If you could be friends with any famous artist, who would it be?

For me, it would be Vincent van Gogh—perhaps the loneliest painter in history. He longed for a friend who truly appreciated his work.

I’d want to visit him in 1889, in France, when he painted Starry Night—my favorite painting of all time. But I wouldn’t just admire the artwork—I’d visit him in the mental hospital where he was staying, looking through the same window that inspired him.

Van Gogh struggled deeply with his mental health. He painted Starry Night during one of the darkest moments of his life, feeling completely alone. If I could sit with him, I’d ask about his painting—what he was trying to express.

Maybe he’d say:
"Notice the swirling sky—it reflects my inner turmoil, my restless mind. The deep blues and purples show my sadness, but the bright yellow stars represent hope—light in the darkness."

What about the village below? He didn’t paint the real town outside his window. Instead, he made it up—adding a church steeple that resembled those from his homeland in the Netherlands. Maybe he’d tell me:
"I long for home, but I feel like I can never reach it."

And the cypress tree in the foreground? Often seen in cemeteries, it perhaps symbolized death and mourning. Maybe he’d confess, "I feel death is near."

At that moment, I’d want to tell him:
"Vincent, your work matters. You matter."

Van Gogh suffered from what I call Approvalism—the painful pursuit of acceptance from others. If you know his backstory, you can understand why.

His mother rejected him from birth. He was born exactly one year after the death of his older brother, also named Vincent. Instead of joy, his mother saw him as a painful reminder of loss. She was cold, distant, and unloving.

The most painful rejection a person can experience is from their own parents. Psychology calls it attachment theory—children need love, protection, and validation. When they don’t receive it, they starve for attention—even if it’s negative.

Van Gogh spent his entire life starving for love.

When he finally thought he had found it—with a woman named Eugénie (oozaynee)—he proposed. But she harshly rejected him. She was already engaged to someone else.

Heartbroken, he wrote to his brother Theo:

"My heart is broken. I am alone. Always alone."

We all crave acceptance—it’s wired into our brains. Even the healthiest people will admit to being approval addicts in recovery. The difference? Some control it, while others are controlled by it.

Vincent was controlled by it.

So he turned to painting, hoping someone—anyone—would see his worth.

But the art world rejected him.

Critics mocked his work. Galleries refused to display his paintings. In his entire life, he only sold one painting—for today’s equivalent of $2,000.

Imagine working endlessly on your passion, only to hear, “You’re not good enough.”

So he tried harder—painting over 900 paintings in just 10 years. He thought, If I can just get better, maybe they’ll finally approve of me.

But here’s the trap:
Approvalism makes you believe that if you perform better, people will love you more.
But love that’s based on performance isn’t real love.

Vincent did have one person who loved him unconditionally—his brother, Theo.

Theo believed in him, supported him financially, and encouraged him through letters. But while Vincent chased approval from the world, he failed to see that Theo had been there all along.

This teaches us an important lesson:
You don’t need everyone’s approval—you just need one person who truly cares about you.

So often, we chase new friendships, hoping for more people to accept us—when the real answer to loneliness is deeper relationships, not more relationships.

Vincent’s mental health spiraled.

The rejection from his mother…
The rejection from the woman he loved…
The rejection from the world…

It all caught up to him. After suffering from a self-harm incident, he admitted himself to a mental hospital. And there, in that lonely, quiet place, he painted his greatest masterpiece: Starry Night.

Starry Night is now one of the most famous and beloved paintings in the world—worth hundreds of millions of dollars.

But in Vincent’s mind, his paintings were worthless. At the time, no one saw his value.

His final words to his brother Theo, as he lay dying in his arms, were:
"The sadness will last forever."

If I could go back in time and speak to my favorite artist, I’d tell him exactly what I’m telling you:

• Value who you are, not the person you wish you were.
• Value the art you make, not the art others want you to make.
• Value the brother you have, not the friends you wish you had.

Knowing your true value, as you are right now, is the cure for approvalism.

I’m Brooks Gibbs, and I hope this video keeps you #FeelingStrong.

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