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.