I just finished watching Vincent and The Doctor and I must say what a beautiful episode that was. In this episode The Doctor takes Vincent Van Gogh to the Musée d'Orsay in the year 2010 to show him the exhibit made in his honor. Vincent, stunned and emotionally overwhelmed overhears Mr. Black, a curator, say:
The Doctor: "where do you think van Gogh rates in the history of art?"
Mr. Black: "well, um, big question. But, to me, Van Gogh is the finest painter of them all. Certainly the most popular, great painter of all time. The most beloved. His command of color the most magnificent. He transformed the pain of his tormented life into ecstatic beauty. Pain is easy to portray...but to use your passion and pain to portray the ecstasy and joy and magnificence of our world... no one had ever done it before. Perhaps no one ever will again. To my mind, that strange, wild man who roamed the fields of Provence was not only the world's greatest artist, but also one of the greatest men who ever lived."
Not only did that scene pull at my heart strings... but then I thought of the real tormented man. The man who took his life without ever knowing his true value. A man who will never know. Can you even imagine what it is like to suffer from depression, anxiety, and mental illness? To feel so utterly sad and alone that ending your own life seems like a better option than living? Then, to imagine this tortured soul creating magnificent art--only to be ridiculed. He was undervalued, unappreciated, and bullied. I can't even begin to imagine what it was like to be in his emotional state while others only added salt to the wounds. He died probably believing he was a nobody... a worthless nobody. If only he could have known.
If only all of us could know our worth before death.
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