My head continues stuffed to bursting. Thoughts, facts, things to do. I took a few minutes to research the van Gogh woodsy paintings, and imagine my surprise to see that they are reportedly in the possession of the van Gogh museum in Amsterdam. I was frankly shocked, looking down the wikilist of all of the paintings, to see how many they have that are not hung. I know that museums have vast collections that we never see, but I suppose I forget how much is salted away in vaults. I’ve been to that museum twice and haven’t seen a fraction of what they are reported to own.
The woodsy paintings appear to have been done in Paris, along with boatloads of views down from Montmartre, before the Sacre Couer was built.
I had a twisty night, thinking about one of the themes that has bothered and struck terror in me my whole life, which is people falling to hell and losing their spark as they get older. I have been horrified by this since childhood, observing adults (a dodgy demographic anyway) and attempting to compare them to photographs or stories of themselves while young. I swore, vowed, insisted that I would never become one of those lumpy, dull, couch-bound superstitious sorts of life forms, and I HAVE NOT.
And I will not. Not a chance. However… they fill the Earth. And some of them are people who used to be really magnificent. And I can’t think why people have to get that way. Or why they marry nervous people who want to dull them down. Or how anyone can ever be bored. Or feel lost when they are alone. What is the matter with people, having so little steel in their spines, ideas in their heads?
As Bill would point out, this is not a topic that is useful for me to study. Adults have been doing this forever, slipping into soft slugs of incuriosity, failing to have inner lives, casting about for some external reason for their existence or blame for their torpor. My attention to the problem cannot contribute to its solution.
HOWEVER. My horror continues unabated, each time I see the next example. I feel exactly the same about it as I did as a child, like these people maybe ate a bad plant that I should be on the watch for, or that surely something must have happened to them beyond (or because of) the lumps they married, the dreams they gave up. Something that could maybe happen to anyone, which would mean that it would be wise for me to keep an eagle eye on the problem. I am wary of looking away from things that I don’t trust. Which means I waste time looking at things that don’t need to be looked at. Like this.
Luckily, the rain and cold is over, and the sun and warm is coming, which means I can get back outside, and put my mind where it belongs, which is in the dirt, the sky, the sunshine, the birds. Things that never go soft, or stupid, or need an explanation for their existence.