Monday, December 6, 2010

an itch so slight

I REMEMBER 02/03/2010

I remember nothing. Everything. You, time, events, my views, what we wore and when. She sent me a picture the other day, Thursday perhaps, ironically I cannot recall the day. It was us, frozen in a moment, in a space forever there if we remember it, a corner in the framework of my, your, our time. The sun was up and drawing out sweat and smiles from our ready bodies, if I try I might even feel it again. Or rather, I will feel my remembering of it.
Memory, like photography, captures something, but there is a lens, a layer, a distance between my memory and that moment. I remember everything.

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

expanding life

Arkaye Kierulf; Textbook Statistics

On average, 5 people are born every second and 1.78 die.
So we’re ahead by 3.22, which is good, I think.

The average person will spend two weeks in his life
waiting for the traffic light to change.

Pubescent girls wait two to four years
for the tender lumps under their nipples to grow.

So the average adult has over 1,460 dreams a year,
laughs 15 times a day. Children, 385 more times.

So the average male adult mates 2,580 times with five different people
but falls in love only twice in his life—possibly

with the same person. Seventy-nine long years for each of us,
awakened to love in our twenties, so more or less

thirty years to love our two lovers each. And if, in a lifetime,
one walks a total of 13,640 miles by increments,

Where are you headed, traveler?
is a valid philosophical question to pose to a man, I think, along with

Why does the blood in your veins travel endlessly?
on account of those red cells flowing night and day

through the traffic of the blood vessels, which if laid out
in a straight line would be over 90,000 miles long.

The great Nile River in Egypt is 4,180 miles long.
The great circle of the earth’s equator is 24,903 miles.

Dividing this green earth among all of us
gives a hundred square feet of living space to each,

but our brains take only one square foot of it,
along with the 29 bones of the skull, so

if you look outside your window with your mind only,
why do you hear the housefly hum middle octave, key of F?

If you listen to the cat on the rug by the fire with
the 32 muscles in your ear, you will hear

100 different vocal sounds. Listen to the dog
wishing for your love: 10 different sounds.

If you think loneliness is beyond calculation,
think of the mole digging a tunnel underground

ninety-eight miles long to China
in one single night. If you think beauty escapes you

or your entire genealogical tree, consider the slug
with its four uneven noses, or the chameleon shifting colors

under an arbitrary light. Think of the deepest point
in the deepest ocean, the Marianas Trench in the Pacific,

do you think anyone’s sadness can be deeper? In 1681,
the last dodo bird died. In the 16th century,

Queen Elizabeth suffered from a fear of roses.
Anne Boleyn had six fingers. People fall in love

twice. The human heart beats 3 billion times — only — in a lifetime.
If you attempt to count all the stars in the galaxy, one

every second, it’ll take 3 thousand years, if you’re lucky.
As owls are the only birds that can see the color blue

the ocean is bluish, along with the sky and the eyes
of that boy who died alone by that little unnamed river

in your dreams one blue night of the war
of one of your lives. (Do you remember which one?)

Duration of World War 1: four years, 3 months, 14 days.
Duration of an equatorial sunset: 128 seconds, 142 tops.

A neuron’s impulse takes 1/1000 of a second,
a morning’s commute from Prospect Expressway

to the Brooklyn Bridge, about 90 minutes,
forty-five without traffic.

Time it takes for a flower to wilt after it’s cut from the stem: five days.
Time left our sun before it runs out of light: five billion years.

Hence the number of happy citizens under the red glow
of that sun: maybe 50% of us, 50% on good days, tops.

Number who are sad: maybe 70% on the good days—
especially on the food days. (The first emotion’s more intense, I think,

when caught up with the second.) So children grow faster in the summer,
their bright blue bodies expanding. The ocean, after all, is blue

which is why the sky now outside your window is bluish
expanding with the white of something beautiful, like clouds.

Fact: The world is a beautiful place—once in a while.
Another fact: We fall in love twice. Maybe more, if we’re lucky.

Sunday, November 7, 2010

summertime clothes



Almost winterbreak!

adolescent sky


Still working on my research workbook, and this piece by LucyandBart is how I feel right now.
It was Diwali this weekend, so Friday was a Change of Pace day and required some dressing up and relaxing, which was good. Sunday rang in with a Pakistan/Indonesia fund-raising fair, and a brilliant Sunday Spotlight with a sitar player doing an hour-long improvisation that completely tranced me out.
Now it's a Monday, and we're off on Project Week in three days or so.
At some point, I will return to my usual waxing lyrical about events here, but right now it's all being channelled into obscure portraits and discussions with my coyears.
x

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

inverted world

Working on my research workbook, and loving this.
Here's some words to more than substitute my silence of late:

My Heart // Frank O’Hara

I’m not going to cry all the time
nor shall I laugh all the time,
I don’t prefer one “strain” to another.
I’d have the immediacy of a bad movie,
not just a sleeper, but also the big,
overproduced first-run kind. I want to be
at least as alive as the vulgar.

love from India.

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

watch the glow


I hesitate to say 'since I've been back', considering how long overdue this post is, so instead:
In the gap of web-based silence, I've been sitting around in India.
We're just about half-way through the first term, although, in all honesty, we haven't done very much at all. It's been difficult coming to terms with the 'loss' of our second years, the flood of first years who now inhabit our old rooms and the workload, which seems to be so much more important/heavier/longer this year. We are and will survive though.
I'm off to class now, but I will write up on Ganpati, debate finals and life in general in the very near future!

Sunday, August 8, 2010

be gentle with the edges of the world

some of summer 2010, captured mainly on analogue

Richard Wilson's 20:50 in the Saatchi Gallery, London

Ernesto Neto's Edges of the World in the Hayward Gallery, London

Dal Lake, Shrinagar
(digital)

On my way home, The Hague

Coffee with Nana and Veerle, The Hague

Biscuits baked for a boat trip with STEK, The Hague

Rockin' Park 2010, Nijmegen

Stereophonics, Rockin' Park 2010, Nijmegen

C is for COS, Copenhagen and Camping, the start of Nana/Sophie/Veerle's party

Friday, July 2, 2010

down by the water

The Hague, 2009, 2010 (analogue)


Things of note this week:
i. Holland 2, Brazil 1.
ii. Rockin' Park 2010 - Vampire Weekend, Pearl Jam, White Lies, Black Keys, Stereophonics, Amy Macdonald, Custom. and me.
iii. Nana, Veerle and Sophie's C-themed leaving party.
iv. Dusseldorf for a weekend of art coming up.
v. Seeing Jens (my coyear in Wales) and watching Holland - Slovakia in the KABK with a heap of artistic people and in Centraal Station with an eclectic bunch of folk.

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

he's nearing the brink but he thinks first the parallel universe perhaps could be the perfect scene.


A minor photo update of the year now past, whilst I gather my thoughts and self for the report of more recent times.

UWC-NL jaargroep 2009-2011 in the early days

Paud orientation (the first week in)

Second Years Show, theme: flamboyant tellytubby zombies (hence the laundry baskets)

First Exeat (long weekend) in Bombay, outside the Taj hotel

An inspired Art HL double block with Zuzana and some paint (masks painted by Zuzana and I, photography by Marius)

Travel week in Rajasthan, in March

A tea party in my courtyard for a belated birthday celebration

Leh, Ladakh, on a postgrad journey to the cold North


Friday, June 18, 2010

let's consider a change of scenery, it's getting boring by the sea







This is Ladakh, a region of Jammu-Kashmir, situated up in the Himalayas. I traveled up there after graduation before flying back over here. It was stunning.

To get up to the northern-most state of India, we got a jeep, plane, train, bus and then another jeep. It took us quite a couple of hours, with the inevitable adventures and tribulations that come along with traveling in India as teenagers. It was however most definitely worth it.

I will soon tell the tales of our travels, however for the time being, these are the most interesting things I've done post-India:

i. sat on the beach outside a Bon Jovi concert with friends I hadn't seen in six months, and then we saw a, unexpected, better live performer in a small pub in town afterwards.

ii. met the Prince of the Netherlands and my first years, who got to wear the orange polos and sing the cheesy sponsor-thanking songs on stage this year.

iii. started to volunteer for a charity working with refugees in the Hague, for which I met a bunch of lovely mothers and children displaced in the Netherlands.

iv. unpacked and slept. a lot.

As for the near future, I'm off to see Salman Rushdie talking about peace now, and have a UWC barbeque tomorrow. Next week equals grandparents, dropping by Utrecht and most probably more sleeping and listening to a lot of music.

I'll talk about India more, soon!



Tuesday, May 18, 2010

it would be a documentary on radio four.


Lists of numbers, lists of definitions, lists of formulae, lists of 'last times'.
Everything is starting to add, pile, stack up into a massive heap of things left to do, things never finished and things finite.

This is my 41st post here.
I'm a year down the road, I'm halfway through, I'd like to think I've grown somehow and my hair is longer.
(College meeting, sometime in December)

Having spent the past week drifting in and out of classrooms, studybooks, the cafeteria and the MPH (Multi-Purpose Hall, where the exams are held), I had to refer to the calender on my wall today to find the date and day we are currently living in.

Numbers, definitions, formulae, last times all come rushing in again.
It's been 361 days since my very first post, it's (again, a glance up at the calender is required) 4 days until Graduation, 5 days until we leave this place, a fortnight until I'm home and another two months before I come back out here.

Since we last spoke (or rather: I last monologued my way through a blogpost) UWC-day happened, American Cultural Evening occurred and we made our way through multiple student meetings, college meetings, deadlines and packing issues.

I'll be seeing most of you soon and will expand on this year when I've got more time!
x

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

a miniature recreation of the-north-pole-meets-my-mind






Having spent hours taping styrofoam to the floor, I proceeded to spend another couple of hours unsticking the whole thing. I thought the deconstruction remnants of the installation were actually just as interesting as the constructed whole, so here they are.

unmade beds #54 (stitching time)








This was my site specific installation for Art a couple of weeks back. The inspiration theme was 'Never', so I took it in the direction of never growing up or old. It evolved into a white room (white being symbolic for purity and clean slates) with skeleton flowers (these could also be seen as modern, futuristic ones, or as the remnants of a past).
The floor was half styrofoam and flour, half mattresses and scraps of (white) cloth. I wanted to create a space that stood outside of the space of time (this comes from the idea that arose from a discussion I had with a coyear here, about time being another form of space), that could be ageless, as it were. The mattresses and styrofoam were my attempts to landscape the floor, as I wanted the installation to be tactile and comfortable. The flour provided some element of movement in the room, as it changed when people walked over it. It also meant that people could not leave without taking some with them, tying in to the idea of memories and time forever interacting with the present and future.
The title comes from the idea of dreaming being a means through which one can escape what my English teacher calls 'the tyranny of time'. It also links to the saying 'a stitch in time saves nine', which is all about doing things well the first time around. Essentially, I was interested in creating a space through my art, rather than putting my art in a space, and about looking at the idea of time.

Any queries, comments or things in general? Email me or leave a comment :)

Monday, April 5, 2010

on a good day you can see the end from here



(A Sunday tea party in honour of my long-since surpassed birthday. I like the blurriness of motion, it captures the warmth of the lighting best.)

So, procrastination seems to be the word of the day. It is the reason for the lack of more pictures (hello Belgian coyear with an elusive streak), the lack of free time (hello English assignment, Hindi test, Chemistry lab and just life in general) and the lack of any actual message beyond this lovely thing I found a while back:

"Okay so you’re out the gates and in the race and you get an education and a job and a wife and a kid and you drink and you eat and you make love when you can sometimes more than you can and you consume things like your lover and a cigarette and a drink and a bite to eat before you go to sleep and then wake up and do it again because you can and you will and that’s what’s expected of you just like they expected it of your father and his father before him and one day they’ll expect it from your kids too and then their kids will follow your over trodden footsteps into the office and get a cup of coffee and talk by the water cooler about what movies they saw last night."

You need to slow down. There is more than this.

(I Wrote This For You blogspot)


Sunday, April 4, 2010

light squares and bodies are all you see.


(Laura Marling, High Spirits Cafe, Pune, last November/December?)

Het is weer een tijdje geleden sinds ik in het nederlands heb geschreven. Dat komt waarschijnlijk door de lack of Dutch spoken on campus, en mijn incapability om de juiste lidwoorden te gebruiken (een duidelijke hint dat ik niet helemaal door en door nederlands ben, helaas). Thuis gebruikte ik altijd engelse woorden in mijn nederlands (and also the other way around, it must be said), en dat is alleen maar erger geworden.
Maar goed. Taalkundig fail aside, ik heb dit weekend niet veel uitgevoerd. Het was Pasen, the end of mocks for second years, and I hosted a tea party for a rather late celebration of my birthday.
My art exhibition has been up for about a week and a half now, and I really ought to get pictures of it. Work is starting to build up and pile around me (my room is now full of paper. I feel like I'm in the Science of Sleep.)
I saw the destruction the fire wrecked in the biodiversity on Saturday, it is incredible. The land goes from green to ash grey, and there is almost nothing left. It is strangely beautiful in its dead state.
En even terug naar nederlands. Lenn en ik hebben dit weekend gehoord dat we first years hebben! Tot nu toe nog maar een, maar hopelijk verandert dat deze week.
Het wordt hier een beetje vreemd, want we hebben nog maar veertig dagen met onze tweede jaars en huidige kamergenoten. The suspense of who is rooming with who is building up, en iedereen bereidt zich voor om naar universiteit te gaan, gedag te zeggen en naar huis te gaan.
I think this about captures the spirit:

and in five years time you might just prove me wrong


PUSHKAR, MARCH 11TH
My birthday and the end of my photographic journaling of project week. We arrived at about four in the morning, after a very uncomfortable bus ride. Wandering around the streets, we managed to find a hotel, just about stumble in and collapse on some beds. The 'next' morning meant an attempt to find breakfast, which was quite an interesting thing.

We'd headed off down the road optimistically, but were soon hampered by the large bulk of traffic and noise. Slowly picking our way through it, we found a street with several rooftop restaurants. All we had to do was choose one.
Simple, you'd think, but no.
Pushkar is known for its drugs, and, in particular, a special little drink called bhang lassi. Lassi is a thick yoghurt drink, which one can find over most of India. It does not affect one to any great extent, unless you are very prone to sugar rushes.
Bhang, on the other hand, is a form of cannabis. Enough said on that, I guess.
The place was thus, understandably, filled with hippies.
Back to the breakfast issue, however.
Thinking we had too much choice, we decided to just pick the first rooftop place we saw. Unfortunately, this one turned out to be rather awful.
We made our way up the narrow grey concrete stairs, hemmed in by weirdly pastel pink walls. When we got to the top, it was completely deserted. Having already woken up the guy behind the counter by this point, we felt obliged to take a seat in the awkward-looking wicker chairs and admire the view. The little man stumbled over awkwardly and handed us the menus.
We chose, we ordered, we waited.
We continued to wait for about an hour, occasionally checking downstairs to see whether the cook was even still alive. We'd only ordered pancakes, and it wasn't rocket science.
Turns out the guy had had to go to the market, buy fruit, come back, walk upstairs, pick up plate, walk back down, turn on the gas, build a house, write a novel and serve us some food, all at the same time.
We tried to enjoy the view and each other's company, but what with my 'on my birthday' addition to the end of every sentence (admittedly, I was still feeling solidly sixteen), the fact that we'd spent a long time together already and it may have been wearing and our hunger, it was not the most fun hour.
When the food finally arrived, it was suspicious, substandard and not worth the build-up. I hope the novel and house building worked out better.

The rest of the day, after avoiding the fake priests and stomaching the disappointment that the lake in the centre of the city was drained, went a little better. The place was infused with some sort of happy, calm atmosphere, and we passed the time spotting the coolest hippies, shopping and enjoying the city.

That evening, we got to Jaipur, where we spent the last day of travel week. It was stunning, and if I do eventually get the pictures my co-travellers took, I'll put them up. On the train back, we met a crazy American yoga-teaching hippie, but that's a tale for a rainy day.

Monday, March 29, 2010

to lengthen the wait, to stretch out the day longer


TUESDAY MARCH 9TH - WEDNESDAY MARCH 10TH
Jodhpur chai break, Jaisalmer, almost to the border of Pakistan (well, 75km away from it) and back to Jaisalmer.


Arriving on a public bus, the landscape around was barren between the villages. At one point we spotted a group of army tents and tanks, which really put the Pakistan-India friction into a visual context.

An hour or so before Jaisalmer, on one of the frequent pitstops the bus provided us with, we were approached by a guy supposedly advising us on what to do and expect there. He then attempted to sell us his camel safari and promote his hotel, and he was not to be the only one. As a group of seven, of which five of us were clearly foreign, we attracted the attention of many hecklers, who swarmed around us as soon as the bus ground to a halt.

"Camel safari, camel safari!"
"Only eight hundred rupees!"
"Best price, best price sir!"
"Somewhere to stay?"
"My company will take you into town, no charge, come with me!"

No matter how many times we denied any offers of transport and safaris, they continued to stalk us down the street. Apparently there was no union here, and this escalated the competitiveness, to the extent that some people offered us camel safaris for only four hundred rupees (about €8).

We chose to head down to the Tourist Office we'd spotted on the way in, and got ourselves a camel safari with an overnight in the dunes. After lunch we were driven up to the fort (which looked like a massive sandcastle, the sort the five-year-old me would have dreamt of making) by an enthusiastic driver who kept offering us beer.
We dropped off our stuff and got back in with the chubby chauffeur, who was now asking us to sing him a song. He drove us out along a single road which seemed to go on forever (actually, it lead to the Pakistani border). We pulled up at a small village in the sweltering heat, plonked on hats and smeared on sunscreen, and then clambered on to camels (which were really dromedaries).

Off we went.




An hour or two later, we arrived in what could almost be described as a field of sand dunes. It was hemmed in by scrubby desert, but was sufficiently large for us to imagine the rolling hills stretching out into the horizon (and for us to take pictures to that effect).



We buried ourselves in the sand, had a campfire (including singalongs, which our guides asked us for) and slept under the stars. It was wondrous to be so far away from the 'usual' environment, and so comfortable to be lying on the cool sand after the heat of the day.



In the morning we munched on bananas and set off again on our camels. Mine was called Mrs India, and was apparently already, at the age of five, already a grandmother.
We rode for a couple of hours, managed not to tumble off whilst galloping (my camel guy even made motorbike noises while the camel ran, it really added to the experience) and got back into the city.

After spending the day wandering around the fort (naturally after having showered and washed all the lovely sand out of ears and hair and toes), shopping for leather bags and shawls (oh we do fulfill tourist expectations) we boarded a bus heading to Pushkar.

(I feel I am omitting something by not mentioning that of course, we did not simply board the bus. We hurriedly caught rickshaws down the hill, found that, unusually, the bus had been early, and left, without us, and we caught more rickshaws and attempted to still catch it. We didn't quite manage, but we got on another bus, pretended to have seats and sat very still whilst the ticket collector came by. Oh India.)