27 March 2009

Impa visits a museum

I wanted to Do that More Often; going to museums. Because of being inspired, touched and excited. And having beers together. Oh, and having lunch in the nifty little museum cafe! Buying books in the museum shop, bumming around on the train and... and... and...

Art. Art and taking a deep breath of fresh art air outside one's familiar, old art box. 

But ofcourse I never get down to it. Like I never get down to going to the theatre more often, to the cinema, the opera, pop concerts, taking forest walks more often, going to the sauna more often and visiting my grandmother more often. Because once I get back from whatever it was I was going to do more often and find my dangerously long Do More Often list, it gives me such a fright I sit down in front of the television for a couple of days and never get down to it. Again. Which is a shame. (Except maybe in the case of going to the sauna more often, because you have to look at strange willies there, which I don't really want to do. But I'll save that topic for another time.)

After my visit to Muesum Boijmans van Beuningen in January there were still 50,400,8,0021.4 other Dutch museums eligible for Going To a Museum More Often in 2009. Preferably museums I hadn't already visited last year, because look at the other 50,400,8,0011.4 Dutch museums waving at me happily, wondering if I'll be coming their way this year.

But when I took a deep breath and rolled up my sleeves all the way up to my armpits to take a plunge in the pool of  50,400,8,0011.4 other Dutch museums to be visited this year, Museum Boijmans grabbed me from behind. 

Grinning broadly, it held up two really nice exhibitions.

26 March 2009

Impa thinks a tree

Impa says *beep*

Boy, what a dissapointment. It turns out I'm not an adult, even though I've been working on that for over 35 years now.
There's such a thing as silent ringtones. They only emit a high-pitched beep in a frequency adults can't hear. They're used by teenagers who want to send texts in class or receive phonecalls without mum and dad knowing. Well, kids: dream on. As it turned out his morning, on the bus, there's 35-year-olds who can hear them too. In busy rush-hour traffic. On a rainy  morning. Before they've had their first cup of coffee. Our minister Ten Horst says the so called 'mosquito's'; electronic devices chasing kids away from their favorite hang-outs with irritating high-pitched tones only they can hear, are against their basic rights. Well, it's against my basic rights that I should have to listen to silent ringtones on the bus, early in the morning. Pick up your phones! Stop those bloody beeps of I'll chuck your damned mobile mosquito's out of the window. I've got nothing to lose, because I wasn't an adult anyway. 

25 March 2009

I get this a lot

She's my dad's wife.
- So your mother...
No, my dad's wife.
- ...
She's the woman who married my dad.
- ...
She's not my mother.
- Ah.
If she were my mother, I wouldn't have called her 'my dad's wife'. Call me me weird, if you like. I know I'm just such a funny bunny. This may sound really off my rocker: if she were my mum, I would've said 'mum'. Boy, am I something else. Living on the edge.

WHAT IS SO COMPLICATED ABOUT THAT, PEOPLE? This isn't the fifties, you know. People get married, have children, divorce, get married again, have more children... What does it take? Do you want me to call her 'stepmother' because 'my dad's wife' doesn't fit into your frame of reference? Who am I, Snowwhite? 

17 March 2009

Impa's image

I've suffered damage. To my little, red, square, old, car. The classic kind of damage, no less, of grating against a concrete corner in a parking garage, leaving behind sad, red paint that would much rather have stayed on my car.

There were, however, mitigating circumstances. An oncoming car forced me off the ramp at a funny angle. The ramp was waaaaay too steep. Halfway through the corner, nose facing downward, I almost hit a post which some idiot had planted on a kind of ledge along the middle of the ramp. Something should probably have dawned on me then about the angle at which I was rounding the corner, but then there's also such a thing as a hill-start in reverse. Something to be avoided in life as long as you possibly can. So I turned the wheel a little more and made the angle even tighter. 

In the backseat of my car, girlfriend A. squeaked "This doesn't look good." I could see fear in her eyes. Next to me, friend A. started growling. He clenched his teeth and hissed he would've walked if we weren't parked against the concrete corner and he could've opened his car door. Our outing was completely down the drain. I could hear our friendships squeal softly and then quietly lay down to die.

I'm really quite upset, you know. Never mind the damage to my car. Do you think the mitigating circumstances - insane posts in the middle of appallingly steep ramps (if you want to get downstairs that fast, why don't you just jump?) and  smart-ass oncoming traffic - could at least keep any damage to my image to a minimum?

12 March 2009

Impa driving

I've been to Kolham. You'll look up from what you were doing and ask: "Where?" Kolham. You'll say: "I had no idea there was such a place". I'll smile and say: "Neither did I". "Where is it?" you'll ask.

Kolham is 12 kilometres east of the city of Groningen. I passed it on my way from point A in the city to point B in the city. I usually end up on a motorway when I am going from any point A to any point B in any city. I never quite know how that works, but I've gotten used to it. I simply take the first exit off the motorway, drive a small circle in a place I've never been to before and go back.

"Get one of those navigation systems", you'll say. But why would I? If I had, I'd never have known of Kolham. Along the motorway, there's all kinds of things invisible to man inside his box. I'm happy to let providence lure me off the asphalt. I simply leave home half an hour early. 

I just saw on my map I should have kept driving. Then I could have told you I'd been to the village Woudbloem.

Woudbloem. Forest Flower.

9 March 2009

Impa's amazement

I prayed for faith.
True faith.
It was what I needed to be able to surrender.

I found myself utterly surprised

amazed

touched

when faith turned out to follow
surrender.

4 March 2009

The sound of playing or laughter

...so I asked the lady at the AMK Advisory Board and Hotline Child Abuse "But what if you look at it from the perspective of that child, whatever it may be? That its life apparently takes place in a home with closed curtains, where the only signs of life passers by ever get are screams, for whatever reason? Never a glimpse through the window, never the sound of laughter, playing, running or even crying? That this child is only noticed because it screams?" 
I know it isn't much to go by. I understand how that works. I don't know who live in that house, I don't know how old the child is or if it's a boy or a girl. I've never seen it. I never see people walking in or out, the curtains are always closed, I know no one who lives in that street and their  garden is just a wasteland. But on my way to the shops I often hear a child scream in that house. Just screams, nothing else. And yesterday there was that angry man's voice in betweeen screams. "Will you stop? Will you stop?" Dear lady at the AMK, let my reporting this at least be noted. If a problem situation with this child or these parents ever surfaces in some other way; via school, neighbours, family, whatever; at least let it be noted there was a lady who passed by there regularly and heard a child scream in that house. Who wanted to do something.  Not to make the stomage ache it gave her go away, but because life from the the perspective of a child that is only heard through its screams is unbearable.

3 March 2009

Impa wants to lie at the foot of a tree

Everyone knows what it feels like to lie beneath the swaying branches of a rustling tree in summer, sunlight shimmering throught its leaves. I made you a short film to have a quick taste of that on these grey late winter's days that just don't seem to come to an end. Hang in there just a little while longer!

Rustle and Shine from Impa on Vimeo.

2 March 2009

You can't do this to me

To my lovely girlfriends.

I consider it an honour to have you confide in me. Really. That you want to share with me what's making you so happy. Very loving, and wonderful, and everything. I also understand that some things have to wait a while before they can be shouted off rooftops. But you KNOW how some things make me go all bouncy. How I'm not exactly one of patience's virtues. I mean, you've known me for quite a few years now. Do you have any idea how much a secret tickles? How it wriggles underneath my skin, trying to pop out wherever it can? Cause I can be trusted, no worries. My lips are sealed. But good God, does it ITCH!