Irises is not the first painting that comes to mind when one thinks of Van Gogh-or at least, it wasn’t for me.
That changed only after I truly saw it, and more importantly, understood it.
The painting, like much of his work, echoes with quiet agony. His loneliness and his longing to be understood.

During his time at the Saint-Paul-de-Mausole asylum in Saint-Rémy-de-Provence, Van Gogh created over 130 paintings.
It’s almost unfathomable to imagine that such full-of-life work was created during his stay in one of the most gloomy places one can be, a mental asylum.
Irises, Roses, Lilacs, and The Almond Blossom (a piece that has brought me to tears on more than one occasion) were born in the depths of personal suffering.

The vibrancy of his colors, the vitality of his brushstrokes, the tender attention to beauty...
They all reveal an artist profoundly alive, even amidst despair.
Van Gogh’s gift wasn't just in capturing what he saw, but in how he saw it: finding beauty in ordinary things, and grace in overlooked corners.

To me, this is a reminder that choosing kindness, hope, and beauty is a conscious act.
It’s easy -perhaps even comforting- to become cynical, to let hardship bitter us, make us jaded.
But Van Gogh even in his darkest moments chose otherwise.
He painted life. He painted joy.
What a kind soul...

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Look at the Painting

When you look closely at Irises, certain things begin to emerge.
It doesn’t conform to the norms of either traditional landscape or still life.
There’s movement in it. You can almost feel the breeze stirring the petals and rustling the leaves.

In the background, orange and yellow flowers (is it dandelions or daisies?) seem close,
yet distinctly removed from the irises in the foreground.

Each iris is uniquely painted. Some are deeper shades of violet, others tinged with cornflower blue,
one is marked by a single white stroke.
There is an astonishing variety of color and shape, echoing the diversity.
Yet amidst this expressive chorus, one iris stands apart:

A solitary white iris. Tall, erect, almost unmoved by the wind that dances through the others. It’s still an iris, but unmistakably different. It doesn’t sway. It doesn’t blend in.

If you glance at the bottom right corner, you’ll notice Van Gogh’s signature. Oddly tilted.
Trace its angle. It seems to point directly at that lone, fragile white flower.
Could this be deliberate? Was he guiding our gaze? Was he trying to tell us something?

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Van Gogh was known to see nature as a reflection of his inner world.
Perhaps the yellow blooms in the distance represent the outside world, those untouched by the asylum walls.
The irises, then, might be his fellow patients.
Van Gogh paints himself among them yet subtly apart.
He is one of them, but not quite.
Neither fully out there, nor in here.
A soul caught between worlds, in limbo.

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Irises might seem like a study of nature. But look closer, and it becomes something else.
A raw emotional expression of loneliness, alienation, and the aching human desire to belong somewhere.
You can feel Van Gogh pouring his soul into every stroke.

So, is this a painting of flowers?
Or is it Van Gogh's quiet way of asking if anyone truly sees him?