3rd place in Derby #261: The Internet Through Art History, with 583 votes!

My dear brother

Thanks for your last letter. I obtained permission to pack my trunk, which I've sent by goods train. The 30 kilos of luggage one is allowed to take will allow me to take my MacBook, a tablet, and my stylus. I fear my time here has not calmed my nerves as I might have hoped. The room assigned to me is directly across from the sanatoriums' administrative office and as such the sound of dot matrix printers has taken over my waking moments and now threatens even to infiltrate my dreams.

How are you, brother? So very often do I think of you. God help us, struggling, to- I am sorry, brother. I lost my train of thought. The cursed printer screams like the banshee of Bickerseiland. Honestly were it not for these ridiculous machines my stay here would be nearly perfect. Do they not realize quieter and more efficient machines are now available at a fraction of the cost? I cannot think that purchasing ink ribbons is easy or affordable.

I miss you brother. If you see our dear Anna, please tell her I miss her as well. I shall pass on your tidings to Fanny and Bet's Graeuwen when next I see them, which should be in the next week. I hope to-

I am sorry, brother. My writing was interrupted again and I was forced to ask the staff member who is apparently printing a lengthy and verbose document if they would at least shut the door. They refused and a most disquieting conversation ensued. I must leave this place, and soon. And now a handshake in thought, and I sincerely wish you the best.

Your most loving brother
Vincent

Wear this shirt: To the sanatorium.

Don't wear this shirt: While you're cutting off your ear. It'll get all bloody.

This shirt tells the world: "Wait. You're saying he made OTHER paintings, too?!"

We call this color: Starry nights aren't all that black

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