Now that you are aware, I can introduce you to this group exhibition in the midst of the beautiful greenery of Vondelpark. An excellent spot to show (off) what you got. Barbara Galvács, Cissie van der Ven and Juel McNeilly joined forces with Ingeborg Brounts to introduce you to what they call the ‘female identity’. A hip topic these days, especially after the Olympic Games bringing up all the discrimination women have to deal with. Being a woman isn’t easy. (For the record, I’m not saying it’s easy to be a man, but let’s talk about that another time.)
Galvács’s photography is fragile, in the most noble sense. It’s like a beautifully arranged set of stained glass windows in conversation with one another. No meaningless chatter but dignified, deep thoughts bring them together. Wise words whispered from one suffering body to another, the proof of virtue and the strength of the human soul.
Cissie van der Ven’s self portraits are a radiant match – quite literally. Daring reflections of alter egos we all long to prove at some point in life. Most of us never ventures into the fancy worlds of animal prints and nipple pasties though. Sometimes I wonder: would it be a better place with less self-consciousness – or just a world where selfie sticks are on the lower levels of Maslow’s pyramid.
Ed van Teeseling’s Rubenesque sculptures, thanks to the collaboration with Ingeborg Brounts, the late artist’s wife, and Juel McNeilly’s collection of light-hearted (yet thought-provoking) street interviews make the exposition complete.
I am convinced there is nothing better you could spend 30 minutes of your free time on. Go grab a coffee and look around in that back room of VondelCS. You have until 4th September.
The last couple of weeks were a bit bumpy, rather harsh after some months of constant delirium. I called it pre-midlife crisis, thanks to the fact that it was not about a real problem, more like worrying about something that might happen; namely not getting the chance to join the MA of my dreams (aka. Major Mid-Life Crisis).
I think I’m over now: I have plan B, even plan C, ready in case of failure. Now I’m sitting in a café sipping home-made lemonade, working myself through the week 3 assignment of the latest MOMA-craze.
Thanks to my wonderful, wonderful cousin my motivation letter has just been finalized, and now all I need is the recommendation letters, then I’m all set to hand in my application. (Yes, I haven’t even sent it yet, nevertheless I’m scared to death what the hell I’m going to do if they don’t take me.)
In a few months everything will be up-side-down, hopefully. I should be on a new, much wider path to achieve something I have been thinking about for years. It would be much appreciated if my bad dreams reeking of existential fears were also gone soon. Let’s hope this (slightly too sweet) lemonade will be the last thing reminding me of them. As of now, I consider it an antidote.
In Hungary you are not supposed to wash or clean on the first day of the year – unless you want to do that all day, every day.
In the spirit of this superstition I have made the best possible day out of mine: I woke up the way I like it the most. I had a scrumptious breakfast in the morning sunshine, enjoying the misty view. I went to the beach to take some pictures, had a lunch outside, went jogging, did my exercise. I read something of value and I wrote this post. I took my time whatever I did. No fuss, no frustration. Now I’m heading to see my evening companion to spend the best kind of Friday night together and even though I did not get to cook the sort-of-compulsory lentil dish of the first day of the year I know I have started it well.
Here is to the days one spends as they should spend all the coming days.
Happy New Year!