BEL’OCCHIO   …   the beautiful eye

An artist  decorates his bedroom!

“This time it’s just simply my bedroom,

Only here colour is to do everything,

And giving by its simplification a grander style to things,

Is to be suggestive here of rest or of sleep in general.

In a word, to look at the picture  ought to rest the brain or rather the imagination.


The walls are pale violet.


The floor is of red tiles.


The wood of the bed and chairs is the yellow of fresh butter,


The sheet and pillows very light lemon-green.


The coverlet scarlet.


The Window Green.


The toilet table orange,


The basin blue.


The doors lilac.


And that is all .

There is nothing in this room with closed shutters.”

(Letter to his brother Theo.)


Published in: on April 4, 2014 at 9:52 am  Comments (6)  
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6 CommentsLeave a comment

  1. Lovely post! Very pretty, romantic and enticing! Thank you, Virginia! xo

    • It is interesting how with all this glorious colour at our fingertips (or in paint pots), the world is filled with white walls and beige chesterfields. Colour makes my heart sing and fills my soul with joy. XX V.

  2. I’m with you Virginia. Color is so joyous, especially after all the white we’ve enured this winter. I’m so color-starved I’m afraid I’ll look a bit like a neon sign when I can finally get into my spring clothes–I want to wear them all at once! And I can barely remember what a garden in bloom looks like.

    • It has been a long, bitter winter for many. The first sight of green and flowers will be cause for celebration. We are spoilt – living on the West Coast. But I have not forgotten the long cold winters of Saskatchewan. I would pot up hyacinths in the fall and in the winter their fragrance would feel our home and give me hope that spring would truly come. V.

  3. I have read this letter, I have seen this painting (we loved the Van Gough Museum in Amsterdam) YOU have deconstructed this (your chef instincts) and made each aspect a topic in its own right. Smartly done, impressive work, my dear, impressive work!

    • The Van Gogh Museum was just a short walk from where we lived in Amsterdam, Tinny. Lar and I would grab our umbrellas and spend a rainy afternoon living in another century. Perhaps we passed each other on the stairs … or shared a bench.

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