Vincent Van Gogh 56 - Art And Craft Of Painting Poem by Geeta Radhakrishna Menon

Vincent worked like a man possessed with his art.
He thought of nothing except his sketches.
For him, it was not art alone,
It was a brilliant craft too.
He repeated his sketches over and over again,
Till he reached a stage of near perfection.

Vincent immersed himself in his paintings,
Constantly improving his art,
Continuously striving to perfect his technique.
There was no time to reflect on the past or future,
Each moment was valuable,
Each stroke of brush was precious.

Though Theo lived and worked in Paris
He regularly sent Vincent drawing paper, pencils, quill pens,
Pictures, books that contained anatomy of animals and humans.
When Theo advised Vincent to work hard, Vincent would reply:
"What you say about hard work is entirely right."
"Not a day without a line", as Gavarni warns us.

When Vincent was tired of sketching,
He would read books of art and artistes,
His father seeing him read books would point out:
"Vincent, you are always talking about of how hard you must work.
Then why do you waste your time on all those silly French books? "
Vincent wished that someday his father would understand him better.

Vincent would patiently reply:
"You see, not only does the drawing of figures and scenes
From life demand a knowledge of the handicraft of drawing,
But it demands also profound studies of literature."
"I must say I don't gather that." Retorted his father.
"If I want to preach a good sermon, I don't spend my time
In the kitchen watching your mother pickle tongues."

Vincent was firm and accurate when he said:
"I can't draw a figure without knowing all about
The bones, muscles and tendons that are inside it.
And I can't draw a head without knowing what goes on
In that person's brain and soul. In order to paint life
One must understand not only anatomy,
But what people feel and think about the world they live in.
The painter who knows his own craft and nothing else
Will turn out to be a very superficial artist."

A Biographical Poem