By Danel 
Vincent van Gogh was the most unique person among the artists ever created in the world. Those who didn’t understand his painting ability at the time have never thought of him except one painter.
No one at the time realized that Van Gogh’s paintings would be the greatest and most beloved of all time. People close to him say that the Dutch artist Van Gogh has lived in poverty all his life and burned some of his paintings in the winter to prevent the cold.
In his life he was able to sell only one painting «Red grape vegetable» for 400 Swiss francs. But after he died in poverty, he left behind more than 900 paintings and art works.
History shows that when he was alive he was suffering from severe mental problems and throwing diseases. He was a poor and silent man who couldn’t get a single bread for his daily bread. Yes the universe may understand the price you are paying even if it’s too late. But then you might not be able to live.
Let me share with you one of the letters Vincent van Gogh sent to his brother Tewo.
( .. Dear tewo.. 
)
How’s life going? What else is the use of the mind other than making us lose our happiness on things and leading us to depression?. Before my brush and paint gets old, I am getting old. Even if I rebuild things, time will bend and everything will fall apart. What should I do? My desire to create new lines and colors other than what my eyes are used to is increasing every day.
Old colors have a sad spark in my heart. Is it natural or is it just my eyes hurt? ፤ It is like I have lighted a fire that is not useful to warm the cold inside me!.
There are lines of happiness in my sad heart. My colors look like a neck between a bird and wheat. Like bending down for what I need not what I want. I wish I could remove my suffering on my head just like the farmer can remove the dust from his shoes. He may not be fully released but I know he has some fun. Ugly things are the qualities of art that we can find in beautiful things. And the eye of the artist will never miss that.
You will be surprised I posted a picture of myself today. And every morning when I look in the mirror I say to myself: “You slim face, you ugly Vincent face, why can’t you be happy?” “When I’m done I’ll spit on the mirror.” Yes I changed my face today but not how nature wanted it to be. Painted my two eyes green to have the determination of a wolf, for my face that is like a fire beard. My ears are poked up in the picture. I don’t need no editing. The fact that I put on my brush when I was shaved is not a clear vision of my identity. The thing is mixed up. My brain ends up in the middle of the painting as soon as it goes up and down. So what am I going to do with that extra piece of meat?. Should I make it a girl for those who don’t know my worth and think I love her?. It doesn’t matter, the benefit is in the same. Here my ears will tell that talkative woman. Now I can see and hear with my fingers. The sixth sense out of the five, the combination of the brush and the finger will do even more. The painting creates life on the canvas, makes you laugh, makes you angry, and burns the canvas if he wants to.
I always sit alone and meditate. Yes the world has made her wrinkle old. The look of the painting makes me even more sad. I am afraid that my spiritual anxiety will fall and kill me. Brushes, paints and my speed, straight and short streak, silky and graceful my colors are clear and antique. I want the red, yellow and blue world to turn things into a sudden explosion like it was hatched from the first space egg.
I still remember this. When it’s about to be late or before dawn, the horizon of the sun drenches the sky with red color. We were on our way to steal some wild fruits. Climbed the tree when we got there. After a while I saw a yellow bird with a green dot on the top of the tree, I started to get fascinated. When the smallest bird jumps happily between the branches, it suddenly lands on me when it’s scales. When it realizes that it’s perched on the tip of my chest, it pushes its twisted neck in shock and jumps to escape. After a few minutes of struggle she said goodbye to me like she was carrying a broken neck. I remember I was twelve years old then. And I’ve been thinking for a long time about the bird that left me in my white shirt. If my chest opened when she was sitting in my clean shirt, I would be seen beating the drum with joy. I don’t want the idea is too much.
This is how you are hiding in a wheat field and I see yellow color lying from the sky. I bask in the rays of this bright planet; wherever the spirit of the world is, I will stare at it endlessly until the sunlight melts my eyes. Two things move my soul. Watching the sun and dying. I love walking among the stars. I know my poor body is holding me back!. When are we going to wipe the blood that we spilled in our west and leave this place? Where would we go if we could?. Towards our real dream?.
Yesterday I put myself in the wheat field and painted the clay where the flowers were sitting with an old brush. When I do like this, yellow and red wagon will be airless from my head like a bird’s memory. Yes, just as birds do not fly without air, and fish do not live without water, so am I without suffering. Rough wheat and bird chirping, again wheat and bird this is replaying in my head. Everything is just a dream. The vanity of dreams and old brushes are the pictures that we were deceived by time. But soon I’ll be cleaning my dust. And I’ll release the bird from my chest into the sun. Yes, I will be attacked by a sword with this weapon! ፡፡
My truth is burning like a wood on fire. Life is as grey as black and white. Her grayness will be like carrying endless misfortune. Grey is red, grey is blue, grey is green. Tobacco is driven and life is flowing. Gray has a bitter taste, we often mix it unknowingly, but later we regret it. Just like life, the more we age, the more our tomorrow gets attached to it. This is why I leave her at the top. But why do you think? She falls again, she breaks again. Suffering never ends until her age!. Bye bye Tio. I’m going to spring..