Composition: 550 words to appreciate Van Gogh's art.

The dim light enveloped everything in the messy studio. Gray and colorful oil paintings are filled with pungent smell, losing calmness and fear. The man with red curly hair and a full face of cheeks is still staring at the deep night sky. The loneliness of being left out is still passing in the corner of my eye, and the gray cold wind is blowing all the reflections.

Once, the crazy pursuit of art and that extraordinary talent were ignored by the world.

Once, hatred of the world was called mental illness by the world. When he was locked in the hospital, he still painted the scenery of heaven with a crystal brush with his passion for art.

Once, the loyalty to love, stubbornly cut off the right ear, a river of blood. Still waving a brush, I carved my lonely appearance on the yellowed canvas and recorded the gloomy moment forever.

Sunflowers in various shapes were once painted with dazzling yellow, and the vibrant flowers swayed in the cycle of years.

Once, countless works were washed away by the torrent of time, and finally every work was stored by classics.

Once, I died quietly in a cold grave and buried that lonely face with loess.

The broken years are sinking and we are no longer young. Those vague memories that are clearly extinguished are slowly swallowed up by the scattered years.

The old wind tore the night, and the once fragments fell to the ground.

Van Gogh, the deep man, is forever imprinted in my heart like a tattoo.

Gorgeous sunflowers bloomed under the haze of the starry sky, and Van Gogh and I stood there.