The Letters of a Post-Impressionist Being the Familiar Correspondence of Vincent Van Gogh — Text and Context

A Translator's Candid Account

Ludovici's introductory essay is unusually transparent about the limitations of his source material. He admits that letters before page 38 may have been written in Dutch—a language he cannot read—and that he has not compared them with originals. He also notes that he found only a "small handful of inaccuracies" in the German translation after page 39, which he corrects in an appendix. This honesty gives the reader a clear sense of where the text is most reliable. The essay also quotes Paul Gauguin's remark that Van Gogh "forgot even how to write Dutch" and wrote only in French, "admirably, with endless 'Tant qu'à, Quant à.'" This detail, drawn from Gauguin's observation, reinforces the linguistic complexity behind the letters.

Virility and the Artist's Life

In an early letter, Van Gogh articulates a stark view of artistic discipline. He praises Delacroix, who said, "I discovered the art of painting when I no longer had any more teeth or breath," and describes him painting "like a lion devouring a piece of flesh." Van Gogh argues that artists should have "very little to do with women" and live "like soldiers or monks" to conserve strength for their work. He contrasts this with the Dutch masters, who "led a peaceful, quiet and well-ordered life" and married. The letter reveals a tension between admiration for Dutch domesticity and a more ascetic ideal. Van Gogh also mentions buying a Rembrandt etching of a nude man, "realistic and simple," which he compares to Degas, showing his eye for specific works.

Painting as a Window to Infinity

Van Gogh's aesthetic philosophy emerges in a passage where he ranks art forms. He writes that "a Greek statue, a peasant by Millet, a Dutch portrait, a naked woman by Courbet or Degas" are "complete" works that enable one "to conceive infinity" and "enjoy beauty to the full." He contrasts these with the works of Primitives and Japanese, which he likens to "written characters as compared with painting." This hierarchy is personal and provocative. He also singles out Jan van der Meer (Vermeer), describing his palette of "blue, lemon-yellow, pearl-grey, black and white" and noting that Vermeer characteristically places "lemon-yellow, a dull blue, and light grey together." Such precise color observations are typical of Van Gogh's letters.

The Challenge of Incomplete Evidence

Because the excerpts are limited, the reader cannot trace the full arc of Van Gogh's correspondence. The letters jump from aesthetic pronouncements to practical concerns, and the selection omits many personal details. For instance, the translator notes that the collection is "not a complete one" but is "very representative" of Van Gogh's "art-credo and general attitude of mind." This caveat is important: the letters offer a partial view, filtered through editorial choices. The reader should approach them as a curated glimpse into Van Gogh's thinking, not as a comprehensive record. The translator's own uncertainty about the language of early letters further underscores the need for caution when interpreting specific passages.

These letters reward a patient reading that attends to Van Gogh's specific references—to Rembrandt's etchings, Vermeer's color schemes, or Delacroix's working habits—rather than seeking a unified biography. The translator's apparatus, including his notes on divergences from the German edition, invites the reader to consider the text as a constructed artifact. For a first reading, focus on the recurring themes of artistic discipline, the comparison of painters across centuries, and the vivid, sometimes contradictory, judgments that reveal Van Gogh's passionate engagement with art history.

There’s a particular solitude Van Gogh kept chasing—that fierce, empty quiet before the brush meets canvas. I find it echoed in the strange, biting calm of The Collected Works of Ambrose Bierce, Volume 11 Antepenultimata — Text and Context, where words sharpen into their own lonely truths. Both men spoke to an absence, and the page listened.