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.