Along with the world,
I love Vincent VanGogh.
I love the painter.
And the man.
Especially
his iconic
Starry Night.
Several years ago,
seeing the VanGogh exhibit
at my home-town museum
was transformational.
Thick, dark layers of paint
covering each canvas.
Stepping right up
to the paintings
to view them from the side.
Evidence that VanGogh
painted over paintings,
not satisfied.
Oh to see what was
underneath.
I ached to peel
the layers back
to glimpse
such hidden majesty
beneath the ones we know.
Not surprisingly
he wasn’t accepted
in his day.
Too avante garde.
Too unpredictable.
Too unknown.
But now.
Oh now.
How he is beloved.
How he is cherished.
How he is known.
In “Vincent Meets the Doctor,”
Doctor Who takes him forward in time
to show him how the world
heralds him and
his work
as perhaps
the best
artist
of all time.
And to convey to him
how beloved
he is.
It is a magical
poignant
heart-wrenching
moment.
One I so
very
much
wish
could
have
occurred
for Vincent
in his time.
I had
the sheer joy
of seeing Starry Night
in person for the
first time
several years ago.
Walking into the room in MOMA
where the painting hangs
unassuming
alone on a wall
it
took
my
breath
away.
I literally gasped.
And
I literally cried.
Even the guard
who shares the room
with Vincent
was moved.
It was like meeting
an old friend
whom I hadn’t seen
in a very long time.
In that moment,
that shimmering
mountain-top moment
when time stood still
and noise ceased
and all that existed
was beauty
and light
and joy
I thanked Vincent
for this gift.
And I said a prayer
that he could
somehow
know
his
worth
and
his
belovedness.
