Art Stories: The Failure of Van Gogh’s The Starry Night


Van Gogh considered The Starry Night to be a failure. The stars were too big.

Vincent van Gogh (1853-1890) painted The Starry Night from an asylum in Saint-Rémy, during the daytime, from memory, one year before he took his own life. The painting came from what made Vincent so compelling– a mind ablaze with color, motion, and wonder.

The Starry Night belonged to a series of canvases he painted while in the asylum. In a letter to his brother Theo, he wrote of the series, “All in all the only things I consider a little good in it are the Wheatfield, the Mountain, the Orchard, the Olive trees with the blue hills, and the Portrait, and the Entrance to the quarry, and the rest says nothing to me.”[1] When bundling the series together to send them to Theo, he left three canvases out to save on shipping costs. Among those three was The Starry Night.

One reason the painting did not sit well with Vincent was because in it he intentionally experimented with a type of abstraction that was becoming increasingly popular in the art world. In other words, he was experimenting with what he hoped would be a more marketable technique. This felt duplicitous to Vincent even as he painted it. In a letter to painter Émile Bernard, he wrote, “I once or twice allowed myself to be led astray into abstraction, as you know… But that was delusion, dear friend, and one soon comes up against a brick wall… And yet, once again I allowed myself to be led astray into reaching for stars that are too big—another failure—and I have had my fill of that.”[2]

Vincent was captured by the sky. He painted it often, and spoke of it as being a way he communed with God and found some measure of peace for his tormented mind.

Russ Ramsey

When Vincent looked at The Starry Night, he felt he had sold himself out by pandering to a commercial trend. The stars were too big. This distance he felt from The Starry Night is ironic, since this is the painting most people associate with him when they hear his name.

Sure I know Vincent van Gogh. He painted The Starry Night.

Another bit of irony here is that, though he did not personally sell this painting during his lifetime, his attempt to create something marketable turned out to be extremely successful. Show me a college dorm and I will show you at least a dozen prints of The Starry Night.

Vincent’s distance from this painting is such a common story among artists. How many songwriters, poets, painters, writers, and film-makers have in their catalogues work they either regret making or feel conflicted about? Perhaps it is a work that portrays a worldview or conviction the artist has since modified or abandoned. Or maybe they made something for commercial reasons, but never felt like it was a true representation of who they are. Or perhaps they created something with or about another person, and that relationship has since been severed or strained.

Take it beyond the fine arts into the common creative ventures of life— ideas about parenting, what a healthy marriage looks like, how a person measures success, what we believe deserves the best of our time and effort.

We have all gone down the wrong roads at times, chasing what we thought was best in the moment. We all have statements, wardrobe choices, opinions, relational pursuits, ways of interacting, and life choices we’ve made in our pasts from which we’d love to distance ourselves. And we’d be fools to think we’re not in the process of doing these things right now. We all have places in our lives where we’ve made the stars too big.

And yet, Vincent was captured by the sky. He painted it often, and spoke of it as being a way he communed with God and found some measure of peace for his tormented mind. Vincent was a deeply wounded man and in another letter to Theo he confessed his “tremendous need for, shall I say the word—for religion—so I go outside at night to paint the stars.”[3]

Vincent went on to say, “It would be so simple and would account so much for the terrible things in life, which now amaze and wound us so, if life had yet another hemisphere, invisible it is true, but where one lands when one dies.”[4]

Here lies another case of duplicity in Vincent’s heart. It seems he wanted the stars he painted to be smaller and his life’s work to be more realistic, but he also hoped that the sky he studied would go on and on into a vast and eternal splendor made for him.

May we all be so duplicitous.




About the Art: Vincent van Gogh, The Starry Night, 1889, Oil on canvas, 73.7 cm × 92.1 cm, Museum of Modern Art, New York City.

[1] Van Gogh Letters Project, no. 805

[2] de Leeuw, Ronald (ed.) (1996). The Letters of Vincent van Gogh. London: Penguin Books. p. 469. ISBN 978-0-140-44674-6.

[3] Van Gogh Letters Project, no. 691

[4] Naifeh & Smith 2011, p. 858n

Russ Ramsey is the pastor of Christ Presbyterian Church Cool Springs in Nashville, Tennessee, where he lives with his wife and four children. He grew up in the fields of Indiana and studied at Taylor University and Covenant Theological Seminary (MDiv, ThM). Russ is the author of the Retelling the Story Series (IVP, 2018) and Struck: One Christian’s Reflections on Encountering Death (IVP, 2017).


  1. Michael Gowin

    Your article, Russ, stands in aching juxtaposition to Doug McKelvey’s post from yesterday, “100-Year Vision.” It’s so hard sometimes for artists to see the value in their work when they make it, especially when what is trendy (though banal) gains mass appeal and achieves commercial success.

    Both of these posts remind me of the prophet Jeremiah, who for 23 years preached to people who wouldn’t listen (25.3). But the call is never to results; the call is to faithfulness.

  2. Russ Ramsey


    This is a great comment, Michael. Thanks for making that connection between the two posts. I’m drawn to the ache in art– the beauty rendered and the cost involved.

  3. Meagan M. Smith


    Very well written, indeed. I really enjoy these art-based posts, it takes me right back to the hours I spent in Art History courses throughout college. Thank you for the time you put into this and for the thoughtfulness through which you highlight qualities within ourselves. I imagine that every artist longs for such connection.

  4. Judy Johannesen

    I am wondering if you are familiar with Marilyn Chandler McEntyre’s small poetry anthologies on the art of Vermeer, Rembrandt and Van Gogh? She ends her reflection on “The Starry Night” with this:

    “… How much of life he gave for this

    we cannot know. We only know that something precious

    as nard was poured out at the foot of these hills,

    the blue, the yellow bought with solitary tears.”

  5. Holly Deutsch


    I get so much Hope from Van Gogh considering The Starry Night a failure. It’s a call to keep offering up and pouring out and it’s not for us to judge what may or may not resonate years later.

  6. Jim Crotty

    Beautiful and wonderful. The work we think is not good enough based on our own doubts – but we step out and take a chance anyway – becomes the extension of our hearts, our dreams, our prayers. And then God steps in and takes it much further. Art is a holy connection that defies both time and the limits of our own doubts and fears. People “feel” something in work completed for the pure love of connection, expression and beauty.

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