Sitting in the midst of my favourite painting

My favourite painting isn't one you'll probably know. It is, however, by an artist you know well. A lesser known Van Gogh, painted in Arles (also where he painted some of his better known pieces such as The Yellow House, Bedroom in Arles, Self-Portrait, The Night Cafe, Starry Night Over Rhone, Still Life: Vase With Twelve Sunflowers, Cafe Terrace at Night, and Van Gogh's Chair . . . Incidentally, Arles is also where Vincent Van Gogh cut off his ear.

My favourite is called The Poet's Garden (or sometimes Public Park with Weeping Willow). It was painted in 1888, and is a massive oil panting on canvas (you can see it at the Chicago Institute of Art).  The poet's garden series were painted and used to decorate Gauguin's bedroom when he came to visit Van Gogh in Arles. Also, the scene itself reminds me a little of how I feel in my parents' garden at home in New Zealand. The colours are bright and lively, and I just want to lie in that grass with a book and breathe in the scents of all of those leaves and flowers.

Van Gogh wrote about this painting in a letter to his brother, on September 16th 1888.


He wrote:
"There is a square size 30 canvas, a corner of a garden with a weeping tree, grass, round clipped cedar shrubs and an oleander bush. The same corner of the garden, that is, which you have already had a study of in the last parcel. But this one is bigger, there is a citron sky over everything, and also the colours have the richness and intensity of autumn. And besides it is in even heavier paint than the other one, plain and thick. That is picture number one this week."

I decided, in a fit of romanticism, that I wanted to spend my birthday in this painting, take a picnic, and just experience it. So, I headed on the train for Arles. I had differing information as to which park this actually depicted. One source said that it is directly outside of where the Yellow House used to be, in Place Lamartine, the other that it was the main public park in the center of Arles. Place Lamartine has pretty much been destroyed. There's a decrepit Monoprix (France's Walmart), a bank, and a token fountain with a heavily trafficked roundabout. So, whether or not it is actually the main public park (the woman at the tourist office said it was, but I didn't really believe her because she didn't actually know the painting I was asking about), this is the one I ended up at.

The park seemed to have a shrine dedicated to Van Gogh, which seemed promising (however much of the town revolves around either Van Gogh or the beautiful Roman ruins that still exist in Arles).

It was missing the lush grass of my dreams . . .

And there was far too much concrete . . .

And the flowers almost seemed to be forced, like they were attempting to put Van Gogh's bright colours into the world, when really, Van Gogh brought those bright colours out of everyday vegetation. . . 

But when I lay down on the grass, and looked up . . . there was my garden. The darks and the lights, and the beautiful lush green leaves. It was exactly the time of the year that Van Gogh was painting here, too.

Whether or not it was actually his garden, I may never know. But it is nice to know that if I find a patch of grass, and some beautiful trees, I can lie down and imagine my way into my favourite painting anywhere and at anytime.