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.

My life as an amateur. Part 54.

 I have learned so many things. That I need less than I thought. I can sell all my expensive trousers. I don’t need to buy that much oil paint, I am going to search the trash and garbage for tins of lack. I would like to wrestle with the paint and the painting ( what is what ) like this artist does. At a certain moment in the process she undresses and hugs and strangles the clay in its form to be. There exists a video of it.

This morning I saw a runner standing completely still in the middle of the road looking intensely at her phone. The upper half of her body tended slightly forward.

I am tending backwards, with the whole of my body. We went to Belgium, my friend and I to bring back the artworks of two Belgian artists. The first said to never drink or serve tea, only coffee counts in Flanders. Then he found some loose and fruity biological tea, almost past the consuming date. So he went to put the kettle on and came back with a little heavy super expensive Japanese teapot.

I want to get rid of all my work in my studio to be able to work. I can give them away as Christmas presents and deflate. I do not like to know what I am going to make beforehand because the need to make it will be gone, and the necessity of its existence too. The rain has stopped and I thought I learned a lesson from Frances McDormand, but I am afraid my heart is in a different compartment. I am not a real actor of course. 

Tomorrow I will go slowly through the day. Maybe standing still.

My life as an amateur. Part 53.

 This afternoon I encountered an old friend, old like four or five years ago. The moment we looked into each other’s faces, at the edge of the park, the friend turned around the give her full attention to a very wild rose.I thought that was a good thing not to stop to say hi.

Maybe, in a year or two, I will be in need of a studio, because I need to leave the current one. I will spare you the details. In the neighborhood of the gallery where I work there is a vacant one, very soon. To apply for this one you need to tell your future plans, and send a list of all the prices you have won. I didn’t apply, I don’t want to tell random people what my delicate plans are. Besides that, I do not think art should be a competition. At least not in my past and future art life, and if I accidently would have won a prize, I would write about it in a part of ‘My life as an amateur’.

One can be a supporter of any club or not wanting to be part of a group. Some things are always new. Today I met a new man in the supermarket. I was there on this late moment of time to do the late shoppings for our elderly neighbor-lady. He was looking for the plums on the scale. It took a long time, a very long time so I went searching with him. He was slightly irritated and told me he was busy finding it but the point were his eyes, and his legs. The elder persons are not worth investing in. There is the reason to keep on going. I liked him. He didn’t wish me a good day. I had plums too. For my neighbor with bad legs.

My life as an amateur. Part 52.

 Questions make you think about things. Tonight I don’t want to think. Tonight I am going to turn a bicycle upside down and throw some paint on secondhand framed linen. And read a page in Ingrid Robeyns’ ‘Rijkdom’.

I learned all about emission and less emission please. Today I received a letter by computer. The letter contained thirteen questions, I started with an easy and a difficult one. How was your holiday? Great. How do you make it through your days and nights? I run and create like a madperson. I write about my life as an amateur. I would like to sing in a minimal punk band, so I started to practice on my ukulele again. And on my French lessons. 

By the way, you could write these stories too, if you try hard enough. It’s easy.

I am in this group of people that had met each other in another group of people. Most of them are artists, maybe all of them, maybe I should have asked. So this new group wants to … stop…how do I describe, house magic collaborations between people who usually do other kinds of stuff. Like a painter goes dancing and a graphic designer goes playing in a band, on any kind of instrument. What I am trying to say is that I don’t want to be a member of the board, with tons of responsibilities. Maybe I should explain why, or maybe I better keep my mouth shut very tight and keep on focusing on being me in my own category.

That’s the best. I am repairing and selling old bikes again, to support our son with his studies, and ourselves with the groceries and running shoes.

My life as an amateur. Part 51.

 It is best to say nothing, when someone else does the talking. I was invited for a garden party this afternoon. I am not so fond of parties and doing small talks. I need to tell this friend that I am not coming, telling her a lie about having family issues.

Last night I had a recall about W. I didn’t see in years, until a month ago. He is making a film and he is busy with it his whole life. He is almost seventy now and it is a comical film in black and white. I played once in it, I was told to fall out of an ambulance while driving. I was pregnant at the time. My son is 24 years old now.

 A mouse came to live in his room, when he needed to go on holiday he took the mouse in a private suitcase on the train to Switzerland. With holes in it. O, and by the way, I do not intend to take notice of external opinions. 

I try to make white paintings. I try not to go to dinner in a restaurant. Tonight we went to a restaurant because there had been some important events in the lives of the children. It didn’t take long and the waiter was nice and I just took a salad and a bottle of water. Another waiter threw a big chicken on the floor, by accident. It was the neighbour’s chicken. Today I finished the same painting for the third time. I am satisfied but it is still not white enough. I might go living somewhere else, where it is quiet, with lots of silence. Do you follow me? I think that is the best thing to write to a friend. To become an expert in one category.

In other words, everyone can go pleasantly f-word themselves. When you think about it. When you cannot find the white space, to be.

My life as an amateur. Part 50.

 Today is not such a good day. That is a pity but not all the days can be good. You know why. Today however is embarrassingly bad, I don’t even care about art. I listened to Stockhausen the elder and now I am writing this sitting in my white design chair. Well, yesterday I intended a gathering of ex-doctors, these were more or less elderly people who needed to drink enough water, to go to the toilet all the time and even one of them was farthing during the reading about the amount of hospitals in Amsterdam last century. I fell asleep, with a drooping mouth, all the others were wide awake, I think. I better start a band with thoughtful music.

While walking the dog for half an hour ten people smiled at me. Maybe that is enough, maybe I should not write that this is enough to live for. A couple of days ago, probably a Saturday, I was going through the racks in a thrift shop, very swiftly, when I heard a mother yelling at her daughter: ‘ Now you listen to me, stop crying, otherwise you go to the hospital’, she repeated this every two minutes. I was wondering what she meant with this threat. I worked very hard. Actually I wanted to leave at five, as I used to do but there was still so much work to do that needed to be done. So I stayed as the others stayed too and finished together. I think that was good. But the dog told me enthusiastically it took too long. I think it is difficult to choose the right thing to do. Stop. There flew a real fly past my ear when I was framing drawings of animals. Should I like animals? Maybe only when they talk, like they do in books.

My life as an amateur. Part 49.

 My sister is seven years younger. This morning I sent her a message for her fiftieth birthday, I wished her a very happy day. She texted me back that her husband had left her after 33 years and immediately had gone to live with another woman. I haven’t seen or heard from my sister for three years, or something like that. I can see some of her life on facebook and instagram. We will be on the phone tonight.

You can choose something and do that thing for a certain range of time, maybe forever. Like you choose to be a hairdresser and run a small enterprise. In five months you are bankrupt and you choose to go work at a police station. In the evening you cook for your boy or girl or another friend and watch your favorite series on your favorite series provider.

I can't do that, I am living somewhere between the police station and the series provider. That’s ok, it is very quiet over here, except for the occasional insects. Yesterday I saw a bit of a documentary about the poet Gerrit Kouwenaar. His comments on poetry were live-saving. So that is great for me. Mental note: listen to music by Karl Heinz Stockhausen, his grand work Aus Licht.

There is to notice some panic when I do not have control. I could give some examples here but it actually matters the whole of life.

The favorite aunt of my former boyfriend ( not that it matters) went on a holiday a very long time ago. Her cat stayed at home and needed to eat while she was away. So she took seven saucers to put seven meatballs on them. And off she went.

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.