Van Gogh Page #2

Come have a drink.

- Your health.

- And yours.

- To health and wealth.

- Wealth.

Here he comes

What's up?

- What?

- My portrait.

Like it? The blue?

Want your portrait in blue?

Smile.

Life isn't so bad:

there's even room

for the village idiot!

- It'll cost you 2 sous.

- I got no money.

Take it and scram.

Scram!

Czanne can't stand me.

Called us "Gauguin & Van Gag".

- Among artists, that's mild.

- I don't call him "seize-nes".

"16 asses".

I never thought of that.

That's my house.

Czanne throws a lot away,

like all great painters. Do you?

Never. My family does it for me.

My Guillaumin,

but I have no frame for it.

- You don't paint nudes, right?

- I can't afford models.

A little Seurat

How'd you get it? He doesn't

let sketches out of his studio.

It's a copy I made.

In secret.

I'm proud of it.

- The secret or the work?

- Both.

The hanged man's house.

It's called that,

but no one has hanged himself.

It had to do with the owner's name.

- He's improved since then.

- I'll show you

the finest

- That's really painting!

- And how!

Czanne was about to scrape it.

I stopped him.

I never scrape. Only once:

a Christ in the Garden of Olives.

- That so?

- My daughter, Marguerite.

- Nice flowers in your room

- What?

- The painting.

- I want one of yours soon.

- Well, they're cheap.

- Mrs Chevalier?

My Paris friend let me down tonight.

Come to my room?

You get what I mean?

- What's this dirt?

- It's a spot.

I can see that!

It's rust.

Don't worry, you can't see it.

I can. A new dress!

Lovely old lace from Aunt Francia.

Hand-me-downs.

You're pretty as a princess.

- If only your Mom were here.

- She's not!

Want some tea?

I don't like it.

We never see you.

It's so long since you came.

2 days ago.

Seems like ages to me.

You're so hesitant.

I've watched you.

You hesitate over the simplest thing.

In fact, you do as you please.

How do you want me?

Like that. Play.

- I've a headache.

- Want some quinine?

Bring Mr. Van Gogh some quinine.

Alright. Let's go on.

- Don't feel like painting?

- No, I don't.

- Yet I was told

- Who told you?

- I'm not a machine.

- Sorry.

I mean it.

Your simpering bored me. Play.

At least you don't pull faces

like a virtuoso.

- Maybe because you're not one.

- You mean I play badly?

That's not for me to say.

My sister Mina plays well.

Or so I thought at home.

Is she pretty?

What do you care?

Feminine rivalry:

"She's prettier than me"?

You're cranky with everyone.

Must be a strain.

No, I'm happy as a lark.

Now play.

Hold that pose.

- You smiling?

- Yes.

Not too much.

Why are you here?

Simplicity is so difficult.

We'll lunch outside in 15 minutes.

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