You cannot really ever imagine what he might have been going through; and why him?! Why not someone who didn’t seem to love to paint landscapes? Why not someone entirely off the radar, in fact. But that is just the thing, he was entirely off the radar, and, what’s more, utterly unknown and fighting for his mental health henceforth life seemingly almost every day of his existence. It may well have been a pitiful existence by his own standards, and certainly on a mentally corrupt level. However, what he continues to bring to the world, the absolute value of his art- be it as it may because it is so astounding for that time. Or because his struggle speaks to so many people on a human legend, it really doesn’t appear to matter. Pretty much everyone will have a Vincent moment in their life. That’s just how it is. A given. And that is why a poem piece about him needs to be at the centre point of my focus for the next.. two weeks. Two weeks- just me and Vincent. Just the two of us attempting to share an eerie dance with words. Attempting to join and meet at the middle via my word use and his utterly unmatched vision for his own style and sense of art. This could actually get… quite sentimental 🤷♂️ Is it one artist leaning on another to get them through? Who knows, but here’s hoping he can help somewhat in turning that switch finally off, cos that mother fucker Jones needs to be sat down🤞 Working title: “2-Weeks With Vincent”
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