Vincent Van Gogh - painting fragility

Been looking again at this painting by Vincent. I have a magnetic bookmark that I use all the time that has the butterflies detail. One of Van Gogh's final paintings, it shows two beautiful life forms which are transient, fragile and lovely. But I guess it's a sad painting, or at least one that hints at the sadness and poignancy of an artist who could paint life and death, joy and sadness, sunlight and shadow with immense power and humane sympathy. Amongst my life ambitions is a visit to the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam.

Someone asked me recently my favourite song - too hard a question, too many songs, and my own knowledge is limited by the usual prejudices, opportunities and interests. But somewhere amongst the ones I've listened to most is Don Maclean's version of Starry Night. The tragedy and the triumph of Vincent are captured in simple lyrics, sung with minimal accompaniment, and a resonant sympathy with this most emotionally complex artist. Oh, and the best episode of Dr Who I've ever watched was the one about Vincent being brought to the present to hear the admiration of the greatest art critics and see the public queue to see his work.

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...

Comments

[ruthg]

Not sure which is my favourite Dr Who episode, but that is right up there with them!

[helen]

I found the Dr Who episode where Vesuvius is erupting really helpful in thinking about predestination/ free will