For the Good of All ~ Vincent Van Gogh
The sun broke into flaming fields of wheat beyond his path, beyond his mind. Broad strokes of evening painted their fences and forever trapped the young artist with a love so blind. Vincent van Gogh spent his life behind a dark mask, illuminating his world in sunflower gold, and yellow stars with circular stories to contrast.
Into the ground, the muffled sound, the heart that beats as it sows. Reaching for light, the visions bright, Vincent turned his eyes to what a soul grows. Forever bound in poverty, he knew the stillness of birth, his older brother’s legacy in the hard, cold Earth.
Desperate his soul to see the light, to feel the colors of God’s delight. Insight bound in geometric lines, Vincent moved into the yellow house in France with Paul Gauguin in his hardest of times. Ill at ease with his destiny, he ate bits of bread and painted to set his mind free.
Amid the gloom and glowing embers, Vincent van Gogh joined the age of artistry with its distinguished impressionistic members. In rivers of turpentine he sailed his soul, until his mind fell into the darkest hole.
In fits of starvation the young Vincent wed, his temperament cutting, his ear spliced from his head. In his rage of darkness, this genius fled, looking for life in what was now dead.
The mind it sparks the wicked flame, into utter poverty his madness came. Full proof the passion he bore, his love interests were reckless, pitiful, his heart’s whores. Such is life, the salt, the unkempt, the soul’s marriage to the discontent.
Wealth abounded in his demise, Vincent van Gogh mastered his art, but his soul encountered stars in the darkest of skies. In a fit of mental fatigue, his death by pistol has delivered such psychological intrigue.
The sun broke into flaming fields of wheat beyond his path, beyond his mind. Broad strokes of evening painted their fences and forever trapped the young artist with a love so blind.
Vincent van Gogh sold one painting in his lifetime. Today, his paintings command over 50 million. In utter poverty his mind was sharpened for our destiny into his starry night.
From the darkest of skies he speaks to us:
“It is good to love many things, for therein lies the true strength, and whosoever loves much performs much, and can accomplish much, and what is done in love is well done.”
“I dream my painting and I paint my dream.”
“I don't know anything with certainty, but seeing the stars makes me dream.”
“There is nothing more truly artistic than to love people.”
“If you hear a voice within you say, "You cannot paint“, then by all means paint and that voice will be silenced.”
“I would rather die of passion than of boredom.”
“The fishermen knows that the sea is dangerous and the storm terrible, but they have never found these dangers sufficient reason for remaining ashore.”
“I put my heart and soul into my work, and I have lost my mind in the process.”
“I often think that the night is more alive and more richly colored than the day.”
“It is with the reading of books the same as with looking at pictures; one must, without doubt, without hesitations, with assurance, admire what is beautiful.”
“What am I in the eyes of most people — a nonentity, an eccentric, or an unpleasant person — somebody who has no position in society and will never have; in short, the lowest of the low. All right, then — even if that were absolutely true, then I should one day like to show by my work what such an eccentric, such a nobody, has in his heart. That is my ambition, based less on resentment than on love in spite of everything, based more on a feeling of serenity than on passion. Though I am often in the depths of misery, there is still calmness, pure harmony and music inside me. I see paintings or drawings in the poorest cottages, in the dirtiest corners. And my mind is driven towards these things with an irresistible momentum.”
“I always think that the best way to know God is to love many things.”
“What would life be if we had no courage to attempt anything?”
“Great things are not done by impulse, but by a series of small things brought together.”
“At present I absolutely want to paint a starry sky. It often seems to me that night is still more richly colored than the day; having hues of the most intense violets, blues and greens. If only you pay attention to it you will see that certain stars are lemon-yellow, others pink or a green, blue and forget-me-not brilliance. And without my expatiating on this theme it is obvious that putting little white dots on the blue-black is not enough to paint a starry sky.”
― Vincent van Gogh 30 March 1853 – 29 July 1890
Kathy Paysen 2012