Before this painting, the sky was just the top part of a landscape. Something you filled in and moved on from. This is where Van Gogh stops and really looks up. And doesn't stop looking for the rest of his life. Clouds, sun, stars. It all starts here. That swirling chaos above the field isn't decoration. It's the Mistral. A cold, dry, relentless wind that rips through Provence and genuinely drives people mad. Van Gogh lived inside that wind.
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