The Impressionism Machine By Carter Plantinga

I think a lot about Impressionism. It’s a 19th Century art movement that deviated from not just from the styles of European art to that point, but the process. Impressionists didn’t work from sketches. There was no studio of 8 apprentices fleshing out modellos. Impressionists went outside and painted something, or they remembered a thing and then painted that thing. I had to study it two years ago in one of my Art History classes, and part of it just stuck. Not all of it. It’s not as though I’m particularly attracted to the work of the ‘capital I’ Impressionists, but more so that it has caused me to re-evaluate what I remember.  Why do I remember the things that I do? If I were to paint one of my memories, which things would I include? Sometimes it feels like I run my memories through the Impressionism machine in the same way they did. The most famous Post-Impressionist is, of course, Vincent van Gogh. He was Dutch and I’m Dutch, so he’s a favorite of mine, too. I feel close to him in some ways, and that’s only possible because he painted his impressions. 

Think about Starry Night. Visualize it in your brain. What do you see? What stands out? I’d wager the trait of that painting you visualize when you think about it is those big, swirling, bulbous yellow stars. You’re probably seeing them in your brain against a blue night sky, accented by a halo of light.

That’s a special thing. It’s special because van Gogh painted his impression of that sky, so it’s what he saw that night, too. He remembered the stars the most, same as you. He could have painted literally every single thing he saw in excruciating detail. We know he had the technical prowess to do it. But to him, those stars were so memorable he painted them as the most prominent feature of what would become his most prominent work. And now here you are, 200 years later, picturing the same thing he did in the same way he did. 

Many of you know that van Gogh led a troubled life, and that pain was reflected in his work. What you may not know is that the painting you just visualized, the iconic stars against a blue-black sky, was van Gogh’s memory of the view out the window of his cell in an insane asylum in Saint-Remy. At one point, he tried to harm himself with the painting implements they gave him. They took away his paints, so he wasn’t able to depict the view until long after. Whether you knew that or not, you have always known exactly what van Gogh remembers from that view. You and he both recall big, beautiful stars over city lights, with spindly trees climbing from the bottom. And that makes me feel close to him. I feel like I know him a little better after having seen that work.

When you imagine, or even look closely at a highly realistic work that has painstakingly depicted a scene as true to life as can be, you know everything the artist knew about that scene down to the last detail. You do not, however, know what they thought about it. You know exactly what van Gogh thought about that view. You and he share a memory. A man who led a hard life, locked up without his paints, and all he sees out the window is how beautiful those stars look. I think that’s special.