
Starry Night
Van Gogh painted the churning sky and its eleven stars from a window of the asylum at Saint-Rémy, partly from memory.

Van Gogh painted the churning sky and its eleven stars from a window of the asylum at Saint-Rémy, partly from memory.

The background ripples around his head like a current in the same blue-green as his suit, and his beard burns red against it.

Van Gogh loved the cypress and compared it to an Egyptian obelisk, then set one flaming up the right side of a Provençal field.

One white iris stands alone among a whole bed of blue-violet ones, the blades twisting and crowding right up to the edge of the canvas.

Three Breton women in white caps kneel at a wooden cross in an autumn field, everything flattened into blocks of color like stained glass.

The hills buckle and heave in the same thick strokes he gave his skies, so that the rock ends up moving too.