My Hidden Love Affair with Vincent Van Gogh

http://www.vangoghgallery.com/printsandposters/van-gogh-top-20.html

Day 29 of Rise and Write. Natalia, our fearless leader, gave a few days off and reiterated that there are no rules to using the prompts-just write! Today, is about writing about sunflowers – in the garden, in the fields, in the bouquet, in the wreath on the door. Write about the flowers or the seeds… I'm going to take her advise and write about sunflowers differently than I suspect others might, and thus I unveil my hidden love affair with Vincent Van Gogh.

I could see the great steps, the colossal pillars, the banner that  marked the entrance.  The crowds were thicker than Minnesota mosquito's on an August night the day after a rain.  I took my daughters hand, even though she was thirteen, as much for my own security as hers, and followed my older daughter weaving through the crowd, my husband a step behind. We knew the Sunday before St Patrick's day was the London version of  the celebration, and Trafalgar Square was host to a thousand Irishmen, if only Irish for the day. Still, nothing could have prepared me for the density of people.  My daughter knew her way around a crowd.  Six months in London and she had figured out how to move, sway, and ditch between people, clearing a fine path that filled in behind us as we walked. Up the steps we walked, pausing to get a picture before security shooed us to keep moving and not clog the stairs.  Inside, the museum was nearly as crowded as out. We saw the sign pointing to the Van Gogh, Sunflowers only to learn there was a line queuing deep, down a hall, up a stair case, and then in a line in the more open space between gallery rooms. We decided to wait and go the next day, a week day, when the throngs hopefully would be home or at work nursing hangovers. My disappointment in being so close was visible. We doused the disappointment with a good catch-up with our daughter over fish and chips and beer. 

Monday was already sketched out to do the London Eye, a Thames cruise, a double decker bus to anywhere, and a Hop on Hop off tour bus trip.  It was fun day, and when we stopped in the Square, we decided to give it one more day before heading to the gallery again as the weather was unusually warm and sunny, as we were told, for a London day in March. Too nice to be in doors, so we continued to view and photograph the architecture and landmarks from the streets. That night after settling into our hotel room, me drinking my second cup of the in room Nespresso coffee, I read a bit more on the exhibit, and the life of Van Gogh.  I really like to build the anticipation before I see an attraction.  I'm the same way with vacation,s reunions, and other special events.  Some people feel researching and planning creates an inevitable let down for when the real event takes place.  I on the other hand feel it heightens the experience. 

I never could put my finger on why Van Gogh has such a firm spot in my heart.  The colors he used are vibrant, and the texture he captured with the brush fools my mind into thinking I am actually touching the subject matter. Many other artists of his time did that as well, but not in the soul seeing way Van Gogh does for me.  Perhaps it is his story; his lack of fame and appreciation in life, when clearly there was brilliance touches a nerve with me.  Sunflowers in particular is like a blow to the gut. Normally I think a sunflower must be the happiest plant on earth.  I swear I can almost see a smiling face when I've see a single one sprouting from the side of the field. But Van Gogh's sunflowers almost weep.  Yes, they have the same bright, sunny, golden yellow, but seeing them in the vase, almost reaching out to be touched, feels sad and lonely. They make me imagine the artist, reaching out his hands, just wanting to be touched, be affirmed, be valued, be appreciated. 

Tuesday, I was not to be deterred.  After the mandatory American tourist  viewing of the changing of the guards at Buckingham Palace, which I found damn cool, despite the  length, by the way, we made our way back to the National Portrait Gallery. There was  small line, but after getting our tickets for the cue on the floor below and making our way back upstairs, there was only a couple families ahead of us. My older daughter had classes so was not with us, but the younger one teased me asking if I was going to faint when I saw it,  "Probably." I remember replying. It was our turn.  We walked in.  There were a few other Van Gogh in this room, a few Monet, and at least one Gauguin.  Then I saw it, lit from above and hanging on the central wall. Sunflowers,Vincent Van Gogh. I don't know how long I stood there.  It felt like an hour.  It felt like seconds. I felt the wet tear on my cheek, but I did not care. Let them fall, my brain told my eyes. Seeing that painting was overwhelming. I am sure I could feel every hurt, every ounce of pain he felt with each stroke. Then,  suddenly, I felt peace.  I found  tissue in my back pack, wiped my eyes, and wandered around the room, taking another look at each of the other wonderful painting in this special exhibit room.  Before leaving, I stood one more time in front of the Van Gogh.  "Thank you. " I mouthed, and left the room.  My wedding, the birth and graduations of my children. closing on our house; these are all experiences that are deep in my heart, moments in time captured forever. This viewing, is captured there as well.