In late 1889, Vincent van Gogh committed himself to an insane asylum, still commercially unrecognized one year from his death, and painted a version of "The Cypress and Flowering Tree." The painting entered a private collection and was not seen again for over a hundred years, until it appeared on loan at the Kunsthaus Zürich.
What follows is an account of standing alone in a nearly empty gallery when the painting caught me, and of what I have since learned about the year in which it was made. And how art comes from within when it must be without.
“The Cypress and Flowering Tree”[1] displayed on the walls of the Kunsthaus art museum in downtown Zürich, not seen for over a century, shared lovingly from a private collection, oil on canvas, painted in late 1889, less than a year before Vincent’s death.
Vincent painted three versions of this scene. One is in the New York Metropolitan Museum of Art, one is in the London National Gallery, and one was lost to the public for over a century. The original attempt (hanging famously in New York) was painted in June. This version was painted in September when Vincent had committed himself to the Saint-Paul-de-Mausole asylum in Saint-Rémy-de-Provence after arguing with Gauguin about what art was and cutting off his ear to punish himself. He slashed out “Starry Night,” one of his most famous paintings, during this period. He covered canvas with broad profound perfect strokes of oil every day of the entire year he was an inmate in this insane asylum, producing over 143 masterpieces during his agonizing self-incarceration.
I knew none of this when I first saw this soul wrenching canvas. The museum was completely empty and my footsteps echoed loudly as I peered at the work of his peers and some of his early attempts at his style. Then I entered the next room, unaware, and this beast stunned me[2] . It grabbed the tears in my eyes and forced me to back off, out of the room, barely making it out before collapsing against the wall, afraid to turn around and feel it again. I still can’t remember the other paintings filling the room. When I dared sneak another look around the door, it was still there, silently attacking me, slyly glancing at me with fettered eyes, never leaving me ever since.
Every time I see this painting it breaks my heart. Arguably the most innovative artist to have ever walked this earth is pouring out his mastery of the human condition onto the canvas. He boldly injects his emotions into every stroke of his brush. I can feel the sorrow he is feeling. The futility he feels, the pain in his soul as he tries to exorcize his all encompassing emotions out of himself by painting. He knows his life is almost over. His career is a total failure. He hasn't sold a single painting to a single art collector[3]. I feel deep in my blanched bones how he felt that year he spent in the asylum, painting masterpiece after masterpiece, day after day, while the world ignored him.
I can’t help but break down and start to sob, unable to stop the tears drenching my face, shaking with anger, overwhelmed by feelings of sorrow and ache for this genius who painted on because he couldn’t stop; unknown and unrecognized by the world and ignored by his fellow inmates. He knew his painting would change the art world forever, so he must paint before he departs. He’s compelled to paint in a feverish explosion to fend off the world’s ignorance. He is driven to capture what was in his soul and proclaim it to the world. You can hear him shouting, “Look, look at this scene. See me. See us all. See the sorrow. See the sadness. See me.”
He is lost in the unfathomable ignorance of this world. Why was he compelled to fill this inexhaustible abyss with his very self? And after painting all day, every day, he lies in his bed, night after night, falling fitfully asleep, trapped in an unending nightmare, where his only escape is to pour out his soul onto the canvas, fearing what the three crones of The Fates, who even Zeus must obey, decree him to paint before he dies, so the world can see, evermore.
Thanks for reading,
-Dr. Mike
11 August 2026
- Le Cyprès et l'Arbre en fleurs (1889, private collection), shown at the Kunsthaus Zürich, Matthew Wong – Vincent van Gogh. ↩
- Stendhal, Rome, Naples et Florence (1817); Graziella Magherini, La sindrome di Stendhal (Ponte alle Grazie, 1989). See Wikipedia — Stendhal syndrome. ↩
- The only sale the record can confirm is The Red Vineyard, bought by Anna Boch at Les XX in Brussels for 400 francs in early 1890 — after this painting was made, but before Vincent's death that July. Wikipedia — The Red Vineyard. ↩
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