I’m not sure what possesses a person to the point of creative madness, but Vincent Van Gogh was exactly that. In an era of simple solace for the average peasant, dealing with the constant barrage of thoughts and visions must have been undaunting. Embracing the story of his life, one can depict the relentless onslaught of emotions he struggled with. His hundreds of letters corresponding with his brother Theo, line the trail of his journey into his tormented abiss. Even his incarceration into the asylum wouldn’t tarnish his thirst for creativity. His episodes of manic behavior cast the off color light over his work, thus leaving him unrecognized for the underlying brilliance for generations to come. It’s almost as if attempts by the world to get him to conform pushed him further towards that edge he somehow feared. All this emotional turmoil manifested itself into the brilliance we know today.