The first time I saw The Starry Night, I swore I had seen it before.
I don’t mean that I had noticed it once as a child when I didn’t appreciate
beauty, but rather that it had existed in my memory before I was even born.
As if it was always there in the collective unconscious, waiting for someone
to put it on canvas; like van Gogh plucked it from (what Charles Fort called)
the magnolia.
Always The Alpha 