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        结果睡到9点多就起了，不想睡了。
        上海却被云层笼罩，已不是小唐说的“天气很好”。
        这幅画是在家里画的，一开始并不知道会画成什么样子，学着klee让画面自己生长。画得很开心。
        昨日候机的时候把凡高的小册子看完了，发现他其实并不是那样的不食人间烟火。绘画也许是他的生命，也许是他逃避现实的武器，我不知道这样说对不对，没有仔细研究过，只是隐隐觉得很多赞颂者已把他神化了。他很正常，有梦想，有欲望。那册子里，凡高对自我和画作的审省，像是一个个预言，他知道自己的人生悲剧，甚至先知了世人对他的认可将留到他短暂的生命逝去以后。而他在向弟弟索要生活和创作的费用时，是那么地自得和自信，有时更像是在依赖。幸得特奥，这个一直无条件理解和支持他的弟弟，凡高终于坚定了自己的理想和信念。有时觉得很不理解乃至嫉妒，为什么特奥会如此地厚待他这个“一无是处”的哥哥，想是上帝创造了两个凡高，一个画画，一个某生计，文森特离世后一年，特奥竟也随之而去了。
        总之现在头脑里有两句话，一句是在某日偶看《爱拍电影》时主持人的总结，“如果你不选择梦想，那么梦想就永远不会选择你”；而另一句则是来自凡高的，“人生其实很短，而你自己有足够勇气，对什么都不畏惧的日子，更是有限”。
        我终于知道，凡高其实并不像阿甘那样“无知”，他只是很勇敢。

        给喜欢凡高的同学，也许你们早就知道：
        凡高全集（中文）  http://vincent.hdcafe.net/index.htm
        Vincent Van Gogh Gallery（英文/中文） http://www.vangoghgallery.com/

        真想看下他的真迹。

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Vincent
Don Mclean

Starry starry night
paint your palette blue and grey
look out on a summer's day
with eyes that know the darkness in my soul.
Shadows on the hills
sketch the trees and the daffodils
catch the breeze and the winter chills
in colors on the snowy linen land.
And now I understand
what you tried to say to me
and how you suffered for your sanity
and how you tried to set them free.
They would not listen they did not know how
perhaps they'll listen now.

Starry starry night
flaming flowers that brightly blaze
swirling clouds in violet haze
reflect in Vincent's eyes of China blue.
Colors changing hue
morning fields of amber grain
weathered faces lined in pain
are smoothed beneath the artist's loving hand.
And now I understand
what you tried to say to me
and how you suffered for your sanity
and how you tried to set them free.
They would not listen they did not know how
perhaps they'll listen now.

For they could not love you
but still your love was true
and when no hope was left in sight on that
starry starry night.
You took your life as lovers often do,
But I could have told you Vincent
this world was never meant for one as beautiful as you.

Starry starry night
portraits hung in empty halls
frameless heads on nameless walls
with eyes that watch the world and can't forget.
Like the stranger that you've met
the ragged men in ragged clothes
the silver thorn of bloddy rose
lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow.
And now I think I know
what you tried to say to me
and how you suffered for your sanity
and how you tried to set them free.
They would not listen they're not listening still
perhaps they never will.