The Night I Became Besties with Van Gogh at 3AM

Picture this: it’s 2:47 AM, and I’m standing outside the National Gallery, clutching a lukewarm oat latte, questioning my life choices. Who even thought a 3AM trip to see Van Gogh’s Poets and Lovers exhibition was a good idea? Oh, right—me. But let me tell you, it was worth every ounce of caffeine-induced jitters.

Walking into the National Gallery at such an ungodly hour felt like sneaking into a very posh sleepover. It was quiet, except for the soft hum of sleepy art lovers and the occasional shuffle of security guards who were way too alert for that time of night. The air had this magical, hushed vibe, like the paintings themselves were whispering, “Finally, some peace from the daytime crowds.”

And there it was: Van Gogh’s Sunflowers. The star of the show. You know how some people say, “It’s just paint on canvas”? Those people clearly haven’t stood in front of this masterpiece at 3AM, slightly delirious, with half a croissant in their bag and a strong emotional attachment to sunflowers. The texture, the depth, the drama of those sunflowers! It’s like Van Gogh was saying, “Yeah, I’m a little chaotic, but so are you. Let’s vibe.” Guys I’m writing this at 11am the very same day, can you tell?

The rest of the exhibition was just as dreamy. Van Gogh’s Poets and Lovers theme felt like a big emotional hug. His letters to his brother Theo were displayed alongside the paintings, and honestly, the man had range. One second he’s sketching a melancholic lover under a starry sky, and the next he’s pouring his heart out about how much he loves bread and good light. (Relatable king.)

The highlight? Sitting on one of those plush benches, staring at his Starry Night Over the Rhône while a fellow night owl whispered, “Do you think Van Gogh would have been on Instagram?” Spoiler: he definitely would’ve had an aesthetic feed—think lots of yellows, moody self-portraits, and cryptic captions like, “The wheat fields are calling. 🌾✨”

By the time I stumbled out of the gallery at 5AM, the streets were still quiet, and the sky was brushing itself with soft streaks of dawn. I felt like I’d just had the most wholesome, artsy all-nighter of my life. Sure, I was sleep-deprived and probably looked like one of Van Gogh’s rougher self-portraits, but who cares?

Would I do it again? Absolutely. Next time, though, I’m bringing better snacks and maybe a blanket for the post-Sunflowers existential crisis. If you’ve never experienced art in the middle of the night, keep an eye out for a ticket, some caffeine, and your best existential musings. You just might end up becoming besties with Van Gogh too.