The Starry Night

Look at me. Can you see my swirly, whirly sky? It’s a deep, deep blue, like the sky just before you go to bed. And look at my stars. They are like bright little lemon drops sprinkled all over. My big, glowing moon shines like a happy nightlight. Way down below, there is a sleepy little town with tiny, cozy houses. A tall, dark green tree reaches up, up, up, like it wants to tickle the sky. I am full of wonder and bright colors. I am a painting, and my name is The Starry Night. I love to dream and I love to shine for you.

The man who made me had a magic brush. His name was Vincent. Vincent had very big feelings in his heart, sometimes happy and sometimes sad. He also had a super big imagination. He took his thick, bright paints—yellows, blues, and whites—and put them on me with his swirling brush. Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh. He painted me a long, long time ago, in the year 1889. He didn't look out a window to see the stars. Instead, he closed his eyes and remembered the most beautiful, wonderful night he could ever imagine. He painted the dream that was inside his heart.

Even though my painter, Vincent, felt sad sometimes, he created me to share something beautiful with everyone. Today, I live in a big, quiet place called a museum. Friends from all over the world come to look at my swirly sky. I show them that even when it’s very dark, there is always light and wonder. Looking at me is like dreaming with your eyes wide open. I hope I remind you that your imagination is the brightest star of all.