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To Mr. Van Gogh, In a Capitalist World

What does one think about when they look at art?
Is it colours? Is it structure? Is it aesthetic?

Why do people see it as an object?

Art, to me, is dear.
Abstract, subjective, transparent, yet lucrative.

I draw the lines and curves,
and I paint them with the colours as I please.
If I didn’t do it for the love of it,
my art would be a failure.
But it is alive for me.

Every stroke paints a picture for me.

Oh, beloved and tragic Mr. Van Gogh,
how hard it is to just see it as something to love
in this world of capitalism and globalisation.
Where does abstract art lie?
Ignored. Deemed weird, unknowable, and disturbing.

Why is it so hard to survive in a world
where uniqueness and imagination feel rare?

Isn’t it why you dread life, Mr. Van Gogh?
The failure to gain recognition,
simply because people couldn’t see past what is on the surface.

I do not know you, sir.
I personally don’t. But as I look at your art,
I see me.
I see loneliness, sadness, isolation
and most of all, being misunderstood.
Even though you are gone,
your art has always been my company.

I love existentialism.
I love surrealism.
I love cosmic literature.
I enjoy painting them.

Free to see,
free to think,
free to interpret,
just, freedom.

So, Mr. Van Gogh,
if you had just revelled in your love of the freedom,
maybe you could have been saved... right?

But if you hadn't lament your failure,

you wouldn't be recognised...right?


Pain is capitalism, i guess

not beauty

not passion

not happiness

Pain, pain and pain


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