Wednesday, July 22, 2009


Van Gogh is my favorite artist, who painted the most beautiful sunflowers and he accidentally shot himself on the chest and quietly waited to the Angel of death to take him while he lied on his bed for two days... Vivid flowers burn in flame, swirl orbs with no name reflect the eyes of violet blue a dreamy soul yet so true:

Virtually extremist, yet magical, spiritually barged,
Innate artist imbued of warm and tender care.
Nothing with this genius, constantly charged,
Could any other energy ever compare.
Elated he lived for the love of his art.
Naturally he inspired with his own heart.
Traveling in astral planes, all over he'll remain.

Vanished he will never be, for he still lives, now with no pain.
Avant garden, he took his own life to prove he was not insane.
Nevertheless, his insanity made what was the truth in his life.

Genius, immortal, a fervent soul who cut his own ear with a knife.
Organic, surreal or irrational, his own self he would never crate.
Gargantuan energy that compelled him to create in awful strife.
Heralded what would eventually take him earlier rather than late.
(ACROSTIC by Ana nTunes)
I read his autobiography, "Letters to Theo" and also an Essay from Paul Gauguin, who described that incident about Vincent cutting his left ear & all, but in none there are records where he may have exposed such onirical state. He describes with amazing details his way of drawing and painting and finding harmony and the vibration in the forms. I think it is possible that he had based much of his Art in astral travels. I believe he already lived in a dreamy state, as only a genius can face. I once dreamed of this master painting. And as I tried to reach out to see what he was painting, the huge canvas danced right in front of me. He then turned to me and smiled. He was beautiful, in such peace, inner strength and beauty reflecting his own soul!

I remember when I spent my 25th b'day in Paris, and then I travelled to the south of France...

"I can still remember that winter when travelling from Paris to Arles. How I was constantly on the lookout to see if we had reached Japan yet."

(Akira Kurosawa asks a character on his movie "Dreams": "What do you do?"

Van Gogh answers:

"I work. I slave myself. I shove myself like a train."

(He then grabs his pallete and painting stuff and he reaches out towards the sunset)

"The sun compels me to paint. I cannot waste my time talking..."

It seems that he could only abandon himself into his Promised Land, his Utopia, his Japan:

"A Japanese draws rapidly, extremely rapidly, like lightning, because his nerves are finer and his feelings simpler." Like me, Van Gogh always prided himself for working very fast.

"There will only be a little rest ahead once he has done a couple of years' worth of work and senses that one is on the right track," Vincent writes to Theo in Amsterdam.