The Art Project

Late last night I discovered the art project. A site that enables you to explore museums across the world, view hundreds of artworks at incredible zoom levels, and also create and share your own collection of masterpieces.


www.googleartproject.com


At MoMA, The Museum of Modern Art in New York, I came across Van Gogh's The Starry Night, which suddenly made me go hunting for Don McLean's 1971 album American Pie, which has, what I think is the best song he ever wrote and sang, Vincent. And thanks to Anthony DiFatta, you can watch a collection of Vincent's paintings while you listen to the song. Just for the heck of it, I've captured the lyrics below.

Vincent

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;

How you suffered for your sanity,

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 soothed beneath the artist's loving hand.

And now I understand what you tried to say to me;

How you suffered for your sanity,

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 strangers that you've met

The ragged men in ragged clothes

The silver thorn of bloody rose

Lie crushed and broken

On the virgin snow. 

And now I think I know what you tried to say to me;

How you suffered for your sanity,

How you tried to set them free.

They would not listen,

They're not listening still;

Perhaps they never will.