Flowers Too Late

A heartfelt tribute to the unseen artists, their struggles, and the enduring power of art to heal and console.

Flowers Too Late — Neha Ramrakhyani

Art is to console those who are broken by life. — Vincent Van Gogh

I’ve often found myself thinking and writing about art.

Can we ever concise its gravity in words?

Can we ever capture its depth in colors?

Art is everything, everywhere and everyone,

Yet it’s nothing at all if not valued.

So many artists die unrecognized, unappreciated.

And we don’t just lose life when we lose an artist,

We lose a perspective, a vision, a story, we lose art.

We lose what could have been a way of living, a masterpiece in making,

We lose a voice that had courage to speak but fell on deaf ears.

What good is it when you honor him by putting flowers on his grave,

When all his life you made him feel like he had done nothing but failed.

When actually it was you who had failed,

To recognize the greatness in the numbered days he persisted,

While he struggled to find a single companion that would stay.

I often feel that artists perceive things differently, a tad too deeply, a little more intensely.

Perhaps that’s their greatness and also their tragedy.

And I feel everyone is capable of feeling the same way,

And they surely would, if there was a job for it that would pay.

I wonder what will happen to me and my words,

Will my voice be heard or will flowers be put on my grave?

Vincent says art is to console those who are broken by life,

I say, art is to heal the artists who refuse to be broken by life.