Is Theo a Van Gogh Fanboy?

 Starry starry night . . . those famous words from Don McLean's iconic song dedicated to Vincent Van Gogh that was so popular years ago. Who doesn't know the name Vincent Van Gogh? Who hasn't heard the tragic story of his life? Who hasn't seen at least one of his paintings in a book or magazine?

Dan and I know we're going to spend the day in Amsterdam. I'm determined to visit the Van Gogh museum. We get tickets months in advance. We arrive early and wait in line. 

Theo, the gangster cat, who is what he describes as being dragged along, knows enough not to mutter a meow. He's no dummy. He knows I'm obsessed with Van Gogh. 

Has Dan bribed him with unlimited snacks? Or does he realize that this is no ordinary museum? Floors and floors of Van Gogh's paintings that you can see close up and eye to eye. They're vibrant and beautiful. He painted with a unique style with a talent few possess. 

I have to literally restrain myself from taking a photo of every painting--the ugly and the sublime. 

Here is the self portrait of Van Gogh (when--I think--he still had two ears although it's hard to tell):

And now his paintings. I love this first one. It shows a working woman in the fields, one of his favorite subjects--to show people the way they really looked, not all glamorous:

And, of course, here is the painting affectionately called the "potato eaters."

This one captures the sea, the boats, the dock . . . the sky. 

I call these the trees paintings . . . all abloom in the springtime. 

This painting is one of my favorites. I have a print hanging in my guest room--the rolling sea, signed boldly in red paint in the corner.

And, last but not least, Van Gogh's sunflowers. I must have stood there for half an hour staring at it, hardly believing the painting I'd seen for years in magazines and books was on the wall in front of me. 

Theo's not amused. I can almost hear him thinking--what's the big deal? Paintings hanging on a wall. 

But, he doesn't object when I buy the print of the angry sea. He says nothing when I frame it and hang it on our wall in the guest room. And then later, after we've been home for a while, I catch him sitting on the bed, staring at it.

And who says a cat can't acquire culture? Could he be a Van Gogh fan boy??

Chuck Almost Meets Vincent Van Gogh

As my rascal cat and I travel around the world, there are times when I am forced to say, “Chuck, we are going here. For culture. For enlightenment. We can’t always go to places just for fun.”

While we were in France, sailing down the Seine River, we stopped in a lovely riverside town--Auvers-sur-Oise--which just happened to be the last place that Vincent Van Gogh, the famed artist, lived and painted. I knew this and Chuck didn’t. But I had noticed that recently Chuck had shown a modicum of interest in art. He had stared at, if briefly, one of Van Gogh’s paintings--his most famous one, in fact, “The Starry Night.”

The opportunity, therefore, had presented itself.

If the kid liked the painting, if he seemed interested in it, why not shove a bit of culture down his throat and acquaint him with Van Gogh’s life and struggles. After all, I figured, Chuck, my very privileged and now pampered cat, had come a long way from his once homeless situation, and I didn’t want him to forget that life can be hard.

Vincent Van Gogh led a tortured life.

My plan was this---do the typical tour and share Vincent’s struggles along the way.

We began with the house where Van Gogh rented a room and painted. We passed the local church. As we walked, I talked. Chuck listened, or seemed to be listening, but you never know with him. Then we headed out to the cemetery, where Van Gogh is buried with his brother by his side, which is a bit outside of the main area of town, up a hill and through a field. Because we were alone, I let Chuckie out of the backpack, and he scampered beside me, enjoying his romp. The cemetery is to the right. But when it came time to make that right, Chuck kept on going.

“Chuck, the graves are over here.”

He pretended not to hear me.

“Chuck.”

Laughter bubbled up behind me. I had company.

Now, in all honesty, I try not to advertise the fact that I have a cat with me. I stopped walking and pretended to be fiddling with my backpack. The couple passed by enroute to the cemetery.

“Chuck,” I called into the tall grass, but he had disappeared.

That darn cat.

It was clear to me now that the Chuckster had no interest, whatsoever, in seeing Vincent Van Gogh’s gravesite. So I popped over, admired the gravestones myself, took a photo, and returned for my recalcitrant cat.

“All right. We don’t have to go see them. I get your point.”

Like magic, the bellyboy re-appeared as if nothing had happened. Cool as a--you guessed it--cat. Grooming himself the way cats do when they’re pretending nothing is amiss.

We headed back to town and even poked our heads into a local restaurant that pays tribute to Van Gogh in their own way by sporting a mural on their wall of Kirk Douglas, who played Vincent Van Gogh in the Hollywood movie. I thought the mural was great. Chuck, of course, was not impressed. Oh, yeah, he glanced at it but seemed more interested in sniffing the peanuts on the counter.

And when the shopkeeper told us that there is a festival every May in honor of Van Gogh, Chuck snorted.

But to keep the record straight, Chuckie still likes “The Starry Night.” He just doesn’t give a fig about Van Gogh, the artist.