Late in 1888, deteriorating mental health and a self-mutilated left ear led the Dutch painter Vincent Van Gogh to check himself into an asylum in Saint-Remy-de-Provence in Southern France. It was there, in 1889, that he created “Starry Night,” one of the world’s most famous paintings.
Many have described the work as a mirror image of Van Gogh’s inner turbulence, with swirling clouds racing through the center of the canvas, and a foreboding, gloomy Cypress dominating the foreground. Maybe. I see something very different.
I see light dominating what one would expect to be a dark scene. After all, despite all of the stars and planets and zooming objects forever fighting off the effects of earth-borne light pollution, the sky is still overwhelmingly dark. And yet, Van Gogh gives us a wondrous panoply of bright stars, a glowing moon and even includes, according to the experts, a very accurate depiction of Venus just to the right of the Cypress. I look at this painting and I don’t see darkness or turbulence; I am drawn to the light.
“Starry Night” illuminates. Starlight outshines the light coming from the homes of Van Gogh’s imaginary village, though that light, as well, is so very welcomed. In addition, this is not a typical night sky. It’s blue. Now, perhaps this is just the artist taking artistic license. Or, it may be that Van Gogh combined visions of a night sky with that of one at daybreak.
Either way, it echoes what he wrote to his brother, Theo: “hope’s in the stars.”
No, I don’t see depression or sadness. I think we only focus on the darkness of the night sky because it gives contrast to the endless points of light. Maybe, for Van Gogh, and perhaps for the rest of us, light and darkness must exist as a pair. That’s the thought that keeps popping up in my head as March arrives and the days grow a bit longer. If I need more light, and hope—and I always do—I look to the sky.
This month is, perhaps, the best time to see the light and the hope in the stars. Warmer weather, low humidity and some of the easiest to observe celestial sights converge.
Nowhere is the interplay of light and dark more obvious than on the Moon. The best place to study it, in my opinion, is right along its terminator, its dividing line between night and day.
Right along that line on the Moon, it becomes obvious that light and darkness can certainly belong together.
However, as beautiful as the Moon may be, March belongs to the stars. It’s a great time for naked eye views of six of the sky’s brightest. You don’t have to stay up late to catch Sirius (Canis Major), Arcturus (Bootes), Capella (Auriga), Rigel (Orion), Procyon (Canis Minor) and Betelgeuse (Orion).
Compared to our very average 4.5-billion-year-old Sun, these guys are all in the Hall of Fame. For example, Rigel is more than 100,000 times more luminous. Betelgeuse can fit 800 Suns within its massive form. Vega is aging ten times faster than the Sun, while Sirius is a mere baby at just 230 million years old.
The stars didn’t cure Van Gogh, but he was clearly inspired by them. “I dream my painting,” he said, “and I paint my dream.” Whether it’s Van Gogh’s stars or the ones in the March night sky, I’m very thankful for them. Like “Starry Night,” they are, indeed, illuminating. They have stories to tell and, most importantly, they help us tell our own.