Loving Vincent

The artist who painted for ten years only.

After a lapse in Lumiere visits lately, I went on almost the last day of 2017 to see Loving Vincent and was thrilled with the work of art I was privileged to witness. It is just gorgeous to behold; original and mesmerising. It is strictly speaking an animated biographical drama about the life, and more particularly, the tragic events leading up to the death of Vincent Van Gogh. It is the first fully painted animated film, and is an international co-production between Poland and the U.K.

It felt as if one was watching Van Gogh's paintings become alive; living cartoons in all his wondrous hues, the blues and greens, the yellows and oranges, all 

Auvers-sur-Oise where Van Gogh died.

  painted in his swirling, highly-personalised style AND on canvas. In fact, there are 65,000 frames painted by 125 painters, selected from hundreds of artist applicants, a process which deliberately excluded experienced animators. It is unique and a dazzling achievement which has already won plaudits and awards in its short exposure to audiences. It premiered the 2017 Annecy International Animated FilmFestival and was awarded Best Animated Feature Film Award in the 30th European Film Awards in Berlin. The creative  impetus for the film came from the duo who wrote and directed Loving Vincent;  Dorota Kobiela and Hugh Welchman.

After the original idea had been mulled over, the logistics to future action were not simple. It took the couple four more years to develop the proper technique to achieve their unusual concept. Loving Vincent was shot as a live action film with actors, to begin with, then the directors recruited an army of artists to paint each frame in the style of the

The Keeper of the Inn where Van Gogh died.

Master. Of the 125 artists commissioned, the most working at any given time was 97. The team of up to 66 people worked in Gdansk at a studio near the film-makers’ home in northern Poland. Smaller groups of painters worked in western Poland, in Bratislav, and in Athens. To capture changing backgrounds, facial expressions and movement, each canvas was re-painted an average of 76 times. Between them, the artists executed a total of 65,000 frames in oil paint. Each second of the film equals 12 frames! Surprisingly, the directors said that this process went relatively smoothly. ‘Animation is about preparation and we spent a lot of time preparing’, said Welchman. 

The Old Man thatching the roof

Dr Gachet

A tiny section of the artists involved.

At the end of the shooting, the directors were left with 845 paintings, each depicting the last frame of each shot. While many artists took home a painting, several canvases were eventually for sale at prices between 1,200 and 9,500 dollars! The Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam helped with research and both it, and the Musee d’Orsay plan to screen the film. The real Dr Gachet bequeathed 26 Van Gogh paintings to the Musee d’Orsay. He was the only man to buy from Van Gogh during his life and he bought one.

Christmas en Famille

Christmas staff in the kitchen 

Another pause in the blogs due to late-onset panic over Christmas fast approaching. In the event, all was serenely ready chez moi with absolutely no evidence of feet paddling furiously below water! Lights, tree, greenery, berries, tinsel; all was in place. The Suffolk branch of the family arrived safely on Friday the 22 Dec while the Californian contingent appeared on Saturday 23. They had vowed to bring Christmas to me and they kept their promise handsomely. Cait and Olivia had done a mega Waitrose shop of food and drink to cover the four days of celebration; Sian and Rob arrived with copious quantities of alcohol bought in England between their UK arrival on Friday and departure for Brugge on Saturday. My own generous quantities of beer and wine were hardly touched though the sheer number of empty bottles by D for Departure Day on Wednesday 27 was awesome. My terrace, windswept and far from its lovely autumn-hued best, served nonetheless as a capacious outdoor repository for the alcohol, the turkey the ham, etc. ‘Repository’ seems an appropriate word for the wealth of food and drink on display.

 View from our breakfast table

in Blackbird on Christmas Eve.

Outside, almost deserted;

inside, candle-lit and humming.

‘The Family’ was marvellous in doing everything and not permitting me to do anything. Any number of times as I slunk away from the kitchen area [kitchenette is a more accurate word] in the face of a barrage of ‘Go and sit down; we’re doing it all,’ which was marvellous in lots of ways, not least

letting others face the challenge of a single oven and a tiny kitchen area in which to prepare, cook and serve Christmas dinner for seven. I pondered other nuances not dreamt of by ‘Those In Charge’ but felt subliminally by me. And not always subliminally! Irritation, resentment, the immediate consequences of ageing, of slowing down, of Not Being In Charge as usual. AND the reluctant acknowledgement that, in fact, I just couldn’t have managed to cook the super Christmas meal [and other meals] that the lovely others produced. I sometimes congratulate myself silently on being well-balanced in letting go of things I can no longer manage, like running or the complex organisation of an event, for instance. I tell myself that that is mature ageing; embrace the many things I can do and relinquish those I can’t without a fuss. But somehow, with Christmas and family meals, there was an inner discord which jangled; an unintended undermining of the Essential Mother, the Inner Matriarch, which I hadn’t expected or perhaps didn’t know existed. On some level, I minded and unreasonably felt displaced, while being incredibly grateful for all that my daughters, grand-daughters and son-in-law [the lone brave male present!] so cheerfully did, so well.

It was lovely to spend so long a period with grand-daughters too; mine are aged between almost 7 and 24, I rarely spend an extended time with any of them. The uninhibited dance routines, boisterous singing including rap, hugely cheerful and loving presence of the six year old proved to be irresistible to all of us. The quiet beauty and elegance, plus the interesting depths of the sixteen year old were a delight to observe. While the incredible amount of work, planning, list-making, organisation while remaining so willing and cheerful, by the oldest was an astonishing and impressive performance.

In the New York Times of Friday 29 December, I read an interesting article, Can Kindness Be Taught? A number of American pre-schools are trying to do just that, thanks to a challenge from the Dalai Lama. The Centre for Healthy Minds at the University of Wisconsin has developed a Kindness Curriculum through which very young children are helped to pay attention to their emotions. This is interesting particularly because I noticed this Christmas how transformed in many ways is my youngest grand-daughter. When I was in California in April, she could best be described as ‘tricky’; sometimes co-operative and charming but often surly and unco-operative. This time, a much more mature girl was present; not only helpful, funny and entertaining but also with an underlying concern to be kind and thoughtful towards others. Any number of times she quoted how important it is to be kind and sensitive to others’ needs. Her parents said that the Roman Catholic school she attends sets great store by sensitive behaviour towards others and it also encourages its pupils to look into their own emotions; how they feel, etc. I have no idea if this is simply far-sighted school policy or perhaps

adherence to the Kindness Curriculum but the result was impressive; hugely so.
.

This is not a kindness!

One example of regal Festive rest.