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