By Melyna Gilbert
It started in a small room with plaques describing Van Gogh’s life. It was bland, empty, and held no emotional connection to him. It was almost like they didn’t want you to feel his pain. But once you stepped through the doorway, it was like coming into a completely different life. Colors and images splashing against the walls and floor; you walked into his paintings as a new person. You couldn’t help but stare with your jaw hanging low as the works panned in and out of frame. You couldn’t help but walk in circles as his life flashed before your eyes in the stills of his blood and sweat. And after the slides had finished, you couldn’t not stay a second time to see it all again, and bask in the way he captured life so gorgeously despite his anguish. The people around you changed and blurred together, as you all witnessed his life go by in the span of an hour. And as you got ready to leave, they walked in and grabbed everyone’s attention. Older than most, but still with a jaunty walk. There was nothing outwardly exceptional about them. Much like you, they were transfixed to the projections, lost in the charm of his works. But as the minutes beat by, they walked with a rhythm to their steps. The man twirled his wife, and suddenly, they were dancing to a song no one could hear, yet everyone knew. They beamed and laughed as they went around the room in a simple waltz, and everyone watched as they performed. They were lovers dancing to the song of passion. To you, they were Van Gogh and the world: lovers dancing to the song of passion. And finally, after the slides had ended again, they fell into a seat, in a heap of smiles and giggles, as they watched Van Gogh’s life again.