Vincent

Sunbeams on windmills, fields with row upon rows of sunflowers such painted tapestries by Vincent. Such boldness in his art yet his mind blown far apart was to end his day in such tragic circumstance. Appreciation was not of prime and of time, such was the madness around you for the driving you to your insanity. Such roughness in the beauty you did transcribe with a wealthy palette of colors only now truly appreciated. A master so many years before your time, your works so extraordinary without their suitors then, now perhaps the time is ripe. Such a talent misunderstood for sanity left you in blues and greys, but will they hear the cries you left behind and ever set you free? 25th June, 2012 (c)