Saturday 6 June 2015

The Death of Vincent Van Gogh

Wheat Field and Crows, Vincent Van Gogh, 189050.2 cm x 103 cm (19.9 in x 40.6 in). Van Gogh Museum


Oh I seen dat crazy bugger head off over yonder pretty early that day. Took his breakfast here at the inn, like always, and then left with his paints. Yessir, he had his whole kit 'n caboodle wit 'im, fer sure. Jeez loo-eeze he's a strange one, he is. Y'know he eats his paint, eh?! No, I'm not kiddin' yez. Though I don't know if he's got a favourite color, heh heh ... if y'know what I mean, eh ... heh, heh. A little red wit yer chicken? heh, heh. Oh he's a strange one, he is. But nice enough, I suppose, when he ain't cuttin' off any ears, heh, heh. Oh, you heard about that did ya? Shoulda been here when he shows up at the front door with the thing wrapped up like a gift fer his girl. Lord love us. Strange times. 

An' now they're all up there waitin' fer 'im to die, don't y'know. And he's takin' his good sweet time about it too, I'll say. Gut shot, he is, and that's a bad one. Nuthin' to do but wait. Crazy bugger. Now I asks ya, who in the name of all the saints shoots hisself in the gut, if he really wants to say g'night fer all eternity? I mean, holy jumpin' Jupiter ... any ten-year-old kid knows enough to make it quick. Blow yer brains out! That's the right way t'do it, by god. But a gut shot? Lord love us, what a slow and horrible way to go. His brudder's up there with 'im. Seems like a nice enough feller, for a city man. An ol' doc Gachet's there; lotta good that'll do. 

Now here's somethin' I'll bet you didn't know, and it makes you wonder too, y'know? Come here close now, so's I don't hafta yell. We got some wild kids in this town. Boys mostly. When they finds they got some hair on their balls, they just wants to raise hell ... I s'pose it's the same everywhere, and 'course there's nuthin' much to do around here when you're that age, so why not have some fun and piss people off? That's what they seem to think. Oh, I was young once too ... long time ago now, you sees my white hair, an' I lost the last of my choppers many years ago. But, by god, I never got into things the way these kids does today. Never. No sir! Here ... pour us another beer, there's the boy. 
Well, here's the thing, eh ... come good 'n close now. That's it. One of these boys, he likes to play cowboy. Crazy, ain't it? He'll tell ya to "stick 'em up," or he might holler "I'll see you at high noon, stranger, an' we'll have us a showdown." René Secretan, that's his name I think. Lord only knows where he gets this stuff, but I seen him playin' with this old revolver, an' I ain't the only one seen it. Figured the gun was busted and worth nothin', but there it was anyway ... the cowboy with his six shooter. Vincent was pretty fair with these boys. I hear he was a preacher once, and maybe he picked up some patience dealin' with trouble-makers; who knows? Now, the cowboy kid an' his pals would find a way to get pissed up, and run around the streets at night bothering folks - spilling groceries, kickin' mud at folks, sayin' just awful dirty things to young women if they didn't have a strappin' young man with 'em. Now an' then they'd come across our boy Vincent, and they'd give him a hard time too, callin' him names, and tryin' to spill all the stuff he carried, y'know? 


Anyway ... the thing is ... well, there's the cowboy and his "posse" they call it, and there's the old gun, and, AND ... these boys was nowhere to be seen that morning, the one when he got shot. In the afternoon, they all come runnin' and jumpin' along the street here, all jazzed up and laughin' like as if they's just turned over the priest's outhouse and him in it, y'know what I mean? But here's the thing. The cowboy kid don't have the gun no more. Now, I ain't sayin' they did, and I ain't sayin' they didn't. I'm just sayin' is all. Somethin' to think about, ain't it? Maybe the crazy painter didn't shoot hisself in the guts after all. Maybe, I'm sayin'. 


Meanwhile, poor ol' Vincent straggles back into town around nine that evening holding his guts, and muttering "I seen the crows." 


Strange times, by god.


Vincent Van Gogh, Self-portrait, 1889, Courtauld Institute Galleries, London.




David Newkirk, Crossroads: Vincent Sees the Crows, 2015, acrylic on canvas, 48x36 in.

David Newkirk, Crossroads: Vincent Sees the Crows 2, 2015, acrylic on canvas, diptych 72x96 in.

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