I pulled on the chain for my hotel window’s curtain, a small part of me hoping to see sunlight filling my room as the shade lifted. Nothing is more perfect than a sunny, autumn day in New York City.
With each tug, my room didn’t brighten. The puddles that were forming in the parking lot three stories down confirmed the weatherman on Channel 2 was accurate in the previous night’s forecast.
Rain.
Rain is not the end of the world. In fact, I kind of enjoy it. The water gives life to the plants, the animals, the forgotten. It washes away soot and smog and carries it to the sewer grates. It promises something new.
As often as I travel, of course I come prepared for rain; the word prepared meaning, “I know there is a small shop in the train station that sells umbrellas for $3, so if it rains, I’ll be okay.” Off to the shop I went. $3 umbrella purchased. Train boarded.
Forty five minutes later as I walk up the stairs from Penn Station to the streets of Manhattan, I open my new-found friend, the umbrella. What occurred in front of me was almost magical, the unnatural becoming natural. As my umbrella popped open to shield me from the pelting rain, so did umbrellas from the hundreds of people around me as they marched out of the undergrounds and into the street.
$3 umbrellas are black, but true New Yorkers carry umbrellas with style. Reds, yellows, green with white stripes, polka dots, pinks…one by one the umbrellas arched up and bloomed like flowers after a spring rain, each one taking a different shape, brightness, and place on the vertical landscape.
Maybe walking through this plastic garden in the rain wouldn’t be so bad after all.
One mile later, I found myself in front of a hotel where a friend of mine had just given a presentation. This friend is not only a friend, but a confidant, a mentor, and a soothsayer. I had no idea what plans he had for us, but we slid into a cab with our wet umbrellas and backpacks and he asked the cab driver to take us to the Museum of Modern Art.
He asked me if that was okay.
That is like asking me if eating a chocolate lava cake for dinner is okay.
(The correct answer is yes, just in case you were unaware of my deep appreciation for chocolate, and art for that matter).
We arrived, and my friend flashed his membership cards in the right places as we climbed the stairs. This was my first trip to the MOMA, and I had no idea what was even being exhibited. He grew up in a family surrounded by fine art, so his knowledge of each painter, each context, and how they came into being (or passing for that matter) is rich and vast. We wandered through several of the rooms as he crafted a story weaving through Seurat to van Gogh, from Matisse to Mondrian and Magritte.
What was the story of each painter? How was their art received in their time, and now?
But beneath the art history lesson, he had a subtle and necessary agenda.
How are these paintings and these similar to my own journey?
Occasionally, we’d sit in a room, and whatever collection we had just passed he transformed into something tangible and relevant to the very steps I’m taking right now. What does van Gogh have to do with my writer’s block? A lot, actually. And what about rejection and being confident with my work (and myself) can I learn from a formerly mocked work of Matisse? More than I can share here.
I’m no stranger to art — I studied it quite thoroughly growing up. As well known as Starry Night is, it has always been one of my favorites. Even my “I-don’t-want-to-be-trendy” point of view can’t escape it. It moved me deeply in 2005 when I was in a discouraging place. And to see it, finally, up close and personal, was a breathtaking moment. Tears formed in my eyes as we stood before a handful of more recognizable pieces of his work.
These paintings are part of Vincent van Gogh.
He painted these pieces.
He touched them.
He crafted them.
He created them.
Something in his heart made him paint.
And even as my friend drew similarities between life and van Gogh, I couldn’t help but realize the profound effect seeing the actual paintings was having on me. As true as the words my friend was speaking were, the fact he was saying them as I stared at these paintings caused me to wonder…
“What – and maybe more importantly how – am I painting?”
I write words and they are sometimes put in books. Sometimes they are digitally transferred onto my computer screen, and your computer screen. Are these words as purely conceived in the same way each layer of Starry Night was painted?
Will someone read them one day and think of the soul of the girl behind them and be amazed? In tears?
Please let me clarify: It’s not because I believe anyone should be amazed in me, as a person. I am just flesh and blood and spirit and mistakes and hope and a bad driver. And I’m fairly sure van Gogh didn’t have any “what will people think?” thoughts running through his mind as he painted, either.
However, I do believe there is a purity and honesty in each of us that can be released when we set aside our expectations, our fears, and our desire to please others and simply paint whatever that unspeakable and great thing that’s inside of us. The world will take notice. Not of us, but of the great Starry Night in us that will transcend them and inspire them into believing the truth about the goodness that is inside of them as well.
“I often think that the night is more alive and more richly colored than the day.” -Vincent Van Gogh
With this story, I only ask you to remember this: even in the darkest nights and the rainiest of days, moments of light and color mysteriously, majestically, and sometimes whimsically (like a rainbow of flowers disguised as umbrellas) shine through. Paint that truth.
Comments
26 responses to “From a Rainy Day to a Starry Night”
This is beautiful. Thank you.
lovely. and timely. thanks, once again, for sharing your heart.
:) Thank you.
thank you anne, for inspiring me to keep on writing the words inside of me
Awesome. Needed this today. Thanks so much for the encouragement.
yay, beautiful. perhaps you are unblocked. this lit me up Anne….i might smile all day.
Love it. A much needed reminder to simply be willing to pick up the paintbrush and see what comes from inside. Thanks!
Good, good stuff, Anne…thanks for this today. (raining in NC)
Thanks for continuing to show us how to paint portraits and landscapes of our lives that are authentic and true and real. Some days the colors and strokes are bold, wild, vivid, scary. Other days they are gentle and serene.
And as we do this, we honor Christ by relieving ourselves of the burdens we carry. And we make it safe for others to do the same.
Welcome to New York!
Oh Amen! That was absolutely beautiful!
You have a real gift! Thank you.
I think the day at MOMA took care of your writer’s block.
excellent post — I want to dance in the rain now (and I can’t even dance)
As someone who enjoys personal writing and painting, I love this. Thanks for sharing.
As a writer and an artist, I am oddly inarticulate right now, unable to tell you how much your post meant to me. But it did mean so much. Thanks for writing it. Thanks for sharing your gift with the world. Your words will be remembered by me always. :)
Very, very eloquent and moving. Good job!
Anne, noticed your’re going to Lancaster, CA next Sunday. If you’re still there on Monday, you might enjoy visiting one organization there, called the Grace Resource Center. It was founded by Ministerial Association and was among the first groups of churches in this country to band together to help people. Their stated purpose is to help “end hunger in the Antelope Valley.” When we were there 11 years ago, about 30 churches of many denominations were cooperating to do that.
That’s amazing. Unfortunately, I am leaving right after I speak to fly home on Sunday.
Your post is simply perfect.
Starry Night is probably my favorite painting…ever. There is such depth and beauty within it, deeper than even we can perceive with the eye. You have to experience it. We do all have such incredible art within us. The beauty is in discovering it.
I heard about you on the Catalyst podcast. I am just rookie blogger but mine is a similar subject. Being transparent, real, and perfectly imperfect. I would love the opportunity to talk chat if you ever have time. Thanks and I will totally suscribe to your feed!
This was beautiful.
I just came across your site because a commenter on my blog requested I take a look and I’m so amazed. I’m getting your book as soon as I can!
This is so beautiful, thank you.
Once I had to preach a narrative sermon to a group of preaching students who had just been studying the subject – after which they dissected it. I was all set for this to be a soul-destroying experience, and it was not.
AS a storyteller, one student said the nicest thing anyone has ever said about my preaching “you painted with words”.
Its a humbling thing…
Hi Anne,
I instantly pictured ‘The Starry Night’ in my mind…but what hit my heart was the section on setting aside our expectations, our fears and desire to please others… this has been something I have been wrestling… thank you for words.
I attended the Story conference last week, and one of the message that came out was that we love stories, but often we want a happy ending. Even as Christians we paint testimonies with happy endings, and yet in the midst of the rain, the brokenness, the struggle…there is beauty, life, hope, and purpose. Kudos for reminding us to paint the stories not only of the happy endings, but of the dark, rain, struggle, and brokenness and to see the color in the midst of that!
Thank you for these inspiring words today.
Starry Night has been my favorite since I saw it as a young girl. There was something so beautiful and hopeful and sad all wrapped up in it. I could relate to van Gogh at some deep level. On the front of my teaching notebook, where I keep track of all my students and my life I made a cover that has a reproduction of Starry Night with a great quote by Mary Ann Radamacher that pretty much sums up the painting and my life…
“Courage doesn’t always roar,
Sometimes courage is the quiet voice
at the end of the day saying
‘I will try again tomorrow.’”
Very well said, thanks for the inspiration ^_^