OH VINCENT Oh Vincent, can we ever know what torments plagued you; what demons fought you; what images raped your senses? It was no accident that you sent blinding blasts of brightness swirling, like hurled saucers to splatter upon your night sky canvases. There you found your voice feathered with mixed hues of unrelenting colors swished in among tired out bristles. Unconstrained, they brought to life the frenzied haunting façade of your crazed visions. Oh Vincent, you have tried to paint pictures of God, broken frames holding thoughts alive within a broken soul, You felt other’s deep sorrows and you placed your mournful tears upon empty spaces, and rendered images of a faceted life, conceived from a passionate heart. Oh Vincent, you created holy existences upon folios of painted scenes the glory of dreams carefully uncovered and laid bare to once again transcend life as permanent shapes and shadows. Evocative images were lured into sensory miracles of what you wanted to offer, and of all you had to offer You told your stories in ways only you could express. But, oh Vincent, I ask you, was it really ever enough? CAK 2-20-2014