My life as an amateur. Part 101.

 I am not such a friendly person these days. I should visit a friend who didn’t want to see me for seven years. Now he has a progressive brain disease. I think I need a barn next to a nice house in the countryside. In that barn I would like to show art from fellow artists. Tonight I listened to the record Greatest hits by Marianne Faithfull full of scratches. Mono. So, from  ‘Springvossen’  by Hans Faverey ( after death ) I stole two words that are meant to be written on an object of art I am creating: zich uitzondert. Yesterday I got a call from a genderhealth care institute. The person on the phone told me that it is my turn, Monday morning 9.00, in Almere. Only one year waiting, it’s really right on time. Today I bought ten second hand jazz records, one euro and twenty cents each. Mental note, I am listening to the podcast Poëzie Vandaag , 800 poems read by Ellen Deckwitz. While cycling I heard this poem written by an American transgender, it was fabulous. I have to trace back the name.

zich uitzondert

zich uitzondert

velt de hemel, velt

de hemel de verkleuring

vooral dat laatste, hoe 

wit en nagelaten de rossige

vos de niet-vos achterop

springt

bladerdek alleen

wit gelaten

hoe wit; zich

uitzondert

My life as an amateur. Part 100.

This is my third poem 

of this month I don’t mind

about languages every day it’s mine

my turn to sit and watch the questionable

batteries

half full half empty the plan was to learn bookkeeping and fluent Japanese, collect jazz records and be occupied with all kinds of art including leftover fashion.

natuurevenementen

de nieuwe wereld in automatic. drive grootmoeders op vervalste

voedselbonnen de nieuwe 

wereld kan wachten luister!

de nieuwe wereld niet pitch

de rozebottel de oude hersenen

wachten op mazurka’s; ietsje

zuur van het midden

I am listening to Stan Getz on ‘I Giganti del jazz’ number 20, stepping besides me

this day

My life as an amateur. Part 99.

 I skipped the poem on the second day. But I read an interview with Louwrien Wijers, she speaks as a poet and she was befriended with all the great ( male) artists of the past century. She liked Rauschenberg and Beuys best. Because they were very kind and loving people. I planned to do nothing today. To get rid of the panic I am feeling when thinking of all the things I want to do. I plan to do nothing today. Paint one painting totally white, take all the oil tubes from the floor and clear one wall of my studio so I will be able to film a performance titled ‘all yours’. Maybe read one poem. One poem from ‘Springvossen’, nagelaten gedichten by Hans Faverey. 

My friend friend bought me a new Dual turntable because the other went too fast. I couldn’t find where to adjust it, it was an automatic system. Never go automatic is what I think, except when running. I am not sure about that even.

Each day there is a homeless man waking up in the front of our studio. He is really on himself, and doesn't wants too much fuss about his well-being. We don’t think it’s a good place to sleep, without cardboard or anything. But he thinks it is. 

I am not very good at hospitality, so I am not in a good mood with the sleepover sitting at my place at the table. It’s a friendly person but forgets to offer to help with the dishes. Probably he thinks that the kitchen is a sacred place. Genau.

I have been reading the poetry by Simone Atangana Bekono. Some poems are nicely rough in unorthodox forms. In my life as an amateur. Part 100. I will write my third poem of the month.

My life as an amateur. Part 98.

 I have decided to read one poem a day. I need an undefined area to linger.

ik weet helemaal

nergens van behalve dat het vandaag was

het leek wel op gisteren, een beetje

nieuwigheid in feite wit

ik lees afgedankte dichtbundels

van mijn buurman, mijn

buurman, mijn elegante doorrookte buurman

ik weet nergens wat van, bij de voordeur springt

morgen net op tijd terug, vele

vogels van die ene dichter

loop ik altijd achter ben bang

dat ik onbetamelijk droom 

The poem ‘Vele vogels’ by Kees Ouwens is from one of the poetry bundles my neighbour abandoned. It was so completely smoked I couldn’t hold it in my hands and close to my nose much longer than one poem. 

My life as an amateur. Part 97.

 Middenin

jouw land

eenzijdig

dat betekent 

middenin vanaf die kant

de zijde

één is

My life as an amateur. Part 96.

 Ik wist helemaal nergens wat van, behalve dat het vandaag was. 

In English this phrase wouldn’t be half as poetic. I finished a new work this evening. 

I am not so good with people at the moment. I got this ancient Philips hifi tower from my neighbour, for free, so I bought her a bottle of Fat Bastard red wine. It’s an all-in-one machine with a tuner and a cassette player as well. I only wanted a turntable but that’s not possible. I finally can listen to the jazz records I bought this past half year. On the one with Young Lester Young with recordings from the thirties last century there seems to participate an electronic organ. Super modern. Not that I know what modern should be. I am not someone to be concerned about. That’s a good thing.

I just passed a backpacked young person who was reading a book while walking. I think it was a volume of Gerrit Komrij’s choice of Dutch poetry of the twentieth century. This was the last weekend of the Constantin Brancusi exhibition. So there were tons of smelly people blocking my views. Luckily it’s a precious artist, the works are powerful and modest enough to escape the crowds. There are phrases on the wall, once said by Brancusi: ‘We only see real life through reflections’. Brancusi’s patient polishing gave his bronzes a shiny, mirror-like surface. This creates a play of reflections and enables the sculpture to project itself outwards, escaping its firm outline. One sculpture, ‘ Torse de jeune homme’ 1923 blew my mind and set it right in another way. An art collector of that time described it as a female torso, but Brancusi named it Torso of a young man. The confusion about its gender is reinforced by the fragmented and geometrical nature of the piece. It resembles an upside down tree trunk as well. It gave me strongness of will and self. I should get rid of the breasts.

My life as an amateur. Part 95.

 Every morning I go jogging with the dog. This morning we managed to make it to and in the Vondelpark. When we came under the bridge a homeless man saw a friend of his and he called out to him heeeeeeey ik zoek voor jou voor ik ga slaap! He was referring to the late evening before. It was the best and sweetest eavesdropping phrase in ages. It’s January 1st. I need to write every day. I think it will be a better world for me if I do so. I am wearing a cardigan salmon colored, like Tilda Swintons’ father used to wear. He liked cardigans very much so she writes in the thing about the clothes she exposes in the Eye. I liked the big stiff woolen coat of her father ( perfect to hide in) and the red sweatshirt with texts like…. designed by Raf Simons. 

I need to write everyday. That is what I promised. To become more real. To understand a little bit where it is all about. Everyone wants to be happy, explains the personage in the video made by Tina Farifteh, it’s normal. This man is a refugee locked up at Schiphol as soon as he stepped out of the plane. I am making a drawing with the words NOG ECHTER written on a golden envelope. The rain is coming through the roof of my studio. The painting I am working on has become wet, but it is alright , it is a strong work already. Hans van Manen died recent. In an interview not so long ago he was talking about taking risks, it’s not possible to make good art , a touching performance without taking risks. Not taking risks brings you nothing. 

We walked to see the bittern in the Vondelpark. It’s the kind of bird that almost never shows itself. So I think that this one is a little bit out of kilter. Who isn’t. I am planning not to spend so much time on the telephone, the mobile one, but nowadays I found all those Japanese textile artists on the internet who are repairing, for instance , French workwear by hand through patching and stitching. It looks like what I have been doing all my life but it's more fashionable. I don’t mind broken pieces of nice garment. 

My life as an amateur. Part 94.

 So that’s what I think yes kindness is important. When I think about kindness I can do anything. This lady with her little dog kindly gives a cookie to my dog. Have a nice day we say. My neighbour R. asked me if he could use a piece of foam he saw in front of my studio, to make some nice soft seats for the dining table chairs. It’s a artwork I almost sold for €1500 two years ago. Now R. and his family is sitting on it. I am nervous because of the upcoming exhibition. I have to take care that it will not take me over. Maybe I can invent some kind of mantra, I will closely listen tomorrow to the words floating  between people, mostly without thinking. But maybe thinking is overrated nowadays. 

It might work. 

Me listening closely.

Using the words as filters as shelters.

Yesterday I found two industrial filters on the street in nice off-white and grey colors. I will dust them off ( how sweet, I will take over the filters work, like a grown up child is going to take care of the needy parent or neighbour), and polish them and display them.

Display.

The belcanto opera Romeo and Juliette on music by Bellini. I would like to find myself a secondhand recordplayer, so I can put a modern jazz record on. That’s all.

My life as an amateur. Part 93. Ideas for a better world.

 One day back from Japan I want to go back to Japan. I photographed the pots with plants next to the front doors and call them each Japanese garden. Furthermore I do not feel like doing anything. But I need to pot a plant that has gotten many roots in the water.

The plant is in the pot. Two days later it is still upright.  I want to cast off one piece of garment a day ( and not gathering two pieces at the same time ). And a book. I already threw out Charles Bukowsky, obviously I am afraid. Yesterday I bought a travelbook of someone I will recall later because it’s in lying in the other room. After I finish The Vegetarian by Han Kang which is suffocating me. Not so pleasant. It is about suffocating, as a family act. Its ending is not too bad. I really need to go think seriously deep about my art. About including more white and simpleness. Maybe more kindness. Or leaving the kindness out.

My life as an amateur. Part 92. Ideas for a better world.

 So we went to a miso brewery yesterday and learned that dark miso is three years old and the healthiest. It sits in ceder wood barrels. The dot painter Kusama was born in Matsumoto and she has a permanent exhibition in the modern museum. I liked two works, the pounding heart in a mirror and a light ladder. The rest I do not like. Today we saw Fuji san so we are lucky, it’s a shy mountain. Now we are in Tokyo, our hotelroom on the fifth floor is so tiny we have to put our suitcases under the bed. I am flabbergasted by the view. Tokyo has a lot of welldressed citizens .I had misosoup for breakfast. This was our last day in Tokyo, Japan. We visited an old neighbourhood with houses from the fifties with the potted gardens in front of them. I made a series these weeks. I want to go home and I don’t want to go home. I feel at home in Japan although there is a lot of loneliness and killing competition. When we are home I am going to follow Japanese lessons, in a serious way.

My life as an amateur. Part 91. Ideas for a better world.

 I am making videos and photo’s of houses, clusters of potted plants in front of the houses and people who are standing or sitting in the streets. I specifically like the movements of  they who are cleaning something. After visiting the very old village Shirakawa in the Japanese alps, which was something like Marken but then a little bit more real snd naturalistic, we went back by bus to Hida Takayama. It rained cats and dogs so we went for the local thriftstore. My goodness, such great shoes and clothes. We finally just went out with a very small Dickies pants and a padded oker padded jacket from Uniqlo. I know by now that I have to buy an extra bag in Tokyo where are a lot of Second Street reused stores.

I have running along the river Susuki in Matsumoto.when I got the idea of moving things. That’s all.

My life as an amateur. Part 90. Ideas for a better world.

 We went to Nara were the deer walked on the street. There was some bread in the supermarket black from the sesame seeds and fresh until the end of next week. Today we will go for the Japanse Alps by Shinkansen. We are told to get on really quick and sit immediately. Only after all the passengers are seated you are allowed to put your bagage in the racks.

There was an angry Italian who wanted to get in first although his seat was last situated. He needed to go last in line. He wanted to be first in line because he was there first. Now their group has lost three passengers. 

We are headed for Takayama through the mountains. When I am home again I want to follow Japanese classes and prepare Japanese food more often. Japanese food makes me happy. Today we are going to see some bears.

My life as an amateur. Part 89. Ideas for a better world.

 I couldn’t sleep last night. I was thinking about the Japanese, and me trying to learn Japanese. The ticket controller on the train bowed for the passengers before leaving the compartment. Kukai died in the year 1757 but is still in mediation. A strong man with a large temple. The monk prayed for us, for us to be happy. Yesterday I drank the nicest green tea. 

I ran through Kyoto this morning, an elderly man raised his vist for me as if I was a superathlete. Fifty minutes later he still stood on the same place and raised his vist again, smiling broadly. We went by bus on our own for the first time, you only need to check out. There is free jazz blazing out of every speaker in the streets. A lot of people are wearing their shoes too big. I like that. They walk like crazy.

My life as an amateur. Part 88. Ideas for a better world.

 So my ears are getting bigger and bigger. I plan to smile more maybe my mouth will become bigger as well. I like mosses. I like languages. I like eavesdropping. I like a lot. I am waiting with my partner and sister in law at the airport. I am not a professional traveler. I filmed the legs of the people passing by quickly on the elevator.

I have been reading one novel in the airplane ‘Snow Country ‘ written by Yasunari Kawabata. Persons in the mountains were wearing ‘mountain trousers ‘. I wonder how they look like. This morning I ran through Osaka. I heard sparrows near the railway tracks.

I visited my first toilet building near the white castle. The flush didn’t work. We might need to ask the nice man in ‘Perfect Days’ here. Each time I am late with my thoughts.

I like the people here. I like to buy things in the shops, the employers are unimaginable nice. I am almost happy.

My life as an amateur. Part 87. Ideas for a better world.

 Our favorite neighbor passed away early this morning. Scheissedreck she would call it. She could roll her eyes making me feel stupid. I bought her vintage Nikes second hand, I hope she will wear them into eternity. These days. I made some strange works. One has the title ‘The beginning. Wait a moment.’ It’s written bluntly above a red oval circle. I am part of it. Another work is a piece of white formica with some saw cuts. At the top there is a strike of white paint, as if I wanted to get rid of it. This afternoon I catched Catch 22 by Joseph Heller out of a free library just behind Het Concertgebouw. I ‘ve never read it. I bought three records by Joan Baez. On one her teeth are suddenly straight and she is wearing an astronaut suit. I also bought a plastic red suitcase by Samsonite for five euros to fly to Japan with, maybe. I haven't decided yet if I am going to use my purple backpack. I never traveled that far.

My sister went back to the place we went with our parents on holidays. She sent me a picture….

Standing on my head, leaning works. 

Someone could have done something completely different, then that would have been history. My ears are getting bigger. This week I made five simple videos of ideas for a better world.

My life as an amateur. Part 86. Ideas for a better world.

 I think I am going to be a writer.

Saskia Keuzenkamp.

Alok Vaid Menon.

Maaike Meijer.

Tijn de Jong.

Olave Nduwanje, OneWorld.

Trevor Alabanza, None of the above.

Shon Faye, The transgender Issue.

Brian Michael Smith, Disclosure.

Rebecca Solnit, A field guide to getting lost.

Elliot Page, Pageboy.

Sabrina Imbler, How far the light reaches.

bell hooks, The New School.

Paul B. Preciado, An apartment on Uranus.

Édouard Glissant, The Archipelago Conversations.

Liv Hewson, Teen Vogue.

Ocean Vuong.

Maggie Nelson, Bluets.

Naomi Shihab Nye, Your Life is a Poem.

Donna J. Haraway, Staying with the Trouble.

Maia Kobabe, Gender Queer: a memoir.

Lana Wachowski.

Kübra Gümüsay.

I need to check out these writers. I have light years of time, all of a sudden. When you do things slowly you have more time. Even more when these happen to be repetitions.

My life as an amateur. Part 85. Ideas for a better world.

 We saved the life of a baby lizard. “Dendroalsia tolerates these wide swings in moisture, with a suite of evolved adaptations known as poikilohydry. Its life is tied to the comings and goings of water.(…) Mosses have a covenant with change.”, from GATHERING MOSSES by Robin Wall Kimmerer, I could cite her whole book over here. I am reading it very slowly with a lot of attention. To take it in. There happened to be a giant fog in the valley. It’s coming up to this house on the hill. I dreamt that I had an appointment at the hairdresser’s but I couldn’t get there. In the evening just before closing time a lot of clients were waiting to be hairdressed, so I thought my turn to be over. But the hairdresser showed me a place to sit and asked what I had in mind. I said that I would like to have a model that would fit a non-binary person. I confined in the hairdresser’s imagination. We went with the whole family to Bistro Luzy. There were more families, very quiet and very loud ones, talking in Dutch. Perfect for eavesdropping: ‘Everyone is doing the same, right’, ‘Well right, we have a new roof’, ‘There is no understanding, for mé ( pointing his indexfinger to the breast )’. It was a nice restaurant. I had a salad with tons of croutons. I feel like a totally loser when one of the headlights turned out to be broken.

My life as an amateur. Part 84. Ideas for a better world.

 I bought a minimalistic metal fruit bowl at a flea market, for two euros. I think the lady must have been confused. Tomorrow we need to go, for the next place where we will meet our children. I miss the book by Lara Billie Rense. Maybe I should write this in a message on Instagram, if that’s not too stalkery. I started up a drawing today, it seems to be the case that I do not feel righteous alive when I do not make anything. I have to make this in between world inhabitable. It sounds slightly dramatic. Sorry for that. I am missing Too good to go, and other things from home. Somewhere in this village I hear a screaming person, angry it seems because of a continuously barking dog. I walk as slow and quiet as possible so the snake won’t sneak away. Can a snake be nervous as I am? I saw a yellow bird fly from one treetop to another. I heard a group of bee-eaters having their on air party. I bought a double record of Sidney Bechett for my just started collection of jazz records.

I am having a giant writersblock. Luckily I am an amatuer and I am on vacation. But still, my time is running. I never thinking about time as if it’s anyone else’s time. 

We hiked ten kilometers in the semi mountains. We found a military hidingplace from 1944 with real crutches for the crippled soldiers. I made two works on thick paper. My son catched five hornets.

My life as an amateur. Part 83. Ideas for a better world.

 I had a really long trailrun this morning. It wasn’t even 10 km, but really hilly and hot. In the end I had to do my best not feeling a loser. When I came home with blisters on my toes, A. told me she had an accident. She turned around on a gravel path and fell with her head on the stones. The owner of the house heard her screaming and helped her. There was blood everywhere and A. told the lady that it didn’t matter for het clothes because we always buy them secondhand. The lady liked that. I found some sage on our round through this tiny village. The giant antique mirror came from the wall and down the stairs. At that moment we were not going up or down.

We can hear the tawny owl. That is so beautiful. And I saw it fly away in the early morning. I finished the book by Lara Billie Rense. It deeply affected me, even as if it is a blue print of my inner wonderings and being. I started to read ‘Gathering Moss’ by biologist Robin Wall Kimmerer. During our walk we entered a tufière, a place in the forest where mosses turn into tufstone by cause of the chalk richness of the source. A. said a beautiful sentence about blue but I didn’t wrote it down. Something like: ik hoop wel dat dit blauw het blauw is wat ik bedoel. Do color’s have a say about themselves, something with a soul, a character, do they send out messages? Kimmerer: ‘My thoughts feel noisy here, an annoying buzz disrupting the slow conversation among the stones.’ I am training my left handed writing by filling four star sudokus.

My life as an amateur. Part 82. Ideas for a better world.

 Today I saw two times a twinbike riding through the village. Big smiles big time for the ones who can’t go cycling by themselves. They had some loud music with them as well, singing along breathlessly. The volunteer in the thrift shop was micro-vacuum cleaning around her own feet. Dust by dust makes a mountain, she will get the place clean. When we drove through Triër I saw a large man on a step and between his feet a pack of four bottles of diet coke. He was going fast and all the way he was checking the bottles’ position. The wind rustles the leaves, after all. A winged maple. I do not feel like making drawings or whatever art whatsoever. Unless one thinks that this kind of writing is artistic. We saw a whole family without teeth trying to sell their things on a market. Mother, father, grandma, several children, all without teeth. They smiled to us, big smiles, because they found our dog very cute.

Sometimes I decide to say nothing to stay clear from the bombing of wrapped up questions in sheepcoats. To keep the things savely quarded for myself. It’s a hot day, so we went for a walk in the forest. When we were walking A. saw a farm on the route, probably with angry loose dogs she thought. And our own was suddenly too old and very tired she thought. Halfway we turned around. At the end, and the beginning, the dog went for a swim. Our very old and tired dog.

My life as an amateur. Part 81. Ideas for a better world.

 My grandmother died at the age of 65. Every morning she did exercises in front of the tv that was always on. After her funeral, it was on a Saturday, I bought my first classical lp’s in a thrift store: Dvorcak, The new world, and Arthur Rubinstein playing Chopin. I do not remember it as a sad day. Last week there was a post on social media. It contained like twelve pictures of happily smiling celebrities with the text: this is how depression looks like. They all had committed suicide. I am reading ‘Een zee van Ruimte. Notities van een tussenmens’ by Lara Billie Rense. It’s like about me.

So we are here now. Starting our holidays at my sister-in-law’s place. Where my sister-in-law is, and my niece. They are nice people and they talk a lot. I decided to be kind as well ( unless I will be called miss or a lady ) and try to do my thing, or thang when I may speak slang. I can eavesdrop like crazy or wear my headphones.

We hebben onszelf overtroffen. We have outdone ourselves. It’s like imploding by cause of success. Which it wasn't. My existence seems to get a little bit more real. It sounds somewhat cheesy, sorry for that. It’s in the word existence. This morning I suddenly had the thought that I should be the first person to not be taken for granted, by myself, being sixty and just getting started. Don’t want to be too dramatic. I bought a Charlie Parker record with salted peanuts and big foot, and per accident my sister in law is giving me her old Technics SL-QD33 recordplayer. She wants to buy a far better one. I like this very much. It feels like being rich.

My life as an amateur. Part 80. Ideas for a better world.

To go outside everyday, that may be a book as well, or a film, a piece of music, or an eavesdropped conversation, take something in and make an artwork. Or make a work, that eventually happens to be an artwork. First I need to tidy up my studio. Bring some things in. I am wearing the same Crocs as Tracy Emin. I saw it on the pictures. Yesterday this nice lady called me by phone. She was speaking with a northern accent, as if everything was alright. For a moment I was afraid she was going to tell I was disqualified for getting gendercare but she just wanted to get my email address to send me some questionnaires. She asked me with which name I wanted to be addressed in daily life. What am I thinking wearing super boring clothes like I am someone else? I need to write more to decipher all the conversations I am having with myself. A white van drove past me, full of grown up men yelling at me: hop hop hop hop hop hop hop. Because I ran to slow, because I looked like a slow running lady, because I looked like a slow running lady with a slower dog? I want to collect something, like records jazz records. We threw away our record player so sad. I have been reading a great book ‘Het verlangen naar zin’ by Hans Alma: “Ik grijp in mijn benadering terug op het Griekse begrip aisthèsis dat staat voor zintuiglijk en affectief geraakt, aangedaan worden. Esthetiek staat daarnaast voor het inzicht dat aan die geraaktheid ontleend wordt, voor een vorm van kennen die uit andere bronnen put dan onze rationaliteit. (…) We worden zintuiglijk en affectief geraakt door iets of iemand buiten ons, door een ‘ander’ ( of dat nu een mens, een ander levend wezen, of een ding is ) en dit intensiveert onze ervaring.”  Besides this, I am bored to death. 

My life as an amateur. Part 79. Ideas for a better world.

 Climbing a green unstable table, speaking loudly I hadn’t meat for a week those bloody veggies, walking a shelf into an open window with a nice piece of clothing

for some things it would be a pity, to throw away for instance 

for instance how could we have done this without you

telling someone how could we have done this without you

having the best of intentions

trying not to say those kind of people 

talking about my mother my mother thinks nature is at her best on her own

my mother

on her own

My life as an amateur. Part 78. Ideas for a better world.

 going to work with some brilliant ideas, nailing a gifted tie on the wall making a video of it

I don’t smell you if that’s not a problem

for the world we keep the arms close to the body

Fremdkörper brauchen wir, wunderbar natürlich

you better ask yourself for a moment can I get out of the yellow collection a better

world should be absurd like sitting on a potato and living day 5 on day 6

giving your friend fresh mango slices, getting some thick oil bars to make a Richard Serra thinking other artists work is too good and being jealous about it which is ok. Seeing very nice work thinking I could have made that myself putting things together I think that’s a good idea for a better world

and a traveling potato

a traveling potato

My life as an amateur. Part 77. Ideas for a better world.

 So what can we do sit on the radiator leave the best pick to others open the door when someone rings the bell, dropping all the trash after her daughter’s moving to Munster, Ich hatte geklingelt aber…wo sind Sie!

So we can show a role model I think it’s with one L and an e after rol. Sie verstehen es genau das Moment so we can sit on the radiator genau das Moment

viel af en toe om

dan zie je heel duidelijk

zie je heel duidelijk wat je allemaal

so what can we do lay quietly on the floor without a green blanket thinking about my grandfather who compared me with Picasso was a ship carpenter himself he made me a ‘make-up furniture’ I have to be careful with what I am going to say I have to take care all these languages what can we do wearing a tie without a shirt what can we do wat is dat met jullie is it for me? Menschen! Ich habe geklingelt who sind Sie denn doch

we can nail the tie on the wall

My life as an amateur. Part 76.

I brought these catalogi home. Contemporary Art New York Morning Auction, and other moments. I should have a look and put them outside again. I need to write every day. I am wearing nice clothes today, although I am not sure if I am in travesty. Yesterday I bought a body warmer from Barbour for women, a little bit too little. My shoes are a little bit too big. Today I will take things out. Or at least, when something comes in, something goes out. I do not want to be a hoarder. Hoarding is for other people.

Today I arrived in Bedburg-Hau, at the residency Artoll, to make artworks with rest materials brought in by the people living in the neighbourhood. I am going to capture some of their words. As a word hoarder probably. And I am planning to make a list with ideas for a better world.

My life as an amateur. Part 75.

 I have talking with a professional about my impossibility to be. Tonight I will make an altar. Tonight I will prepare my racing ike with thicker outer tubes. Tonight I will continue studying Japanese. There were two large boys with ponytails in the parking lot of the thrift shop. They both came by their own car, a pale yellow one and a metallic grass green one. They were rather small cars. But obviously fast ones. Today I will try to do everything as slowly as possible. And get rid of some possessions. As many possessions as possible. This is an eastern weekend, we are renting a house in the countryside. The weather is shiny with some cold wind. Most of the day we spend shopping in German Supermarkets. The biological products are so fmuch cheaper. I really felt like doing nothing these days. I made two videos and two drawings. I started reading ‘ A hundred  years in solitude’  by Gabriel Garcia Márquez. In Dutch. I feel embarrassed by my simple photos and videos. Maybe that’s how it should be.

The assistant of our family doctor asked to make a list of the transgender  places in and around Amsterdam, the best would be without a waiting list. They all have a waiting list, and even that’s full and closed. Anyway, I am going to make my own list and keep on waiting. It’s step one. Like the beginning of getting a present that’s not invented yet.

Amsterdam:

Kaleidos - gesloten wachtlijst - afwijzende toon

UniQ (Qpido/Levvel) - voor jongeren

Lang & Gelukkig - relationeel

Praktijk Koning-Grit - relatie/gezinstherapie 

Praktijk Winnie Hendriks - klein

Jij Genderzorg - open wachtlijst, geen persoonlijkheidsstoornis- gastvrije toon

Linea Lingmont - relatietherapie 

Groei & Glunder - Gender & Eigenheid - kind/jeugd

Praktijk voor Gendervragen

TranScreen (zelfhulp en ontmoeting) - filmfestival 

Transgenders Amsterdam ( zelfhulp en ontmoeting) - voornl. trans

Counseling Praktijk Amsterdam Oost - 

Klik Psychologen - gesloten

Utrecht:

Genderhealthcare - ook zeer geschikt met zeer lange wachttijden 

Humanitrans van Homerun Utrecht Stad ( z en o) - onvindbaar

Trans Utrecht & Beyond (z en o)

Psymens - onduidelijk 

Transgenderzorg Utrecht: Psychotherapie Wittevrouwen

Psymobil - expats

Psyq - budget website, fabriekstekst

The Safo Space - expats

I need to check out Alkmaar and Haarlem.

My life as an amateur. Part 74.

 ik waaier mij

ik waaier

het waaiert het waaiert het waaiert

HET WAAIERT

het waaiert mijn koelte

mij koel

( ik mijn koelie nog )

roze breek, mogen

mij roze koelie breek, mogen waaier ik mij

wat niet mij koel

vermag

My life as an amateur. Part 73.

 That’s how it is. ACG Vianen wrote ‘Orgaannevel’. Words are the tools for poetry. His word is about language as a difficulty to make clear what is being done, said and thought. Thank you ACG Vianen. For your words for me to use them as possibilities.

For today. Let me try to see with curiosity. A day with simple things. With real, maybe soft words. Can this reality be true. Or kind. Talking about kindness, I should send my nephew a message. Ask him how he is coping with his family, if his bike is stolen or broken. He doesn’t buy or use American made products anymore because of the horrific clown that’s doing its thing over there. Clowns never helped to feel better. Today was a Sunday, I ran six kilometers and we cycled to Diemen and back. Exercising works.

It’s Sunday again and I am trying not to talk without thinking it over twice. Every word seems to fail in use. I am reading an article in the newspaper, written by Mirjam Groen, about her diagnosis of Autism. She quotes a Classic art meme of a Victorian lady talking to another one: Are you ok? The other answers: I am acting like I am okay. Please don’t interrupt my performance.

For tomorrow I will make an altar so I can sit in front of it with my eyes closed. Or open. My mother used to clean her teeth with bleach. I have vivid memories of the odor.

My life as an amateur. Part 72.

 My family is very nice. I have no complaints. I need to read more poetry. Maybe start my own poetry society. At the moment I am reading ‘Mijn leven als mens’ written by Joke van Leeuwen, absolutely fabulous. And two or three other books. I will mention them later. Last night I was preparing a quiche and boiling dozens of tubes of ancient oil paint in order to get them opened. Once I participated in a talking group full  of people who barely left their houses during daytime. The therapist asked about our hobbies and told us about her's: hiking in the Sahara desert with her female friends.  A. advised me to read Saturday's newspaper supplement. It held an interview with a non-binary actor.

One day, I will wake up like something completely different. Something compatible with me. I don’t want to sound dramatic, but it will probably never happen. So I better get used to this very situation. Or get some action started. During the nighttime.

I need to buy some yellow bananas because our current ones tend to stay green.

Two days later they are still green. I put them on a place in our house with the greatest change of catching some sunlight. I don’t feel like doing anything. The water is flowing from a hose on the street. They , the handymen, are repairing a leek. First they have to take the water out. I made a short video. At this moment or period of months I am not quite sure of the brilliance of my work. I like languages. I would like to read Marcel Proust in French and A hundred years in solitude in Spanish. Yesterday A. brought a book of poems inside, very experimental poems. To be continued.

What the language. 

My life as an amateur. Part 71.

 I found a history book on sculpture in Europe from the prehistoric ages until the 21th century. I finished it. This morning was waiting for the traffic lights when the colorful fashion designer stopped next to me and said: I am so much enjoying your red socks.

I think the person is more important then it’s art.

I am buying too many clothes and shoes. It’s getting crowded in my not walk in closet. Every item is second hand most of the time there is a stain or a hole somewhere. So I cannot sell them again. Nobody wants to have a stain or a hole. Except me. It’s an addiction really. I do not like to be addicted.

My mental state is getting amateuristic because of this. But it’s not the cause of this severe depression. I would rather not talk about this. Who does. This afternoon I got this thought and vision of an altar in my studio with just a single candlelight, everything else I had thrown out. I don’t like the word candlelight, I throw that one out as well. I like to drive my car for a long time. I like to shower for a long time. I like to run for a long time. I like to walk for a long time. I like to watch art for a long time.

I really want to make white paintings, starting each work by emptying tubes of red, orange, yellow and blue. And the other colors I have in eyesight. After that comes the road towards the white painting. Until now I never totally succeeded. Because I like colors, how they keep themselves up next and through each other. I like lemon yellow. I like the quietness of white, and off-white. 

My life as an amateur. Part 70.

 My favorite writer of children and adult literature is coming! We will meet her at Central Station to discuss the exhibition we want to offer and help make this autumn. Today it’s Thursday and that’s four days from Monday. I need to read her last books. The first book I red for our son was Joke van Leeuwen’s ‘Ik ben ik’. Poetry.

Humans are too big for me.

Last Saturday we brought an old racing bike to my nephew’s work so he could easily transport himself from the treinstation to the giant thrift shop and back. Afterwards we visited  his mother  in my  place of birth, Vlaardingen. It has been twenty years since I was there. It’s now with paid parking, luckily my sister has a visitors card. My niece came by as well, but didn’t greet me. So I greeted her. In order to feel less transparent. Yesterday I got a message from my nephew that the bike broke down but that he had two great trips with it. I promised to get him another one some day.

This morning, at a quarter before eight, The thought and feeling comes into mind that I need my work to be far more dirty and ugly. And not so terribly squared.

When you write something down it is definitely there. Even the things you cannot think of. Unless you delete it. Maybe poetry can save some parts. Write some. Write some thick layers and peel one off. Peel off another one. I just brought him a better bike, it was an hour by car. I think he appreciated the gesture. You never know what someone is really thinking. Thinking takes a lot of time anyway.

My life as an amateur. Part 69.

I red something about a very well known cabaretier meeting a group of autists, or better people with classic autism. The writers in the newspaper, two women with high functioning autism, thought it a missed change that they were represented in this group. A pity that again that the group was stereotypical for something that can never be stereotypical. A pity that tons of people will not be able to recognize their own atypicality. The two women are chronically depressed as well and they make podcasts and write blogs. I can listen and read. Tomorrow I will make an appointment with our family doctor.

This morning I talked with my colleagues. About how I can not permit myself to be scolded by anyone. So when the scolder is in the house I am going home, or any other place where I can be. It was good to notice that the newest colleague stood totally behind me. That made me feel like a normal person. 

I am reading ‘The white book’ written by Han Kang. She is the winner of the Nobel Prize in literature 2024. The competition part is not important, the fact that her art is noticed and spread around the world is. The following sentences were a consolidation for me:

And so, there are a few things left to her:

To stop lying.

To (open her eyes and) remove the veil.To light a candle for all the deaths and spirits she can remember-including her own.