Vulpes vulpes(2)

For this special season I made a linocut. By suprise the fox appeared in it, walking in the snow.
I would like to add a line underneed it, a closing sentence... (read vulpes vulpes)

"... but Fox knew who he was, a friend and faithful guardian, and he continued his course"

May we all, in the new year, be pure and thoroughly who we are, and continu to write and share our stories, our lives, with eachother!

Vulpes vulpes

Last weekend I made a small lino cut and printed it… a fox.

The fox is an animal which speaks to my imagination. It’s a rare and beautiful animal which you won’t see very often. I remember I used to see two foxes every now and then in my rear garden when I lived in Edinburgh; a crippled old fox accompanied by a younger one. 

In most folktales and mythology the fox symbolises trickery and deceit - stories of a fox stealing food from a raven or deceiving a stork with a meal served on a flat plate. Probably most of us would refer to a fox as vicious and mean – and this is because of how the fox is referred to in stories. Since long we ascribe human characteristics to animals; both Aristoteles in his work Historia Animale and Gaius Plinius Secundus, a Roman historian and scientific encyclopedist, mentioned the fox as being vicious.

But there is this other fox too. In some stories the fox is portrayed as a friend or faithful guardian, as a lover, or as a hero like in the animation of Robin Hood where the hero is illustrated as a fox by Walt Disney. And did you know that the name Zorro, the legendary hero, means ‘fox’ in Spanish?  

Which fox is the one you know? It all depends on the stories which were handed down to you isn’t it?

On one hand there is this fox who is vicious, mean, deceitful and who deserves to be expelled because of his misbehaviour. And on the other hand there is this same fox – which turns out the be different, the fox who is alert, wild and untameable. In his heart you’ll find a rebel, fighting injustice, a friend and faithful guardian!

There is a lot of power in the stories we hear and believe.

Elderberry blossom syrup

Tuesday evening I went for a cycling tour with a friend and found a few elderberry bushes in blossom! So I decided to make elderberry blossom syrop, for the first time ever. I didn't put the recuired amount of sugar in it (much too sweet), but only 1/3 of it, a lemon, and decided to add ginger! Very tasty!

Another adventure...

After 3,5 years, another adventure in the woods... It's been a long time since I experienced this kind of creativity flow - such a great experience! I love my boys!

Sinking boat (2)

Last month it was 3 years ago that my three boys were abducted, confirming years of emotional abuse. Only a few people knew the incredible pain before and after, only a few discerned the great lies of the swindler.

A couple of weeks ago I saw the film Life of Pi. One quote struck me, where Pi Patel tells something about bereavement in life (he lost his whole family in a ship wreck): "I left so much behind ... I suppose in the end, the whole of life becomes an act of letting go, but what always hurts the most is not having a moment to say goodbye".

Here is "not having a moment to say goodbye" equal to being powerless to take control in a very shocking situation. Being powerless in great pain leaves you helpless, hopeless, empty, and traumatised.

There are only a few people I know who dare to be honest about bereavement in life. It seems that most of them have suffered great losses too.
While my body still aches and while I dream of a much easier life, I learned that in the midst of terrible pain there is something greater than having an answer to it. Right in the middle of it lies something valuable... Maybe it's about seeing life in new perspectives, life without lies and stereotypes, life without cheap answers... About getting to know a better part of self, a more authentic self, pure, with no illusions about life...
I guess that's it... I look at life with less illusions, and practice a more honest gratitude. I am more pessimistic, but know what is important. I got acquainted with great evil, and know how to discern it from the good and to appreciate life.

Linocut 'sinking boat' made by me.

De geur van versgebakken brood

Een tijdje geleden schreef ik het volgende verhaaltje. Recentelijk heb ik er een illustratie bij gemaakt.

De geur van versgebakken brood.

Hij wist het nog goed. Als klein kind speelde hij er op de vloer. Je zou denken dat een kind went aan een geur waar het regelmatig in speelt en deze niet meer opmerkt. Maar deze kleine jongen stond regelmatig rechtop, met zijn ogen dicht en zijn neus in de lucht om de geur van versgebakken brood op te snuiven. Wat was dat lekker!

Hij was er goed in, dat snuiven, beter dan anderen. Hij kon namelijk aan de geur herkennen wat voor een brood in de oven warm lag te worden. Zo rook het tijgerbrood naar groot avontuur, kloosterbrood naar galmende gangen vol aanbiddingsmuziek, en zonnebloempittenbrood naar de uitgestrekte velden vol goudgele bloemen. Het was een gave, had zijn oom eens verteld, niet lang voordat hij stierf, gestikt in een snee roggelbrood.

Deze jongen wist wat hij later wilde worden. Net als zijn oom, zou hij zijn gevoeligheid, zijn neus, zijn gave inzetten om de mensen van heinde en verre te voorzien van het heerlijkste brood van het land.

Maar toen hij later groot geworden was werd zijn gave niet gewaardeerd. Met het ruiken van brood kon je geen boterham verdienen, vond men. Er waren mensen met hele andere neuzen, en die hun neus ophaalden voor de zijne. Brood was gewoon brood, daar moest hij niet over zeiken. En terwijl hij dat maar liet, werd het hem op zijn brood gegeven.

Zo werd hij langzaam iemand anders, anders dan hemzelf. Aan de buitenkant werd hij een prima vuilnisman en ruimde keurig de rommel op van anderen. Aan de binnenkant werd hij een lege kliko, waarin holle klanken echoden en de geur van versgebakken brood ver te zoeken was.

Autumn

Perseverance

One of the most important (and basic) things I teach my art students is to persevere!
When making a piece of art we usually start with a great idea. Then we start working, collecting information, sketching, choosing colours, deciding on composition, etc, and realise it's going to be harder then we thought. At some point we come to a stage where the art piece sucks. The stage where we messed up, struggle to continue, and wonder whether to throw the art piece away or stop doing art.
Only perseverance will get us through this stage. It's the crucial point of winning or losing - to learn or to stand still. After continuing, the art piece might or might not match 'the great idea', but I believe pushing through is one the most rewarding and constructive processes of an artist! One that makes the artist!
Because I know this proces very well it became easier for me to keep on going. Messing up became a normal part of the proces of making a painting. I embrace it!

Is life not exactly the same?
I believe it is, but am not sure I have reached that place yet to embrace the mess. Nevertheless I'm determined to finish this 'piece of art'. Eventually it might or might not match with the expectations which I had before, but it will be good!

Second phase

A few images of slowly developing details of the painting. The art piece excites me - I see so many things which aren't there yet: the audience, the fleeing lion tamer, the maps, the ropes, the light... I keep on changing colours, proportions and perspective - still months of work to do. I can't wait to show the final piece.

Sinking boat

To be honest, my life has felt often like an almost sinking boat lately. On one hand Iam exploring new paths, which give energy and life. On the other hand Iam feeling the cold wind blowing through soaked cloths, tasting the salty water and trying to keep on standing while enormous waves crash into my boat and I have to toss many buckets of water out.

But I still trust in Him, that sleeping man on my boat.

Referring to Mark 4, the Bible

Antwerp

Again I traveled South to see friends and family. A good time. I also visited the city Antwerp. A few impressions of that beautiful place. I love the diversity of colours, people and a funny mix of construction,- demolition,- and historical sites.
At the M HKA (the museam of contemporary art) was an exhibition of film artist Chantal Akerman.

First phase

I finally started to paint again after a very, very long time. So good to pick up that brush and to CREATE!

(hope to keep you up to date over the next months with further phases of the painting)

Around my table

My home is my home. It took a while to make it mý place and start loving it. Around my table has become a good place to be. To create art together with others, enjoy food, enjoy friendship, and much more. I am home.

Traveling South-South/West

It's so good to have friends and family & spending time with them!
(pic 1,left: This practical solution in my friends home made me laugh)

Playing with ink

Spend some time playing with ink this morning (with the topic 'spring'). I love the way ink flows in unexpected ways with water and the way the bright colours mix and give suprising effects. The children agree.

Lunch

Instead of having lunch at the shop, which I usually do, I went out. To sit on a bench in the forrest, while listening to some good music (Regina Spektor), and having my lunch box on my lap. A bit chilly today, but defenitely worth the effort.

Charging the battery

Days with not a lot of inspiration and energy. But this moment at the end of the afternoon charged my battery a bit and made my day.

Beautiful!

The sound of lot's of birds singing invited me to the forest across the road. I am glad I took the time to leave stuff behind to take a moment to enjoy it. So beautiful to hear their songs again and to smell nature. It was that typical bird song and scent of a coming spring!



I made a sound recording but am unfortunately not able to put it on my blog. Such a pitty, the birds were so loud and with so many!

Mural

I finally made that mural I was planning to. We had some wall stickers already, now the landscape is added. Nice to do some painting again, a simple painting though, but with a great effect in a room. You should have seen Noah jumping on his bed for joy:-)

Half full - half empty

How can two glasses be exactly the same in size and contents, but be completely different?
One glass half full, another half empty.
I thought about that for a little while last week. What makes a glass half full or half empty? Is it the content? Wine, water of poison? The desire to keep it or to get rid of it?
Maybe it’s about what isn’t there… The fear of the intangible, the invisible, the unknown – the air that increases while the glass slowly empties and leaves me with empty hands.

When I look back in the past I see I could convulsively focus on the last swigs in my glass. Afraid to drink, afraid to loose the little I had.
I see that I do that differently now. I know very well what the best way is to enjoy a full glass of wine. And that is to drink it.
The best way to enjoy a half full glass of wine, is also to drink it.
And the best way to enjoy the last little bit of wine in my glass is… exactly, to drink it and to taste the flavours of red berries with all my taste buds. This is the way I enjoy every sip, be aware of the slowly increasing emptiness and try to embrace it. To be no longer afraid of it. I know that something else will come. Something new. Emptiness is a place to discover or create something new, like an empty page in a book or a blank spot on a map. It can be so terrifying, but inevitable if I want to enjoy every sip. I am not speaking about a specific occasion in my life, but more about the way I look at my life at the moment.
It has changed over the last two years.