As some of you know, back in March, I completed a painting called "Last Walk to the wheat field" which was inspired by the last days of Vincent Van Gogh. This was my 2nd, built from the ground up, painting that was personally inspired. The painting before this was the one based on a nightmare I had when I was 10. I named that painting "Omen" and there is a blog here about it if you are so inclined. The process of that painting as invigorating, personal, and made me want to make more personal works.

While I was working on Omen, I started reading about several of what I call my "art parents" (artists whose work inspires me) as well as the great masters. I read the histories on Rembrandt, the feud between Michelangelo and Leonardo Da Vinci... how the latter was intensely interested in the logistics of battle and war... and then I fell down the well, that is the life, of Vincent Van Gogh.

I'll be honest. I’m embarrassed to admit that prior to digging into him, his life story and full body of work, I didn't get Van Gogh. I mean I liked some of his most well known paintings. I knew some cliff notes stuff about his mental issues and cutting off his ear.

I learned a lot. Vincent was only 37 when he died... and only painted the last 9 years of his life.. but he created some 3650 surviving works (many more were destroyed and lost). A great volume of paintings, 860, were done in the last 2 years of his life and 70 done in just the last 2 months of his life. That’s a rate of painting or 2 a day... every day.

I didn’t know his father and brothers were art dealers and while destitute the majority of his adult life, he was born into a pretty well off household. That while he drew constantly as a child, he didn't intend to go into art... it was something he went to after he was excommunicated from the church. This happened because he gave up the home, given to him with his title by the church, to a prostitute with child as they had nothing. He was loved by the poor, but excommunicated for not keeping up the level of appearance the church wanted. In that aftermath his brother had to support him for the majority of his life and even though he was friends with other great artists of the day like Paul Gauguin, he was so poor there were times he ate his own lead based oil paint to stave off hunger... which no doubt contributed to his mental state.

Then I started to see personal parallels. Both Vincent and myself have no formal training. He was inspired initially by realism but drew inspiration from many outside, non traditional sources such as Japanese wood block prints. We both found strength in our local artist community and were able to develop and grow beyond ourselves with that interaction. We both often painted over our canvases not having new ones to paint. We both deal with addictive personalities his go to was booze and mine is food. Then there is the matter of his death.

Vincent was inspired to paint life and the world around him. There were a few subjects he went back to repeatedly. Self portraits, Orchards, night skies, sunflowers... and wheat fields. As I dug through his body of work I saw the repeated subjects come up often and over the years he went from muted tones intially to brighter and brighter... more and more vidid colours. I kept getting drawn into the wheat field paintings... then I saw the painting many people wrongly think is his last. Wheat field with Crows.

This painting is different. Dark. Foreboding. Two different paths in the field in front of him and a dark sky laden with crows. This is not the vivid colours we had seen. I was painted quickly, with purpose. Like it had to get out. The actual last painting Vincent did was of his doctor landlord. Was it a thank you? A gift? That fateful day he asked his landlord to borrow his pistol as he told him me wished to scare the crows out of the field so he could paint. He walked to the wheat field… put his back up to a tree and shot himself in the chest on July 27 1890. He survived and somehow made it back to the his residence. Survived long enough for his brother to come see him before he died where Vincent told Theo, his brother, "The sadness never ends" and died 2 days after he shot himself... on July 29, 1890. 80 years to the day before I was born.It was this realization that had my mind reeling. The steps that brought him to that moment and the unlikely parallel that he died, the day I was born.

I couldn't get that vision out of my head. Not the final moment with his brother... but rather his moment of inevitable decision. That "Last Walk to the Wheat field" which is were my painting was born. I saw this vision in my head.. which is now on canvas.

The two paths that lay before him. His canvas and brushes in one hand, the gun in the other. The darkest spot on the painting the shadow under the tree... but inexplicably the light beyond it... did he think it would be better? The hand with the gun, caressing a strand of wheat... pulling off bits of life, with the hand that carries death.

I intended at the time to write out this blog explaining my process, how I got to the end result of the painting and the connection I found with Vincent back in March when I painted it. Then the pandemic bloomed... we went into lockdown... and I was faced with the stark reality of how I am nothing like Vincent Van Gogh.

When Vincent was faced with sadness, depression and uncertainty.... he threw himself into his work. He created more... racing to get out everything he had in the time he had. When the pandemic hit, my last two years of creativity and prolific output... was almost immediately stunted... stalled. I lost my market where I sold my work. I lost my routine. I lost the personal interaction with my local art community and with it I almost instantly lost my drive to create. What does it say about me and why my go to impulse in the unknown is to shut down. Is it fear? Disillusionment? Worry? I don't fully know. I have been in crisis situations and it's very different. I have proven to myself and others when thing go bad a switch goes off and I am calm, focused, tackle the problem and fix it. It it because the crisis affects others and I want to help? Was it so different this time because the crisis was an internal problem... I wasn't "saving someone else" I was treading water in the deep end and out of simple uncertainty, rather than swim to the side, I chose to stop treading water and to sink. These moments are incredible learning opportunities to reflect. Why do I react this way? How do we self correct? I think the most important part is not to blame myself or blame Vincent... rather to learn.

Vincent sold one painting in his life. Even though he was selling nothing, he kept creating to create... to get it out. I have always said and still believe the most important thing is keep doing what you love. Create for the sake of creating. Do what you love and put love into what you do and the rest will come out as it will. If you hit a pothole in life and you need some time to change your tire, take the time. Don't try to keep driving with the wheel about to fall off. I believe Vincent had hit repeated potholes... had 4 flat tires and a smoking engine but his only impulse was to just keep the foot on the gas and keep creating. For better or worse, his only view was the canvas in front of him.

Thank you Vincent. Your path is not mine but your passion and drive is what all artists should strive to achieve. I hope my piece can reflect a at least a drop in the well of the world you helped created.

The world will never know another one as beautiful as you.