I travel quite a bit, so I end up watching movies I normally wouldn’t, whether do to quality or time constraints. Or simply because I’d never heard of them before. The latter was the case with Loving Vincent.

It’s the story of Vincent Van Gogh told through details found in his letters. It’s a live-action film painted to reflect his style. I can’t even imagine the amount of work involved, but the finished product is just beautiful.

I went on a Google search to learn more about Vincent. I have always loved his painting Starry Night (as I’m sure everybody does), but I wasn’t sure if it was called Starry Night or Starry Starry Night. It turns out it’s the former. I’m not sure where my misconception came from, but as I’ve heard others refer to it this way, it’s possibly due to a song written about the painting called Vincent, the first line of which is “Starry, starry night…”

I was struck with the sudden desire to see the original of the copy that hangs on my office wall. A little more Googling, and I was surprised to find it resides in New York!

It’s been in the possession of the The Museum of Modern Art since 1941. Well, this settled it, the next time I was in NYC I would go visit.

Two weeks later I would get my chance. MOMA offers free admission on Friday nights from 4 p.m. to 8 p.m. Their website warmed me I should arrive early because there tends to be a line.

I checked my schedule and I would be out of radiation early enough to get in line by 3:30 p.m. I heartily congratulated myself as I walked there. Envisioning myself arriving first and and getting a solitary moment with the painting.

As I arrived, I was told the line was on the other side of the building. I rushed around and found they were already letting in hordes of guests. I really only had one interest in my search of the museum. Perhaps it was a bit like deciding I would only be having the dessert, but I could not be swayed in my single minded interest and headed directly for the fifth floor.

As I followed the escalators up, I felt this sense of excitement building within me. To say I was giddy would have been an understatement. My child like glee becoming more pronounced with each level I reached.

I saw the crowd before I saw the painting, and knew I’d see it as I came around a short wall. The moment I laid eyes on it I cried. I make it a habit of not restraining my emotions lately and I let it all flow out of me even though I could not tell exactly why I was overcome.

The copy I have at home does not to it justice. My copy is darker, and doesn’t even show most of the town bordering the bottom. I drank up the details, the brush strokes, and the colors.

I studied it as I continued to cry. I thought about an article I’d read about the painting where “They found that van Gogh’s art, in particular in paintings from periods when his mental illness was at a peak, mirrors natural turbulence down to mathematical precision.” Somehow his mind had tapped into something scientist have trouble explaining or deciphering.

After several minutes, I took close up pictures of the details, wiped my eyes, and posed for two selfies. The guard standing next to the painting asked, “You good now?” and we both laughed. I walked around for a few minutes figuring I should make an attempt to show interest in the other art, but my heart wasn’t into it and I found myself back in front of Starry Night.

After a time, I walked down to the bookstore and out into the art garden, where I sat for a spell. I left grateful for the opportunity to see this masterpiece in person, knowing I would be back to visit it again before I left New York City.