The Real Van Gogh

It has to be said that the crowds, even at 10.20 in the morning, were formidable (the queue even more so) but the exhibition is well worth the effort. A few pragmatic decisions helped. The letters containing the sketches were the main cause of bottlenecks so I decided that if I could sneak a peak I would, but if not, well, that was OK) and I knew I would be buying a catalogue so I dispensed with the information boards (another area where movement ground to a halt) In fact, once past the first couple of rooms, it wasn't too bad.
The first impression is awe at the sheer productivity of Van Gogh: the small sketches in the letters; the larger pen and ink or chalk drawings; and the paintings themselves, some of which I never knew existed. Secondly you begin to appreciate his skill at drawing. With a handful of lines the sketches take shape while the larger preliminary works stand on their own merits. And then there's the paintings themselves. Vibrant colours leap from the canvas - a field of wheat positively glows with gold, the sea is a luxuriant blue - while it's fascinating to see up close the brushstrokes. It brings on an impulse to actually touch the paintings as well as, of course, conveying a strong sense of both movement and structure - you can feel the breeze blowing that field of wheat, the trees swaying in the wind, the rise and fall of the waves and the strength of the mountains. The paintings flow and the eye follows.
It's even the case that some of the works no longer look as they would have done originally, with various pigments fading. You wouldn't know if you weren't told and does it actually make a difference to the beauty of the painting? That stunning vase of white roses was originally pink, so the contrast with the background would have been different but would it have been any more striking? perhaps not. The portraits meanwhile could never be described as naturalistic but, with their odd use of colour, nevertheless give a strong sense of character. A person could happily gaze at the poplars, cypresses, olive trees wheatfields and orchards for ages (and trust me, some do) wondering at the alchemy that converts those broad brushstrokes into such wondrous results.