A Journey Among Irises: In the Footsteps of Vincent van Gogh

I am preparing my travels for this summer, so there is less time to write this week. But stay tuned because there will be many stories to tell soon. And for the newer followers of my Medium posts: in the summer months, my content is usually lighter, focusing on travel, photography, art, and nature.

In short: the beauty side of my writing is my compensation for the many times I remind you of the enormous challenges we face to keep our planet as livable and beautiful as it is now, complicated by a lack of passionate and talented leaders who genuinely care about long-term policies to safe our planet instead of their political career.

So there will be less writing this week, but I don’t want to let you go without sharing a photo I took of a beautiful iris.

I recently wrote that there are probably a few dozen themes that I often return to in my writing, which are often combined into new stories. I leave it to you to discover those, but for now, it is sufficient to state that if I would make a word cloud, chances are that words flowers, beauty, personal memories, travel, art, and Vincent van Gogh would all be included. Let’s remix them this evening before I start packing my backpack.

Let me take you back to the summer of 2015 when I embarked on a memorable journey through France to explore some places where Vincent van Gogh lived and created his timeless masterpieces. Among these destinations was the asylum in Saint-Rémy-de-Provence, where Vincent lived from May 1889 to May 1990. He painted some of his most famous works here, including the mesmerizing Irises, soon after his arrival.

This famous painting and my memories of Saint Rémy popped up in my mind when I looked in detail at the photo I had taken of the irises. I could see how these flowers must have inspired the passionate artist. A feeling described by Don McLean in his famous song about the painter when he used the lines: “Now I understand what you try to say to me.” I wonder if his line “Flaming flowers that brightly blaze” refers to Vincent’s Irises.

Still here? I’m back from a bit of a research break since I didn’t want to leave you with that open question. It seems I was wrong.

McLean did refer to the Irises in that song but in another line. Let’s first go to those brightly blazing flaming flowers: that line refers to the famous painting “The Starry Night.” The painting depicts the view from his window at night, with swirling stars and a bright crescent moon. The flaming flowers are the yellow lights of the village below, which contrast with the dark sky.

To my surprise, I found that the line “this world was never meant for one as beautiful as you” refers to his painting Irises. The painting shows one white iris standing out among the blue ones. In a letter to his brother Theo, Vincent wrote that he considered this painting “the lightning conductor for my illness, “ which helped him cope with his mental anguish. He also wrote that he wanted to express “the terrible passions of humanity” by means of “the Irises.”

There were no irises when I visited Saint Rémy; it must have been too late in the season. But I did see the olive trees and the mountains in the background. I searched for the spot where Vincent must have created his painting and compared my view with his masterpiece.

Longtime readers may remember that I wrote about it years ago. It must still be somewhere on the internet, but I am sure that if you look for it, you will find that experts spent years of their lives comparing the painting with reality, and their work will be far more fascinating than my observations. Even better: go there someday; it’s beautiful and inspiring.

During this visit, I also entered the room in the asylum where Vincent stayed during this period. I remember the excitement I felt when I stepped into the small room Vincent called home, which I am sure all of you will recognize.

He wrote about it to his brother Theo:

Saint-Rémy-de-Provence, Thursday, 23 May 1889

“Since I’ve been here, the neglected garden planted with tall pines under which grows tall and badly tended grass intermingled with various weeds has provided me with enough work, and I haven’t yet gone outside.

(…) I have a little room with grey-green wallpaper with two water-green curtains with designs of very pale roses (.). Through the iron-barred window I can make out a square field of wheat in an enclosure (…).”

It’s time to pack my backpack, and I leave you with the mix of “flowers, beauty, personal memories, travel, art, and Vincent van Gogh” that I promised you.

Someday, I might make that word cloud.

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