“Wheat Field with Crows”
1890
Vincent van Gogh
in Sun
you are weeping
dragging last bits of impasto
Black
across the sky
beside you
wheat goes on forever
golden waves
breaking breaking
crows gather
thick to one side
Black
like sudden tears
they shudder
then fly away
you hang your head
you do not watch them go
What do we do when black skies flap down to eat brightness from our lives? Some days crows are brilliant tricksters, strange balancing agents who spread somber fertility with their crap. Other days they are thieves, mobsters attacking the remains of honest hard work, battling for control of the horizon.
I don’t know why this was the last scene Vincent memorialized before he killed himself. I do know how much he gave the world before he died. Maybe that’s the best we can do in dark moments — paint, sing, pray, write…
Bless you, Vinny, for taking time amidst the battle to make and share your art.
“Where Black is the color, where None is the number.” — Despair, loss, and want. I agree, experiencing art is a haven and creating it is a medicine. (My first post!) Part of a longer piece on mental health care:
You’ve got to want…
to feel better, you’re told you have to want,
as you’re put down by their admission,
brought into some Other condition
where you want,
as you will know
when you come to assume the position.
Wow, 2 Watts!!! 🙂 Thank you brother for your profound words, support and encouragement, you’ve been a true friend and i am grateful for who you are and what you do. Watt, welcome the the Upper Left Edge, would love to hear more of your piece. This is a great place to share, inspire, ponder, retort, all that fun stuff. Community in Communication is a wonderful thing…