There is no historical figure that fascinates me as much as Vincent Van Gogh does.
Though it's believed by some that he was mentally ill, that his behavior was erratic or irrational, and that he committed suicide, there are others who believe he was suffering from depression, that he was tortured by his artistic abilities and that his death was either an accident or the work of another.
What truly transcends the theories about his troubled life are the works he left behind. Though many can easily recognize the stunning colors and the way the paintings appear to move, they are mostly unassuming subjects. Even the still life pictures are ordinary and of objects that are a little bit flawed and imperfect.
Vincent's Irises are amethyst and sway in the wind; his Starry Night sky is ethereal and limitless; his Sunflowers are voluptuous and warm the very air! His portraits are honest and pleasing; his self-portraits are haunting and tender.
Van Gogh himself said, "For my part I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream."
For my part I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of Vincent's paintings makes me dream.
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