August 2006 Archives

I find this Cesar Willich on numerous poster selling websites, but that's all the information I find about him. That he sells a lot of posters. Some of them even offer limited editions, LOL. I guess this painting is on every cookie jar in Germany, but I hadn't seen it before. He's got good hair, that's for sure. I really only wanted a nice portrait of Richard Wagner, so I can brag about the fact that I got invited to the dress rehearsal of the Götterdämmerung! That's about a three hundred dollar ticket, boys and girls. Musician friends, they're a concept I can only recommend.

Concentrating was easier I found, with two models. And they were champion non movers, as if they held each other motionless. And yes of course, I know I should do better, buy I did enjoy drawing the long pose, although I still left fifteen minutes early. Which was a good thing, because husband and daughter were waiting for me. Two of them are off to the movies now. I don't remember which film. Oh, and I made a category for life drawing, so you can keep track of improvements.

Here's a clearer picture, but it's not as pretty. My neurologist did a mean nerve conduction test on me today, with needles and electricity. A nerve in my little finger was not at home, nothing. According to the doctor I have neurogenic thoracic outlet syndrome, he wrote it down for me. Doesn't that sound just great? He also explained what it is, but it didn't make much sense to me. Long live the internet: "True neurogenic thoracic outlet syndrome is caused by a compression of the nerves in the brachial plexus." So I look up brachial plexus, and find the images above. And the moment I want to take a closer look at the pictures I understand why I have this problem in my left arm, while being right handed: I move my head towards the screen and lean on my left ellbow, squeezing my brachial plexus! I must do this dozens of times a day, and I will stop doing this immediately, as of now, heute nog verdomme.

Judging by my stats Bradley in yesterday's comments lives in Italy. And judging by his name he is not Italian. He wants me to pick a light or heavy topic, and write 2-3 pages about being an immigrant (or expatriate, academic, aid worker, refugee, foreign businessperson, spouse of "foreigner" etc.) Gee. Well, I certainly am glad he doesn't overtly call me an expatriate, I hate that word. I always think all expatriates are rich Lion's club members and such. Alors, light or heavy. I have a tendency to mix the two. Like, in my unhappy childhood we used to have a Brabantia pedal bin. And hey, I bought a Brabantia bread bin today, to keep the mice from eating our bread. Isn't it strange, that nowadays you can buy the same brands all over the world? People around the globe eating from the exact same bread bins, is that sad or beautiful? And I was even born in Brabant, go figure. I buy a bread bin, and in less than a day, I am emotionally attached to the thing. A bread bin in a global economy. How is that for a start of my 2-3 pages?

I am feeling guilty, Michiel is working so hard demolishing half the house, I should be helping him. O help, his brother is Skyping from Australia, I haven't got time to do this. Big version.

At the EX yesterday I asked my friend Martin what he new about the 18th century psalm riots in Holland. Martin, like Maarten 't Hart, knows a frightening lot about music. According to the newspaper article, many believers did not agree with the change of the psalm singing ordered by the church authority, and revolted because of the modernism of it. The rhyme changed, and the psalms were to be sung faster. Martin however remembered that the slow singing the people were used to allowed the choirs to mix dirty songs through the psalms, and the church authority wanted to put an end to that. So you see how very passionate the Dutch have always been, the army of Delft had to intervene to stop the violent riots. Does Maarten 't Hart mention the dirty songs in his novel?

We went to The EX today, I am wrecked. We got the boys passes to go on all the rides, Otger went to bed straight after dinner. We also saw the dog show, now that was something. The dogs had to salute the flag of the sponsoring dog food company, which had to also be mentioned by the host every other sentence. The dogs were sweet though, and giving their best despite the deafening music. So now I know that border collies are good at slalom, and poodles can jump real high. And all their women trainers with more or less my build who had to run with them looked hilariously funny. Over 40% of their dogs come from animal rescue or the humane society, I was so tempted to get such a little darling for us, but their website is full of pitbulls! Anyway, I also got a shiatsu massage with hot stones, my back liked that very much. And we saw the Texas Trick Riders. The girl above was a seventeen year old beauty from Alberta. She jumped of her horse and on again, in all imaginable different ways. And she rode upside down, standing, sitting... I liked her warming up best, where she did her hair and tied her shoe laces.

We were having coffee on the porch and a Chinese lady with a low cell phone battery wanted to use our phone. Unusual sounds coming from our living room, Chinese mixed with Toronto street names, Gerrard! Gerrard! Logan! Okay, bye bye! If one day there is to be a global language, okay and bye bye should be in it. They even say them in Quebec. Constantly. Merci, bye bye! With an almost Dutch pronounciation, "baj, baj!". Oh, we had a lovely walk tonight. I needed that after drawing for two days. To the bookstore, which is open till 11 PM. Even though it's a Dutch bookstore. With a poem on the wall that says it all (this is the last strophe, click for the whole thing):

Vaart ge van Sidney of naar Kaapstad,
Naar Kobe of naar Baltimore,
Vaart ge onder alle hemelsbreedten,
Vaart ge alle wereldzeeën door,
Nooit voelt gij u geheel verlaten,
Als hier uw mensch-zijn aanvang nam,
Door wat van kindsbeen af u eigen
En lief was. Dàt is Rotterdam.

(I wasn't born in Rotterdam, but daughter was, and we lived there for five years.)

Am listening all evening to a four hour radio show about Pink Floyd's Syd Barrett, who died last month. It's on "grensverkeer", VPRO radio. It's an interesting enough three hours to listen to, try! Drawing to Pink Floyd. The first time I did this was in grade six, in Sister Marie-Martine's class. At one time we had a very hip intern. He played us a Pink Floyd record, and made us draw to the music. After showing us the album cover as an example. The one with that very detailed complicated pen drawing. Which one is that again, it's too late, I can't think. And I don't remember whether Sister Marie-Martine appreciated the lesson. Update: I found the album, it's Relics.

Daughter and I did some feminine things today. How I love to spend hours in a fitting room (a fitting room with a waiting list, and your name gets called out!), with a shop attendant mesuring me and running up and down to find me different ones. In a halfslip the shop attendant gave me so she wouldn't have to look at me half naked all the time. Who goes bra shopping in a dress? Me. I fell in love with an extremely expensive Belgian bra, fortunately they didn't have my size, the thing is now on my wish list. I got a slightly less expensive one. Daughter had a whole bag of underwear at Sears, for less than my one bra. But of course I cannot shop at Sears for myself. I took all this shopping time because no author came in all morning. Of course the author came through around midnight Dutch time. The working hours dedication of Dutch newspaper editors is simply incredible. But it does mean I can't show sketches yet, I just surfed photo's and dumped screens. Sketching is for tomorrow. And Michiel restored the porch lantern, life is perfect.

A fruitful weekend. We also babysitted a dog and a gecko. And Michiel worked wonders on the basement, while I grew roots on my lazy butt, drawing away...

I'm honoured, they put me smack in the middle of the frontpage!! And I am happy to say the article mentions the way (big version ->) Rogi Wieg dresses, so everyone can see I made nothing up. I always try to draw authors in their own clothes, which is suits, most of the time. I quite like the occasional casual dresser. A lot about death and dying in Rogi Wieg's poetry. And in the rest of the newspaper. This morning I read yesterday's newspaper, and found out Ria Rettich has died. Ria Rettich was one of my teachers in artschool, only for one year though. Her death is in all the papers, I had no idea she was that important. She was always very modest about her accomplishments. I remember two of her stories. One in which she had a juror for a grant or subsidy or something visit her studio, and expressing too much criticism to her liking. So she went to the washroom and threw up with the door wide open. And a second story in which she told us about the time she was so poor and desperate, and so sick of having to wash her clothes by hand, that she took a painting, stormed out into the street with wet arms, covered in soap, ran to the appliances store, and traded the painting for a washing machine. A quick Google search really only shows me a Volkswagen minibus she once painted...

I draw longer poses too, but they don't turn out as funny. I don't know if I can say this, but this girl had a pornostreepje. How does that translate into English? Porn line? Porn stripe? It may look al right in photographs, but in real life, I don't think so. I had never seen one live before. So it was a learning experience tonight. Brr, I don't even shave my legs or armpits. But then again, I am not the hairy type. Oh, and before I forget, I also did one of these today.

Sometimes I have something I can write about, but struggle to find an image. Today it's the other way around. I worked, but nothing much else happened. Son played game cube with friend, daughter went downtown with friend. Michiel came home early and cleared the basement and the backyard from piles of left over wood. He always puts the paintless pieces in a crate which he then places on our neighbours porch. They have a wood burning stove. Yesterday the crate came back with a note: "Thank you, woodman!'.

The church across the street is organizing a Summer camp, in their parking lot. This whole week, fuck! They are so incredibly loud, and I so love to sit on my porch to sketch, because everybody stops for a chat, so it's never boring. But this camp! I listened to half a dozen radio interviews with my this week's author, and I turned the volume up as much as possible. A car stopped and a woman asked me for directions. And then she noticed I was listening to a Dutch radio station. "Hee, dat is Hollands! I am Dutch too!" I was so glad when it finally started raining. Lovely to sit on the porch and see the people get wet, and the horrible Summer camp had to move indoors. There was also a mouse in the kitchen sink today, fell in and couldn't get out anymore. I had Otger and his friend catch it, and donate it to the church. After that Michiel came home and took Otger to some electronics store. Otger spent his complete savings yesterday, on a second hand game cube. But those darn things only work on TV's, and we are a TV free family. So Otger hooked up the cube at the neighbours. And now they're out to see if they can find some kind of adapting part.

Wem ist der Mensch Untertan, wen betet er an? Gott, Sex, sich selbst, das undurchdringliche Chaos der Welt? Was will ich? Was glaube ich zu wollen? Diese Fragen, die Rabus einem Betrachter mit seinen Werken an den Kopf wirft, lösen Emotionen aus. Schmerzliche aber auch heitere.

My optometrist thinks I may be developing glaucoma. I don't know why, but suddenly all these doctors seem to be so worried about me. Last June they wanted me to get my head checked, remember? Sent me for a cat scan. Of course my head was perfectly all right. And so are my eyes. But my eye pressure is a little high, so I'll be going on another hospital venture. Visual field testing. Like this, or like this.

I'm not sure they are actual black flies. They are tiny little triangular monsters that are everywhere around the house. And sometimes inside. I had one really bad sting, so I kept a close eye on the bastards. And then one of them stung in my left arm, and I killed it on sight. Almost in the intstant it landed on my arm. I immediately put After Bite on the area. At first I thought I was okay, it happened the day before yesterday. Yesterday it itched, but not too bad. And today it's driving me crazy! I try not to touch it, try even not to have my arm touch my left boob, but to achieve that, I have to keep my arm up in the air, which I don't manage all of the time. The bite is red and swollen, and what is very weird, all the insect bites I had over the past weeks and had long healed, have started itching again. Ooooh, I want to scratch everywhere...! I've taken a Benadril Night, that should knock me unconscious.

Went to my life drawing class. I enjoyed the really short poses tonight, and I feel like trying some coloured oil pastels next week. Maybe I'll do that, if I still feel the same next week. It was fun, just six people drawing, nice and quiet.

No Dutch author in the NRC this week. So I could take a Canadian long weekend after all. The house is starting to look better! I hope the daughter will like it, she is coming home after two months Europe with opa. Staying with friends in Amsterdam tonight, so she can get to the airport in time. Our food and drink friends. She is enjoying her last legally drunken night. Tomorrow she'll be Canadian under age again... They were making me jealous on the phone, with a Montpellier something. Their wine, o god. We're off to Wimpy's now. Extremely uneuropean.

A fluxus artist even Michiel had never heard about, na sowas. You can watch as many of his movies as you can handle, both on the internet archive website and Mommartz' own website. Besides from the one above (one reviewer writes: This is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I doubt that I will ever see a person with such lovely expression, and it's great that this is on film.) I very much liked this one, about a beggar on the Ramblas in Barcelona. I couldn't help but wonder whether Mommartz has payed her for her performance. No actress would have done the job this convincing.

Ilja Leonard Pfeiffer likes his poetry, and from what I've read, I can see why. I also agree with his objections, but who am I. I find it a tad strange that Ilja doesn't mention the fact that Abdelkader Benali is residing in Beirut this Summer. It's got nothing to do with his poetry, but when I think of Abdelkader right now, I think of bombs, not of poems. And after all Arnon Grunberg is on the cover of the Summer Culture Section, in full military gear in Afghanistan. Beirut is also why I drew Abdelkader protecting himself with his hands. I didn't really get any clear visual ideas from the poetry, or rather too many in a way. But nothing seemed very relevant, just dozens of details. I thought the hands might be poetic enough. Abdel keeps a chilling weblog, in Dutch.

A nice pass time. Just type "portait" in Google images, and see what it comes up with. I liked the picture above best, it is painted in oil on canvas on wooden board and measures 300 x 400 mm, by Rafael Rodriguez Cruz, 28 years of age. Or 29, depends on the website. He won second prize in the 2006 National Portrait Gallery’s BP Portrait Award. Maybe you can put the URL of your favourite in the comments. If you want to try the same pass time.

The word of the day is my son's. In the subway station today he decided to take a "short cutje".

Friends coming over, more friends coming over. Made my famous smoked fish risotto again. Only this darn whitefish from The Big Rip Off was full of scales. Wrong kind of chewy. The risotto is meant to be creamy and soft, not scaly, grmph. Then watched the storm from the porch, finally we could come out of the air conditioned house! I turned off the A/C!! There was wind blowing through the trees, and beautiful big lightnings, not so much thunder, alas. But rain, rain, rain, at least for half an hour or so. I so hope it was enough to break the scorching heat. More and more neighbours found their way out of their houses onto our late night lawn. The wake up after the heat wave.

About this dried cod again, and no, I didn't draw a fisherman, although he looks like he could be one. We bought flakes of dried cod in the Gaspé, flakes you could just eat like that, from the bag. Like potato chips, really good. In the Mi'kmaq interpretation centre we even got dried cod flakes with maple syrup, really odd. Cod. But when I try to find things about dried cod, I find complicated procedures, like soaking and rinsing several times for up to two days. Mmm. Would that be for a different kind of dried cod? Anybody know this? Anybody know where in Toronto I might find these beautiful dried cod bits? Otger loved them, couldn't stay away from them.