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The Way Shower
The Way Shower

The Way Shower.
Before the days of consumer computers and the internet the place you searched for information and knowledge was your local library. Well it was for me. I always had around six books out. Of course the arts is the place you would find me browsing. There was one book, a Thames and Hudson publication on the life of Vincent Van Gogh. I read it through six times. I also observed closely his drawings and paintings noting the dates the works we're finished. Vincent's first groups of drawings are not master works you can clearly see how gradually he turned into a great draughtsman. Its the same with his painting, in fact someone said the me that ones is rubbish.OH well we all have to start some where. What I learnt from these observations was that artist are not born they are made, they make themselves. And Vincent shows you how its done. I recall at that time the belief I had about artist was you had talent or you do not. It became clear to me like other arts is was all about commitment, dedication, and that word that rings in the ears, practice, practice, practice. Strangely I never made any copies of his works, drawings or paintings. Eventually there was a big exhibition of Vincent’s work at the Hayward in London. A rare one off. This freed me up, loosened me to get on. As I would now put it today. If you want to be an artist then get going paint. And as you do you are, and will be.
I feel very keen observation makes the artist. Through that the skill is put up in the hands. One other artist that moves me is Rembrandt. I was in I think it was the National Gallery in London. I turned a corner and entered this room and there before me stood the man in his stately years. I just knocked me out my knees went to jelly. Well I expect we have all had these moment. But it was Vincent that showed me the way.
Meanwhile until the next episode imagine you are watching the end credits and listening to our theme music ( of course ) from Don Mclean’s Vincent, Starry, Starry Night.
Starry, starry night
Paint your palette blue and grey
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 colours 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
Colours 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 in sight
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
Frame-less 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 of 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
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