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09 June 2011

Van Gogh & you...

by Innerdialect

Sunflowers1. When Vincent painted Sunflowers did he know what he was doing?

2. Sunflowers. Did they represent: "Stages of Life" (ref critique) Seasons; the Flowers reflect Emotions?

3. Did they portray people/times/his work style/fleeting impressions/change/creative - diversity/inspiration-calender...?

4. Oh Vincent, did you pluck them on different days? Some are wilting, brown...others gold, fresh. Were they a gift?

5. That vase, like my grandma's pickle jar - an Indian pickle jar! The perfect flower arrangement...stalk lengths hang in aethesthetically, or don't they? The backdrop/table, minimalist in colour choice, though the strokes are typically impasto lathered with Van Gogh upfront. The final work, so different from Potato pickers (do I forget the name here?), your skies and trees...

6. Were you, on the day you painted this, wedged between happy, wild, alive, breaking in, needing all, all, all? Stem, water, jar, table...that nth dimension where variations blend in perfect chaos - a new Work.

7. Would you have guessed the impact you would have on this planet, Vincent? Could you?

8. I stare at your individuality. Boldness. Belief in your gift. (yes you had a friend...Gauguin)

9. Which gets me thinking...we have so many Friends. Support. It's so much easier today to say, "Hey I Salud you!" than back when even Impressionists were rebels in art, running wild with crayon-like offerings in the face of rigid canvas.

10. Theres work on The Artist In You!Click here to visit The Artist In You! page on Facebook and learn more about this amazing community! thats unbelievable. Van Gogh gets credit for all he is but, hey, there's genuine Brush here...sensitive, stunning. Our Blog Artists redefine nature/colours/imagery. I am speechless. At the best of times, or the worst, there are not enough words. We need other mediums. Oil. Acrylic. Pencil. Pastel...

A certain Dutch radical got me talking today...thank heavens we were born different. Unique. Our rooms peer in through our works; our fields and tables; our little baskets and heart shaped poems; our tears, dogs, cats and potato recipes; trees and babies, circles of life and death, songs in the night and when it is morning...

History goes on to write itself. We write those journals with our lives. Unashamed to paint it, write it, mount it, frame it...exactly like it is. Its about the days of our Lives that we inherit and what we leave behind.

Oh the things we can realise when we begin to read/see each others' takes on everyday Life...

Thank you people. Am blessed just watching you all...


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