When day is done and night is a lyric ecstasy with a million stars; when the lust for life flames like red wine in the heart of man; when out of the torturous darkness temptation strides with fawning hips and painted face, do you remember Vincent van Gogh, the satyric figure of a dwarf with enormous head, huge fleshy nose, repulsive scarlet lips, black bushy beard, myopic malevolent eyes? He leans for support on a tiny cane. He stands by a dust bin polluting the night with its hideousness – symbol of filth and putrescence. He sits down at a marble table, eagerly welcomed by those who have wasted life, and now life wastes them: drinking absinthe with hopeless hopefulness. The fairy with the green eyes has enslaved their brains, has stolen their souls.
Vincent van Gogh (1853-90): Artist and Addict, W.R. Bett