Vincent van Gogh

Hello. My name is Vincent van Gogh, and you may know me for my paintings full of swirling stars, bright sunflowers, and intense colors. My life was a long and winding journey to find my place in the world, a search that began in the small village of Groot-Zundert in the Netherlands, where I was born on March 30, 1853. As a boy, I was often serious and quiet, preferring long walks through the countryside to playing games. The fields, the trees, and the hardworking farmers captured my imagination more than anything else. I felt a deep connection to the earth and the people who worked it. But I didn't know how to express this feeling, and for many years, I felt restless and lost. I tried to find my purpose in many different jobs. I worked for my uncle at an art gallery, which I enjoyed at first, but the business side of art didn't suit my spirit. I traveled to England to work as a teacher and then returned to Holland to work in a bookshop. For a time, I even became a lay preacher, hoping to bring comfort to poor coal miners in a dreary part of Belgium. I shared their hardships and felt their struggles deeply, but even that didn't feel like my true calling. Through all these wanderings, one person always stood by me: my younger brother, Theo. He was more than a brother; he was my best friend and my greatest believer. He worked at the same art gallery as I once had, and he understood my restless heart better than anyone. It was through his unwavering encouragement that I would finally find the path I was meant to walk.

It wasn't until 1880, when I was already 27 years old, that I decided to dedicate my life entirely to art. With Theo’s financial and emotional support, I began to teach myself to draw and paint. My early works were nothing like the colorful paintings you might know today. They were dark, somber, and filled with the earthy colors of the Dutch countryside I knew so well. I drew miners with weary faces and peasants toiling in the fields. I wanted my art to be honest and true to life. In 1885, I painted what I considered my first great work, “The Potato Eaters.” I used deep, muddy browns and greens to show a poor family gathered under a single lamp, sharing a simple meal of potatoes they had dug from the earth with their own hands. I didn't want to make them pretty; I wanted to show their strength, their hardship, and their humanity. My life, and my art, changed forever when I moved to Paris in 1886 to live with Theo. The city was a whirlwind of new ideas and new art. For the first time, I saw the work of the Impressionists—painters who used bright, unmixed colors to capture the fleeting effects of light. Their canvases shimmered with life and energy. It was a revelation. I immediately abandoned my dark palette and began experimenting with the brilliant colors I saw all around me. My brushstrokes became bolder and more expressive as I learned to paint not just what I saw, but what I felt.

In February 1888, I left the bustling city of Paris behind, craving a place where the sun was even brighter and the colors more intense. I found it in Arles, a small town in the sun-drenched south of France. I was completely mesmerized by the golden light, the deep blue sky, and the vibrant landscape. I felt an explosion of creativity unlike anything I had ever known. I rented a small, bright yellow house—which I famously painted—and dreamed of starting a community where artists could live and work together. During this time, I painted with incredible speed and passion. I created my famous series of 'Sunflowers,' painting them in every stage of life to capture the power of the sun itself. I painted my bedroom, the local cafes at night, and the beautiful countryside. My dream for an artists' community seemed to be coming true when my friend, the artist Paul Gauguin, came to stay with me in October 1888. We talked about art for hours and painted side-by-side, but our personalities were very different, and our discussions often turned into intense arguments. Alongside my artistic passion, I also battled a severe mental illness that brought me periods of deep despair and anxiety. The pressure of working so intensely, combined with my arguments with Gauguin, led to a crisis in December 1888. In a moment of profound distress, I injured my own ear. It was a cry for help, a sign of an illness I could not control. After this, I voluntarily checked myself into a hospital in nearby Saint-Rémy in May 1889. Even there, surrounded by quiet gardens and confined by stone walls, I found solace in my art. Looking through the barred window of my room, I painted one of my most famous masterpieces, 'The Starry Night.' I poured all of my feelings—my awe, my loneliness, and my hope—into the swirling, cosmic energy of that night sky.

My final chapter began in May 1890, when I moved to the quiet village of Auvers-sur-Oise, near Paris, to be closer to Theo and under the care of a doctor who was a friend to artists. I felt a sense of peace there, and my creativity surged once more. I walked through the wheat fields every day, painting with a feverish intensity. In just over two months, I completed more than 70 paintings, nearly one a day. I painted the town church, the fields stretching out under troubled skies, and crows taking flight. But despite this incredible burst of work, the deep sadness and anxiety that had haunted me for so long returned. My inner struggle became too much to bear, and on July 29, 1890, at the age of 37, my life came to an end. My beloved brother Theo was with me when I passed. During my lifetime, I was a failure in the eyes of the world. I sold only one painting and was known by very few. But I never stopped believing in what I was doing. I wrote to Theo, “I can’t change the fact that my paintings don’t sell. But the time will come when people will recognize that they are worth more than the cost of the paint.” I painted the world not just as I saw it, but as I felt it, with every fiber of my being. And though it took many years, my art finally found its way into the hearts of people everywhere. My story is a reminder to look closely at the world, to find the beauty in ordinary things, and to never, ever give up on the unique light that shines inside you.