Nothing

There are days when you just need time to think. Nothing seems to be happening and you seem unable to do very much, but the time you take is no less important than the time when you do get to do what you want. You tend to rush around all the time, running from one thing to another, your brain always full with big matters and all the little, everyday things. At times it is just too much.

In My Park

On an average day in our local park you will get to see Mallard, Grey Heron, Wood Pigeon, Crow, Jackdaw, Magpie, Robin, Chaffinch, Coot, Blue Tit, Great Tit, House Sparrow, Wren, Ring-necked Parakeet and Blackbird. They are the birds you seem to get all the time. If you are lucky you also get to see Long-tailed tit, Treecreeper, Great Spotted Woodpecker, Jay, Dunnock, Nuthatch. Today I was lucky enough to see all of these. I guess the list of birds you might see is longer, at times we get Greenfinch and Goldcrest, for example, but for one morning walk it wasn’t bad. I was especially pleased to get a great view of the woodpecker, probably my favourite bird. He flew from one tree to another, striking one great pose after another, and I had my binoculars, so I could study him at length. And it was lovely to see a pair of Nuthatch and a pair of Treecreepers. They might breed in the park this year. And much to my surprise I also got to see Tufted Duck and Cormorant today, not regular visitors to the park.

The breeding birds seem to be returning again at the moment. The first Chiffchaffs and Willow Warblers, and the Godwits are back. The first Lapwing egg has been found. So it must be spring. Now all I want are the Swifts to come whizzing past my windows again.

A Week of Books

This is the week of the book in the Netherlands. A strange phenomenon really. There is a lot of media attention for books and authors. If you buy a Dutch book you get a specially commissioned little book for free, written by one of the country’s best authors. Then, because the event is sponsored by the Railway company, that book serves as a train ticket on Sunday. There are special events, book signings, lectures. This year’s theme is France, so a lot of attention for French authors and even more for Dutch authors writing about France. So many new books. And I must confess, I do love books. Or did I mention that already.

Right now I am among the Borgia’s and the Medici’s in Italy long ago. A book by one of my favourite Dutch authors. When I was younger I always loved reading the old stuff, ninetheenth century novels. I loved Jane Austen, George Eliot and Charles Dickens. I read them all and I rememember when and where I read them. My first Dickens was “A Tale of Two Cities” and I read it during a holiday in Norway. I was staying with a friend and they had this small shelf of English books in their guest room. There I discovered Agatha Christie, and Charles Dickens. I loved the Dickens story, and finished the book very quickly. I can still clearly remember the little room, the bookshelf and the way I got into the story, even while surrounded by all the beauty of Norway. Then there was Dickens at university. We read “Great Expectations”, another wonderful story with great characters, and I wanted more of this. Talking about the book and analyzing it added to its charm somehow. At university in England I had four weeks to read four of the big ones, “Pickwick Papers”, “David Copperfield”, “Martin Chuzzlewit” and . It was winter and cold in the resident’s hall where I lived, but I enjoyed reading in my room. So I would curl up on the bed, pull the duvet over me and live the life of David Copperfield.
Jane Austen I discovered through an early television adaptation of “Pride and Prejudice”. I fell for the charms of David Rintoul, the ultimate Darcy, but also turned to the book, and then on to Austen’s other works. Great romantic stories, but so much more. Then there was George Eliot. I was asked to read “Middlemarch” at university. A real world to get involved with. A great heroine. I really should read it again soon, it is such a fascinating book.

After I graduated, I started reading all this modern stuff. I suddenly discovered this great world of authors of my own time, people still writing. I discovered Peter Ackroyd, who wrote about long ago. And I discovered modern women writers. Margaret Atwood, Beryl Bainbridge, A.S. Byatt, Penelope Lively, Rose Tremain.

Then I made an almost bigger step, back into my own language, and I started reading modern Dutch literature. I seem to stick to women authors mainly these days, and there are so many interesting ones. Renate Dorrestein, Hella Haasse, Kristien Hemmerechts, Rascha Peper, Anna Enquist, Pauline Slot, Barbara Voors. They write about issues that concern me, I recognise their thoughts and ideas, but they add to mine. They are all different, and I need to read them at different moments and for different reasons.

Then, sometimes I go back, just to reread old favourites. Or you find out that the tradition still exists, though maybe in a slightly different way. You have Philip Pullman who writes great adventures. I like the modern stuff, but I can also really enjoy something that takes me back in time.

Going through the list of the Big Read I saw so many great memories there, and I felt a few were missing. Hardly any D.H. Lawrence, one of the first real adult writers I got to read in secondary school.

Come to think of it, that was another strange introduction. I had an unusual English teacher in secondary school. She was an elderly lady, very religious, tiny and fragile, who seemed to be a bit stuck in the past. She always wore these pretty dresses, had her hair done very neatly, used a walking stick and wore glasses that were about ten years’ out of date. But she did always manage to look elegant, and she was a born teacher. Her English was a little old-fashioned and she had very strict ideas on just about everything. There were little chalk marks on the floor and the tables had to be exactly on the mark. Girls in front of the class, boys in the back. When it came to our reading lists, she would often pick a book from the library we were supposed to read. For some reason I got to read Lawrence’s “The Rainbow”. I am still surprised at that choice, it was totally unexpected for me. It wasn’t an easy book for a sixteen-year old, but I did love it and it was definitely challenging. I read much more Lawrence after that first one.

Your tastes do change though, and when I look at all the different things I’ve read. There were periods of reading about cricket, about travelling, about New York, of reading lots of theatre biographies, plays, crime novels. But I’ve always loved good stories, good characters. I can’t imagine a day without books.

Illusions

The other day I finished a Paul Auster novel, “The Book of Illusions”. It had been a while since I read one of his books, but he is a wonderful writer. I just need reminding sometimes. It has been many years since I read the “New York Trilogy”, but that is one of those books that stick in your mind, one of those baffling books that set you thinking. I’m still not sure I understand it at all, and I really should read it again. This new one is about a silent movie star, it is full of strange events and characters, a wonderful story.

Yesterday we buried our little Moritz. There is an old cemetery not too far from where we live, no longer in use, but maintained well, with lots of old trees and plants. It is a beautiful site, it feels like it was left behind in time at some point. We got permission to bury him in a small corner near the edge of the site, away from the graves but near a couple of benches. A good place for him to rest.

Last night I watched Bill Nighy on “Parkinson”. I loved him in “Love, Actually” and have always felt he was underestimated. I’ve seen him on stage and he is one of those actors you remember. I am glad to see he is enjoying success now, and am even more glad to see that he is a nice and funny man. He doesn’t seem to take himself too seriously, and I like watching a man like that.

Modern Art

More art for me today, after Mucha and Rossetti a very firm move into modern times. A friend of mine had an exhibition in a small Amsterdam gallery near the Rijksmuseum, and I went to have a look with her just before she took down all her works to make room for the next artist. I like her work very much. She used to paint trees in almost uncontrolled lines, gnarled trees, and now the lines seem transferred to the shapes of women. She has always used different backgrounds to her works like maps and pages from old books.

She had some oil paintings there, but some charcoal drawings too. Female forms drawn in simple black lines, in some cases combined with patterned wallpaper in a very beautiful way, in other cases drawn on the pages of an old book. And huge paintings of women drawn on cardboard boxes that once contained IKEA bookcases. Tiny pictures as well. Her works range from the poetic and the erotic to the harsh and realistic.

Above a black piano three small drawings of women in black ink. Drawings on pages from an old book.

The gallery was a beautiful space, two adjoining rooms separated by sliding doors, big windows on both sides so a lot of light. The place was once probably a posh appartment for someone. Some of the smaller paintings exhibited were of very stylish rooms, lavishly decorated, represented in small oil paintings. Small cupboards next to the sliding doors containing small paintings and objects collected by the artist, in some way related to the works. Newspaper articles, photographs, books, postcards, advertisements from magazines. It all fit together very well.

Some of the other oil paintings are bigger and they have a dreamlike quality, painted in light colours, women seen from both the back and the front, often near or in the sea.

Then I walked on to FOAM, the Amsterdam Museum for Photography. They had an exhibition of photographs by Man Ray and his model Lee Miller. A fascinating exhibition with some beautiful and well-known pictures, but also some small contact prints at least as interesting. Some of the big names of the era, like Tristan Tzara, but a few unknown models too. I like black and white photographs a lot, and this is a nice collection.

And now I just got back from a concert by Tom Barman, singer of the Belgian band dEUS. He played some of the band’s songs, and some covers of songs by other greats. I enjoyed watching him, and I enjoyed the simplicity of the concert. Just two men, a guitar and a piano, but great songs and a great performance.

For Moritz

This morning one of our guinea pigs died. He was over six years old, very old for a guinea pig, and he hadn’t been well for a few days. He didn’t want to eat anymore and he almost faded away. I don’t think he suffered much, and he was very old.

We first got him over six years ago, together with his little brother. The animals were only about six weeks old, tiny, but lovely. The brother died when he was just two, after having some problems eating. Then we got another companion for our Moritz, a dark-coloured, different type of guinea pig. When this one arrived he was scared of these big people and he was forever hiding behind his big fellow guinea pig. They got on very well, sometimes having their little arguments over food, but they could cuddle up very sweetly when it was cold.

Moritz was getting old, though, he had trouble with his teeth and we had to cut his vegetables into small pieces for him. He could really enjoy his sweetcorn, fennel or cucumber though. And he loved little slices of apple. If you stroked him after giving him his favourites he would let out this purr of contentment. Then, just sometimes, if you cuddled him, he would lick your nose to let you know he liked you too. But he had been gradually getting a bit slower, though he never seemed less content.

It is sad to lose him because we had him for so long, and he was such a trusting, gentle little creature. I am glad he didn’t get to suffer too much though, but we will miss him.

Rossetti

Dante Gabriel Rossetti is an unusual painter. Superficially Rossetti and Mucha have a lot in common, they both paint women with long flowing hair surrounded by symbolic items. But their tones and colours are different, and they create different moods. It was nice to see both exhibitions in the same week though, and to be able to think about the two artists together.

The exhibition at the Van Gogh Museum is interesting. I enjoyed the variety of items there, they show the breadth of Rossetti’s work and career. The early sketches are small and simple, and I loved the imperfections in some of them, they show a young artist trying to find his way. You can see the gradual development of the painter, the influence of the other Pre-Raphaelites, the move from small drawings to his paintings of women.

I liked two paintings of his rooms, some pieces of jewelry that he painted placed next to the paintings, and I liked the photographs of models and other painters. I guess in that sense the whole exhibition reminded me of the Mucha too. I enjoyed being back with the Pre-Raphaelites, seeing these colours, the women and the themes and symbolism. The colours always get to me, though I must admit I also really loved seeing all the small sketches, like a series of sketches of Elizabeth Siddall. And I loved seeing the portrait he did of Maria Zambaco. A close friend once told me about Maria Zambaco, so seeing the portrait reminded me of him too.

I think I’ll go back again later on, just to see some pieces again. It is nice to have this exhibition so close to home and to be able to go and see it again when I feel like it.

At the museum they had a great book on Schiele, which I could not resist. I love Schiele’s drawings, because they always seem so simple, but they are so unusual and there is so much emotion in them. This book has a lot of drawings and watercolours and it looks great. Just a lot of pictures and very little text. The Van Gogh has a great bookshop for modern art anyway, always a temptation.

I must own up to an even tougher moment at the museum though. I went for a coffee just before midday at the cafetaria, and spent about three minutes staring at a piece of cake. It did look good, and I was hungry. I reached out for a plate to put it on, and then I managed to change my mind and walk away with just the coffee. It was a close thing though.

Chicken Soup and Stewed Pears

Today is my grandmother’s birthday. She was born in 1909, and she died when I was about eight. I don’t remember all that much about her, but I have no bad memories of her. She was a kind woman who loved her children and grandchildren. She had a tough life. She married young, in 1929, when my mother was already on her way. She had eight children, six survived into adulthood. She lived in a small village, the family never had much money, and she had to deal with a great many problems. She suffered from diabetes and she died when she was only 60 years old.

I only have a few memories, of the house where she lived, of the food she made for anyone who happened to drop in, of her hospitality. She made great chicken soup and delicious stewed pears. She was a big woman, and that always felt good and comfortable. I just wish I had more memories.

Sometimes I wonder what she would think of me, whether my world would not be completely foreign to her. I live in the big city, I have a career and my own life. I have moved away from all she knew. I hope she would be proud of me.

Meanwhile, we are in the middle of Lent. I have decided to hold on to the rules I started out with some ten years’ ago. A co-worker of mine at the time was a firm believer in the values of Lent. He would eat very little these 40 days and you could always watch him grow thinner in the period before Easter. His rules were very strict, and over the weeks this would also affect his moods. He wasn’t much fun just before Easter. I did admire his determination though.
After a couple of years I decided to join him, and the first few times I stuck quite rigourously to “The List”, as he called it. These days I still try to do that, but after a year of starting to faint after a couple of weeks I adjusted the list a bit. But still, no sweets or cookies, no alcohol, and eating less than I usually do. And more exercise and reflection. It is a challenge, because you can do without the luxuries, and you can eat simple meals that still taste good, but the temptation is always there. It always feels good to know you have resisted it, and it isn’t even that hard most of the time. Then again, it’s only been a week so far.

What I like about this is that it is finite, this is not a regime you have to submit to throughout the year. And food tastes so good at Easter!! Now I feel a bit hungry most of the time, but at the same time I eat more healthy stuff than I usually do. I grab a banana or an apple instead of something sweet. And suddenly I really notice the smell of food, of fresh bread when I cycle past a bakery, or of whatever the neighbours are cooking. And my food tastes so much better. You learn to appreciate again what you always take for granted. At the same time I do realise I don’t really miss all the snacks between meals that much, in the end it is all in the mind.

Exhibitions

Another busy weekend, but very varied. On Saturday I visited the Alphonse Mucha exhibition in Rotterdam. I have seen his work before, I know all the posters, and I visited the “Slav Epic” when I was in the Czech republic a few years ago. It is a good exhibition, because they have some of the famous posters, they have studies for the Slav Epic, but they also have some of the lesser-known small paintings. There were some beautiful works there. And they had some perfume bottles and other objects, very beautiful and delicate. I also liked several series of photographs, both studies for some of the bigger paintings, but also pictures of the artist, his studio, and a lovely one of Paul Gauguin, playing the piano in his bare legs.

At the same museum I visited three very different exhibitions of photographs. One was a series of 60 pictures by Vanity Fair photographer Edward Steichen. He took pictures of the big stars of the thirties, including my favourite, Garbo. This was an interesting show of some of the famous faces of the time, all very glamorous and beautiful. Right next to this one was a series of pictures by Disfarmer, all pictures of farmers and their families from one village taken some 40 to 60 years’ ago. Some at the same time as the Steichen pictures, but they couldn’t be more different. No glamour here, but worn faces of hardworking people in their Sunday clothes. Men, women, children, their ages hard to determine. Most looking very serious, only a few smiling or looking happy. One or two only of the women looking comfortable in nice clothes. Very impressive. Then, for complete contrast, a small exhibition of modern photographs of “Dutch Heroines”. Modern glamour, lots of colour and more nudity. I wonder if people still go to see those pictures in 60 years time.