Vincent's Mind

For the More Than This Competition. Vincent Van Gogh's life is so unbearable that unknowingly he created a world that is entirely his own. He doesn't know what is real and what is not. Constantly he asks himself if there is more to his life than this. He has to cope with Manic Depression through his life in the 19th Century which ulimatley stops him from seeing life for what what it really is. He stumbles through the world making mistakes which aren't really his fault, but he thrives through the madness and produces the best artwork our world has seen to date. Guaranteed to change your view on the greatest artist known to man.


4. September 1888

Arles was a much more beautiful than Vincent had ever hoped for. After a very distressing nine years, he had decided to take a break from it all and move to a peaceful town, where he could work on his art. Enchanted by local landscape and light, he began to paint some astonishing things.


A café which shone in the moonlight captured his eye and that day he decided to paint it. Just opposite he placed his easel down, and started to paint. That café held many memories for him, and most of which weren’t very pleasant. He remembered getting so drunk one night that he stumbled around inside singing a Christmas song in July. He thought about all those depressing rejections of his artwork and a memory of his broken nose painfully came to mind. Yet Vincent sat smiling as he painted, as he remembered that one night where he had sold a painting to a young couple, both of which were odd but happy. One wore a short dress with flowing auburn hair, while the other had a tweed jacket and a beaming bow-tie. They really made him feel that he was living the life he had always wanted.


Deciding to go inside, he left his art and got a drink. After a few whiskeys, he returned only to find a man looking at his work. And he was smiling. Laughing? “What do you want?” asked Vincent roughly, his cheeks inflamed. The man turned to look at him, and one thing that struck Vincent as odd was his dark curled moustache and beard. “Sorry, I was just admiring your painting” he said in an unfamiliar accent. Vincent was taken-aback. Nobody liked his paintings. “Really?” he retorted.


The strange man nodded, wondering why this painter was surprised. “I’m Gauguin, and I’m also an artist.” He offered his hand which Vincent shook cautiously. “Vincent Van Gogh.”


From that day their friendship blossomed.

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