At the beginning we see Charles Strickland as a happily married 40 years
old stockbroker. He is just an ordinary man of that time: "He was broad
and heavy, with large hands and feet, and he wore his evening clothes clumsily.
He gave you somewhat the idea of a coachman dressed up for the occasion. He was
a man of forty, not good-looking, and yet not ugly, for his features were
rather good; but they were all a little larger than life-size, and the effect
was ungainly. He was clean shaven, and his large face looked uncomfortably
naked. His hair was reddish, cut very short, and his eyes were small, blue or
grey. He looked commonplace."
Miss Waterford says about Mr. and Mrs. Strickland: "They adore one
another. He's very quiet. He's not in the least interested in literature or the
arts." And Mrs. Strickland says: "He's not at all literary. He's a
perfect philistine." The writer himself says: "It was obvious that he
had no social gifts, but these a man can do without; he had no eccentricity
even, to take him out of the common run; he was just a good, dull honest, plain
man. He was null." But in the end it turns out that not Mr. Strickland,
but Mrs. Strickland is the perfect philistine. This also shows us that people
can be wrong even about their closest friends, that there's only one person in
the world who can know everything about a person, and that is he himself.
But why did Strickland start living his life once again? Maybe he
understood that it's the last chance to get out of his philistine life and to
do what he always had wanted to do, but hadn't dared before, as it was
something unusual for the people of that time. When he went to France he
started to live his life for the first time. Finally he could do what he had always
wanted to - to paint. From that time on we can see the real Strickland that was
hidden under the philistine before.
Charles Strickland didn't think about others and their feelings, but he
also didn't ask others to care about himself. His favourite phrases were:
"Go to hell!" and "I don't care!" He didn't have many friends and he spoke only
with those who tried to act towards Strickland as he acted towards them. He
didn't want anything except paints and canvases. He could live in the dirtiest
hotel rooms and have nothing to eat for a week. He lived for his art - he found
his life's fulfilment in painting.
At that time almost no one understood his paintings. All the other
painters were painting what they saw - the realistic life. Strickland dared to
paint his soul, his view of life. And that was something that belonged to the
future, not to the time he lived in. There was only one person who could
understand Strickland's work - Dirk Stroeve. From the beginning he believed in
Strickland's talent and helped him as he could even if Strickland didn't want
his help. When his wife Blanche committed suicide after Strickland left her, he
didn't blame Strickland, he even invited
to come with him to Holland.
Strickland had his own opinion about everything - an opinion others
found hard to accept. For Strickland love and art were two incompatible things.
Men who loved couldn't be artists. And those who were artists couldn't love.
About women and love he said: "I don't want love. I haven't time for it.
It's weakness. I am a man and sometimes I want a woman. When I've satisfied my
passion I'm ready for other things. I can't overcome my desire, but I hate it;
it imprisons my spirit; I look forward to the time when I shall be free from
all desire and can give myself without hindrance to my work. Because women can
do nothing except love, they've given it a ridiculous importance. They want to
persuade us that it's the whole of life. It's an insignificant part. I know
lust. That's normal and healthy. Love is a disease. Women are the instruments
of my pleasure; I have no patience with their calm to be helpmates, partners,
companions."
Strickland was self-assured. From the beginning he knew what he wants
and what he can. At the beginning when he was telling that he is going to be a
painter, everyone laughed at him. But Strickland was hard-nosed and he didn't
take to heart what others said - it was like a higher force controlling him. It
took him time to find the perfect place to work, but at last he found it in
Tahiti. There he painted his masterpieces.
Only after his death people started to understand the meaning of his
paintings. Strickland's life ends tragically. For years he had to suffer from
leprosy. But even when he was seriously ill he continued to paint, not thinking
about his health. For Strickland his physical body was nothing, as it was his
soul who would live forever. But why did he destroy his work? This was a thing
I found hard to understand. He never wanted to show his paintings to anyone.
Maybe it was so because he painted not for others, but just for himself and the
art itself.
So... Can a genius be pardoned anything? This is a hard question to
answer. I think, for the 'normal' people, who doesn't know the artist
personally, the artist's life shouldn't be important, for it is his work that
counts. We shouldn't step in other people's life that we don't know personally,
because everyone can do with his life what he wants and if he does something
that is important for the whole mankind we should be grateful for that, but we
shouldn't try to find something in his life that is not acceptable for us. And
it's the same about Strickland. He had an unrepeatable personality that we
should accept.
Gunta K.
kat@apollo.lv
Darba nosaukums:
William Somerset Maugham "The Moon and the Sixpence" - Charles
Strickland
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