Van Gogh & a Lesson on Depression

It was the perfect teaching scenario. The kids all sat on the carpet as I held up a book about a little girl named Katie who goes on an adventure to an art museum. She is looking at Vincent Van Gogh’s paintings. Her grandmother falls asleep. Katie decides to not only look at the paintings, but to crawl into them. It’s a well-illustrated book with facts about VG sprinkled in. I thought it was the perfect read aloud to use for my art masterpiece lesson on Vincent Van Gogh.

The children gathered on the carpet and listened as I read through the adventures Katie would go on while  envisioning themselves on imaginative adventures, too.

I started the lesson by pointing out a couple of VG’s self-portrait prints I’d scotch taped to the board and asked them what they saw. I got a lot of answers about swirly lines, color use, and more.  A boy even mentioned having a Starry Night print in his bedroom. After several responses, I had time for one more. I chose a little boy in the front with glasses.

“Why did Vincent Van Gogh cut off his ear?”

I felt my face flush a bit, as I was in unknown territory. I love the transparency, boundless wonder, and curiosity of children. I wasn’t prepared for the question. I told him we were not going to focus on that part of VG’s life, but rather his art technique  and  self-portraits. I did notice that his right ear was not represented in the taped artwork I’d displayed.

After the read aloud,  I went through the explicit instructions of the lesson. They were to look into their individual mirrors, sketch themselves (realistically), using a pencil first. They’d be given colored pencils to complete their masterpieces. They’d go on to create their on version of  VG’s technique of a swirly background in their own unique way.

The lesson was harder than I expected. I should have provided them with an outline of a face to get them started. I’ll do that next time. Figure drawing (in college) was my most challenging class. People would come in and we’d have to draw them ever so realistically. It’s more challenging than other art classes.

I drew alongside them and provided examples of other self-portraits to get them going.  Eventually, they got it. Their final drafts turned out awesome.  Later, we’ll matte their work and put it on display for the Art Walk, alongside their Georgia O’Keeffe flowers and Jackson Pollack’s splatter paint works they created months before.

I grabbed lunch after my lesson and could not shake that little boy’s question. So, I looked up information about VG on Wikipedia. I discovered he’d suffered tremendously from mental illness, so much so that he got frustrated and cut off part of his ear. My heart ached for him. How sad that he didn’t get the help he needed. Such a brilliant soul. He took his own life at 37. It’s incredibly sad how alone he must have felt, how unhappy he must have been. I’m sure his parents were devastated. I’m sure they tried everything they could to help him. His art was his salvation, his escape, his temporary peace, his way out of his depressed mind, but it didn’t save him. Depression is ugly and it’s real and it has the ability to rob people of their joy.

Last night, out of nowhere, Hope said, “Mama, why did VG cut off his own ear?”

“Baby, he was so sad. Sometimes people are sad and they don’t know why they are sad. They can’t figure out  how to not be sad anymore. They keep it all in. Keeping it all in makes it a million times worse. They suffer so much because they don’t open up about it. He was  lonely and so unhappy, that he cut off his own ear. It’s called depression baby. It’s a mental illness. It wasn’t his fault.”

“Mom, it hurts just pressing on my ear (as she pressed on her own earlobe). I can’t imagine how much it must have hurt when he cut part of it off.”

“I know. Baby, he suffered so much. He was such a sad boy. He was so talented. Depression is awful.”

“Do you get depressed, mama?

Pause.

“Not really, honey, but I have a little bit of anxiety. That means I worry about things when I don’t really need to. I get anxious at times.”

Long pause.

“Oh, I get it. It’s kinda like when I think I have to pee before something. Like when I was in class the other day at our Thanksgiving celebration and we were all in a long line and we all had a line to say out loud in front of all the parents. I thought I had to pee and I felt a little worried, but then others started reading their lines and then I didn’t feel that way anymore. It went away because others were reading their lines, too.”

“Yes, baby, when we talk about the hard things, they don’t seem so hard anymore. And when we talk about our sadness and how we are feeling on the inside, a little bit of our sadness goes away. We need to talk about how we feel. And sometimes talking, even if we don’t feel like it, helps us feel better. I hope you both know that you can always call me, or your dad, anytime and talk to us about how you are feeling, anytime (day or night). We’re here for you always. Promise me you’ll do that, ok?!”

“I promise.”

“I promise.”