This is the first time I’ve ever painted myself.

I’m seated quietly on a train, lost in thought, wearing a weary expression that reflects something I often feel—disconnected, drained, like life is moving too fast and too routinely. Since the pandemic, I’ve noticed that so many of us go through our days in silence, weighed down by invisible burdens. The mood on public transport especially—it feels heavy. People sit together, but everyone is somewhere else.

But if you look closely at the window, you’ll see something extraordinary. In the reflection, I’m no longer alone. I’m having a conversation with someone I’ve never met, yet always admired: Vincent van Gogh.

When I first saw Starry Night as a child, it struck something deep in me. That swirling sky, that emotion—I didn’t fully understand it then, but I felt it. It was one of the reasons I became an artist. Van Gogh’s art spoke louder than words ever could. And even though we were born more than a century apart, I’ve always felt a strange, silent bond with him. We’re two artists from completely different times, but we share something timeless: a need to express what’s hard to explain, to turn feeling into form.

That’s why I named this painting A Listening Ear. We know Vincent’s story—his loneliness, his mental struggles, and the tragic moment when he cut off his own ear. He lived in a world that didn’t know how to listen. I often wish I could go back and just sit with him. Not to offer advice, but simply to be there. To listen. Even if he only had one ear left to hear me.

The two little cupids peeking over the seat behind me represent a lingering innocence—watchful, quiet, like tiny witnesses to something tender. Their presence reminds me that empathy is still possible, even in a world that rushes by.

Sometimes I wonder if I was born in the wrong era. There’s a word for that:

Eramnesia – the feeling of being out of place in time, wishing you belonged to another period.

Through this painting, I imagine breaking through time’s barrier to talk to an artist who understood pain and beauty in equal measure. It’s a tribute to him—and to anyone who’s ever felt unseen, unheard, or alone.

In the end, art is the bridge. Across centuries, across silence, it allows two souls to meet—if only in a reflection.

https://edition.cnn.com/style/article/van-gogh-ear-slash-motive-trnd/index.html