An artist’s mark can be found on most pieces… it being a name, initials, and/or some form of stamp or mark… Linking the creation to the creator… Van Gogh is no exception to this rule... His name can be found on many of his pieces yet I feel a more predominant mark has been hidden in plain sight… Van Gogh’s self-portrait (1889 – Blue) clearly shows the fatigued and sickly look in his eyes… eyes that are as identical to Portrait of a Peasant (Patience Escalier – 1888).

Van Gogh’s subjects were used many times and in many variations of ways and angles. Portrait of a Peasant is such a piece... The shape and look of the eyes vary dramatically. But the almost carbon copy of the shape, look, and sadness from Portrait of a Peasant and Van Gogh’s self-portrait can't just be coincidence. I believe that Van Gogh either drew it unintentionally and as sad as it might seem unconsciously. Both of which I feel were a clear cry for help by a man who struggled with what obviously depression.

Van Gogh’s portrait of his mother also has similar eyes. Leonardo da Vinci and William Shakespear both said, “eyes are the window to the soul” and in Van Gogh’s case one that was filled with torment, loneliness, and a need for belonging.

Far be it from me to criticize anyone who does not agree with my synopsis of such things nor do I consider myself an expert in such matters, but the lightbulb in my head flickers quite often when looking over Vincent’s paintings.

The truth might never come to light and my opinion on the matter might be nothing more than one trying to make sense of the senseless. Trying in the most obvious way coping with the idea that a talent such as this was cut short in what possibly was the incline of his artistic career.

Conviction and honesty…both of which seems to be seldom found in modern day. Long gone are the days of Starry Night and Salvator Mundi. The authenticity and childlike excitement of creating and moreover discovering such pieces has fade to a world beyond stars and imagination. In its absence we find degeneracy on such an unapologetic level that it’s almost humorous the level of ignorance that surrounds it…almost.

The monumental mark that artists like Van Gogh, Monet, and Renoir left behind have and will continue to be something that we should all strive for regardless of whatever niche or pocket we find ourselves.

The fear of being the nail that sticks out has created such an overwhelming presence that we have all been hammered to a point were true creation is almost nonexistent.

Every time religion, a political agenda, or an authoritative power or state interjects the artists strokes faulter and the vision is blurred or all together fades to black.

Leave it to man to forcibly remove the colors of life. One by one until all that’s left is a world of perpetual gray.

And when the dust settles and the footprint of man all but disappears who or what will be left to appreciate the few moments where art outshined the darkness that we see in our day to day?

Blues and greens… add a warmth to pain.
Drown scars like water
A solace in an otherwise vast emptiness

To wake before the sun
To sleep without the greeting of the stars
In a room. Full of memories yet void of life
It’s the mind that holds one back
The faint echos of chaos
Despair... A word I know all to well

I find the fragments between such pains my only solace.
The fatigue of my thoughts its release
For man in its complexity is such a simple thing
Made of flesh and bone
And nothing else