I would not even try to come close to comparing myself to Vincent VanGogh, but in my dreams I hope to meet him some day. Such a tortured soul was he and I know that many of the great artists are and many that are unknown will always lead complicated, depressed, indifferent, disillusioned lives-myself included. It is the level of which, that makes the difference in the quality of living, I guess. I once saw a Van Gogh original in person. I think I could have stared for hours. I was astounded at the texture. My young nephew and I reached out to touch it, like fools, and the alarm went off instantly. What was I thinking??!! Yet, it was automatic--to want to put a hand upon Vincent's actual painting and suck in all that wondermant. His successful commercialism is so ironic, we all know that. I wonder who is getting that money now for all the book bags, stickers, t shirts and such. I know that Theo's widow finally attempted to get him the credit due, but what about now? Gee, what a story that tears my heart apart--his very much troubled life, yet all that beauty and talent. Would he have painted the same if he was mentally sound?
By Don Mclean
Starry, starry night.
Paint your palette blue and grey,Look out on a summer's day,
With eyes that know the darkness in my soul.
Shadows on the hills,
Sketch the trees and the daffodils,
Catch the breeze and the winter chills,
In colors on the snowy linen land.
Now I understand what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen, they did not know how.
Perhaps they'll listen now.
Starry, starry night.
Flaming flowers that brightly blaze,
Swirling clouds in violet haze,
Reflect in Vincent's eyes of china blue.
Colors changing hue, morning field of amber grain,
Weathered faces lined in pain,
Are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand.
Now I understand what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen, they did not know how.
Perhaps they'll listen now.
For they could not love you,
But still your love was true.
And when no hope was left in sight
On that starry, starry night,
You took your life, as lovers often do.
But I could have told you, Vincent,
This world was never meant for one
As beautiful as you.
Starry, starry night.
Portraits hung in empty halls,
Frameless head on nameless walls,
With eyes that watch the world and can't forget.
Like the strangers that you've met,
The ragged men in the ragged clothes,
The silver thorn of bloody rose,
Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow.
Now I think I know what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen, they're not listening still.
Perhaps they never will...
artwork GREEN WILLOW by Susie Kunzelman
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