My life as an amateur. Part 48.

The dog doesn’t need to read or write something every day. He is waiting for the next moment, or maybe waiting is not the right word for this condition. He doesn’t seems to want any moment at all at the moment, wiped out by the sun, his brains are cooking and his legs are giving in. Just like me, the first half hour of my morning run, even without the sun. But the good news is that after the first half hour I am the wholiest person on earth. We were driving in avery hot car to a second hand shop, on the way we saw ‘koereigers’ ( I have to look that up) . I bought a fantastic outfit for very cold weather. At this moment I bought three times more clothes than I brought in my medium purple The North Face backpack. I hope it will all fit in the car.

According to Bram Bakker according to The Lancet according to scientific research, serotonine has nothing to do with depression, well, it is not proved that there is a connection. So…. That’s Why None Of The Antidepressants Ever Worked On Me.

And now something completely different. I am happy that the coach of the Dutch soccer team is sacked and I ate fried potatoes almost every day, when I was little because I liked it and my parents wanted me to be without hunger. Nothing strange about that I suppose, but I wasn’t getting any smaller, if I make myself clear. Today we saw a beaver and he saw us, so he quickly went to the ditch. We also heard European Bee Eaters and a very rare pigeon. I have to look the name up. It is breeding. 

I like to put words one after another, without instanteneous meaning. Unfortunately there is always seeping some of it in and I feel nauseated and want to delete everything. Untrue dramatic. Stop. The platitudes of the unthoughtful. That ‘s why I train myself in the not-thinking. European Turtle Dove just need to breed. Breed. Breed. Breed. It ‘s true.

My life as an amateur. Part 47.

 Sometimes I want to finish something when it is not ready yet to be finished. Stop.

We was walking, or hiking as we see ourselves as athletes, far too far this afternoon, with more than 30 degrees and lots of paths in the open field, some paths were not paths anymore and some had become rivers. In the morning I bought a pair of blue trousers designed for working on a farm and a faded red t-shirt from American Apparel with a small hole in it. I like clothes to be second hand, cheap and nice. I like to be dressed like a boy. Please don’t tell anyone. My father thought that it was not such a good idea so on the wedding anniversary of my grandparents I was put in a long skirt and a pretty blouse.

There was this place in Spain called Benidorm, all the tourists thought they were kings. A film was being shot, a great Bassie and Adriaan film, and me and my little sister were figurants, my sister singing a Bassie and Adriaan song with other children, me biting my nails in the swimming pool. The film is called ‘Bassie en Adriaan in Spanje’. These holidays were quite similar to exam trips, sun bathing and baking in the daytime, drinking in the evening. I like abstract landscapes. And bus stops. And insect hotels.

I like to be as slow as I want to be. Please tell, anyone.

Only today I learned what an anomaly is. I wanted to tell something about a nice lady I met today but I totally forgot what it was that was so nice. The boy at the cassiere in the supermarket was also nice, he helped me in English by telling me that the peaches were to be weighed by him. He was a great help. I like it the best when people are nice. It is a great start in the middle of the afternoon.

My life as an amateur. Part 46.

 In his violin case he carried a cow foot, a breaking stick made of iron. He grew up in Australia with foster parents. He and his sister were not so lucky. His foster father was a professional violin player and abusive. We are sitting in front of the house, there are hundreds of wasps in the ivy. They are on holiday.

I don’t know anything and I don’t know what to write. I keep thinking, what’s upcoming and maybe nice but it should be now instead. I do not mean this in a sense of mindfulness or zen something something, although it would come in handy sometimes very often. To be mindful I mean. I can’t think of anything nice anyway, better stop trying and take a long good look at the landscape.

I am reading Gerbrand Bakker as you might have guessed,’Knecht, alleen’. He is very depressed, I like how he writes about this. It helps me try to do nothing.

Today we are going to visit a source where women came together, a very very very long time ago, far before there were christians. It might be a nice place for Kevin, since he had an alter ego, Tante Gerritje, with lots of bloody red lipstick. I wonder if all the people who knew him will know by now that he passed away, last Februari.

I am sitting here in a garden, lovely biting one nail. When I was little all my nails were bitten. All the photographs with me on them had a ‘me’  biting my nails. My parents didn’t like it, but at least I wasn't drinking sangria at the age of eleven.

Kevin was suffering from KAD, according to his own words, the K standing for Korsakoff. The violin from the case had been flung to an Australian wall. A very very long time ago.

My life as an amateur. Part 45.

 I am in the midst of a group of flying friends, at least they act as if they are my friends, so close as they are. I hit them on the head. One is staying, feasting on a grape that is on his way to my mouth. Welcome.

I do not like games, or, other people do not like to play with me, because one I fall asleep, second I don’t care if I lose or win, and third I go do something else on the side, like reading or completing a sudoku. Just a moment ago I finished a four star sudoku, it was so easy I must be a champion. I need to tell you about the father of our children. He has big hands and he is good at anything you can think of.

Two days ago I found a very beautiful coat rack made of chrome and wood, blocks painted white. It was a little bit wobbly so I very much hoped that I could repair it. And of course I could. He happened to have a spot on one of his lungs. They found out when he went to complain about his declining level of energy. He was very emotional when he told us but not afraid of dying. Today while we were driving to our holiday destination he sent us a message that the spot was miraculously gone, after only four days. He can do anything, hitting death on its spotless head.

The coat rack is from a Zero Design era. I also need to tell you about Kevin, I still have his violin case.

My life as an amateur. Part 44.

 He left his coat in the train. She said. It is 10 a.m. and I want to leave early in case there will be an encounter of some sorts on my way to work.

Last month I found the gazoline tank of a motorcycle, with some nice ins and outs, ideal to hang a piece of linen with oilpaint. Probably white, white is my favourite colour this days, and brown is winning some terrain too.

My colleague is leaving and I am not happy about it. I am planning to give him two books and two poems. I am afraid that the poems won’t be any good. The books are the following: a catalog from Anselm Kiefer, accompanying his exhibition in the Stedelijk Museum sometime last century, and a gift from all of the bookshops in the Netherlands, Bertus Aafjes’ Een lampion voor een blinde’, 1973. He is going to work as a teacher at a school for blind children.

My sister-in-law was reading the first three parts of My life as an amateur, she liked the mosquito. I had forgotten about the mosquito, so I will take care of it.

Yesterday I saw an elderly couple in the park. Of course there were more elderly couples, amongst young, couples in the park but this one was special. The lady was riding a bike and her husband ( I don’t know for sure but it sounds sweet, sometimes I like something sweet ) held a white cord with some red patches on it adjusted to the back carrier of the bike. The man was holding this cord and was running behind his lady on the bike. He was blind. They went so fast I was too late to film it.

My life as an amateur. Part 43.

I would like to travel around the world and see how most people stay put most of their lives. In one place, being totally satisfied because this is where they want to be. 

I am sitting in the middle of the garden taking little grasses out that are growing rapidly between the flagstones. This is the nearest thing I can do that looks like gardening.

To bring something to another level that didn’t exist before. Like platform 13 ½.

Today I want to think. I saved my sister when we were very little. To be continued, and that was what happened. As a two years old she was left alone in the swimming pool of a hotel on a Spanish island. My parents were drinking there eternal sangria in their hotel room and suddenly I saw my sister floating facedown. I never had seen her doing this before so of I went to bring her in a more lively position. I was a very good swimmer. Fast. But more about that later, I need to write some poems now, in Dutch. I already know these poems will not be any good, someone has to do it.

So how is your opera today. The minute I wanted to write about me being not capable of making lists I completely forgot what I wanted to write about. My grandmother was just past het fifties when she started her dementia. Instead of going back to her childhood she thought that she was at least eighty years old, and dressed like that , , and had herself a haircut, or better, a permanent curly hairdo, like that. Like that, like eighty something. I was seven years older.

My life as an amateur. Part 42.

 After I was born pretty soon I joined the girl scouts. Everyone else was religious, and very very decent. I wanted to be decent too, or at least I wanted to have decent parents. Like the other girls. Nowadays I do not want to be decent anymore but way back then it was similar to having your mother at home taking care of your upbringing more or less, and sometimes your father too. So I went frequently to the other girl scouts homes. I was lucky.

Yesterday I was invited to come sit in a garden any time soon. I rejected dinner. I had this painting I wasn’t happy about. Today I deleted the work from my website and threw it in the waste bin. I am very happy about that, to work by throwing work away.

I might fall into repetition, sorry about that. Every day I run with our dog. I do not like dogs but we have one so I better like this one. He is a gentle dog but he is peeing against the walls of the expensive houses and the wheels of the expensive electric cars in our very expensive neighborhood. Today we just started our run as a man on an expensive folding bike was cycling after us telling me that my dog has peed two times against his house. He said he was going to keep an eye on me, better let the dog not do this, and that he was going to make serious arrangements against us… 

I am easily bored, so when I have a great idea I need to work quickly on a large series before I get bored. Game over.

I said I would do my best. But that was the wrong answer, the man said Doing my best was not enough, I just had to do it. Like running every day with Nike gear, probably. Later I found out that this stalker was a deranged tv-journalist, slightly disappointed in life. Game over. Gone his decency.

I wouls like to travel.

My life as an amateur. Part 41.

 We was going to Chicago. To sing. All we did was singing. And talk. About the singing. That’s how we lived, in Chicago we did.

It is important. When reality, whatever that may be, becomes part of a person, for example through a work of art, whatever that may be, we can say, I mean, we the people or those who agree, that there is an existence. I would like that all the time.

So which factor do you use? You say fifty, you say … I don’t know, you never get tanned that way. It is all about the making, to avoid the word creating, to become, to be one with the material that is vulnerable. I took some pictures of innocent people doing their business in the city, like playing in a brassband. They were wearing their striped blazers. They needed to go somewhere afterwards, maybe to a Chinese restaurant or to their hotel in the red light district. Waiting for the tram, one was on the lookout, one was checking the timetable, the rest were inspecting each other and their striped blazers.

I remember from the time I lived at my parents, maybe fourty years ago, I sat in the bus next to a school girl ( very strange thing to call someone something like that but otherwise I have to go guesing her age, which is impossible ), going home from my volleybal training.. she was handling her agenda and I could clearly see the words ‘I hate myself’. I hope she is oké by now.

Let me finish this Part with something different and maybe joyful. Stop.

My life as an amateur. Part 40.

I like to be productive at all times, daytime or evening, weekend or on ‘office’ days, and during holidays. That is great because I get all the work done, even the work I didn’t know existed. I must be fabulous.

Yesterday I had my birthday, a perfect day with my family in a second hand shop and in a museum, with lots of presents, to run with, to smell, to wash, to read, to wear, to paint and to examine mosses. This morning while running on my brand new shoes from Japan I decided to stop taking the orphan bikes home, in order to repair them.  The very very very last one will be the old Peugeot with the wobbly front wheel and hyper mobile ax. I feel lucky the bikes are not cigarettes.

Soap, black holes, food, sewing machine, water and mountains. And some nice thoughtful people. And some perfect tone of voice. Actually, I think my mother was a gangster. She had a gun in her jewelry box.

Twenty years ago I was vacuum cleaning our ‘entresol’ when the phone rang. The woman on the other end told me my mother died. I ended the conversation as quick as possible and went on vacuum cleaning. First things first I must have thought.

I would like to start very simple, clean, empty and quiet projects. They do not have to end, but I do need to dismantle my studio. This will take a very very long time.

Speaking words softly to a painting in progres, waiting for answers. And throwing myself, that is this body, against a wet painting.

I am happy with these ideas, in spite of these I can live. No need to add the drama. Stop. 

My life as an amateur. Part 39.

 I am reading a volume of collected stories by Raymond Carver, ‘Where I’m calling from’. In the story ‘Put yourself in my shoes’ Mrs. Morgan said to her new neighbors who passed by to say hi: “Stay, we haven’t gotten acquainted yet. You don’t know how we have...speculated about you.”

Today I didn’t have a special or semi-special thought so I do not know what to write. I can mention that I saw a deer in the early morning, two Red Backed Shrikes, a Big Night Peacock Eye which is really eleven centimeter wide and 5 centimeter high. Very very rare in Europe. So that’s great. That I saw it. My mother, when she still lived a very long time ago, was short of words about nature. When she saw something she liked she simply announced: ‘nature ìs beautiful!’, as if its beauty depended on her judgment. Nice.

Our bed-and-breakfast lady needs to go to her sick friend to take care of him of course. She leaves us alone with her gigantic French mansion, d’accord? And we are allowed to eat her brioche, d’accord? She asks us to close the door at night and not set the house on fire. I really need to practice my French more seriously, I think we could get along nicely. And stay there forever maybe.

I am just writing what pops up in my mind. Nothing special.

My life as an amateur. Part 38.

 This morning I am drinking tea. I drink tea a lot, coffee makes me jumpy. The mug says Measurement: Torque Sensors, Strain Gauges, Force Sensors, Pressure Transducers, Strain Transducer, Displacement Transducer and Load Cells. We can go for a walk now.

At the age of twenty two, a long time ago, I was a student at the University of Amsterdam, and I had a oral exam ( if that is the right description of the happening) on Literature of the Middle Ages. I knew all the answers to the questions, but I didn’t say a word. The road from my brain to my speaking organs was blocked. Luckily, the professor could read my mind and gave me a steady six.

I need to talk about some things that happened when I was young. But not now. I forgot what it was. Today we will walk a little walk and the subject will probably pop up. 

We walked eleven and a half kilometers and saw an aesculapian snake and a few dippers, lots of Dacia Logans and Dacia Dusters. Those reminded me of what I wanted to talk about: the dressing gown of my mother which she called a duster. When I was coming home with my first boyfriend, on a sunday morning, and the moment we stepped through the front door my mother screamed ‘oh no, I am still in my ‘duster’ and all, sigarette in her right and a glass of white wine in her left hand. She made us crackers with camembert and brie. That was really nice of her, as I think about now. My boyfriend liked her instantly.

My life as an amateur. Part 37.

 This is about sunday. And my laptop crashed. I am waiting for the fixer to open, I am way too early and am leaning against a wall in the sun. The laptop bag is heavy, I try not to take notice of this and I am posing leisurely while reading a book that popped out of my bike bag.

I am not that talented. In acting as if. This is another sunday and we drove to France. I didn’t fall asleep behind the steering wheel, so it's victory day. On a vide-de-grenier I bought a Levi’s corduroy trousers, far too big for one euro and I made a picture of a train station and of people waiting in line for a vintage ice cream. After that we drove further. This evening I am going to do my best not having to make a work. Except for his here. I thought about my mother on mother’s day. She did her best, you know, I was her mother too.

We were walking and heard the golden oriole singing. No one was there to hear. They never show themselves. In the next village

a cat was sitting very quietly in the middle of a zebrapath. A lot of traffic went through this village and even not that slow. But, now they did, stopped, people went out of the car to gently show the cat to the pedestrian side of the street. Left or right, I will never learn. On our way back home we drove through the same village and at the beginning their was this traffic sign triangle with three pussy cats on it. VICs.

My life as an amateur. Part 36.

 There is this sparrow in the sweet cherry tree imitating other birds and my daughter calling the dog. Such a clever bird. I took a picture of it but it sat high in the tree, singing along all the beautiful songs of the other ones. On the bench beneath I am trying to do my best.

Last week, I do not recall which day, I met a friend. He likes mirrors. So whenever he makes an installation he uses mirrors. He told me about that. Actually, I never liked the sight of a mirror, but now I am going to use one in a tiny installation. It will reflect a white mountain of paint. I am an imitator. My daughter is making a film of a hoverfly, they don’t sting. That is great. She gave me permission to use the film for the film ‘My life as an amateur’. It might be as nice as the film about the lamellen, if this word even exists in English. Let's talk about imperfection. We have this tiny sink in our tiny garden house and when I wanted to wash my hands after removing some asbest plates from the earth there was this sorrowful fat little spider with its legs curled under, or over, I do not know a thing about the physics of spiders, its body. I waited some seconds before turning the tap on and when it was still in the same place I removed it gently with my bare hands to the earth of our garden. Not the safest place I must admit, imperfect it is. Above the tiny sink is a tiny mirror, I gave it a gentle smile. At least that was what I saw, it still stays an imitation.

My life as an amateur. Part 35.

 Today I will tell a sad story about an older lady. 

When I was little, probably around the age of eight, I asked my mother what kind of music soul music was. She told me that it was the kind of music I like. She told me what I liked as a definition of soul music.

So I saw this lady in sneakers. Always this lady in sneakers, I say, and always faintly smiling, I say, more or less. Just to be sure, I suppose, that absolutely no one would ever see her with a grim look on her face.

She looks a little bit familiar. I must say. It has something to do with butterflies. And that I just decided that money is not everything. Money is never enough, so I prefer reading, as I saw a nice gentleman today with a linen bag with the words: Read! As if this is your last day.

Read until I know what art I need to steal. Read until I know how to title my last three works. Read until I know what is important. I am sitting in the late sun. Someone needs to answer the phone.

The mountain is occupied by pieridae. She is wearing shorts too.

My life as an amateur. Part 34.

Last week, or two or three weeks ago, someone told me that she thought one of my stories was sad. So now I am going to tell you a very humoristic story. I like to dive into other people's lives, to learn how to do the things, the thinking, the talking.

In those ancient times, when I was managing a gallery, I met this artist. He was exploding with ideas. I liked them. These ideas are like flies, or mosquitos if you like them better. And the winner is… walking through the city and grabbing a book from a little library, go find a bench and read till you have enough ( or not ) , and continue walking and drop the book in the next little library ( or take it home) and grab another book. I want to adopt this idea but I am not sure I will be a thief. If I do. 

Making things unruly.

It is easy, just walk into the studio and smear the paint on the panel or the linen, over and over again. And don’t stop till it is there.

Today I did a really good thing. I was walking the dog and my left eye saw a bicycle left unlocked, the keys were actually there. I rang the doorbell of the nearest door and after five minutes a barefooted woman opened the door and slapped her hand to the mouth. She had been so busy with her shoppings and all. Yes. You can do that.

The day before yesterday I finished a painting on a panel with black, blue and a marsblack square. I texted my sister that I would like to go to Rotterdam with her, having a nice day. I haven’t seen her for three years. Yes, I think so. I find it hard to talk to her boyfriend who is very right winged, his arguments are Trumpian. I always  lose, I fall quiet. After that I made a film called ‘Dancing Trees’, a film about trees in the wind, and a film ‘Volgende Station, ja’. The last mentioned is nice because you can hear someone saying ‘ja’ several times while driving in the subway. I am not sure anyone will notice this, but that’s ok. I would like to be one with a piece of art every moment of the day. Maybe that is not very professional, living a life like that, like a giant Bumblebee hovering under the cherry tree never stops being its very own Bumblebee. Yes. Exploding. 

My life as an amateur. Part 33.

 While running with the dog this morning I had the greatest thoughts. I wished I could have recorded them. The big show of my very own, or, in order to make a lot of things said irrelevant.

So I told this lady we can definitely learn from the dogs, saying hello and goodbye to each other all the time. A very long time ago I made an imaginative work called ‘hithehisayer’ or ‘gedagzegger’ in Dutch. The work consisted of me walking around in my or any other neighborhood, saying hi to every passerby. You can call it an ordinary performance. The reactions were great. I did not record it so there is no proof. That is one of the nice aspects of this work. No need to justify. Stop. I can hear the train to duivendrecht and the blackbird singing.

I never read back what I have been writing, it is a shifting in time constantly from one person to another to another to another.

I think I will wait to be famous until I turn sixty.

My life as an amateur. Part 32.

 I used to be grumpy when my favorite soccer club would lose a match. Not today. I am happy about that. I like it when things do not have an effect on me. After I graduated from University I applied for a volunteer job. I was rejected immediately because I was found too vague. Quite a compliment, as if I was a nouvelle movie.

One month ago, I bought this very hot down jacket from a famous expensive Italian designers label. I cannot wear it in nature, it is too red. I do not like cold holidays in the snow but if I would I could wear it then, go skiïng off-piste and be easily found. So, I am happy with this jacket.

When you are the kind sort of person you are a pro, when you are not so kind you are an am. Simply said. In times of depression I am soothing myself by saying that the only thing I need to do is breathe and be kind to my beloved and the rest. These are two things. True.

Today I told someone a lie. I am feeling bad about that. I was asked if my work was a voluntary job or a paid one. As if it mattered. Thinking as quickly as possible  about my answer-options, I choose the wrong one. Sorry. Stop. Two weeks ago someone else asked me the same question.

My life as an amateur. Part 31.

 I do not have time to hurry. Like everyone else I attend zoom meetings. Last week, I forgot which day, I told my zoom company that I want to do less things in a day. And in a week. There was a comment: why would you, if you like the things you do, what is the problem? I am not sure if I was content with this comment.

I dreamt about the potatoes in our kitchen storage. They were rooting like crazy. So today we will have spinach with mashed potatoes for dinner. And some old chourico.Nothing fancy. 

They stopped the eating part of living. Enough is enough. The pronunciation of ‘corned beef’ by my mother. Kornetbief did sound like a dutch product to me, something healthy, like tomatoes. Maybe she was right after all.

I found a book about writing, about how you can extract a reason to live by writing, even if you are not a writer. That is good news.

Today I heard a new word, in Dutch, so I can not write it down here. It was ‘schotelbuurt’. It sounds very inviting. With hot meals three times a day.

My life as an amateur. Part 30.

 I repeat, at the end of the day. At the end I wonder,  like everyone else, what does it mean to have lived this day. One stroke of paint, one sentence of words, ( if you can call it that ), several pages of Molloy, several pages of The Decameron ( I love the Middle Ages, don’t know where it comes from ), an accomplished drawing. The notification of a fly, a slow one, but quick enough. I am using the color beige on almost every painting, after starting with other colors like viridian green, sap green, cobalt blue and vermillion, cadmium yellow hue and warm gray.

I just made a work of art in one minute with some water paint, pencil and crayon: the tree and its shadow at the R.V. Kade. The grass is cadmium yellow hue, the shadow is at the wrong side of the tree. It’s amazing how nature works. Last night I was called a ‘he’ in a piece about my work. I liked it. Another reader told the writer that I am a ‘she’. Such a pity. Stop. I keep my nails short.

When my sister-in-law comes to visit us and sleep over, she brings her own power-strip. To empower all of her devices at once. Just before she goes to sleep.

My life as an amateur. Part 29.

Or any other day. Yes. As long as it is not so dramatic like some parts of my life as an amateur. This evening I abandoned a book called ‘Utopia’. The book contains a chapter about Dystopia as well. I found that more interesting.

Today we went to the garden. There was a lot of wind, and some big green mosquitos named ring-necked parakeets. So we thought let us pick our luck and took a lumberjack saw and after one hour and a half their tree went down. The stormy weather was a big help. Great afternoon. Deleting things can be constructive. I took most of the words of this Part 29 out because it was so over-informative it suffocated itself. Texts have feelings too.

When I was little and still living with my parents I felt sorry for an old table they threw out, just down from the balcony. Where is this going to end is what I thought.

We lived on the second floor. The people who lived on the fourth did it with washing machines and vacuum cleaners. 

I slapped a wasp one day in the overgrowth between the furniture. A boy from the third floor stomped me on the nose in return. All of a sudden he thought himself a lover of all creatures. My father came down to hit him on the ear. The end.

Some people are lucky, at the end of the day. 

My life as an amateur. Part 28.

 This is sunday. And all of a sudden I understood why a day of rest was invented, for people working six days a week. Sunday used to be a day of visiting my grandparents, to see my grandfather listening to football on the radio, and after that visiting other family members. This was important for my parents in order to drink the homebrew dutch gin in great amounts. And after that my father drove us unsteadily to the local chinese restaurant. It took some time before our food arrived. My mother went to rest under the table. My father paid the bill without us touching the food. My father drove us home. I do not recall the atmosphere in the evening.

I do prefer to work on sundays. I do not have to. I think about death these days. When I was a student, a very long time ago, I lived solitary in a small apartment overlooking de ‘Centrale markthallen’ in Amsterdam-West. For heating I had a woodstove and I used all the unpainted wood I found on the street. Of course some pieces were too big and needed to be sawed. The neighbor on the second floor, a very lonely man without teeth and bitter about life, complained about the noise. I could understand that. I also played piano because I had to practice for my lessons. Sometimes, I layed stretched out on my bed and tried to stop breathing. I was very quiet and never wanted to stop. Stop.

It is easier to live this way, when you think about it. It probably happened on sundays.

My life as an amateur. Part 27.

 This early morning I met this famous football player who is living in our street. He is a very friendly person. I think he thinks I do not know who he is, that I am just an older person jogging with her dog every morning without never ever getting any interest in football. We wish each other a very nice day, and so do our dogs. I like to keep it this way. I like friendly people without needing to know if they are successful in something. 

I have this strange relationship with food among a lot of other things. I think it is strange because I cannot fathom what is normal. Today I took a shower ( sorry for this ) and I was wondering if taking your time under the shower is a thing normal people do. And when you are not hungry, should you eat your luncheon sandwich without butter but with cheese sitting next to the tiny tomatoes in your ( my ) vintage luncheon box? It is a really nice box, the bottom part is yogurt-white and the upper part is tangerine-orange, coincidentally two of my favorite foods(?).

When I was a teenager I thought that candy was next to nothing, no sugar, no fat, no calories, because the candy didn’t fill me up. It was better and less scary than hachée.

Doing things while time is passing to live in. Doing passive things, like sitting and looking at a closed door, or a sansevieria, and at the same time building a house for one self. Tiny of course. Thank you. Have a nice day too.

.

My life as an amateur. Part 26.

 I don’t like boats. I don’t like being on boats. My father has been a sailor since the age of fifteen. After I was born ( my father was nineteen ) he stayed ashore and needed to join the army, as a sniper. After two years he went working in the harbor. Full continu.

Sometimes I am early. Sometimes I am far too late. There is no need to give me a set of keys. I like it better without.

After thirty years he bought his own boat, and called it ‘Dreamer’, a little motor boat with sleeping capacity. My parents went to the Brielse Meer, the bottles of dry white wine stayed cool in the water, for my mother an important detail of this watersport.

I ran ten kilometers this morning. It took me one hour and twenty one minutes. An hour later I went shopping, far too much for my bicycle bags, so I had difficulties getting the groceries into those bags. An elderly lady stopped in order to assist me, while saying:’Youngsters need some help too, sometimes’. I was grateful towards her. I am fifty six.

My life as an amateur. Part 25.

 When I was a student, I had a job. It was at a youth building place in the north of Amsterdam where children could build their own house with pallets and other leftovers. These children came mainly from poor families, broken families, drunken families and other families with issues. So, you could say, the building place was a safe haven for most of them. Some were violent, to me and my colleagues.

It was long time ago, so I am not quite sure how old he was, but we became very close friends while working there. M. came to work every day with his van without a driving license . He lived on a little sailing boat. He was very poor and he was very fond of cheese. Every month on payday he went to the supermarket and while shopping he ate a pound of cheese for which was not paid yet. But he did finally of course. Sometimes we cycled to the ferry and just before embarking we stranded in a pub and drank Dutch gin all night long, eating a stroopwafel along. We slept together in a very small bed, spoonlike. That was all.

I stopped working at the building place because a little boy threatened to hit me with a bicycle chain.  Two years later, after sending M. an invitation for an exhibition, his girlfriend phoned to tell me M. died on his little sailing boat.

Stop.

My life as an amateur. Part 24.

 Last night I decided to become even slower than I already am. I intend to do the things in a slow motion manner, like reading ( very very very difficult with piles, mountains of books waiting impatiently for me ) and writing ( with which I mean to write down only the most necessary words ), painting ( one layer of paint a day and preparing another panel or stretched linen ) and running ( giving every step my hundred percent attention, and not more than five kilometers ).

This morning a sentence came into mind while running, but at home I had forgotten what it was. This happens all the time.

The good thing is that I don’t need to write. I even deleted the foregoing paragraph. After that we went to see a friend from a very long time ago, I don’t know how long ago, all I can say is that I noticed that his curly hair was straight and painted black and that his front teeth were missing and that his hands were shaking. He had been very ill. The first few minutes he didn’t seem to follow what we were telling him, as if his mind was trembling too. But then I thought, he has always been like that, it was just such a long time ago. When we went away again he said he liked our visit and that would like to visit us too. But not that soon. I think that’s great. A great afternoon.

My life as an amateur. Part 23.

 I am not to be trusted. Last night I heard music. A guitar was played with lots of dissonants. A hesitant violin. This was the world. This was me. Nothing more needed. Stop. 

We were traveling by car and the rest of the world was skybound. I thought of paint and painting and how I need other people’s works to feel a whole person, to be able to paint and not give a goddamn whatever of how it will end. This is what I need to say every quarter of the hour, and keep on moving. Last night I was reading The Lonely City written by Olivia Laing. It occurs to her that loneliness is not like hell because its like living within an ice cube. It is not a book to be used as a central heating to warm your back. I actually never do that with a book.

There is a long distance artist friend I ran into at an art fair last summer. We decided to work together. It's December now and I still need to send her a ‘something’ work. A minute ago I texted her that I am working on it, that I am very slow ( or thoughtful, which is nicer ) these days. So now I can postpone the work a little further.

About the wash softener, I think I bought the wrong kind again. I am very sensitive to smells, probably like most people, and after spending half of an hour putting my nose into the bottles of wash softener on the washing products section of the supermarket, my nose seemed not sensitive enough. 

My life as an amateur. Part 22.

 My name is Oscar, I have sent my cancellation letter to the organisation for the elderly demented people. I was a volunteer and it was far too hot in their place. Some of the co-workers were not exactly emancipated and not neglectable loud. Each week there was a loud explosion. And it took a week to gather my brains. I didn’t say that in my letter but I am curious for the answer.

I left home at an early age, at what age I do not recall, it was such a long time ago. I thought myself better company than the rest of my family.

I like clothes. Not all the clothes. I like to buy my clothes cheap,  because I don’t like to spend money. Last night we talked about chickens. That they grief over a passed relative or neighbour. That they can become friends with another species. Like the little black chicken. The little black chicken lived in a chicken coop on a farm in the middle of Portugal. The other chickens decided that she was the black sheep. So they picked on her. The farmer took the little black chicken out and let it walk loose. She decided to live together with the farm dog, in his little kennel. The dog was perfectly fine with that and each morning he got his egg for breakfast. The chicken lady got her feathers back.

My life as an amateur. Part 21.

 I am worrying about the writing. I am worrying about the amount of drama.

Yesterday I listened to a podcast. I never do such a thing. It was a recommendation by my art colleague and friend David. Gummbah never wanted anything regular or normal, he just didn’t like school, raising a family, earning money with a regular job, making a career, sleeping night, working day. He wanted to draw no matter someone else's opinion. Nice podcast.

I like to steal, from others. A word, a catchy color, I like to steal films, childhoods, mothers, fathers. My parents were children when they got married. 

I never thought that my given name suited me right, but I thought it would be too much drama to change it. Maybe one day I will adopt a different name every day. A daily name.

I am just thinking, that is all. 

When I was really little my father took me with him to a pub near the harbour. All the pubs in our town were near the harbour. This one was called ‘De griffioen’. We went to the pub almost everyday. A friend of my father was there waiting at a table. I told him that his face looked like the face of a monkey. He responded by saying that we are all descended from the monkeys. I liked his answer very much, because it was scientific and not angry at all. Today my name is Henry.

My life as an amateur. Part 20.

 It is not going that well. No need to worry, this moment will pass. As long as keep on making short sentences in English, no matter how many mistakes I make. Today I am going to seperate myself from two different editions of ‘Lust for Life, a novel based on the life of Vincent van Gogh’ by Irving Stone. I am making a list of the things abandoned by my person. Maybe it is a good idea to bring them to the amateur-workshop and drill some holes in them. Great. I am feeling better all of a sudden.

Before I forget, we were walking near ‘s Graveland and a buzzing creature flew close to my left ear. I always have to think about writing when such a thing happens, whatever the origin of the species is. Me, for instance. I am named after the mother of my father. Why I don’t know. Maybe I was their first grandchild and the sixth of my mother’s parents. Maybe it was important for them. What can you do when you are seventeen and already wearing a full teeth protese

Today is a sunday and all of a sudden, again, I was running during the Amsterdam Marathon with my dog. A six kilometer part of it. I made a to-do list when we got home, for myself. 1. Throw the bikes out. 2. Make ugly paintings, at least three. 3. Vacuum clean the whole apartment. 4. Walk the dog. 5. Do some shoppings for dinner and breakfast and every time in between. 6. Work on the film 3Start. 7. Writing My life as an amateur. Part 20. 8. Throw more books out. 9. Throw more clothes out. 10. Think during the day. 11. Make a selfie film. and 11. Do some mindfulness.

This morning I had a bright thought: ‘I am getting behind my own schedule’ is a misunderstanding of life.

My life as an amateur. Part 19.

 For a year I have been travelling around the world, maybe two years, it’s difficult to let space and time coöperate so I do not remember. First I went to Ireland and stayed there for quite a long time. It was not a holiday or such a thing. I do not like to be a tourist, like all tourists with decent working brains.

Sorry for that.

I need to talk about my father. But for today the time is over. All I have to do is to paint a white square in the upper left corner. I think I lost track of him. I think I lost track of a lot of things ( things are people too, and vice versa ). What did I write in Part 1, and Part 2, and Part 3, etcetera? I do not want to read it back now, so there might be some repetitive subjects. Do not worry. This afternoon, a friend of mine told me I was writing in Dunglish, a language somewhere in between English and Dutch, as you may presume. First I was shocked, because I thought I had failed. Even with the autocorrection. The second thought was I do not give a fuck, this is the language I do, if someone want it different, go ahead, my story stays like this, my story. Stop.

My father got himself a life insurance, for himself. He died at the age of 57 because of liver failure. He stopped drinking eleven years before so he didn’t see it coming. His life insurance was for his own long life. The money that was left went to the insurance company. In his younger years he sailed around the world as an underpaid sailor and fell into the ship’s hold. He was in the hospital of Seattle for three months.

My mother died eight months later. Of heart failure. She only drank white wine in the morning and some instant coffee in the late afternoon. She never ate anything and smoked like a steam train. No need to worry about that, it was a long time ago. I think I will visit Canada next.

My life as an amateur. Part 18.

 This is something about poetry, and abstract art. I was reading the newspaper today, and in an interview Lidewijde Paris says, ‘Sometimes a poem is like abstract art. What you see is a field and nothing happens in your head. Then you switch to another field and suddenly it hits you. Without understanding why.’

This early morning, I was running with the dog through a slight drizzle ( a drizzle is always slight, sorry for that), the sky was yellow, purple and a little bit white with blue. I decided that this sight was enough ‘Erlebnis’ for the day.

 This is about dragging things inside my studio too. Except for the paintings and the art materials, it is overwhelmingly full with books, clothes and bicycles (parts). Needless to say, I do not want that many things because it's inhabiting my brains. And I want my brains to be clear. So I decided not to bring anymore clothes, books and bikes into my studio and throw each day one article out, or maybe two or three. 

I started yesterday, this morning I bought a second hand down jacket, and I found a very very nice bike that needed to be fixed. 

We can say that I am quite an amateur in keeping my promises to myself. But I will try again: these were the very last goods. The poetry of it.

Lucky for me I do not drink, smoke, gamble or do drugs. 

My life as an amateur. Part 17.

 What I wanted to talk about is running. ( I loved the book by Haruki Murakami ‘What I talk about when I talk about running’). Let me tell you first that what I do isn’t a bit of an athletic bootcamp running at all. I am going very very very slow. And all the moving people are going faster and sometimes my legs are going like rubber because of that and sometimes my legs are going step by step. Very slowly. Because this is what I do.

I am such a person. On my way to my appointment I happened to have a gap in time, an hour even, which is a very long time. I find it difficult to admit but I found myself in a giant situation of panic. Just this day I left my ‘just in case there will be stolen time’-book at home for a change, because of the weight of my shoulder bag and because of the fact I actually never have time leftovers between everything I work and meet. Stop.

Whenever I have time. Stop. Reason, rain or sunshine. When I spot a little library on a street corner I stop to check it out. I am a hoarder of books I might want to read one day. When I have read all the afore collected books. So today it turned out my lucky day, I picked the book “The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck. A Counterintuitive Approach to Living a Good Life.” written by Mark Manson. For a moment I thought I had read it already, but that had been a self help book written by a woman not called Mark.

I was looking forward to my good life. Stop.

My life as an amateur. Part 16.

Today I do not want to do anything. I want. But I cannot. I read books about Zen and step by step, being in the NOW. It's for other people. Ok, when I run I have to think continuously one step at a time, but one cannot run all day long! What do you think, there wouldn’t be time for all the other things that need to be done and thought of.

I think everything I make is ugly, so I keep on trying to make the best of it. Layer over layer, just me and the paint, nothing in between. Keep your own pace, however cut down.

Tonight I stepped accidentally on a painting that was lying on the floor of my studio. Blue. My daughter.

I sometimes called her names, just for fun, not really bad bad names. She even liked those names so much, she used them for her friends. Now the whole of Bulgaria and the city of Groningen are throwing cursing words to each other. WhoRRRe.

I like to wear dirty white flubbery basketball socks. After one day wearing them. Yesterday I was told about the mosquito, again, that it is such a nice personage for a short middle of the road story. My story. In fact, I had totally forgotten about this tiny specimen ( of course, I am aware that almost everyone knows that a mosquito is not that big compared to almost anything bigger ) myself.

I don’t want to talk about it. It is such a sad story. 

My life as an amateur. Part 15.

 My life started as an accident. So the parents of my parents went to talk with each other and decided that their children needed to marry a day before Christmas. My mother thought it was a big joke, she just had lost her teeth and went to the dance without. Stop. Chain Smoking. Stop.

To paint is to talk with the painting, that is what it is, all about the material, the colors, the smell and the movement.  Sorry for the rest of it all, like repairing bicycles. I am good at it, but that doesn’t mean I need to do it. It is just accidental and I do not like it. My father was an amazing imitator of the biggest of Laurel and Hardy. I always forget who is who, he said ‘ good byeeee. Good byeeeeee’, when the car’s motor finally ran by the hand of the smallest. 

I am a prof at anything you can think of. Lucky me my time and motivation is very limited. 

And again I heard about a bonsai fanatic. A bonsai is like a child, it needs accurate care, it, he or she needs to be talked to. Every hour and every day. In short sentences. You cannot possibly be an amateur with bonsaï, because in that case they die. You can call that a disaster. That is even worse than an accident.

The 24th december 1964 was the day.

My life as an amateur. Part 14.

 I like to read. When I start reading a book I find it difficult to put it aside, when I do not like it. Today I smiled while driving my bike through traffic. I am a careful and elegant cyclist, I give way to others. Three cyclists smiled back. One of the several immediate thoughts was: how can I make a work of or about smiling to one another. In a sincere way needless to say. The smile, or the work of art, I am not sure. In my teenage years, I happen to notice that members of my family also smiled to one another because they were judging the third family-member in a negative way. Not such a nice smile, I didn’t like my family but I was the only one.

The temperature is escalating and the flies in my studio are drinking my tea. I pour the tea in the pot of the tomato plant. An instant funeral. The fly has disappeared.

I found the word fodder ( futter ) and I like it extremely. Today, and yesterday and all my days, I made an abstract painting. On this tiny one I added a tiny green square. I should not have done that. But I did. And I left it right there.

In our little street library someone left a giant book: Sanctuary, Britain’s Artists and their Studios, Thames & Hudson. Its weight is more than five kilo’s. Leaving through the pages and studio’s I met my long time ago hero Sean Scully again. ( I first saw his work in London, when I was a student ). He still is, one of my heroes, even when he appeared to be quite arrogant, answering reluctantly during an interview. Maybe he is too famous. Or maybe he should read a book instead.

My life as an amateur. Part 13.

They had rabbits. Of course they had rabbits. That’s why.

That’s how I got a rabbit’s leg with real soft fur from my granddad, too skinny for eating. I am sorry, I do not recall feeling sorry for the rabbit, it wasn’t even christmastime. I do not like the taste of rabbit. Now I am a vegetarian

and I feel sorry for the rabbits and all the animals, like the elephants.

It was a long time ago, more than thirty years, so I might give a troubled sight of information. In those times I wished every night before I fell asleep that I would wake up as a boy, I mean, in a boy's body. And that I could switch whenever I want. It would be more convenient, that is how I feel about it now. But you never know.

At the end of the day my primary thought  is that I must have something forgotten, something that should have been done. As an amateur, this thought comes to mind several times a day.

Thinking about the mosquito, for example, the life of it, the simpleness. But how can I possibly know? What makes me think I can know something for sure about another creature, as if I can read its mind. If it's there.

Of course I know there are people that have studied the life of the mosquito, among other creatures, and they know better. They are professionals.

 I need to go make very selfish objects straight when I get home, with dirty materials. 

My life as an amateur. Part 12.

I am not an airfryer expert. My sister-in-law is. She likes new devices and she is a professional in handling them. I am not. I do things by hand and most things take a long long time.

When I was young, I don’t know exactly how young, the skateboard was introduced in my life. I really liked it, but my parents were not going to buy it. There was a chronic lack of money ( better not tell why ). My grandfather had a shed in the garden where he fixed all kind of things. What I don’t remember. It is more than forty years ago. That is a long time. When I was a student I sometimes visited my grandfather

( my grandmother died at the age of sixty five of imploding guts ), there was never much to talk about, our lives did differ too much,  except for the interest in boxing of course. After half an hour as I announced that I needed to go to catch my train, he gave me a packet of Van Nelle halfzware. That was great.

But back to the skateboard, my grandfather managed to make me one. He took a little shelf and a old roller skate ( the one without the shoe ), tore it apart and fixed the wheels under the shelf. When I went down the slope near the station I always went to the left, never straight forward, even if I tried. The wheels were fixed and crooked. My grandfather had a crooked eye.

I suppose I am like my grandfather. Except the fact that I did quit smoking before I die. I am not an expert in living. My sister-in-law is.