What I want to express according to my own character

By the way, you must not take it amiss, Theo, or think I'm finding fault with you, but you wrote me something which you thought would perhaps please me, but it didn't please me at all. You said that small watercolor was the best of mine that you had seen - well, it isn't, because those studies of mine which you have are much better, and last summer's pen drawings are better too. That little drawing is of no importance whatever, I only sent it to show you that it is not impossible that I may work in watercolor sometime. But there is much more serious study and more character in those other things, though they may look rather yellow-soapy. And if I had anything against Mr. Tersteeg (but I have nothing against him), it would be the same thing, which is that he encourages me not in the difficult study from the model, but rather in a style of work which really is only half fit to render what I want to express, according to my own character and my own temperament.

To Theo van Gogh, from The Hague, 25 February 1882, Letter 177
Translation courtesy of Robert Harrison.
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My work is becoming more and more absorbing

I received your last letter with the 100 fr. enclosed in good order, and thank you very warmly for sending it.

I should have acknowledged it at once, but I was very busy with a few drawings, for which I had a model.

For you should bear in mind that if you are busy, it is the same with me, and will be increasingly so because my work is becoming more and more absorbing to me, and it is only with effort that I tear myself away from it to write a letter or call on someone when necessary.

To Theo van Gogh, from The Hague, 25 February 1882, Letter 177
Translation courtesy of Robert Harrison.
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I shall make something saleable within a year

This week I made three other studies beside the one Mr. Tersteeg bought; the technique is not perfect yet, but, thank God, the drawing is better.

I am very glad that I feel my drawing is improving, it gives me courage. Drawing is the principal thing, whatever they may say, and it is the most difficult too. It is for this reason that I venture to say I shall make something saleable within a year. For the one Mr. Tersteeg bought does not count - I shall make them much better when I have made more progress in drawing, as then it will come more easily to me.

To Theo van Gogh, from The Hague, 18 February 1882, Letter 176
Translation courtesy of Robert Harrison.
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I shall break down

As you can imagine, I am very hard pressed for money. Mr. Tersteeg bought a small drawing from me for 10 guilders, with which I managed this week. But he wants them small and only in watercolor, and I do not always succeed in that. But at least the first sheep has crossed the bridge. I work as much as I can, but don't forget that I shall break down if I have too many cares and anxieties.

To Theo van Gogh, from The Hague, 18 February 1882, Letter 176
Translation courtesy of Robert Harrison.
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The principal thing is that I make progress

And if I should gradually succeed in earning something, that would not be unpleasant at all, though the principal thing is that I make progress and that my drawing becomes stronger - then everything will come right sooner or later. Models are expensive, at least relatively expensive, and if I had money enough to have them often, I should be able to work much better. But then a studio becomes indispensable. And people like Mr. Tersteeg, Theo, and others know that quite well. Well, I must wait until they write me what they think, and meanwhile do what I can.

To His Parents, from Brussels, 16 February 1881, Letter 141
Translation courtesy of Robert Harrison.
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I must work and study very hard, that is the condition

Drawing the model with the necessary costumes is the only true way to succeed. Only if I study drawing thus seriously and thoroughly, always trying to portray truly what I see, shall I arrive; and then, notwithstanding the inevitable expenses, I shall make a living by it. For a good draughtsman can certainly find work nowadays: such persons are in great demand, and there are positions that are very well paid. So the thing is to try and become as skilled as possible. In Paris many a draughtsman earns from 10 to 15 francs a day, and in London and elsewhere the same and even more; but one does not reach this at once, and I am not so far advanced as yet. But I may become so if I have some good luck and can renew relations with persons like Mr. Tersteeg and Theo and others, especially with good painters and draughtsmen. But I must work and study very hard, that is the condition.

To His Parents, from Brussels, 16 February 1881, Letter 141
Translation courtesy of Robert Harrison.
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It will serve me in another way

I bought that suit for a reason other than wearing it myself as long as possible: when I can wear it no longer, it will serve me in another way. For you should know that eventually I must have a small collection of workmen's clothes in which to dress the models for my drawings. For instance, a Brabant blue smock, the grey linen suit that the miners wear and their leather hat, then a straw hat and wooden shoes, a fisherman's outfit of yellow oilskin and a sou'wester....

I certainly do not intend to buy all this at once, but to collect it gradually piece by piece, when I have a chance. And as those clothes can be bought second-hand, they are not at all difficult to get. I shall only be able to manage this well when I have some kind of studio of my own.

To His Parents, from Brussels, 16 February 1881, Letter 141
Translation courtesy of Robert Harrison.
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Do not accuse me of extravagance

Do not worry about these expenses, however, and do not accuse me of extravagance, for really the contrary is rather my fault of character, and if I could spend more, I should get on quicker and make more progress. If you can send me something extra this month without depriving yourselves, I hope you will. But if you cannot, there is no immediate hurry. I told my landlord that I should be rather hard up this month, and he agreed that I could pay at my convenience because he now knows me well enough not to demand my paying in advance, at least not for a full month.

To His Parents, from Brussels, 16 February 1881, Letter 141
Translation courtesy of Robert Harrison.
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I insisted on having it

In the studio of that painter I found a very good reproduction of a skeleton. As those things are rather difficult to get, I asked him if he would lend it to me for a few days to copy. At first he raised some objection, probably because he thought I could not do it or that it would take me too long, but I insisted on having it, and he consented. That happened last Sunday afternoon, and as soon as I came home I began it; it was finished Monday night, and to his surprise I brought it back to him on Tuesday morning. He thought my drawing good, and indeed, it is not so bad after all. I shall profit more from his instruction if only he has time to spare. On some points, especially perspective, he is very well informed, and I at least can learn a great deal from him.

To His Parents, from Brussels, 16 February 1881, Letter 141
Translation courtesy of Robert Harrison.
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Whenever you have an opportunity to see anyone paint or draw, watch carefully

I think it a great privilege to visit such clever people as Weissenbruch occasionally, especially when they take the trouble, as Weissenbruch did this morning, for instance, to show me a drawing they are working on but which is not yet completed, and explain how they are going to finish it. That is just what I want. Whenever you have an opportunity to see anyone paint or draw, watch carefully, for I think many an art dealer would judge many pictures differently if he knew how they were made. It is true one can understand it somehow by instinct, but this much I know - I got a clearer insight into many things by having seen artists at work and by trying some things myself.

To Theo van Gogh, from The Hague, 13 February 1882, Letter 175
Translation courtesy of Robert Harrison.
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I work hard on things which would be easy to sell

I can assure you once more that I work hard to make progress on things which would be easy to sell, that is, watercolors, but I cannot succeed immediately. If I succeed in making them by and by, it would still be rapid progress, considering the short time I have been working. But I cannot succeed right away. As soon as Mauve is better and comes to see me again or I go to see him, he will give me some useful hints on the studies I am making meanwhile. Lately Mauve has done very little for me, and once he himself said, I am not always in a mood to show you things; sometimes I am too tired, and then you will damn well have to wait for the right moment.

To Theo van Gogh, from The Hague, 13 February 1882, Letter 175
Translation courtesy of Robert Harrison.
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I deserve my bread

I must say that sometimes I cannot bear Tersteeg's saying to me over and over again, “You must begin to think about earning your own living.” I think it is such a dreadful expression, and then it is all I can do to keep calm. I work as hard as I can and do not spare myself, so I deserve my bread, and they ought not to reproach me with not having been able to sell anything up to now.

To Theo van Gogh, from The Hague, 13 February 1882, Letter 175
Translation courtesy of Robert Harrison.
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“He draws confoundedly well”

I have already told you in a previous letter that I had a visit from Weissenbruch. At present Weissenbruch is the only one allowed to see Mauve....

Then he told me that the reason for his visiting me was really that Mauve, who was doubtful about me, had sent Weissenbruch to get his opinion about my work.

And Weissenbruch then told Mauve, He draws confoundedly well, I could work from his studies myself.

And he added, “They call me ‘the merciless sword,’ and I am; I would not have said that to Mauve if I had found no good in your studies.”

Then I asked Weissenbruch what he thought of my pen drawings. “These are the best,” he said.

I told him that Tersteeg had scolded me about them. “Pay no attention to it,” he said. “When Mauve said you were a born painter, Tersteeg said No, and I will take your part too, now that I have seen your work.”

To Theo van Gogh, from The Hague, 13 February 1882, Letter 175
Translation courtesy of Robert Harrison.
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We must keep on and persevere

Every day I look for a letter from you, for I hope that you will send me some money soon. We must keep on and persevere, brother, you as well as I, and someday we shall reap the fruit of it.

I am so glad I have worked on the figure up to now. If I had done only landscapes, yes, then I should probably do something that would sell at a small price now, but then later I would be stranded. The figure takes more time and is more complicated, but I think that in the long run it is more worthwhile....

I think that in my last drawings the proportions are much better than before, which has been the worst fault in my drawings up to now; thank God it is changing, and then I shall not fear anything.

To Theo van Gogh, from The Hague, 13 February 1882, Letter 174
Translation courtesy of Robert Harrison.
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I shall earn some money with my work

A few days ago I also wrote C. M. to tell him that I have taken a studio here, and that I hoped he would let me know whenever he came to The Hague and that he would come to see me. Last summer Uncle Cent also told me that whenever I had finished a drawing somewhat smaller than those I was doing and more watercolors, I must send them to him and he would buy them. Perhaps the time is really not far off when I shall earn some money with my work; I need to very much, for no other reason than to go on working seriously.

To Theo van Gogh, from The Hague, 13 February 1882, Letter 174
Translation courtesy of Robert Harrison.
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Things taken from nature which are in one's own heart

I saw a little figure by Paterson in the Graphic, an illustration for Hugo's Quatre-vingt-treize called “Dolorosa.” It struck me because it resembles the woman at the time I found her. In the same book there is a scene of a proud, hard-hearted man who is suddenly softened by seeing two children in danger - he forgets his own danger and saves the children, even though he is selfish by nature. One never finds an exact likeness of oneself in a book - but one occasionally finds things taken from nature in general which are in one's own heart in a vague and indeterminate way.

I find much that is true in Dickens's The Haunted Man. Do you know it? Neither in Quatre-vingt-treize nor in The Haunted Man do I find my own self - everything is different, occasionally even quite the opposite - but much that has gone on in my mind is reawakened when I read such books.

To Anton von Rappard, from The Hague, 7 February 1883, Letter R21
Translation courtesy of Robert Harrison.
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It is less dangerous to be absorbed than to stare into the unfathomable

The daily work is something that does not change, and it is less dangerous to be absorbed in it than to stare into the unfathomable. . . .

Although in consequence of having taken the woman and her two children into my house I have had some unpleasant experiences - some of them very nasty indeed - still the encounter has given me a certain calm and serenity. And I worked hard this winter. I had some very striking models.

At the moment I am not working so very hard, for after working - especially on heads - for some months practically without rest or interruption, I have been feeling a kind of weakness or exhaustion which I find I can't overcome. The same thing happened to my eyes, so that even simply looking at things bothered me. But I have walked a good deal in the country these last days, and my eyes are normal again.

I think I have at least 150 drawings that you have not seen yet.

The changes in my household, instead of causing me to work less, have caused me to work more; I worked even with a sort of fury, but a quiet fury, if you will allow me to use the expression. I also started reading again, which I had neglected for some time.

To Anton von Rappard, from The Hague, 7 February 1883, Letter R21
Translation courtesy of Robert Harrison.
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A deadly, at least an incurable, wound

My words about a past disappointment are based on something I won't speak about - at least not now. And yet I think it right to tell you this much. Suppose a man experiences a disappointment through a cruel injury to his love, a disappointment so deep that he is calmly desperate and desolate - such a condition is possible, for there is something like the white heat of steel or iron. Feeling that he has been disappointed irrevocably and absolutely, and carrying within himself the consciousness of it as a deadly, at least an incurable, wound, and yet going about his ordinary affairs with an unruffled countenance... would it be inexplicable to you that a man in this condition should feel a singular sympathy, involuntary and unintentional, for somebody he meets who is deeply unhappy, oh, perhaps unhappy beyond redress? And that, notwithstanding this, that sympathy or love or tie should be and remain strong? When Love is dead, is it impossible for Charity to be alive and awake still?

To Anton von Rappard, from The Hague, 7 February 1883, Letter R21
Translation courtesy of Robert Harrison.
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I have acted honestly and in good faith

Thanks for your letter, which I received this morning. I'm glad to see that you took all that I told you in such a good-natured way. Later when I find an opportunity to tell you more particulars to explain the circumstances more clearly, I hope you will not have to change your opinion that I have acted honestly and in good faith. I have to do with a woman who had one foot in the grave when I met her, and whose mind and nervous system were also upset and unbalanced - whose only chance of staying alive was what that professor at Leyden had prescribed: a regular home life. And even then it will take years before she is entirely normal again.

As to her past life, I believe that you condemn “fallen women” no more than I do. Frank Hol once expressed it this way - in a drawing which as far as I know has not yet been reproduced - he called the drawing “Her Poverty but Not Her Will Consents.” Amice, at this very moment I can think of no fewer than four women in this town (mine included) who have either fallen, or have been deceived and deserted, and have illegitimate children, and their fate is so melancholy that it is difficult to think of, especially as three of them have hardly a chance of getting out of their misery - that is, in theory they do, but not in practice, as I see it. And I feel obliged to add that I do not consider my relation with the woman in question as something of a passing nature.

To Anton von Rappard, from The Hague, 7 February 1883, Letter R21
Translation courtesy of Robert Harrison.
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I have been drudging incessantly

Boy, I still feel poorly, and I've had a rather plain warning that I must be careful - my eyes felt so tired sometimes, but I wouldn't pay any attention to it. Now, last night, especially, there was a rather strong secretion of the tear glands, and the lashes stuck together, and my eyes are giving me trouble and my sight is poor.

Ever since the middle of December I have been drudging incessantly, especially on those heads. This last week I have been out-of-doors a good deal to refresh myself. I have taken baths, washed my head often with cold water, etc., etc. But one feels so miserable at such a time; I have a large pile of studies, but they don't interest me then, and I find them all bad.

To Theo van Gogh, from The Hague, 5 February 1883, Letter 264
Translation courtesy of Robert Harrison.
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A great whole, a corps of painters whose strength is unity

I am sorely disappointed in my association with painters. Will it improve???...

...When I first came to this city I went to all the studios I could visit in order to find intercourse and make friends. Now I have cooled off very much in this respect, being of the opinion that there is a serious drawback to it, in that the painters pretend to be friendly, but are too often inclined to trip you up. That is the fatal thing; we ought to help and trust each other, for there are enough enmities in society, and we should be better off in general if we did not injure each other's interests. It is jealousy that impels many to speak ill systematically of others - and what is the result? Instead of forming a great whole, a corps of painters whose strength is unity, everyone keeps to himself and works all alone, and those who are at the top at present create, by their very jealousy, a kind of desert around themselves, which I think is a very unfortunate thing - for themselves.

Sharp competition in painting and drawing is in a certain sense good, or at any rate justified, but the artists should not become personal enemies and fight each other with other weapons.

To Anton von Rappard, from The Hague, 4 February 1883, Letter R20
Translation courtesy of Robert Harrison.
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I have a certain serenity

I have lost some friends through it, all the same, but on the other hand I have more light and shade in my own house, although at times, when my worries become too great, I feel as if I were on a ship during a hurricane. But you see, although I well know that the sea has its dangers, and that one can drown in it, still I love the sea; and, notwithstanding all the perils that the future may hold, I have a certain serenity....

If we were living in the days of the “Bohème,” a painter's family and a studio like mine would be nothing unusual. But nowadays we are very far removed from the original “Bohème,” and among painters one finds considerations of respectability which I personally do not precisely understand, although I do not want to offend those who cling to them.

To Anton von Rappard, from The Hague, 4 February 1883, Letter R20
Translation courtesy of Robert Harrison.
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After all, a man has a heart in his body

At any rate I told the woman, “When you have recovered, come to me; whatever I can do for you I shall do.” Well, my dear friend, that woman had another child, a sickly, neglected chit of a girl. It was an undertaking which exceeded my means rather more seriously than buying an issue of the Graphic, for instance - but what was I to do? After all, a man has a heart in his body, and if we did not take a chance now and then we should not deserve to be alive. So she came to me - I moved into a house that was not yet quite finished at the time, and that I could get at a relatively low rent; I am still living there, two doors down from my old studio; the number is 138. So here we are, the only difference being that the baby from the hospital cradle no longer sleeps as much as he did those first days.

He is now about seven or eight months old and has become a charming little fellow, very much alive and kicking. When they moved in, I carried his cradle home from the secondhand shop on my shoulders, and all through the dark winter this little child has been like a light in the house. And though the woman does not have a strong constitution, and though notwithstanding this she has to work hard to keep the house clean, yet she has become stronger. So you see, while I'm trying to penetrate more deeply into art, I'm doing the same with respect to life itself - and the two things go together.

To Anton von Rappard, from The Hague, 4 February 1883, Letter R20
Translation courtesy of Robert Harrison.
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A poor struggler of a sick painter like myself

Do you remember the woman we met when you visited me during the summer, whom I said was a model I had found, adding that I had discovered that she was pregnant, for which reason I was trying all the harder to help her.

It was shortly afterward that I fell ill myself. At that point she was in the hospital at Leyden, and I got a letter from her in the clinic where I was, telling me she was in great trouble. Before that time - during the winter, when she was in a very bad way indeed - I had done what I could, and now I had a fierce inner struggle trying to decide what to do. Could I - should I help? - I was ill myself, and the future looked so dark. For all that, I got up against the doctor's wishes and went to see her. I visited her in the hospital at Leyden on July 1. The night before, she had given birth to a little boy, who was lying asleep in his little cradle by her bedside, his little turned-up nose just outside the covers - unconscious, of course, of what was going on in the world. At least a poor struggler of a sick painter like myself knows a few things that a tiny baby like that doesn't know.

And what should I do? - I had some hard thinking to do at that moment. The mother, poor creature, had had a very difficult confinement. Aren't there moments in life when it is criminal to remain impassive and say, What business is it of mine?

To Anton von Rappard, from The Hague, 4 February 1883, Letter R20
Translation courtesy of Robert Harrison.
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I thought it a sorry abortion

As for my lithographs - the one of the fellow sitting on a basket cutting his bread is a failure. When I transferred it to the stone the upper half got all blurred - I have been able to remedy the worst part with the scraper. Yet you will see that there are things in it which prove one can work vigorously with this process and express the nature of materials, as for instance the basket, the trousers and the muddy boots. And though at first I thought it a sorry abortion, I have become somewhat reconciled to it since then, and if I were to start over again, I should do it in the same vigorous way - with a background.

To Anton von Rappard, from The Hague, 4 February 1883, Letter R20
Translation courtesy of Robert Harrison.
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One doesn't always succeed in pleasing other people

I sent Father a drawing which I had done in line with his criticism of the first lithography of the old man. Not because I thought Father was exactly right, but I thought, Now I know how you would like to have it, I will try and make it that way for you. But I'm afraid I didn't succeed. Even though one tries hard, one doesn't always succeed in pleasing other people. Father didn't exactly write that he didn't like it, but it was between the lines. It may be that it wasn't good after all.

To Theo van Gogh, from The Hague, 3 February 1883, Letter 263
Translation courtesy of Robert Harrison.
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He has had to struggle with a kind of awkwardness

Speaking of Herkomer, some time ago I read a kind of biography of him, though rather incomplete. But the following struck me. . . .

The biography tells that he is not a man who works easily; on the contrary, ever since the beginning he has had to struggle with a kind of awkwardness, and no picture is finished without severe mental effort.

I can hardly understand why, even now, many call him rough. I can hardly think of any work more profoundly sensitive than his.

To Theo van Gogh, from The Hague, 3 February 1883, Letter 263
Translation courtesy of Robert Harrison.
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One would like to have the company of a friend

I have been feeling very weak lately. I am afraid I have been overworking myself, and how miserable the “dregs” of the work are, that depression after overexertion. Life is then the colour of dishwater; it becomes something like an ash heap.

On such a day one would like to have the company of a friend. That sometimes clears up the leaden mist.

On such days I am sometimes terribly worried about the future and am melancholy about my work, and feel quite helpless.

But it is dangerous to speak or think too much about it, so enough of it.

To Theo van Gogh, from The Hague, 3 February 1883, Letter 263
Translation courtesy of Robert Harrison.
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