A tour of Arts AndLetters Daily turns up another fine prospect of the next book purchase*:
The Yellow House, full of irregular angles, cluttered with paintings and right on the street was barely big enough for the oversized personalities of its inhabitants. The two painters existed in a fug of tobacco smoke, alcohol and paint, cooped up when the weather was bad, living, eating and working together in a room only 15 feet wide and 24 feet long...Sounds like Chinatown, Jake.
Then, I was humbled by this paragraph:
In December alone Van Gogh had painted 25 pictures, he was exhausted, often drunk, becoming increasingly unhinged and fearful that Gauguin was going to abandon him, as indeed he was...I've painted only sixteen since returning from Tossa last Fall.
Man... oh... man.
Fly a little higher then, Icarus.
*However, the cover is rendered like a children's book, not so good. Is it written likewise? ...all sugary cute ...with tales of drunken debauchery alienation and suicide?
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