One Starry Night on a Summer Day

I am not much of an artsy person. My appreciation of art is no deeper than my belly button. I’ve seen the Mona Lisa ages ago in The Louvre. I went straight from the entrance to where it hang. I remember getting lost on the way because I walked past the same trash bins and Attention: Sol Mouillé signages on the floor several times -never mind the art works. I literally ignored Venus de Milo because she didn’t wave at me for my attention.

Decades prior, the curious cat in me was wildly tickled by a 1971 song written and sung by Don Mclean, Vincent. The song, also known as the “Starry, starry night,” was an homage to the artist, Vincent Van Gogh and his works. Since then, seeing the Starry Night with its flaming flowers that brightly blaze, and its swirling clouds in violet haze became a lifelong dream. 

I finally got to live the dream last summer. At the Museum of Modern Art.

With the excitement growing in me, I breezed through “less popular” Matisses, Monets, Gaugins and Picassos. And other names I could not pronounce. In my mind, they were all eclipsed by the beauty I was about to behold.

I knew right away that I’ve reached the one gallery I’ve wanted to be in. Like a rock star,the Starry Night, was surrounded by fans and dreamers like me. I wove through a landscape of smelly armpits and clicking camera phones to find out what a dream looks like in reality. And then, finally:

Now I understand
What you tried to say to me
And how you suffered for your sanity
And how you tried to set them free
They would not listen, they did not know how

Perhaps they’ll listen now 

But, really, no. I don’t claim to understand what was in the artist’s mind when he painted. But looking closer at this obra, I found a new dimension to the lyrics of the song:

Shadows on the hills

Sketch the trees and the daffodils

Catch the breeze and the winter chills
In colors on the snowy linen land

That was the summer I met Vincent whose other works, Self Portrait and Bedroom in Arles -I’ve also seen at the Art Institute of Chicago. My belly button pit just got deeper. 

                                

                                

Cheers!

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