Starry Night Sandwich

Historically, I've never been a huge fan of the maxi skirt.  And not just because it shares a name with a feminine hygiene product.  But because I thought it was matronly and a little sloppy, a too grown-up, up-market commune hybrid.  Yet over the years, I've let down my guard (and hemlines), allowing long lengths to infiltrate my wardrobe.  This spring, I've seen more maxis than ever, which means that they're in the style spotlight.  And that I'll be -- ahem --maximizing my wear of this trend.  Spoiler alert: I'm loving my new ankle dusters.  Instead of making me feel like a frumpy mum (no, I'm not British, but "frumpy mum" flows so much better than "frumpy mom"), they make me feel sophisticated, like a woman of the world.  Or at least one who pronounces quinoa correctly.  So I went whole hog and topped off these looks with upswept, lady-of-the-house hair.  The husband said it was wedding hair (it was more ringlety in person).  But then, he also said that the bag in outfit number two was a baby tiger I caught to keep as a purse.  So, not the most reliable of non-narrators.

Betsey Johnson, Macy's 

Anyway, I couldn't decide whether to pair the blue skirt with an orange or yellow top, so I went with both.  In person, I preferred the orange, but in the pictures, it was yellow that won.  Such is the yin and yang of the clotheshorse life.  Yet the most noticeable thing about this skirt (which is, by the way, Nine West from Kohl's) isn't whether it's shown to best advantage against tangerine or lemon, but that it looks like Van Gogh's Starry Night.  Like that famous painting, its bold blue and bolder lines stand out to demand your attention.  And that got me thinking about the coffee table book about Van Gogh that I'd bought for the husband. 

Normally, I'm not one for nonfiction.  But the story of Van Gogh coupled with the provocative title of this book, Starry Night: Van Gogh at the Asylum, conspired to make me take a peek.  I'd always known that the Dutch master had demons, but Martin Bailey's arresting account makes him seem both more tortured and human.  Van Gogh suffered from auditory and visual hallucinations, which meant he heard and saw things that weren't there.  These phantom sounds may explain why he cut off his ear, and it was this incident that influenced his move to the asylum.  There he was surrounded by men with afflictions much worse than his own, although he initially considered them to be his "companions in misfortune."  (A year later, just before he left, he changed his mind and said that they brought him down.)  Yet despite Van Gogh's somewhat sound mental health, he experienced a series of episodes while an inmate, both catalyzed by and calmed by his devotion to his work.  It was at the asylum that he painted Starry Night, that inextinguishable symbol of light in the dark.  Or, you know, just dark considering Van Gogh's untimely end (shortly after leaving the asylum, he shot himself in a field).  But I choose to see Starry Night as a beacon of hope.  Even if it didn't ultimately save Van Gogh, it gave him solace when he needed it.  Bailey puts it best:

"It is doubtless Van Gogh's passion for art that meant he was able to cope with asylum life.  The intensity of his work helped him fend off the indignities of daily existence, giving him a purpose and making his troubles bearable." (16) 

Before I sign off, I must mention another (albeit macabre) connection between my maxi skirt and Van Gogh.  Both are linked to the red stuff, the skirt with its menstrual-inspired moniker, and Van Gogh with his severed appendage.  And I can't help but think: bloody pad, bloody ear, bloody brilliant!

There goes that Brit thing again.

Grown-up garb or not, I'll never outgrow bathroom humor.