I wish life were but a dream. I wish dreams were justly life.

You could use the argument that art imitates life and therefore paintings are a reinterpretation of how an artist views art, views an instant, a fleeting moment in life.

Looking at Van Gogh's famous version of Starry Night for instance, the typical observer would prefer to envision its thesis that a beautiful night is a whirlwind of serenity, of a cool breeze in the countryside, the stars are twinkling at its best, not a care in the world could disturb its beauty: its purpose.

But for me, when I look at a painting, I don't think of it with the sole conclusion that my eyes are bearing witness to an artists' viewpoint. No. I am experiencing what life would or could look like.

Life would be better if it were in a painting. Yes it would be beautiful to look at, this new life, but it would be so much more magical. It would be like living in your favorite song. That's what it would feel like to me.

That's why looking at a painting, or even a photograph, is so much more than an educational observation.

Life would be better if it were in a painting. All your troubles wouldn't matter. Just like how it is from the outside looking in. You're only looking at it, following the brushstrokes across the plane, discovering its patterns, its deliberate venture of storytelling. But if you were in the painting, you could smell its beauty. Release yourself and drown in its immaculate conception.

Van Gogh's stars would be shining so bright they would captivate you into a lull, that false sense of safety, but in a Van Gogh it wouldn't be a lie. You would be soothed into serenity. You would always be safe and be kept protected. You would reside in one of his cottages downhill in the valley. His stars would shine for you. His wind would calm you. Just as the gusts look, that's how it would feel. It would dance on your skin. It would carry your troubles with it, never to be seen again.

Life would be better if it were in a painting.