Loving Vincent

Choosing an occupation isn't so easy for some, not easy at all for many, and can be a source of frustration for those who don't have much desire to do anything, for the majority of their lives, even if they develop expensive tastes for automobiles, or, perhaps, exotic vacation destinations.

Social evaluations of job titles and financial motivations can be disheartening as well, especially if that which you never wanted to do earns less money than something else which someone else never wanted to do, when situated within the context of various cultural mating rituals.

But some make the decision to follow their hearts despite dismissive pretensions or a reliable income, and apply themselves vigorously to something they love doing, much to the dismay of people who never really loved or had any desire to do anything, it's a strange social phenomenon that can discombobulate if considered logically.

The disenchantingly bizarro.

Competing discourses of maturity.

It's not like this with everyone, but in Loving Vincent a tragic account of exclusivity explains why the brilliant painter Vincent van Gogh (Robert Gulaczyk) was unable to feel at peace throughout his professional life.

He spent years painstakingly developing an original style that was only moderately celebrated during his lifetime (he only sold one painting for instance), and never really felt as if he fit in.

Cast out from his hometown, judged peculiar by his parents, unsuccessful with traditional occupations, a depression set in which was soothed by constant work.

Loving Vincent celebrates that work in one of the most beautiful films I've seen.

Perhaps the most beautiful, I've never seen anything like it before.

Like a distant graceful star consciously transmitted its sympathetic and understanding warmhearted radiance to the brushstrokes of dozens of gifted artists, and left them capably distilling sweetly flowing raw solar energy with the tender care of loving parents who seek to bless their children's youth and adolescence with the utmost imaginative uncompromising love and sacrifice, and simultaneously, through an act of synthetic genius, fluidly articulated the starstruck luminescent incandescent joyful orchestrations of the children as well, thereby exemplifying freespirited innocence and wonder, like an enchanting and carefree perpetual Christmas morn, Loving Vincent harnesses gregarious gifts and shares them with modest intent bewilderment, delicately crafting an image of a curious soul, who was tragically misunderstood if not overlooked by dull considerations of propriety.

I'm sure Loving Vincent will view well on a television screen, but it's so worth checking out in theatres.

To say that it should be seen in theatres wouldn't be fitting, however, due to the laissez-faire chill style of the lauded humble subject in question.

I agree with the postmaster (Chris O'Dowd), animals really can know your heart at first sight, but you have to be willing to know theirs too in order to notice.

It's like they intuitively sense love, good, evil.

More than 100 artists came together to craft Loving Vincent's unique oil paint animation.

Quality and quantity immersed in effervescent equilibrium, it's like collective conscious soul, cinematically reified, by acrobatic admirers.

What a painter.

What a calling.

What an artist.

His conflicted infinities, ingeniously underscored.

His extant outputs, kaleidoscopically exceeding.