the policemen in order to get faster into the bridge. Homeless people came from everywhere with their supermarket caddie filled with their treasures. Sometimes $100 bills were laying on the ground, but even the poorest rushed toward the bridge without noticing it.
Few well dressed women were picking 100 dollar bills from the ground, disturbing traffic,which was already chaotic. Instead of usual four lines it was maybe ten and all those cars looked like the wall of sardines pushing forward. The wall moved very slowly and we felt the excitement and aggression around us. On the pedestrian section of the bridge, tumultuous mass of young, old, and desperate looking people run over fallen bodies, like it was the Blackest of Friday’s. Wild cry of a woman trying to go back was the loudest sound on the bridge.
“I would rather die, because maybe I’ll see my son again – he was killed in the motorcycle accident,” she yelled.
Adam was very concentrated on difficult driving and I was able to see what was happening around us. I could hear voices of children, asking about the video games in eternity. Those with visible signs of AIDS were very anxious to get on the bridge before the more advanced stage of illness would kill them. Many drug addicts jumped down to the Hudson, because thought of living forever without any drugs was unsupportable to them. Lonely people somehow hesitated before engaging deep into the bridge – idea of eternal loneliness suddenly wasn’t so attractive.
“What about Social Security?,” One middle – aged man asked. “Who is going to take care of us when we’ll become really old, like 1000?”
For most people questions like that were not important in the perspective of immortality. If life will go forever, we will find solutions to everything, no matter what. It was very attractive thought for the artists who didn’t make it, because time was what they needed to prove their talent.
International Society of Medical Doctors issued a special edition of their broadcast, which could be heard on every radio and TV station:
“Do not believe in Eternity, this is a scam, everybody must die, just ask your doctor!”
For majority of mankind eternity was just in their instinct. Nobody thinks about dying and ETERNITY just sounds good.
Horrible, stinking smell of something was almost unsupportable. Next to us I noticed a big truck, loaded with huge, transparent cubes made of plastic. One of them broke and I saw a dead cow sliced to fit the cubes, but through the cracks lava of spoiled, liquified meat was pouring out. It was the sculptural masterpiece created by one of our greatest contemporary artists.
“Can death be eternal?”
I asked myself. I was sure that majority of people never had this kind of curiosity. Crowds became bigger and louder, temperature higher and higher. Somebody was selling Coca-Cola, shouting about eternal thirst. Another was offering hot-dogs for half price. “Going out of business,” he announced.
“Eternal all you can drink,” wine seller sign’s red letters said.
“I guess we can eat all the junk food we want now. Nothing will happen to us, we are Immortal!” Somebody discovered.
Some people came walking to the bridge . Just an idea of eternity was overwhelming to them. Others did bring all their possessions loaded on U-Haul trucks. Eternity is a long time; you’ll never know what you will need. Group of models from LA giggled joyfully between hundreds pairs of stilletos stuffed in their SUV. One high-pitched voice lamented: “Is it the end of the world?”
Another strong aroma came from a black car next to us. A young, beautiful girl was trying to escape from the car; she was all covered with sticky, liquid chocolate.
“I don’t want to work for you anymore!”
She yelled and I recognized famous performance artist inside the black car; he always wanted to be original and inventive. His model could not take it for eternity. Until now, I didn’t realize how strange all this fashionable art smells, but i was a slim chance it won’t be forever…
The crowd was getting bigger and bigger. Those who arrived with a lot of baggage, soon discovered that the bridge has no much room for it all. People came from all ends of earth: rich, poor, ugly and pretty, famous and obscure, old and young, healthy and sick, all kinds of people.
Suddenly, a big rain fell and destroyed most of the items people did bring with them. Some breathed a sigh of relief, because all those objects can be an annoyance in a new situation and can be replaced anyway. And besides, it was not clear if all that baggage can be useful forever.
When I surfaced from my half-dream state, I almost forgot where I was and what my destination has been. Adam was driving, his eyes fixed on the road, which became narrower and little foggy. Looking back the road, I saw impatient drivers trying to pass and honking loudly.
“What they’re thinking? We are already in eternity.”
I was looking at the sides and I saw the flat surface of grey water, divided by straight line of the modern looking bridge. There was mostly one way traffic; only sometimes the transport of gaskets or life insurance car were going in opposite directions. Finally, we had been going, almost flying toward a mass of gray. We were alone on the road. I could’ve hear the monotonous sound of the engine and slowly I was losing the sence of reality. There were no boundary between the earth and the sky, everything was gray and pearly. I looked at Adam: he was silent, immobile, looking straight ahead.
“Was he driving consciously?”
I was thinking and I suspected that our car was driven by an invisible destiny, toward Immortality. Now, not looking at Adam. I asked:
“Do you love me?”
“You know I do; no need to ask, I always did.”
“I know, it’s just nice to hear it again,”
I said. After a while Adam noticed:
“Only two of us.”
“For ever,” I answered. Sometimes we like to say obvious things.
Car sailed on and slowly we started to lose track of time. Everything was sinking in gray. I no longer saw the interior of the car, I only heard soft noise of engine. The only thing I saw clearly, was the face of Adam, which I always loved and now it became the most important feeling. I touched his hand, warm and friendly. He said nothing, just smiled like all those years together. Now we became even closer. I said again: “I love you, I’m lucky to travel with you toward eternity”
“I know,” he whispered.
I didn’t see his face anymore. Softly, he was disappearing in infinity, but I felt his presence next to me, for ever and ever. I tried once more to say “I love you,” and I stop hearing myself, but I knew that he heard my voice and I felt his warmth. I didn’t see myself anymore – however, I knew that I exist. We were in motion and motionless at the same time. We will be forever; nothing will ever happen again – no pain, no joy.
“Do I wish now that my life should never end – in nothingness?
My love is next to me, I can feel it.
For the moment I thought I’ve heard a voice, but I’ve ignored it. Still, it sounded familiar, but I was totally immersed in different dimension. I still didn’t know if it was a dream, or another reality. Voice had been persistant and loving. I’ve made a superhuman effort and had opened my eyes; I saw his, so familiar and loved since ever. The eyes of my husband. He was right next to me and I smelled the aroma of freshly breved coffee. I didn’t want this moment to end… I was in the right dimension.
Emilia Fitz
New York City by Emilia Fitz
New York City by Emilia Fitz
Splash Of Mind
If the bees or hummingbirds react to color, it is for them thing of survival. Those insects and birds don’t create color – they take what’s ready in nature. When people react to color, it is rooted in their genes as their human sensitivity. Neandertal men knew that giving colorful stones to his woman will beautify her. It was the first appreciation of colors, prehistoric jewelry step above animal. Homo Sapiens digged dirt and discovered many shades of ochre, from warm to red. How pretty it was! Step further after black color of burned wood, which he used to trace his drawings on the cave walls. What joy it was to be able to add colors to his images! From first splashes of earth colors to organisation of form representing bisons – reaching perfection and sophistication equal to best examples in art, like 20.000 years later Japanese calligraphy. It is surprising to see this kind of sophistication in a man known to us a wild, almost animal, hairy creature. The works of those prehistoric artists could be easily hang next to the creations of modern masters. In more recent times, (Starting in Middle Ages) splashes of colors were imprisoned inside of specific objects. It was a rigorous discipline stopping invention. After many centuries time came for breaking the safety of habits and Claude Monet had to be born in 1860. While looking at the world with childlike eyes, observing splashes on the water, he discovered shimmering, fleeting colors of rainbow on its surface. He kept this childlike excitement for all his creative life. Painting nature or gardens, he showed that world is more beautiful than what is seen by quick glimps of an eye. He discovered the world loved by us until today. Claude Monet showed the way to artists how to understand the personal gesture and freedom to use colors. After many experiments love of freedom gave birth to abstract art. Now artist can do anything he wants. Anxiety of Abstract Expressionism or dance of joy in bright colors. Artists won the right to become children again. Colors provoke our brain, splashes of it bring out our inside, something about us we didn’t know before. Maybe the time came to organize again our understanding. We have learned from splashes, but we are not going to stop there, are we?…
Emilia Fitz
Babel Tower?
After the Great Flood world was grey and dark. Water damages were so great, that it was difficult to see something growing and if it did, it was grey from ever present mud. Everything was uniform and the human tongue was the same everywhere. Sometimes the light of the sun tried to reach the earth, but the cloud cover, still dense after the flood, effectively blocked it. Only the small amount of grayish light penetrated through clouds. People were sad and depressed, no one knew when color of hope will come. Out of overwhelming desire of people, came the idea of building the Tower in order to reach the better world, brighter and colorful – closer to Sun. After many years of hard work building the tower, the monument started to shake suddenly and collapsed. Everybody escaped and dispersed in all directions. After confusion, not understanding what just happened, they tried to communicate with each other, but to their surprise it wasn’t possible anymore. They all spoke different language now. Grey monotony of one tongue, always the same melody, became violent cacophony at first, but later evolved into different melodies of languages – harmony of great choir of the earth. The fall of the Tower provoked the strong wind which chased the old, grey clouds and the Big Bang of light and colors splashed all over the planet. People danced and sang everywhere celebrating the Rainbow of diversities. The green of trees, the blue of sky, red, violet and yellow flowers were growing everywhere. It was a joy to learn about the new earth – no longer the dark and sad place.
Zbigniew Fitz
Progress In Art
I was recently watching a segment of Sunday Morning broadcast on CBS about the couple of art collectors placing their possessions on the walls of a hospital. My immediate reaction to those masterpieces was: Big Enigma – most of it was geometric abstract, sometimes with allusion to human figure. Dull and not engaging. Dirty, bleached out colors. Context of a hospital made this art empty of any human values. How far the fundamental factors and forces of the cosmic power of life are from this art, relating only to the fashionable taste of its collectors. Art renounced to be important in the hierarchy of human interests. What is and always was important to very ill people? Maybe seeing the end? Or looking for hope? Today’s criteria is telling us that any kind of seriousness cannot be uplifting. What makes us believe that sick people are free of existential thoughts? What is uplifting to them? Here comes the revolutionary: El Greco!(1541-1614) What would say our contemporary art curator to the fact, that once in history, the walls of a hospital were crowded by those fantastic, astonishing paintings! The passages from Apocalypse were interpreted to be admired by sick people in the Tavera hospital in Toledo, Spain. What extraordinary, open mind of patrons who commissioned this cycle of painting from El Greco. One of those paintings is hanging today in the Metropolitan Museum in New York City. One of the most powerful, imaginative and strong works of art ever created – how miserable the contemporary art collection hanging in one of our hospitals looks. It gives no answers to any questions, just bubbling about nothing. Not very long ago art was important, because it dealt with profoundest problems of humanity. Art was giving dignity and meaning to the human race, like the first examples of visual creation, disinterestedly painted frescos of Altamira and Lasceaux. And it was 20.000 years ago. Why did art changed it’s position in the hierarchy of human interests?
Zbigniew Fitz
Love & Life Around Art 