Vincent, Starry, Starry Night

                                                                     Starry Night Painting by Vincent Van Gogh

 Vincent is a song written by Don Mclean   about Vincent Van Gogh. How Mclean came up with this song is a testimony that only a real artist can understand one of his kind. This is just prolific understanding and feeling of what lies beneath. McLean told The Daily Telegraph the story of this song. He was reading a biography, and suddenly he knew he had to write a song arguing that  Van Gogh wasn't crazy. He had an illness and so did his brother Theo. In  Mclean's my mind this makes it different to what was commonly thought that he got "crazy" because he was rejected by a woman. Not wanting to waste the moment, he wrote the lyrics out on a paper bag. McLean himself during that time was going through a dark period. He further stated in the interview, "I was in a bad marriage that was torturing me." Art is a form of expression, a therapeutic diversion. In this case, Don found a sublime outlet. The song became a hit and it would remain as one of his two best works, the other being American Pie.

 Van Gogh's paintings

Starry, starry night
Paint your palette blue and gray
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
And how you suffered for your sanity
And 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 fields 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
And how you suffered for your sanity
And 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 inside
On that starry, starry night
You took your life as lovers often do--
But I could've told you, Vincent:
This world was never meant
For one as beautiful as you.

Starry, Starry night
Portraits hung in empty halls
Frameless heads on nameless walls
With eyes that watch the world and can't forget
Like the strangers that you've met
The ragged men in ragged clothes
The silver thorn, a bloody rose
Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow.

Now I think I know
What you tried to say, to me
And how you suffered for your sanity
And how you tried to set them free:
They would not listen; they're not listening still--
Perhaps they never will.

Vincent and Starry Night are creative minds at their best for both Mclean and Van Gogh. Music and lyrics for the former, and strokes and color for the latter. Too bad for Van  Gogh for in his lifetime, there were no internet or media extravagance. If there were, Van Gogh might have lived a little longer. His works might have been known to many not just a few. Back then, the Impressionists control the pace. His illness might have been a little more subdued if he only knew that his contributions would eventually  give birth to Expressionism. Truly, a person's significance is much appreciated and glorified when he had vanished from the living.

It is a tragedy how a gifted man with good intentions will end his life at a very productive age. But it has been observed that true artists are eccentric or have some form of mental disorders, in the case of Van Gogh, a  bipolar disorder.  It is an alternating happy and sad mood which when left untreated could be fatal. It is during the manic or happy phase though that suicide can occur, because then, the person has the strength to carry out his ideations. In death, his last words were, "La tristesse durera toujours" (the sadness will last forever). He died a sad and unaccomplished man. 

Vincent is one of the first tunes I learned to play with the guitar. It is a good piece for somebody learning how to pluck. Then it was just a piece to practice on. Now it has more meaning that I sometimes find  hard to fathom.  Only Van Gogh knew exactly what went on. But if  Don Mclean were right, I will console myself as  Celtic Woman Chloe walks me through the sorrowful but colorful  life of a great Dutch painter.

Chloe Agnew of Celtic Woman