Tuesday, July 25, 2017

Eating Apples on Cable Cars in San Francisco:

My past is slowly slipping away from me. Sometimes it hurts, as I look in the non-literal mirror and ponder my own memories. I am starting to have my own history. I’ll be 32 later this year, after all. 11 years ago, I found myself living in San Francisco, and it was the most wonderful summer of my entire life–up until that point. Every subsequent summer since 2006, has been even more exciting than the previous, within my own life history. I have such fond memories of living in Russian Hill in San Francisco, in 2006 and in 2007. I worked in SoMa, and could not have stumbled into a more exciting or welcoming place to work, when I was all of… 20 years old. Suddenly I found myself in San Francisco, free from everyone and everything I had ever known prior, and suddenly found myself as a temporary resident of that city–which I had twice visited before, in the 1990s and early-2000s. I would often leave my house in the mornings, stumble down the avenue to Mason Street, and, if approaching, hop on the next cable car, as it made its way toward me, coming up Russian Hill from North Beach. Often times I would eat fruit on the way to the studio; apples, most often. Sometimes bananas; but it was the apples that really made me feel cool, as I waltzed down the hills to Union Square, and then onward to SoMa, everyday. I loved passing the Prada store; that in NYC, by OMA, had only opened a few years earlier; same for the Prada shop in LA. They were so inspiring to me at that time, for reasons beyond the physical spaces they represented, and instead what they meant to me: the world at large, through the lens of fashion. Who knew that 11 years later–today–all I wear is waistcoats and blazers and brogues… when 11 years earlier, in 2006, I thought that I would, perhaps, be living in San Francisco in 2017, and still adhere to my then uniform for life: shorts, sneakers, and shirt; mainly anything that could be worn at the beach. How times have changed. As I recall my own memories from 2006, part of me weeps. Who would I have become had I stayed in that city? Recalling memories of rounding the crest of Powell Street, while riding the cable car southward toward Market Street; I can almost hear the skin of an apple breaking as I bite through its deep-red skin. I used to hang onto the rail on the outside edge of the car, and loved the feeling of the windows blowing over my face as I glided down Powell Street... It heightened the glamorousness of my experiences, to not actually sit inside the cable cars... how boring. No wind on the face. One hand on the rail; the other on my apple. I had never been an apple person before I moved to San Francisco. In fact, I have never even much cared for fruit. That changed that summer. The summer of 2006, for me, was a season of self-discovery and maturation; alone and in a new city (and completely ok with both of those aspects of my then life), I could not have been more excited to experience all that there was to offer in the city, just outside my front door. Most importantly: the beaches and parks, the cafés, the city’s art museums, and the exciting new buildings and interior spaces then rising in the city that I had previously only seen in magazines, and on the internet. I often miss the care-free person that I thought I was at that time. Yet I was also very much within the early stages of forming myself, and I should always remember that person, with a kind fondness. Looking back I often can’t believe how lucky I was to have fallen into a circle in that city that was full of supportive, caring people–who at that time, were living off salaries that allowed them to live in the Castro or even in SoMa, without working at one of the locally based technology companies, south of the city. Facebook had only been around for two years at that point–hard to fathom. Now that I remember, Twitter had just launched; no one, anywhere, had an iPhone. I miss those memories of myself from my time in San Francisco, mainly because I was so new to the world, in every single way.

Oh how I have grown, since 2006.

Saturday, July 8, 2017

Late Night Summer Skies:

At the moment the sky is lighting in brilliant flashes of white, in all directions; I have never seen the sky do this before in Amsterdam. Never does it thunder and lightning here. It may thunder occasionally; though the lightning never seems to follow. That's changed tonight. The past few days in the city have been so hot, and tonight the heat was finally broken by light, and sometimes torrential rains. Truly, torrential. Horizontal lighting has been tentacling across the late night summer sky all evening; though with no thunder. I sit here watching; listening; feeling; absorbing. Suddenly: Boom! The first loud thunder of the night... It’s arrived, after hours of silence. Soundly huge, horizontal, lightning fills and illuminates the late-night summer sky, above Amsterdam.

Monday, June 12, 2017

Prelapsarian Profusion:

My life has been one giant whirlwind throughout the last couple of… years. Without even realizing it, I have completely redefined who I am and how I conduct myself; how I carry myself and present myself, to the world at large. I like that. In many ways, this past two years has been a period of intense self-actualization. Much of this transformation has had to do with my studies, which began in 2014. As of September of this year, I will have a second master’s degree and think that that is pretty exciting. It’s also not everything. But I do value my education; mainly because no one can ever take it away from me. Shoes, cars, houses, jackets, and many other major purchases one can make are all… material. Coats go missing; houses repossessed; cars wrecked; shoes worn-out. But my education I will always have and that I will always treasure. Since I last wrote on this website of mine, I have been to the USA for about a month, and I returned home to Amsterdam. It was, as always, nice to be in the USA, and nice to see family; they get older as do I and as I live longer apart from them I miss them more, while also realizing even more, what I already knew when I first moved to Amsterdam: I cannot not live my life the way that I want to, because of the ways that it may affect other people. I cannot not live my life as I wish, because I do not wish to physically be separated from those I love–my immediate family. But the longer I live in Amsterdam and the longer I lived outside of the USA, the more I realize that I am, here in Amsterdam, surrounded by my family. The family I made for myself and the family that my husband and I have made together. My family is here, too. As I wrote last summer; I often ponder what the borders between myself and my significant other are, exactly. We’ll never be one, physically, yet we are united in life, and spirt. This year I will turn 32 and it seems like just a few weeks ago I was leaving the USA for this most wonderful city of Amsterdam, returning home. I’m Dutch now; I’m American still. Just as it was an internal shift to accept, assume, and create my own new Dutch identity, inside myself, when I became Dutch in 2014; I am now at a phase of my life in which I am fusing my Dutch and American identities. I speak Dutch at a quite advanced level. It’s not perfect; but it’s good. And on good days, it’s really good. (Note to any reader considering a move to Amsterdam: learn Dutch. It really is the secret key to the Netherlands, as I have written about before. Take the time–probably years, as learning never stops–and learn the Dutch language. It’s full of fun quirks that have made my thinking processes more nuanced and varied. And there are all kinds of emotions that I would have never been abel to give a name too, had I only been an English speaker.) Until September, my life will be so tangentially focussed, and full of rigorous thoughts, mainly about Frans Hals. Before I left for the USA, near to the end of April, I finished my very last class as a master’s student at the University of Amsterdam. The class was on Dutch Old Master drawings, which are gaining traction in popularity within the field of Dutch art history. (Oh yeah!) From it I’ve learned that I actually have a love of drawings alongside my love for Old Master paintings; though I can report that prints and etching are not as exciting, to my soul. While on the other side of the ocean I visited the National Gallery of Art in DC, the Boston Museum of Fine Arts, the Taft Museum of Art and the main Art Museum, the last two both being in Cincinnati. My eyes drifted across the surfaces of many Dutch Golden Age paintings during my travels. It's nice to be able to see objects of Dutch cultural heritage, when outside Dutch borders; seeing them in the USA, made and always makes me miss Amsterdam, when away. When I came back to Amsterdam, I cycled and ran throughout the city; I sat next to its canals, reading, thinking; I meandered along its labyrinthine streets; I basked in the pure enjoyment of the city itself. Only this past weekend did I realize that the way that I perceive this finest of cities, is changing. My focus on Amsterdam’s architecture has been attenuated by my ever-increasing interest in the art that was once made, centuries ago, behind the walls–that is, inside the houses–lining Amsterdam’s canals. The way I see is less focussed on architecture, while still being grounded on a foundation of knowledge about buildings. I see cities in whole new ways. But I see most handsome architecture as I do a handsome painting; lasting. The way I look toward Amsterdam has changed over the nearly decade that I’ve lived here. The way I live, has changed too. I'm less frightened and anxious; less wobbly and unsure. I'm more assured and poised; fearless and at ease. I like these latter developments. Last year was there most stressful of my life. Like Hillary Rodham Clinton, I was living at my most extreme; exerting myself, my presence, and knowledge in exhausting ways. 2016 was the year of stress. And endings, unfortunately. And how interesting to now know, that when you are really stressed, you don’t even realize it and can’t even see it, until after that time period is over. So I’m enjoying the new found state of prelapsarian pleasure that I now find myself in, since the beginning of June. There is still a thesis to write before the first of September; but since I’m writing it on Frans Hals, again, that thesis is nothing I fear. Instead, it is one of the many, but also a central reason, for my newfound state of calm. You see, 2016 was, for me, a year of fragmentation; it mostly entailed me being in many places, seemingly all at once, parallel to a never ending to-do list of reading, classes, and presentations, all generated by my professors. With no more of that, there is nothing more to focus on as directed by others; no forced agendas; no chapter I must read, that I would rather not. I will, from this day onward, create my own agenda of my life. Freed from academic restraints that require physical presence, I have instead devoted the time since returning to the Netherlands to delving into the world of Frans Hals, and the many connoisseurs throughout the centuries that have helped to mythicize his name. Very unlike 2016, and the first half of 2017, for the first time, in a very long time, my mind is at ease; unclenched and relaxed; calm and quiet. If the last two years of my life have been nothing but constant motion, then the next two months of my life will be prelapsarian, in nature. Frans Hals, my bike, Amsterdam, the Rijksmuseum library, many paintings, museums, books, and many moments spent lying along canals, pondering painters from centuries past, will pervade my summer 2017. With my life having been regulated to an academic calendar since 2014, only with the start of June 2017, did I regain the freedom to determine when and where my body will be. I'm coming back to life. Like many others, I am also coming back to life from the shock of the incredible tragedy of Hillary Rodham Clinton (who I voted for) not becoming the next President of the USA. From school, I’m healing from exhaustion; from politics, I’m healing from heartbreak. These two aspects of my life, combined, makes me feel as if it is only now, that I am finally saying goodbye, to 2016. So, hello, to summer 2017. And what a summer it will be: I have a new wardrobe that I've been working to amass over the past few years that reflects my interiority–which I'll wear as I experience life while thinking, seeing, experiencing, and conducting myself, in ways I would have never thought that I would. All in Amsterdam.

Sunday, April 2, 2017

Blossoms Abound at Brouwerij 't IJ:

For years–literally–I have cycled past this windmill that's incredibly close to my house and my neighborhood: the Indische Buurt. For years, I never stopped to see what was happening inside and outside; people are always congregating on the terrace, below carefully sculpted trees shaped like handsome topiaries. Except, that is, for the past few weeks. Suddenly, the brewery below the windmill–Brouwerij t' IJ–has become my new favorite spot in the city. I go there often; sitting; thinking; reading; writing; jotting down all that travels through my mind as I sit under its awning, as the sun beams down on my face, enjoying where I am at that moment in life. Not projecting forward nor not projecting backward; instead enjoying my beer, below the windmill.

Monday, January 9, 2017

Saturday, January 7, 2017