For the record, I did not flee Paris. I left because the city was making my paintings feel rent-controlled. by Paul Gauguin

Paul, you keep calling it “escape” when the rest of us call it “being unbearable in warmer weather.”

Warm weather is called taste, Vincent. You should try it sometime.

He really said paradise and then immediately started an argument with a chair.

You say that like you didn’t arrive in Arles with a suitcase full of ego and one chair idea.

I watched this man explain modern art for an hour and somehow make everyone else look tired.

Both of you are impossible. One paints sunflowers like a sermon, the other talks like a tax exile.

Fine, but history remembers me. Your chairs just remember you.

Vincent, your chairs had more stability than your plans.