I dreamed of a gathering of Artists
I saw Keats, Monet, Lewis, Dickinson…
I heard John read poetry in a silky tone
Claude’s Clos Normand appeared before me
His obsession was a pure visual feast
I fought through the illusionary perception
to find my way to Clive’s wardrobe
I threw myself to crack open the path of truth
only to meet the coldest deceiving heart
Then, I heard Emily crying out
” Don’t shut the door…”
I visited Van Gogh Alive exhibition. His art and life overwhelmed me. I was overtaken by a range of emotions. I was exhilarated by his unique vibrant earthy brush strokes and accompanied by sadness of him dying a tormented man. I was encouraged by the brotherly love which Vincent and Theo shared. He believed in him and devoted his life to support him and promote his art.
Vincent’s art to me, spoke the flesh and blood labouring and mental reality in humanity; almighty God’s undeniable beautiful creation in nature; an extraordinary gifted man’s journey in self-discovery, self-doubt and unquenchable passion in life itself.
We may be sadden by the fact that Vincent died a poor, insane and unknown artist who seemed to labour in vain.
On the other hand, we may be encouraged by the fact that his God given talent, gift and passion withstands the test of time and human limitation.
Some, if not most of us feel defeated by the fact that our writings have not been acknowledged or recognised. There are few of us will gain the approval of man while we are still alive. I don’t know about you. I can only speak for myself. My passion for writing doesn’t die just because unseen by men. It is part of who I am. My Creator who fashioned me sees me.
– Psalm 139:13-14 For You shaped me, inside and out. You knitted me together in my mother’s womb long before I took my first breath. I will offer You my grateful heart, for I am Your unique creation, filled with wonder and awe. You have approached even the smallest details with excellence; Your works are wonderful; I carry this knowledge deep within my soul.