Van Gogh Museum - Amsterdam

Self-Portrait with Felt Hat, 1888

Vincent van Gogh (1853-1890)

Eagerly anticipating a visit next month to the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam. This musuem was tops on my list and definately is now since the Rijksmuseum is still undergoing its renovation.


I first learned about Van Gogh in 3rd grade during some art appreciation classes. Scottie Melvin's mom (the boy I made cry on the playground because he was picking on my friends) taught the class and I can still picture the print of "Starry, Starry Night" that she brought in to show us.

I officially became a Van Gogh fan when I was 12 or 13 yrs old. I bought my mom a print of his "Sunflowers" as a gift, knowing nothing about the artist. It was a bright, cheerful image with colors I liked. Her enthusism over receiving this gift made me realize he was special among artists.

I liked the fact that while I was only 13, I knew the reference that Don McLean made in his song, "Vincent" was about Van Gogh.

Starry, starry night.

Paint your palette blue and grey,

Look out on a summer's day,

With eyes that know the darkness in my soul.

Shadows on the hills,

Sketch the trees and the daffodils,

Catch the breeze and the winter chills,

In colors on the snowy linen land.



Now I understand what you tried to say to me,

How you suffered for your sanity,

How you tried to set them free.

They would not listen, they did not know how.

Perhaps they'll listen now.



Starry, starry night.

Flaming flowers that brightly blaze,

Swirling clouds in violet haze,

Reflect in Vincent's eyes of china blue.

Colors changing hue, morning field of amber grain,

Weathered faces lined in pain,

Are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand.



Now I understand what you tried to say to me,

How you suffered for your sanity,

How you tried to set them free.

They would not listen, they did not know how.

Perhaps they'll listen now.



For they could not love you,

But still your love was true.

And when no hope was left in sight

On that starry, starry night,

You took your life, as lovers often do.

But I could have told you, Vincent,

This world was never meant for one

As beautiful as you.



Starry, starry night.

Portraits hung in empty halls,

Frameless head on nameless walls,

With eyes that watch the world and can't forget.

Like the strangers that you've met,

The ragged men in the ragged clothes,

The silver thorn of bloody rose,

Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow.



Now I think I know what you tried to say to me,

How you suffered for your sanity,

How you tried to set them free.

They would not listen, they're not listening still.

Perhaps they never will...