After a very long day on trains and in stations, I made it. The situation and scale of the canals there remind me simultaneously of Berlin, Paris and a little A’dam. A very beautiful little city.
To Brugge by way of Breda, Roosendaal, and Brussels
Images from A’Dam
It was a day of dramatic skies and Wind Tegen— that's the Dutch term for when the wind is in your face no matter which way your are cycling! (Wind Mee is when the wind is at your back, sailing you along.)
Everywhere all the time and just below the surface
Not enough words for magic. Language is a kind of magic itself, in that it is also the means of controlling* and steering a culture. It literally makes things the way they are; the building blocks of our perception and understanding of things, and by extension our approach.
a late night ride in the rain
I stayed past the last tram, so Wouter loaned me his bike and he rode on the back of Brandon’s. Wouter looked so at ease, perched cross-legged and leaning against Brandon’s backpack, whistling some tune. I shouted into the wind. “You look so relaxed!”. Through the rain, “I am relaxed!” and continued whistling.
a few small prints
In which a brief foray into an antiques shop unearthed some interesting new acquisitions for the archives.
Les petits dieux de misère
An image from Le Musée de la Chasse et de la Nature, for an exhibit I'm looking forward to. Such a beautiful form. Google's (slightly weird) translation of the brief: Small misery gods took shape in Kyoto in 2015, during the artist 's residence at Villa Kujoyama. They fit into the continuity of the creative work around… Continue reading Les petits dieux de misère
Some hasty little watercolor sketches
Put the new set of watercolors to the test last night. Silly stuff; most of these began with lips as the point of departure. Result: a fair amount of drag, androgyny. (For some reason the two on the right turned out looking or seeming very like Fred Armisen.)
The persistence of sense memory.
Music, in a lesser but similar way, is a memory trigger like scent / smell. Visceral. And a visceral response is a true thing, or at the least a real thing, which may be the same after all.
The unreliability of memory*
There was a cafe in the 10th where Zac and I had our first breakfast. It was run by a couple of elderly men, had a mural on the rear wall. It's a place I think my dad would totally dig; charming, very unmodern.
A sort of eternal ‘to-do’ list
Z has given us an assignment; a prompt for writing. What's good for you, and why†. I've been trying to find a way to frame it, find an angle, but I think a list will do. A practical approach against missing a deadline*. The players: Creating, Reading, Writing, Moving, Listening, Traveling, Observing, Editing. Whys after the jump.
e daggar art: THE MUSEUM 