Tuesday, December 06, 2005
Yes, I'm losing my marbles
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
From Vincent by Don McClean
It came to me in a dream. Then I forgot it in another dream.
Professor Farnsworth, Futurama
Deeply-held opinions don't generally change overnight. This is the story of one that did.
Had you asked me previously which was my favourite Van Gogh painting, I would unhesitatingly have answered Starry Night, as much because of my fondness for Don McClean's song as for the dark and terrible majesty of the painting itself.
Then I had a dream the other night in which I was explaining to someone that Wheat Field with Crows was my favourite. The reason I gave in the dream, which, to the best of my recollection I have never given in a conscious state, was that the picture evokes the scene of Van Gogh's suicide: the fatal shot shattering the tranquility of the field, followed by the drumroll beating of wings as the startled crows rise into the air en masse.
Whether Van Gogh was anywhere near a wheat field when he dispatched the bullet into his chest that was ultimately to end his life some 36 hours later is, at this time, unknown to me. However, so impressed was I by this nocturnal insight that I realised when I woke up that Wheat Field with Crows actually had become my favourite Van Gogh painting.
Make of that what you will.
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
From Vincent by Don McClean
It came to me in a dream. Then I forgot it in another dream.
Professor Farnsworth, Futurama
Deeply-held opinions don't generally change overnight. This is the story of one that did.
Had you asked me previously which was my favourite Van Gogh painting, I would unhesitatingly have answered Starry Night, as much because of my fondness for Don McClean's song as for the dark and terrible majesty of the painting itself.
Then I had a dream the other night in which I was explaining to someone that Wheat Field with Crows was my favourite. The reason I gave in the dream, which, to the best of my recollection I have never given in a conscious state, was that the picture evokes the scene of Van Gogh's suicide: the fatal shot shattering the tranquility of the field, followed by the drumroll beating of wings as the startled crows rise into the air en masse.
Whether Van Gogh was anywhere near a wheat field when he dispatched the bullet into his chest that was ultimately to end his life some 36 hours later is, at this time, unknown to me. However, so impressed was I by this nocturnal insight that I realised when I woke up that Wheat Field with Crows actually had become my favourite Van Gogh painting.
Make of that what you will.
