Parmi la foule. Episode 9. Godfried 5.

En dat niet alleen het hele land gaat heen en weer soli soli soli soli tu de de kop is gebogen onbewold tot achter de oren

onbewold aangeraakt laissez moi, glimlach ter ongewenste opslag aaaaaaaaa a a wat alwil wat Annie wil WAT

DAT

tu tu.   Tu tu    Tu tu tu tu tu tu duuuuuuuu

En dat niet alleen want we komen     don’t touch me this is

not my body why should it

zuuuuuuuuuppp I told you so, het drijft, het lacht, het klinkt, alleen

laat ik je vol DAT met jouw, mijn, zijn, hare, ware, zachte, aarde

jouw, eigen, zijn, eigen, hare, ware, eigen, eigen, ver zachte eigen aarde

DAT niet alleen 

Parmi la foule. Episode 8. Godfried 4.

 Zelfs wij niet. zelfs wij , wat wil je later worden, niet…blijven bespaard. pas même nous, pas même nous nous sommes des rockstars. With wings even. och het hart of a modern dancer vol elektronische klanken in gebonden. band 1 , 18 psalmen band 2, kussend zelfs, psalmen band 3, in slaap, toujours endormi ..tjop tjop tjop wait for it, blijf in mijn leeuwen leegte

tegen wie praat ik nou monkeys singes souriants I am here. Jij bent naast mij tussen ons is midden in de leegte alleen glimlach al is het je buurman tegen wie praat ik

kijk nee niet aanraken ik heb … this is an invitation

voorspraak jij

tenzij

wij

dansen jesuisici

Parmi la foule. Episode 7. Godfried 3.

 Achter de hare. Achter de hare. Achter de zijne, zijne. zijne. Achter de mijne

mijne mijne mijne. Draai achter de mij, voorst de voor en, geen maar, absoluut geen maar, laat mij tussen voorst en achterst tussen utter utter utter utterrrrr utterst t t t t t t t t hare en t zijne ligt, of zonder ligt, t mijne…..laissez moi, in the midst st

of my anthology. Laissez moi!, arrete. Stop. Behind, streams herssss hisssss her her her his his his s s s s s s s

bijna bewogen

Parmi la foule. Episode 6. Godfried 2.

 Wacht. Taal is ook wel wat. Wachten voor het. Wachten voor het aanraken. Draai je om. Om om om om. Om aan te raken. Wacht. Stop. Waar raakt de taal. Moet je. Voor mij achter mij. Jouw. Jouwwwwww. Waarom wacht je. Ik zou willen. I would like. Je voudrais. Blijf graag rond bewegen. Please keep moving around. Please s’il vous plait. Te plait te plait te plait. Wait. Your words. Your language. I I I I I I I I I I 

To touch it. In the middle of this void. Language might be something. Something. Something.    something.  some thing

wait.   wacht.    wat

Parmi la foule. Episode 5. Godfried 1.

 Here we are. In my long sleeved shirts. With sounds unheard. Hear hear hear! Parmi la foule. Parmi le vide. Here we are in three words a day. In the middle of this language.language. To grow old. Old in this old. In this older. In this older sound. I don’t know .You. But ( for once I use but ) your. In the middle of your language. In the middle of time. Of some time. Stitch. Stitch. Stitch. Ta ta da da ta ta da da da. Language is something something as well. Look look look I am an open source even we know. Even we know how not to start on beforehand. Thank you. Stitch.

Parmi la foule. Episode 4.

 Yesterday I did a performance. It was called My dirty skirt. There was a little bit too much drama in it which I intend to take out for the one to come. Thank you. Stop. Music. I didn’t.  True. I am not a musician. I very much like certain sounds, sequences of sounds. We wait. We wait until it is certain you are on that bus. I thought I was innocent. I always thought I was innocent. Touch the wall, take some steps, touch the directed person. This morning. This morning my appointment seemed to be unscheduled. So I heard at the place where the appointment should take place. I thought I didn’t mind. It is a very human thing to forget to schedule appointments. I went for a long ride on my bike. And bought tons of clothes on the secondhand market. Wrangler, Dickies, Levi’s, Ralph Lauren, The North Face. Tsssss. I will do. I will do everything slowly. Especially the thinking and the doing. Especially the knowhow and the knowing. Ha. With the heart. Ha. Stop. Teaching is not a friend of art. It’s been a week since I did the performance. Without any last number. No last number. No love last number. No number to be last. No number to love and last. Because we are coming. In long sleeved shirts. With some uncertainty.

Parmi la foule. Episode 3.

 My dirty skirt.

This is how things are. I practice a lot. To wear all my clothes at the same time. And my dirty skirt.  Stop. To combine poetry with construction. And with an apricot. My dirty skirt. In the middle of the crowd. With this instrument. I cannot play. I bring my thermos everywhere, with words I cannot. My dirty skirt. Did I say. This skirt these  words. In the middle of the crowd. I smell like an apricot. Round and about. Round and about. We wait. We wait for the exact route. To fly. To how things are. I don’t mind. I practice a lot. So for you to hear open circles round and about. We wait. My skirt and I. Bring my thermos everywhere . Not saying anything I will be done. I used to wear them all the time. Stuffed into my pants. Once outside…I practiced a lot. I practice a lot. My o my construction. My o my dirty skirt. O My o my pleased with unfitting words. In the middle of the crowd. Side ways and thataways. Open your mouth this music ensemble, to wear this keep your breath this is how things are just extract the poetry practice keep the drama king far from my dirty skirt my my skirt my dirty skirt. My diiiiiiiiiiiiiiirty skirt. To fly and about. In the middle of the crowd. This is how things are. I practice a lot.

Parmi la foule. Episode 2.

 They are going to talk to me in French only. I have to study harder. Or what am I to do? In these spaces. Isolated spaces, a dentist practice. So probably the whole neighborhood went to check their teeth over there. Now or in a while something completely different will be transformed in their heads. Yesterday I went to the opera that had its première in 1930, Aufstieg und Fall der Stadt Mahagonny. Next to me a woman was combing her hair constantly with her hands. It was a tick I think. The leader of the Mädchen, Jenny, was my favorite. There was a constant filming camera on the stage and a large screen that showed it all almost simultaneously. That was very nice. I slept a lot as well.

I am not so consequent. Maybe because I am easily bored. And when I am bored I get tired. When I get tired I get irritated about myself being not able to do the things nicely and in harmony.  That’s why I take breathing lessons. I am a very good teacher. Yesterday I finished a painting completely different and opposed to what I intended to make. I film myself ( or do I have to say shoot ), and other things that are very interesting. Colorful, I am afraid. Lots of shades of brown. I walked past a piece of paper that ‘look’. I wished I had picked it up.

The weather is sweaty. When I was little and even somewhat bigger, I used to think that people working in the swimming pool were like ‘the chosen’, very responsible and highly intelligent. They need to be able to act as quick as possible, sitting on a plastic chair all the time.

Parmi la foule. Episode 1.

 Let me start with the history of Napoleon Bonaparte. I want to read one page a day, in French. Underground, Girl in Red. Today we went to the border with Germany. We went for a small walk. Half way we took a shortcut, they call it an ‘Erlebniswanderweg’, oder so etwas, full of mosquitos. My legs are twice as big. On the middle of every road a cyclist was standing next to their bike. We wondered why. 

I would like to walk every day for a few hours, as belonging to my basics. And not to think about useful actions. Stop. I can do the thinking meanwhile and I don’t need to spend that much time in my studio. A former drawing, there is always. Not writing a drowned word, is a floating word. At the same moment we walked eight kilometers after buying some secondhand drumsticks made in USA to be used in my performance in the AIR in Vollenhove. I really like my children. I like to learn French, I like to watch all kinds of sports, especially football and hockey. It is a pity that there is not a sport between those two very different worlds. My son says that football is more diverse than hockey. Maybe so, but which of the two is more inclusive I wonder.

I found a pair of flattened socks on the street. It has the mark ROOTS on it. I had to wash them four times and now there are several holes to look through. When I was in the first grade of highschool every cool kid had ROOTS shoes. I got the Chinese version. Still nice. I am a very slow writer. But I don’t think anyone noticed. From planning my energy leaks. From and to the external.

We have a new washing machine. I like washing clothes. When my mother had a new one she went to sit in front of it to see it circling. Nicely. My son-in-law has an opinion about Napoleon, not such a nice one so I better move on to have an opinion too. 

Een fijn leven. Deel 4.

We hebben een boek kado gekregen. Fenomenale vrouwen in de schilderkunst. Het is een zwaar boek met glimmende bladzijden. Een van mijn favoriete kunstenaars is er in opgenomen. Agnes Martin. Ik ben weer verder gegaan met het leren van de Franse taal. Ik word er blij van, of beter, ik merk een verheugd gevoel. Ik had mij voorgenomen me niet meer met voetbal in te laten. Gisterenavond en vandaag heb ik wedstrijden gevolgd en samenvattingen bekeken. Ik kan het niet geloven. Hoe kan ik me ooit nog iets voornemen. Zo zou ik ook nooit meer enige fiets mee naar binnen slepen. Vanavond was de laatste. Misschien.

We schilderen de schimmel weg. Ik heb twee keer hetzelfde formulier van een open call ingevuld. De eerste keer was ik vergeten de afmetingen van mijn werken te vermelden. Nu denkt men vast en zeker dat ik geen professionele kunstenaar ben. Erg aantrekkelijk lijkt mij. Het Nederlands is mij te naakt. I have tried, sorry for the illiterate. I will continue my daily readymades in English, I might even join the nitwits in French. I am no good. Well, good enough for tons of sudokus. Now how shall I name the following parts…A very nice life actually didn’t represent the content. But not to worry if you were planning so, I don’t even want one. I want something unruly, like some jeans worn for months without washing. Like reading ten books at the time. Like learning three languages every evening. Like being impossibly depressed it seems like your head is imploding with guilt and not-knowing. Like playing the drums after every four words ( I wanted to write three but already used that amount for the languages ). Like standing in the middle of a crowd without being part of it.

Parmi la foule.

Een erg fijn leven. Deel 3.

 Ik heb vanmorgen 5,75 km gelopen. Ik had langer gewild, ware het niet dat we een rekening van duizend euro van onze ziektekostenverzekeraar hadden gekregen, naar ons inziens ten onrechte. Ik moest dus opschieten zodat we snel daarover konden bellen. De helpdesk meneer vond het gelukkig ook te veel van het goede ( voor de verzekeraar) om dit jaar twee maal ons aller eigen bijdrage te moeten betalen. Onze hond gaat steeds mannelijker ruiken. Tijdens iedere wandeling à la campagne worden we achterna gezeten door een stille boze hond. Wij maken ons dan groot. Onze buren houden van apparaten en snelle luidruchtige voertuigen. Ik hou van hun taal, om de paar lettergrepen de toon omhoog. Ik haat voetbal want ik wil dat de uitslag mij niets kan schelen. Ik heb twee beeldende werken gemaakt, jammer dat ik het hier niet kan laten zien. Het zijn aan elkaar genaaide lappen die ik uit de aarde heb getrokken. Ik hoor nu een tondeuze. Misschien gaan we morgen naar huis, een dag te vroeg, of precies goed natuurlijk, omdat onze dochter ziek is. Thuis. Stop. Ik ga na thuiskomst en een dezer dagen een muur in het atelier zeer wit schilderen. Om de viezige nieuwe werken tegen aan te spijkeren. We hebben 12 km gewandeld. Weghalen. Te doen: pakje openen, pakje maken en versturen, nieuwe binnenband in A’s achterband, plankje in de wc opnieuw bevestigen want iemand heeft er zich aan opgetrokken als was het een privé in een aanleunwoning, meerdere wassen doen, nog meerdere wassen doen.

Een deelgenoot. Route. Ontschikking. Boeken uit de auto pakken. Aan de zijkant lopen. Twijfelen over de taal. Zou ik kunnen zeggen, de juiste taal? Afzijdig van de wereld. Afzijdig is een dramatisch woord, woordvoerder van de afstandsbediening. Ik vind de Nederlandse taal niet van mij. Of al een te lange tijd.

Een erg fijn leven. Deel 2.

Het valt al. Het dorp heet ‘We’. We moeten oppassen. Ik heb een lapje gevonden, en een stuk touw. Ik heb het gewassen en opgehangen. Zodra het droog is naai ik de stukken aan de andere lapjes.

De werkelijkheid is geleegd, anderhalve kilo wortelen. Een vloerbedekking van een auto in het modderpad verzonken. Het was te zwaar om uit het pad te trekken. Met mijn Zwitsers zakmes heb ik er twee stukken uit weten te snijden. Het mes is nu bot. Een witte handdoek om de hoek van de basiliek. Onze hond was even tevoren door een vechtersbaas aangevallen, dus we konden er wel een gebruiken. Een reep lood. In ons verblijf heb ik alles in een emmer met heet sop gezet. Hoe kan een berg van iemand zijn. Hoe kan een stuk plat land van iemand zijn. De buren zijn de hele dag thuis. Bruine buiken. Ik doe steeds minder, aan wat ik moet doen. Het schijnt goed te zijn voor mensen zoals ik. Naar schraal toe te gaan in werk en leven. Stans van der Poel doet aan ademhaling. Zij leert mensen hoe dit te doen en wat de baten zijn. Die mensen zijn vooral hardlopers en zieke mensen. Nu probeer ik tijdens het wandelen door de neus in te ademen en uit te ademen en drie seconden niets te doen. En dit heel rustig bovendien. Het lukt behoorlijk. De bonus is dat dit alles is wat er is. Jezelf een dienst bewijzen. Het houden van oude eiken. Een kunstenaar bouwt aan zijn eigen huis. Zie Mark Manders’ Het leven als een gebouw. Wat kan het anders zijn? Mijn hardloopschoenen staan nog net in de laatste zon te drogen, in het meest gunstige geval. Ik heb zin om morgenochtend mijn week record van 5,5 km te verbreken. Via ‘We’.

A very nice life. Part 1.

I have a very nice life. And this is what it sounds like: three storks standing very still in the water. How do you like, look like how do you like, look. Maybe I finished writing about my life as an amateur because I am the best amateur you can think of. Better begin the beginner now: BEGINNER! the green woodpecker calls, or simply a person. How does that sound, the person. I have to think deeply, a nonsense word might do. Or, A very nice life. On this holiday day we were sitting on a stoop in the shade in a small mountain village in a foreign country, then, a tall blond man in a swimming trunk ( not a swimming pool in sight ) with a lot of children and women behind him, scolded : hey look there, Dutchmen!! Easy to tell! His family seemed to ignore him. His dog as well. Today we saw a cirrlbunting, masked like one of the heavy boys who always wants to steal the money from Dagobert Duck. This one was alone. Half way through our walk someone had taken the effort to plant a wooden sign saying: you can go alone and fast, you can go together and further. I taught my daughter how to inflate a tyre with a French valve. She was very proud. And maybe, if the tyre deflates quickly, I will teach her how to replace it, the inner tube I mean. She can’t wait. My son will wait forever. His eyes catches black dots against the sky.

Gerbrand Bakker is my favorite Dutch writer. I am reading his third privé-domein book ‘Moeder, na vader’. And a book about running, breathing and training less in order to have a nicer life maybe. I put all the tea bags, the green tea, camille and nettle tea in one box to create space. Art is important. It will be investigated what is best for the girl. Maybe in Dutch. Stop.

We came to live in a very small house. It had almost everything in it.

My life as an amateur. Part 66.

We met a man of seventy five with holes behind his ears and one blind eye. He walked as if his legs were made of wood. He insisted to show us how to walk, which way to go I mean. He still liked to ride his bike. He seemed proud about that. After a twelve kilometers hike we drove twenty minutes by car to a secondhand shop. Our man was there as well, on his very fast bike. The day after we went to different places, on the outlook for our gentle man. I have almost finished ‘Big magic’, creative living beyond fear, a very positive and encouraging about keep on working, making according to your own needs and standards. I am afraid I like these kind of books. 

Merci Chantal. Chantal had a rotten life so far, but now she is having the better part. She has become a trickster.

I would like to quote from ‘Big magic’ because I couldn’t and didn’t have said it better myself. It’s about the void in a positive way: ‘What you produce is not necessarily always sacred. (…) What is sacred is the time that you spend working on the project, and what that time does to expand your imagination, and what that expanded imagination does to transform your life. The more lightly you can pass that time, the brighter your existence becomes.’ The last sentence is not necessary if I may say so, but ‘ expanded imagination’ is exactly what is needed to fill the unthinkable space, the coincide with oneself. For not swimming. Lightly. Stop. Start. Merci Chantal. 

My life as an amateur. Part 65.

 Today I saw some yellow signs, Dutch trash ladies in a French supermarket buying tons of beer and cocktail snacks. Like pretzels and cheese flips. They look happy. I have some plans I would like to tell about. Finding dirty cloths or pieces of fabric I will sew together, a rough map of a geographic or mental state. I can paint it white when home again, add a little black or sepia brown maybe. The second plan is to find three words a day, if they can be found. It might not always be possible. 

A slight bow.

In the middle of the crowd.

Some remains, and a yellow bird. (Although, better leave the birds out)

Flies here are very stoïc. A little drummer drums after every short sentence. That is what he does. And then, just sit and watch some words creep in my mind: Allez, l’escargots!, trying to find a safe haven overthere.

Once there was a rockstar, maybe ‘heaven’ metall even. I went to Paradiso for the first time ( the second time I enjoyed Cat Power, the Greatest ) on my one so I could concentrate on him singing strong songs. I have forgotten his name. I am a very slow thinker, because I find it unimaginable that it is me me living, talking, hearing, watching making things etcetera etcetera. I just sit still, very still and maybe maybe I can manage to change the clouds turning them the opposite way or at least stop them in time. Stop. 

Stop. Time. 

This time is invented. By Henry Rollins of course, get a grip!

All the people is taking care of their rags. There is nothing to be found and we ran to the top of the mountain to escape the outrageous hurd of cows. We live in a very nice house despite the numerous flies.

My life as an amateur. Part 64.

I am invited for an Artist-in-Residence. That never happened before. It will be a week in autumn and it is  Borrowed Spaces. So the Arist-in-Residence will borrow some space from someone else, a studio from another artist in this particular case. I am stalking this artist on social media and she happens to be a performing artist, dancing on deep earthly soundscapes, actually making rather unexpected movements. I like unexpected movements. Maybe I will write more, on the occasion and play the drums now and then.

I recognized myself in the child in the four hour video artwork STOP by Jeff Preis. STOP. Continue. J’entre, on me salue. Thàt is the biggest present. Tu entres, on te salue. It is nice not to mind that much. Not to say anything. Today. But one gesture, like a stroke of a brush.

Yesterday I ended in Hoek van Holland. I used to go there by bike with my best friend. It was an hour driving and I had a large posture these days. Nevertheless I was wearing shorts with a checkered Scottish pattern. I do not recollect myself on the beach in a bathing suit or whatsoever.

I like the side products of my work best. Eventually I will make only side products. And have an empty studio with white walls. I am reading several books at the time. One of them is a French grammar book, it’s my favorite because of the short exemplary sentences like.

Francesca Woodman; as if wearing her skin inside out, making herself the only subject of her work.

My English is getting worse. I should talk more to people, prepared. Parmi la foule. 

Parmi la foule. La plupart d’entre vous.

Par politesse 

My life as an amateur. Part 63.

 Today is my birthday. I got some presents like trailrunning shoes with Gore-Tex found on Marktplaats, a novel from Anjet Daanje , ‘De herinnerde soldaat’, the third part of Gerbrand Bakker’s memoir published by Privé Domein, ‘ Moeder, na vader’. I am already very grateful. I made a hummus myself and the rest of the presents I still need to unwrap. I am writing, drawing and reading and I would like to see a film with Frances McDormand. We walked eleven kilometers, the shoes were great. A deer ran from us. Now here might be some drama. I am not sure if I should tell you about it. I am wondering how other people do this living. With the running, making works, having family you love and friends you like, sometimes, learning new languages, having a estranged body, reading books, running errands, the cooking….writing. Like an amateur.

Two things. After a week in France I walked the dog in our neighborhood. I always take the same route to check the little free libraries. In one of them I encountered a booklet with ‘notitions’ by Paul Léautaud: ‘Propos d’un jour’, 1947. In Dutch: ‘Een zeker tegengif’. I can not stop reading this very sharp and ‘honest’ or genuine and against hypocrisy writer. And I definitely want to study harder on the French language. Maybe I can become a different person as this politician promised on the television. Every language a new person. 

My father, his boat the Dreamer and his hospitality. He was always inviting ‘friends’ on his boat. Those friends would make fun of him. He didn’t see. My mother did. It was painful because my father thought he was giving them a very special time. He died at the age of 57. My mother didn’t invite his friends for the funeral.She died eight months later. Maybe I already told you about this earlier. I am sorry about that, I never read my writings again. Stop. I find it too embarrassing. And I would most probably stop writing. That would be a pity, wouldn’t it? ( I am not sure about the question mark )

My life as an amateur. Part 62.

 My favorite program on television is First Dates. I like it when there is a spark between two people. Just when they are going to announce if they would like to see each other again it’s eight o’clock and we have to change channels to watch the news. Today there is no news. Just me running too many hills by mistake so I was running late, followed by an oriole. For the rest of the day I did everything correctlOne day. stop. I would like to fall still. To clean everything away, still of mind, of belongings, of too much not me. Of unnecessary words. We are going to visit these friends. We see them every day. One day they visit us, the other day we visit them. This day I will bring my running shoes. They need some mending where my little toe  apparently needs more space. I will have something to do in case I get irritated. Yesterday I was reading some ‘Wuthering Heights’. Mrs Dean the woman in wait for Mr Lockwood is fetching a little sewing so she can sit and talk and do some gossiping as long as Mr Lockwood pleases.

I am wearing antique outdoor clothes three times my size. Where we live now there is an attic. In this attic there is a lot of different noises, especially during the very very early morning. We are amateurs according to birding so our first thought was that we had a whole bunch of Dormouses. But after great investigations it seems to be a pair of Barn Owls raising some very own Owl Chicks. Let me be square with you. I have great difficulties being locked up in me. I want to do everything at the same time because otherwise there is no time. That is why there is a need to abandon time and appointments. In the eighteenth century one had time to recover from an illness, you could take your time, like five weeks. And die young, at the age of thirty, quite normal.

Seamus Heaney said when one is learning to write poetry one should not expect it to be immediately good. That is good to hear. I hope my ‘My life as an amateur’ will be good one day. I hope Part 63 will be better. Stop.

My life as an amateur. Part 61.

 I do not always have enough time for being an amateur. One has to do so many different kinds of things, it is exhausting. I am going on a self declared holiday. Last minute. I will clear up my studio and paint things white. Or at least try to paint things white, the paintings as well. I can call them ‘Compositions in white’, whether they are white or not. That is not my problem. I met this artist during an exhibition in a chapel. I recognized her as my art teacher on highschool. Her artworks are familiar with mine so it was very nice to meet her. She lives above the café where I used to go with my father, me drinking a chocolate milk, wondering how the glasses with beer didn’t fell over because of the thick wobbly carpets on the tables. She told me she was invited by a Parisian gallery. Today I am going to read a Grammaire fondamentale, fondée sur le français fondamental. I am going home. Stop. For the third time today I told the same story. I am hesitating to tell you about it here. Because it is such an important story. I wished I was born fifteen years ago. I wish words do not have to be written, that they flow from mind to mind. I flutter from book to book, from language to language. Everything is equally interesting. Maybe when I manage to clear the water I will manage to stick with one book ( or two, a novel and a book on economics by Thomas Piketty ) and one language ( or two ). Auntie this behavior of an addict? If this is the case I might be in terrible need of professional help. If I only was a boy.

My life as an amateur. Part 60.

 The human condition. I think that an artist has to be a gentle person. And that an artwork is never finished, or at least can keep on ‘becoming’, growing, becoming less or different, or vanish… It is Saturday and the dog is sick. He has to wear a plastic megaphone and he is peeing blood. So that’s not fantastic. And the dog doesn’t have the best time of his life. And we neither. I repaired two bikes and I have been trying to sell my wardrobe. No one is interested. Or maybe I made them too expensive. Or maybe I have a too exclusive taste. The titles I give to my visual works are expansive and poetic, if you allow me to say so. The idea occurred to me that it might be a relief to bring the titles down, step by step, with my eyes closed. In the end there will be poetically nothing, or just ‘The painting and me’, or just a number. My friend.

I asked her opinion about a painting, if it was ready or not. She told me that it was just about ‘not ugly’ enough. Stop. This morning I ran six kilometers in fifty minutes. I felt like a top sporting person. Later I will tell you about the swan.

The swan is a solitaire being a white spot in a large green pasture. After I tried to get closer, the bird went swimming in its private stream. For a whole day. Now it is back. It has to be a long distance relationship. Of course. A very long and slow relationship. So I can keep up on pace. I am a very slow person. Therefor. Or we can call it thoughtful. I am reading a catalog from Galerie Schuler : 'Europäische Avantgarde nach 1945’. There are some great works in it by Lucio Fontana, Alberto Burri (Bianco 56!), Karel Appel ( Nu tragique, with just a little red ), I  am far more inspired than lately by my fellow artists ( sorry fellow artists ) and I would like to go to my studio to pour the paint and other materials on one big heap. I allow all and everyone to declare me an imitator. Because we all are. Nothing less. And I will name the works ‘composition nr. so and so’ or ‘Orange and brown’. This make me think of ‘This Way Brouwn’, I wished I had made that work. Me me me me and me. In the work. Or only the work. Stop. Breathe and be gentle. I am going to say hi.

My life as an amateur. Part 59.

 Yesterday I went to the Stedelijk Museum and saw some artworks of great artists. I immediately wanted to go to my studio to make some great artworks. Make second sentences to dip my hair my head my eyebrows in oily oilpaint my hand rubbing and going round and round and round all over over all over my skull while reading this absolute genius novel in verse. thinking. do not go do not go please stay inside these sentences. How the people are called, lying in wait.

I cut my own hair very short now my ears are showing. That is the best part, I very much like my ears they are big and fabulous. It’s Saturday late afternoon and my mood is sinking deep. I need not be too dramatic just a tiny bit. About tiny my trousers are lately gigantic huge, held up by a single leather belt they are happy not to feel huge myself in them, that I keep on being my own self. Stop. Now I am starting with drama all together ever the same alla…alla. Keep reading the ‘my’ books like the ones by Jón Kalman Stefánsson: Summerlight, and then the night comes. My former galerist sent me a message about a dream she had in which she angry with me because I didn’t dare to show myself, hiding under thick layers of paint, thicker and thicker. I told her that I was feeling honored, being in her dream and that I thought it a sign of caring. And that I was ever so comfortable in my thick layers of paint without any anecdote bothering me myself and my painting. Have a nice trip. See you later. My hair will be longer.

My life as an amateur. Part 58.

 I hear a lot. And I cut my own hair, this way I do not have to look in the mirror for at least an hour. When I was little my father brought me to his hairdresser, near the harbor, I can’t remember that I told him I wanted it as short as possible. I liked it, I recognised myself as myself. That was great and there was sand on the floor, maybe because it was near the harbor. Let us forget about the mosquito and focus on the bee with only one million brain cells. Bees are smart, have their own personality, recognize flowers and human faces. They are giving dancing signals to each other about a location, the longer the dance the better, and full with nectar. I decided not to care about clothes anymore.

This weekend we are in Leuven to visit old old friend. First thing we did together was going to the thrift shop. I bought two Bellerose shirts, one Timberland shirt, one Vaude shirt, one pair of Carhartt jeans, one pair of woolen Belgian army trousers and one unidentified soft yellow vest. My friend is music because in music the other one is knowledged. I am reading ‘Thuis in muziek’, a practiced in humanity, written by Alicja Gescinska. She is a philosopher living in Belgium. My friend is caved in by records, cd’s, speakers and books. While cooking spicy meals he listens to a French jazz radio station. I really should write more, a sentence every day. I should paint every every time I feel like it. It’s like eating and drinking. Stop. I need to go home. Very very very. And go carry a little notebook all the time. In a pocket near the body. To give myself dancing signals.

My life as an amateur. Part 57.

I am the mosquito. In autumn. I need to rest. Because of my feelings. And I need to find some titles for some new paintings. Someone with great taste, I hope we will be friends one day, bought a painting from me last year. This week she told me that she liked it much better upside down. A friend of hers, a great abstract artist, likes it better this way too.

We are having this family weekend in the middle of the country. It is freezing and it is sunday and at the other side of the road there is an old fashioned treadmill with three horses walking circles. It coincides with a great book I am happily reading. ‘Half Broke Horses’, A true-life novel written by Jeannette Walls. I am planning to walk the road from Hondo to Lincoln to Captain to Carrizozo. I am planning to make rough paintings full of rubbish this coming week.

John Fowles’ Daniel Martin. I can’t stand the noise of the television, it’s invading my brains and I tumble down. But before that happens I find all the people acting in whatever there is to be acted in on television very very stupid and annoying.

Who am I to interfere with nature. Today I will keep my eyes closed. While working. My father started his working career as a sailor on the Holland America Line. He sailed to Vancouver where he fell into the belly of the ship. He stayed for three months in a hospital in Seattle. That where he learned to say fuck you, to be used in his later life when something didn’t worked out the way he wished it would. Before he went to sleep he peeled an onion and ate it like an apple. My sister was only born seven years after me.

I like my ears.

My life as an amateur. Part 56.

It’s important. It’s important to be friendly. It’s important to be friendly after running one hour in the rain, visiting three thrift shops without heating, driving two hours on secondary roads without lights but with rows of trees on both sides. We are visiting my sister in law. For a couple of days. It’s important. Sisters think that people with less money can not smoke cigarettes and keep big dogs. Maybe, but maybe it is so that we all can not smoke cigarettes and keep big dogs, or we all can. I think we should all have the right to have and do the same things, if you don’t mind. That money doesn’t have anything to do with it. I am making a jigsaw puzzle called ‘The Tree of Life’. There is not a human being to be found in this tree full of exotic birds and monkey’s. It’s New Year’s Eve and it’s important to be proud of someone, like your mother, or your father.

I am reading a really beautiful book. It is about a friendship between a 85 year old man and a thirteen year old girl. They are neighbors and the girl is ten times smarter than her mother who goes working late at night every night. The book is called Autumn and is written by Ali Smith. The neighbor is witty as well.

I am not made for big things, like big art projects in the middle of society. I am more convenient rummaging on the side, with found materials and some words, definitely some music, some dissonant music. Most of my years I have been making my own agenda, the little book with data and their right days I mean. I am writing down the next week or the next month as late as possible, actually when I need to note an appointment. It feels like I am making my own kind of time, instead of  the time made by some giant ‘agenda plant’.

Yesterday I was talking with some Good Martha’s. We told each other true stories, about parenthood, babysitters, donors and fighting. About moving to a certain neighborhood and being new, trying to visit this neighborhood’s marketplace invisible. Being spoken to, being asked how you are. Stop.

It might be nice, I dare to say interesting, to answer such a private question with a truly private and sincere personal story. The questioning person will probably think that this new person with very different looks and roots is an enrichment, although a little bit out of the mind, for their community. Yes, good idea. Our community. That’s what you get. 

My life as an amateur. Part 55.

 We have been talking. About making something out of these series of texts. In public. I hope I will not become famous, writing and making things shall be an impossibility in that case.

But it has just been talking. So that’s great. I had this thought that it would be a good idea to watch the world with my own eyes. So far any hierarchy eluded me. I like reading better than going through posts. When I do not know how to proceed I start a new one. We are watching The Polar Express, because my daughter loves to on Christmas Day. I want to tell something about my daughter. She is very brave. Three days ago she got diagnosed with diabetes 1, after visiting our family doctor and the emergency department of the hospital. Since then she is pricking and giving herself insulin, keeping schemes of her blood sugar mirror, throwing herself full in the world of this auto-immune disease. As if it is the most incredible thing ever happened to her. As if it is not inconvenient at all. She has all the reason to feel depressed, it is just not part of her system. My partner and I are very lucky parents. She is watching the world through her own eyes.

Every day nowadays I am listening to the remastered Four Seasons by Max Richter. It fills the gap between me and the world, and I can feel some tears behind my eyes this way. I like ‘Drive my car’. It takes three hours after a short novel by Haruki Murakami. I like it so much I fall asleep all the time.