Viva La France!!

Hello friend of mine.  Hope you are fat on pastry crust, art, and wild Parisian love (with hubby).  I read this today and it made me murmur out loud - something we've discussed; like coming upon a friendly animal in the road.  Tenderness.

From the Writer's Almanac, March 30, 2012: 

It's the birthday of Vincent van Gogh, born in Zundert, Holland (1853), a painter and also great letter-writer. He wrote about art, of course, but also friendship, religion, prostitutes, interior decorating, and his love affairs. His letters are often lively, engaging, and passionate; they also frequently reflect his struggles with bipolar disorder. He wrote: "I have a terrible need of — shall I say the word — religion. Then I go out and paint the stars." And he wrote: "What am I in the eyes of most people — a nonentity, an eccentric, or an unpleasant person — somebody who has no position in society and will never have; in short, the lowest of the low. All right, then — even if that were absolutely true, then I should one day like to show by my work what such an eccentric, such a nobody, has in his heart." 

Poor Vincent, poor artists.  May we love them all.

(P.S. I sent the first 50 of my novel to an agent this morning.  I'm pretty sure it will not be his cup of tea.  Still, it feels great to cross a thing off a list.  I am addicted to tasks!)