The Myth and the Man : A Year Reading Van Gogh’s Letters

There is a myth surrounding Vincent van Gogh that most of us grow up believing. The tortured genius. The mad artist. The man who cut off his ear, painted in isolation, died in poverty, and became famous only after death. His paintings, his suffering, and his tragedy is a story which has become so familiar that it feels like the whole truth. But it is not. The Letters of Vincent van Gogh is the book that corrects that story. If you want to know who Vincent really was, you have to read his letters.

I spent a full year with this book, reading a few letters at a time. It travelled with me everywhere and became a constant companion in my days. I felt a bit bereft when I finished it.

Before reading this book, I realized I knew very little about Vincent beyond the legend. I did not know that he studied to become a preacher. I did not know that he only began painting seriously in his late twenties. I did not know that petitions were signed in his neighbourhood to have him removed from the streets because people saw him as dangerous. Nor did I realize how badly he was treated by those around him because of his illness. I also did not realize how actively surrounded he was by the art world. His brother Theo worked in a gallery. His uncles were art dealers, and Vincent worked for one of them for a time. He knew artists like Gauguin, although that relationship later took a painful turn. Monet even had positive things to say about his work, and vice versa. This came as a surprise to me because while I knew he died in poverty and sold very little during his lifetime, I had assumed it was because his work existed in obscurity. I had bought into the image of him as a completely isolated loner, painting in private, unseen by the world. But his work was already out there. People knew of it. They simply did not buy or appreciate it.

His brother, Theo understood this. In a letter to his sister, he wrote that Vincent might be appreciated by some but not understood by the public at large, and that the respect of those who truly saw the work would be enough revenge against the animosity shown to him by others. Reading that line, you understand how alone Vincent was in the world, and how deeply Theo believed in him.

This book is a collection of Vincent’s letters to Theo. My edition also includes a short memoir written by Theo’s wife. I chose to read her memoir only after finishing Vincent’s letters. I wanted to meet Vincent through his own voice first, not through anyone else’s interpretation.

The letters reveal a man entirely different from the popular narrative. He was not simply a suffering artist locked away from the world. He was a perceptive and intellectually curious man who often referred to Dickens, Zola, Dostoevsky, Eliot, Tolstoy, Balzac and many others. He wrote about literature, history, philosophy, and the techniques of painting. He was deeply knowledgeable about art history. He sought friendship and valued conversation. Yes, he needed solitude to work, but he was not the lonely, troubled man we have been taught to imagine. He was misunderstood.

At the same time, much of the suffering in the legend is real. Vincent struggled with mental illness. He was aware of it and wrote about it clearly and articulately. But he did not romanticize his condition, as the world has so often done, turning him into the figure of the tortured artist or the mad genius whose "madness" fueled his art. If anything, his letters give the impression that he saw his illness as a barrier to his work. He wanted nothing more than to paint. His episodes and illness prevented him from doing so. He endured them in the hope of returning to the canvas. He painted in spite of his illness, not because of it.

Another truth this book reveals is the role of Theo. I did not realize how completely Vincent depended on him, financially and emotionally. After leaving job after job and after other family members lost patience with him, Theo remained. He supported him financially so he could live and paint, encouraged him constantly, and genuinely believed in him. They had their quarrels, as the letters show, but it never shattered their relationship. Their bond held firm through everything.

Reading their correspondence, you see that Vincent’s career was built not only on his persistence and love of art, but also on Theo’s loyalty. I came away with immense respect for Theo. It could not have been easy.

Vincent’s love for art runs through most, if not all of his letters. He did not only love the physical act of painting. He loved the history of it, the philosophy of it, the discipline of it. Even when he could not earn a living from his work and had to rely on Theo to survive, he never let go of painting. His devotion really is inspiring. His passion feels almost tangible.

By the end of this book, I felt I knew Vincent more as a person and not as the romanticized symbol or as a tragic myth. Whatever you think you know about Vincent van Gogh, if you have not read his letters, you know very little. This book is essential for anyone who wants to understand his life or his work. It replaces the myth with the man.

Theo’s wife’s memoir adds further clarity, especially about how harshly Vincent was treated by his community. It fills in some gaps the letters leave open. I recommend reading his letters first and then her memoir.

The ending is heartbreaking. Vincent dies. Only six months later, Theo follows. Theo even named his son after Vincent, and that son went on to carry Vincent’s legacy forward. After Theo’s widow Johanna worked tirelessly to preserve Vincent’s artwork and letters, their son, Vincent Willem van Gogh, inherited his uncle’s collection and later played a key role in establishing the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam. Because of them, the work Vincent devoted his life to was not lost to time. Knowing that the bond between Vincent and Theo lived on through their family and through the preservation of his art left me very moved.

“Because I see so many weak ones trodden down, I greatly doubt the sincerity of much that is called progress and civilization. I do believe in civilization, even in such a time, but only in the kind that is founded on real humanity.”

I cannot talk about this book without mentioning how quotable it is. I never opened it without a pen or highlighter in hand. It would have been most regrettable not to underline Vincent’s words. I want to commit many of them to memory. One line has stayed with me more than any other:

“It is good to love many things, for therein lies true strength, and whosoever loves much performs much, and what is done in love is well done.”

What is done in love is well done. Vincent loved painting. His work speaks for itself.

And finally, Almond Blossom. My favourite painting of all time. I first saw it on a mug in a pharmacy years ago (pictured above) and bought it immediately. I did not know who painted it. I was simply drawn to it. Afterwards, I began seeing the design everywhere. Wallpapers, prints, posters, backgrounds. I soon discovered it was a Van Gogh. That discovery sent me down a Van Gogh rabbit hole. Then, I began reading about art and artists, watching documentaries, visiting exhibitions, and painting more myself. It made me wonder what else in the art world I had been overlooking. If I could admire such a famous painting without knowing the artist behind it, how much more of the art world had I been blind to?

Only recently did I learn that Almond Blossom was painted for Theo’s newborn son, named after Vincent. The blossoms are often seen as a sign of new life and beginnings. Knowing this, and reading his letters, it almost feels like a kind of rebirth of the man himself. As if, through this book, you come to know Vincent in a way that brings him back beyond the myth. Knowing all this makes the painting feel even more special.

This book changed how I see Van Gogh and how I see art. Few books have meant as much to me.