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Starry, starry night.

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  • Starry, starry night.

    I could see Van Gogh painting with the blood of his own suicide. I've long imagined him, after the drawn-out wound's final fatality. Why did he do it, I wonder; after all I'm missing, and his deaf ear in the mail of that woman. I thought I knew, though. I expected to know him better than the others did. Granted there are painters I've spent more time admiring, it's the madness of van Gogh that survives, that we hardly understand.
    I had thought that my own impressions were true: That he became mad in a sort of self-centered prison, in which he would look out from, and view his paintings. But it seems more personal: I suspect this is where the psychotic break was "visible". Imagine van Gogh seeing forms in his paintings he did not paint, perhaps even suggestive words. One of his most famous paintings was painted in an asylum, too. It's much to think about. He sweated and that sweat went into his paintings, and his breath which couldn't last is there too. His entire world, inside those colored canvases. What did those lovers he cared so much for in that paint become? Imagine the greenest field sort of toned down by the dirty rocks that strew the path. Imagine van Gogh in the liquid sunlight, taken by this scene and swallowed. He takes the brush in his hands, and he doesn't see what he creates: He watches the field, and the colors soak into his mind. As he brushes up against the canvas, as he whiles away in a world which is now frozen, now dry and forever. He's lost there, in that moment, and all I can do is touch the world that he touched, that fades from behind museum glass. He's gone, and not lost, for he also cleaved, and delivered the fatal blow that took the color from his very eyes.
    His art is left; that's why we remember him. Think about this. The way that artists believe in Art becomes the coherence they are centered within: a microcosm of the larger world, inside this circle, opens. How do we begin to understand another's suffering? We must realize the secret of broken things in the world ... for isn't it the broken bleeding psyche drowning in implacable images, which the artist has to focus? Focusing on the world of Art, and what artists do, all that we can do is understand by that change which is inherent within us, how Art is alive, and yet where is its body? It is not only in my microcosm, either.
    It's in the night van Gogh painted, and the wounds of humanity she deals each to each ... so must we serve the world which was brought to life by this lovely painter's "Starry Night".
    Last edited by amenOra; 10-24-2018, 05:44 AM.

  • #2
    To see through the maddened eye
    here all nature writhe in illuminated vitality
    compare Richard Dadd's piece, 'The Fairy Feller,'
    murderously mad, paint controlled. Art transcends its' creator
    Last edited by Johntee; 10-24-2018, 08:01 AM.

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    • amenOra
      amenOra commented
      Editing a comment
      Thanks for the heads up, I shall read(edit: view) it with zest, thank you ... with love.
      And peace

  • #3
    I really enjoyed this one! I'm dont believe van gogh killed himself. It fits the stereotype for artists which is why i think its been easily accepted, but an accidental gunshot is the truer probability .

    Comment


    • amenOra
      amenOra commented
      Editing a comment
      Funny, a friend said the same thing after reading, and I was taken aback. You mean no foul play? That's what I started thinking. Thanks for sharing, and yeah that doesn't totally deflate 'this'. Anyone deny he was mentally ill//which is often a spiritual blessing/gift?

  • #4
    No it doesnt deflate this ! Its a beautiful job!
    the funny thing is i think what really happened is more artistic than the tortured artist thing. If the story is true he didn't report the youngsters who might have shot him, and it really fits his personality. That's the wellspring , he was a real infinite giver.

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    • amenOra
      amenOra commented
      Editing a comment
      I'll quote my mind at the moment, I wanted to say "The more you give the better you get at it" and what a gift Poetry is. Thanks! Plus what a beautiful sentiment, a great story. I won't forget it.
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