Dear Vincent (2013)
“— VINCENT TO THEO, PARIS, JANUARY 1876I DECIDE TO WAIT until Mum leaves for work before I read the other papers in the envelope. Right now I’m too exhausted. Just the sight of Van’s handwriting stings my heart. I’m grateful she reckoned email was too impersonal though, insisted Mum keep her letters as a record of her time away, or I wouldn’t even have these painful scraps. One day, she said, she’d write her memoirs: Confessions of a Crazy Mixed-Up Kid. You wait, Miss T, then everyone will want ...to read my letters, even Mum.
She was such a contradiction, pushing against every convention Mum, Dad and the Pope tried to impose. Yet still she pined for an old-fashioned fantasy, where families talked and parents practised unconditional love. It’s a nice dream.I found her in her bedroom once, crying as she wrote in her journal.‘Why write if it upsets you?’ She’d shrugged. ‘To distract me from the crazy shit that whirls around inside my head.’ Much as I use my painting now.‘What kind of shit?’ I’d asked.‘Mind your language, young lady.MoreLess
She was such a contradiction, pushing against every convention Mum, Dad and the Pope tried to impose. Yet still she pined for an old-fashioned fantasy, where families talked and parents practised unconditional love. It’s a nice dream.I found her in her bedroom once, crying as she wrote in her journal.‘Why write if it upsets you?’ She’d shrugged. ‘To distract me from the crazy shit that whirls around inside my head.’ Much as I use my painting now.‘What kind of shit?’ I’d asked.‘Mind your language, young lady.MoreLess
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