Dear friends of the arts,
Today was one ruled by academical pressure.
First I fruitlessly tried to find the place where my masterclass 'Mythological tendencies in Dutch literature 1950-2000' was supposed to be taught, within the large maze of buildings, corridors and floors that is called university. Instead of finding this, I found out the class of today was cancelled. I at last found this out thanks to a social medium and the virtual connection with a helpful colleague-student there. This I think is a typical example of how the internet as a tool both has simplified and ads complexity to our daily communication: virtually we're all in touch, in reality we're depending on the willingness of others and even on our own charisma (do or don't we inspire people to connect with us and if we do.., to answer our questions that rise in between the large stream of information which itself appears as a supermarket and a dumpsite at the same time, further it is dangerously easy to disregard one another behind the safe anonymous curtain of ones computer), in order to create the classic structure of communication which requires a sender, a message and an actual recipient.
So, since my class was cancelled, I decided to go and collect the books I am ordered to purchase for the classes I subscribed myself for this new semester. Next to the class I named above, these are called 'Visual critics' and 'Theory of the Avant-garde'. Those names of university courses always make me laugh a bit, though crying sometimes is the activity peeping on the border. What I mean is, most of the time these names to me seem so helplessly full of arrogance and lacking creativity and perspective, that in a way they pretty much become hilarious; in the matchless way the academical world always seems to be so obsessed with taking itself seriously.
However, I went to the bookstore to collect the books (one on the subject of avant-garde theory and one on art history) and the store apparently was out of stock so I ordered them. And the internet again, will bring me the message of arrival; in cases where money is involved no fear of missing the message is needed.
Afterwards, in preparation of the second class in Visual Critics tomorrow, I read the essay of Walter Benjamin 'The work of art in the age of mechanical reproduction'. Though I certainly can say it is an intelligent piece and I don't doubt the current cultural value of it, it kind of made me wanna puke. It must be the to me sickening six years I already spent at university... For the more classes I take in a subject that used to excite me, the more I fervently feel the desire towards the very reason of this excitement, which I found out to be the very opposite of the 'theorisation' ('terrorisation'...) that is academically presented. This opposite namely is, artistic involvement.
donderdag 23 februari 2012
dinsdag 21 februari 2012
And love of course
Dear friends of the arts,
Today was a day ruled by impulsiveness in this little life of mine. I decided to finally (after two years of longing to do this) paint my kitchen in green (the paint drum said "tecno-green" so yes, it's kind of flashy), though my landlord explicitly disagreed on painting anything at all in my apartment. But as far as I can see it is more important for a person to feel at ease at his/her own home than to blindly obey the requirements of a landlord who lives on his investments, which would be perfectly fine with me if he didn't make his tenants spend their winters without any access to warm water. (Yes, he does.)
So, what else did I do or experience today? O, I received an e-mail that said I am selected to participate in a concours with some other Belgian bands; wherein the jackpot is offered in the form of free recording time. Well, that IS nice, we all know studio-time still is ridiculously expensive. The funny thing is I wasn't aware I subscribed myself for any contest; I lived under the impression I had send these guys demo-material just to fix myself another concert after a too long time of holding that stuff back again. So there it is: a concert plus the possibility that it delivers something extra on top of the magnificent feeling of excitement and overall satisfaction that nothing in the world could give me but the stage itself... Well... and love of course can grow this feeling too :)
Today was a day ruled by impulsiveness in this little life of mine. I decided to finally (after two years of longing to do this) paint my kitchen in green (the paint drum said "tecno-green" so yes, it's kind of flashy), though my landlord explicitly disagreed on painting anything at all in my apartment. But as far as I can see it is more important for a person to feel at ease at his/her own home than to blindly obey the requirements of a landlord who lives on his investments, which would be perfectly fine with me if he didn't make his tenants spend their winters without any access to warm water. (Yes, he does.)
So, what else did I do or experience today? O, I received an e-mail that said I am selected to participate in a concours with some other Belgian bands; wherein the jackpot is offered in the form of free recording time. Well, that IS nice, we all know studio-time still is ridiculously expensive. The funny thing is I wasn't aware I subscribed myself for any contest; I lived under the impression I had send these guys demo-material just to fix myself another concert after a too long time of holding that stuff back again. So there it is: a concert plus the possibility that it delivers something extra on top of the magnificent feeling of excitement and overall satisfaction that nothing in the world could give me but the stage itself... Well... and love of course can grow this feeling too :)
zondag 19 februari 2012
A strong, simple "I must"
Dear friends of the arts (if this description of yourself makes you nauseous, you're most probably on the wrong page)
This is my first explicit and public message to you and yes, I do describe myself as a beggar. Not a beggar for money or whatsoever, for money is only to be a tool, and never to be a goal.
But to tell you I'm a beggar for beauty and for beauty only it would also be to tell a terrible lie and the more a dangerous thing to say. For first of all, beauty's one of these concepts that are so very stretchable; it shows itself in as least as many different forms as there are people breathing in and out on this earth and that brings us to a variety of about 7 billion kinds. So there's no single guarantee you and I are talking about the same subject just by using the same word.
I do try to live as wide-eyed as I possibly can, hungry for experiences of as many of those uncountable kinds of beauty surrounding us, more hungry than I'll ever be able to feel for food or other satisfactions of the body. Hungry is the heart and moody often this mind producing those words tends to be, and I'll never know in which order those two things in the beginning took place. Hungry the heart and moody the mind I'd call the state in which I feel the urge to share as well, and that's the reason why you are reading this right now.
Though my native language happens to be the Dutch one, I here chose to write in English to eventually make my written utterances accessible for as many people as might be possibly interested in them. So please allow me the mistakes I will definitely make in using a language that is not my own.
So, who am I and why do I believe I am interesting enough to be worth some of your precious time? First I'd say, I am a human being. It seems ridiculous to point that part out, but history witnesses it's even more ridiculous the horrible amount of times and how incredibly fast this first fact and what it means (...) can be forgotten amongst several exemplaries of our species. Second, I am a woman, and for sure I believe that means something else than to be a man, though I find myself day by day still very occupied trying to figure out why that is and where this difference is created and where it is biologically inherent. Speaking of biology; I also of course am a daughter, a sister and so on. I am a child of my time (...), a friend I hope, a lover I'm sure... I am a student in modern literature and -more important- as anyone else, a student of life.
But, and how ever vain and arrogant some may believe this conviction of mine is, I admit that I do in the first place identify as an artist. My artistic occupations are mostly music, writing, contemporary dance and theatre - spoken word, though I must confess I actually am interested in any kind of creative expression, performed by myself òr others.
This blog I meant to be also a place for sharing my work in all the different kinds it may utter itself, both in the medium and within the more or less of qualitative value it presents itself, and the lather depends on what my own and your minds and hearts find in it, and on the other hand what they might be looking for in it, possibly fruitlessly...
However, I do not create; write,.. in order to satisfy anyone or anything other then the very urge to do so -the same urge that is referred to by so many as the 'muse'- in the way the great German poet R.M. Rilke once described the necessity to write in his 'Letters to a Young Poet':
This is my first explicit and public message to you and yes, I do describe myself as a beggar. Not a beggar for money or whatsoever, for money is only to be a tool, and never to be a goal.
But to tell you I'm a beggar for beauty and for beauty only it would also be to tell a terrible lie and the more a dangerous thing to say. For first of all, beauty's one of these concepts that are so very stretchable; it shows itself in as least as many different forms as there are people breathing in and out on this earth and that brings us to a variety of about 7 billion kinds. So there's no single guarantee you and I are talking about the same subject just by using the same word.
I do try to live as wide-eyed as I possibly can, hungry for experiences of as many of those uncountable kinds of beauty surrounding us, more hungry than I'll ever be able to feel for food or other satisfactions of the body. Hungry is the heart and moody often this mind producing those words tends to be, and I'll never know in which order those two things in the beginning took place. Hungry the heart and moody the mind I'd call the state in which I feel the urge to share as well, and that's the reason why you are reading this right now.
Though my native language happens to be the Dutch one, I here chose to write in English to eventually make my written utterances accessible for as many people as might be possibly interested in them. So please allow me the mistakes I will definitely make in using a language that is not my own.
So, who am I and why do I believe I am interesting enough to be worth some of your precious time? First I'd say, I am a human being. It seems ridiculous to point that part out, but history witnesses it's even more ridiculous the horrible amount of times and how incredibly fast this first fact and what it means (...) can be forgotten amongst several exemplaries of our species. Second, I am a woman, and for sure I believe that means something else than to be a man, though I find myself day by day still very occupied trying to figure out why that is and where this difference is created and where it is biologically inherent. Speaking of biology; I also of course am a daughter, a sister and so on. I am a child of my time (...), a friend I hope, a lover I'm sure... I am a student in modern literature and -more important- as anyone else, a student of life.
But, and how ever vain and arrogant some may believe this conviction of mine is, I admit that I do in the first place identify as an artist. My artistic occupations are mostly music, writing, contemporary dance and theatre - spoken word, though I must confess I actually am interested in any kind of creative expression, performed by myself òr others.
This blog I meant to be also a place for sharing my work in all the different kinds it may utter itself, both in the medium and within the more or less of qualitative value it presents itself, and the lather depends on what my own and your minds and hearts find in it, and on the other hand what they might be looking for in it, possibly fruitlessly...
However, I do not create; write,.. in order to satisfy anyone or anything other then the very urge to do so -the same urge that is referred to by so many as the 'muse'- in the way the great German poet R.M. Rilke once described the necessity to write in his 'Letters to a Young Poet':
There is only one thing you should do. Go into yourself. Find out the reason that commands you to write; see whether it has spread its roots into the very depths of your heart; confess to yourself whether you would have to die if you were forbidden to write. This most of all: ask yourself in the most silent hour of your night: must I write? Dig into yourself for a deep answer. And if this answer rings out in assent, if you meet this solemn question with a strong, simple “I must,” then build your life in accordance with this necessity….
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