Vincent

Artists are seers who have the added gift of enabling others to see what they see.  Some artists share  their vision with colors, others with the written word, and others through carving and sculpting.   Their creative works remain long after their personal journey is over and their vision lives on.  Vincent van Gogh of the 19th century, was one of these gifted artists.  His work was not appreciated until long after his suicide at age 37.  During his lifetime, he sold only two paintings, but today his work is found in museums around the world and is worth millions.

Vincent wanted to be a minister, tried it, and failed.  Afterward, he broke all ties with organized religion.  He turned to art, seeing in it a better medium for bringing meaning and beauty to people; a way of opening their eyes to the deeper mysteries of life (helping others see what he saw). Vincent saw meaning and beauty in ordinary things:  flower vases, houses, cafes, cypress trees, and sunflowers.  He saw an inner beauty in people:  peasants working and eating, shopkeepers, weavers, postmen, prostitutes and attempted to paint this inner beauty.  In the faces of common people, seasoned by life’s trials and joys, Vincent could see the sacred; and he wanted to share what he saw with the world.  “It is looking at things for a long time,” wrote Vincent to his brother Theo, “that ripens you and gives you a deeper understanding.” While Vincent saw the sacredness, the beauty, and the wonder in the ordinary, he seemed unable to see his own beauty and worth.  His story is a story worth reading.  I think of Vincent each time I hear the song, Vincent, which I heard yesterday and I am still hearing this morning.

Starry starry night

Paint your palette blue and gray

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 fields of amber grain

Weathered faces lined in pain

Are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand

For they could not love you

But still your love was true

And when no hope was left inside

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

They did not listen, they're not listening still

Perhaps they never will