How strange it all is. Outside the grocery store, there was a large rack holding around two dozen potted sunflowers, each plant with a bright, cheerful bloom. I said to my wife, “If I could really paint or draw, I would make a similar scene, with one addition — Van Gogh, crazed, looking on. And each of his eyes would be sunflowers.”
Van Gogh’s Dream
One day, Van Gogh was trying to paint a sunflower. But the harder he worked at it, the more difficult the job became.
He was about to give up and take a walk when suddenly a bee flew into his room. Ignoring the artist completely, the insect went straight to the flower. It emerged a few seconds later covered with pollen, then sped away through Van Gogh’s open window.
There was a knock on the door. When Van Gogh opened it, a beautiful little girl came in. She went straight to the flower. Admiring it from every possible angle, she laughed with delight and said, Pretty flower, you and I are friends. Then she left without noticing Van Gogh’s presence.
Wondering what would happen next, the artist waited. Someone knocked. It was an old blind man. Carefully feeling his way with a long cane, he managed to find the flower. It is truly a miracle, he said, caressing its magnificent yellow petals. Now I will die a happy man.
Van Gogh smiled. After the blind man’s departure, he looked at the sunflower for a long, long time. Then he picked up his brush, closed his eyes, and started painting again.
No Time to Cut My Hair, Author’s Press Series, 2009
Story 38 of 70 written in 90 days, 200 words, September 23, 2002
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