Savannah Lee

The first sentence of this Smithsonian article about Vincent Van Gogh reminded me why I hate everything.

"The image of Vincent Van Gogh daubing paint onto canvas to record the visions of his untutored mind is so entrenched that perhaps no amount of contradictory evidence can dislodge it."

This idea that visual and performing artists don't really think DRIVES ME NUTS.

The idea that the less conventional they are, the even less they think, drives me all the more nuts.

The article goes on to talk about the "different Van Gogh" who "emerges" in a newly-discovered cache of letters in which he "discoursed knowledgeably about the novels of Zola and Balzac, the paintings in Paris' Louvre and Amsterdam's Rijksmuseum, and the color theories of artists Eugene Delacroix and Paul Signac."

No kidding. Are we shocked when, for example, the plumber who comes to fix our toilet turns out to know (and be interested in) his job? Why wouldn't a painter know and be interested in his world? Why wouldn't a painter think long and hard about what he wants to do and how he wants to do it, particularly if it differs from the norm?

It appears not to be online yet, but the February 2008 Smithsonian has a fascinating excerpt from Steve Martin's autobiography "Born Standing Up." It describes how, over the course of eight years, his theoretical insights into comedy ("What if there were no punchlines?...What if I created tension and never released it?") worked their way into physical form in his show. With sometimes surreal, almost disturbing results. ("I walked out into the hallway, but [the audience] followed me there too. A reluctant pied piper, I went outside onto the campus, and they stayed right behind me.")

This came from the mind. It came from Martin's intellect, from his thinking about comedy. Same as Van Gogh's work came from his mind, his intention, his understanding.

It takes a lot of words to create something beyond words.

You may never see them, but rest assured they're there.