Young Vincent and I

How would it feel to be toured or just to end the day with a historical person that you admire? If not admire, someone who you think you should know more?

Flashing back to the past, in the 19th century is where I met a young Vincent Willem Van Gogh. A thirteen year old lad in the town of Zundert in Netherlands is currently playing with paints on the sidewalk. Curious. I watched him until he felt paranoid and turned his back to me. Questioning glares were thrown back to me. He looked at me in a distinctive way.

"Have I done something to catch your attention? Or is it just that you think that I'm a queer boy or sort of bizarre kid?" A cold tone was what I heard from him.

"No not at all." I gave him a friendly smile. "In fact I find your work somewhat ravishing. Unique."

   He finally met my eyes and his eyes somewhat brightened. 

"What lives in art and is eternally living, is first of all the painter, and then the painting." Surprised I am. A 13 year-old lad speaking such ingenious quotes as if I were like talking to an elderly.

  He left me speechless for words. I then shifted my daze to his work which seemed like a doodle and not an actual work.

"It's nice." Was all I could think of saying to him. It's someone's point-of-view overlooking at the city at night and seeing the bright stars and the moon in a cool and breezy looking night.

"Starry, Starry Night" I murmured.

"That's a nice title. I could use that." Vincent stood beside me. "Say. Would you want a tour?" The young lad that seemed to be older than me because of his actions suggested he'd tour me around.

We started walking. 

"Where's your place?" I curiously asked.

"Our house is at Main Street, Markt 29." Not being familiar with Netherlands (especially in the 19th century) i just nodded.

We reached our destination. I stumbled upon two buildings.

"This is our house over here." He walks to were the door is.

"What about that tall red building over there? Is it another house of yours?" I persistently asked.

"Van Gogh's church." He blankly said.

"Vincent, brought a friend?" A somewhat older looking Vincent stood in front of us.

"Theo, this is..."

"Kim" I smiled. "Nice meeting you."

"And she's no friend. I just met her a while ago at Breda." Breda? Perhaps it's the place where I saw him.

"But my dear brother, it is unusual for you to be talking to strangers. Is it not." His brother Theo seems to be nice.

Vincent pauses. It made him think of what his brother just said.

"I guess...you're right."

We head to his room where paintings are placed everywhere. I noticed that most of them expressed too much emotion. Such opaque colours were used.

"Sad." Vincent started. "All my paintings depicts my feelings. When I feel such pain throbbing my heart I always pick a brush and just paint my heart out."

The day ended with Vincent and I talking about his paintings. One-by-one. I didn't got bored since art is art and I love art. What bothered me was the way he makes his paintings. Full of agonizing stories. It seems like he has made a future for himself since he tends to isolate his self from the others unconsciously. What if I was his friend? What would happen to the so called Aloof and Queer child of the Van Gogh family. 

What I've noticed. Most of us; yes including me, artists find it hard to express ourselves through words. Instead we take a pencil or a brush and start making something. I guess, I just feel like I can explain things more through what my mind sees. There's just something words can't completely adhere. Just like what Einstein said - "Imagination is more important than Knowledge."