Winifred Wikkeling

If we were to spin a tale, een Sprookje,

like Viktor & Rolf

perhaps

we would

write

Viktor & Rolf for de Bijenkorf

Via design.nl

about a girl who soaked up the warm air,

who was mesmerized by the lush green,

and worshiped the star speckled skies of Paramaribo.

A girl who spent hours staring at mineral rich waters,

and densely packed forests,

adrift on het meer,

intoxicated by beauty and brilliance.

Stuuwmeer, Suriname

A girl who danced entire evenings away to the rhythms of kaseko…

We might also write about the secret.

The secret of the spell cast over her when first she heard

kay manman la te ke tramble.

The spell that sets her eyes ablaze like fire,

her hair tracing the pattern of her body, swaying, turning,

transformed every time by zouk.

Her arms are set free as they pay homage,

they too are in a trance, they too feel its magic -

zouk their master, zouk their salve.

Nothing before then means anything,

nothing before then, exists.

zouk la sé sèl médikaman nou ni…

We found it difficult to avert

our eyes once confronted with

this image of

fisherman’s wives awaiting the return

of husbands who might forever

be lost at sea

Gejaagd door de wind by Maarten Schets

of course,

we wanted more

of course,

we went to Enkhuizen

so that we might

re-discover

oud Nederland

by way

of

experiencing

‘Gejaagd door de Wind’

a sort of

treasure hunt

which caused us

to feel some hesitation

when first,

we were led here..

..and surprised us

when we

landed here

And as we drew closer to

the vissersvrouwen

we felt quietly

overwhelmed

by this celebration

of Dutch traditional clothing

and delighted

by every

revelation

Hats by Elizabeth van der Helm

of just

how glamorous

a fish wife

can be…

After amusing ourselves

on the

Oude Zijde

Oude Zijde

We decided

to take

a peek

Animal Eyes by Heidi & Hans-Jurgen Koch

Inside the

World Press

Photo Exhibit

Oude Kerk

We

rather

enjoyed

the

setting

And then we thought about

Perspective

for

this

Chaiten Volcano Erupts by Carlos F. Gutierrez

so beautifully

captures

love….

The other day,

we saw

this

Christian Louboutin f/w 09

Then,

we saw

this

Christian Louboutin f/w 09

But we could scarcely

contain ourselves,

over this

Christian Louboutin f/w 09

Via Yatzer

We loved that,

we could then,

wander over

here

Rijksmuseum

And spend sometime,

marveling over

the likes of this

Stilleven met bloemen by Balthasar van der Ast

refreshing ourselves

on

why

Stilleven met bloemen by Hans Bollongier

this was

the

Golden Age

Stilleven met zilveren schenkkan by Willem Kalf

and

how

this

De compagnie van Frans Banning Cocq by Rembrandt Harmensz. van Rijn

Via Rijksmuseum

still takes

our breath

away…

Tulip Fields Holland

Via 2 or 3 things I know

Home is where I want to be
Pick me up and turn me round
….
Feet on the ground
Head in the sky
It’s ok I know nothing’s wrong . . nothing

Home – is where I want to be
But I guess I’m already there
……

I can’t tell one from another
Did I find you, or you find me?
There was a time before we were born
If someone asks, this is where I’ll be . . . where I’ll be

…..

I’m just an animal looking for a home
Share the same space for a minute or two
And you love me till my heart stops
Love me till I’m dead
Eyes that light up, eyes look through you
Cover up the blank spots
Hit me on the head Ah ooh…

~Talking Heads

Narcissus by VanEsch

Most often a mirror is for gazing, at times for questioning and sometimes for reflecting. After gazing we questioned, what might our Narcissus reflect? Would it be, thank you for this journey, thank you for the obstacles, thank you for your perseverance? Or maybe, thank you for your fearlessness, thank you for your exploration, thank you for your open mind? It might also say, thank you for your intuition, your questioning, your searching. But then we would have to add, thank you for your growth, your dynamic style. Surely we would want it to offer, thank you for surprising, thank you for believing, thank you for receiving. We would hope for enough space to thank you for that laugh – disproportionate and loud – for it was there with us always when we needed it most…

Theatre Spijkenisse by UNStudio

Contemporary architecture frequently leaves us wanting. We find ourselves bored by an excess of glass and the intrusion of angles and curves intended merely to push the boundaries of technology, rather than those of good taste, comfort, beauty. We find ourselves desperate to escape the global eliptical assault the Zaha Hadids have inflicted upon us. We do not necessarily find Theatre Spijkenisse to be a clear exception but we are warm and fuzzy all over because it’s Spijkenisse!! Spijkenisse is where we lived in Holland before embarking on our journey to America. Spijkenisse is where we had our first boyfriend, g.v.f. Spijkenisse marked the end of the first chapter… We are curious and excited to experience this new addition to the city we left behind. Spijkenisse will be surprised by us, as we will be by her. Not so, g.v.f. He still likes to pull our pigtails and kick dirt on our feet because he loves us. Someday, many years from now, we will visit Spijkenisse with him. We will not be young anymore, but we will giggle profusely. Just as we did back then.

Sranan Gron

2009, you’ve already spoiled us. You gave us 5 weeks in Suriname, 89 degree days, mornings that began with the barking of dogs, the chirping of birds, the cackle of all manner of fowl. You gave us the sweet sounds of sranan tongo, the bauxite roads of Afobaka, the gorgeously intertwined mangrove trees of Warrapa Creek, and everywhere the warmth of a beautiful people. You gave us the foods we have missed: bami, nasi, roti, pastei, maisena koekjes, sopropo, antroa, pietjil, ham taw, manja, birambie. And, oh, how we danced as we celebrated those last days of 2008! You gave us such joy, such pride, so much laughter. You reminded us that when Sranan gron e kari oen, we must listen, we must go. And you gave us back the song; the song that we had searched for, for many years. The song we did not know the name of or by whom it was sung. We did not understand why it was important to us or what answers it might hold. And we had not even yet thought of the song when we first felt that warm air, and walked on the lush Surinaams land. So it was a complete surprise when we found ourselves on our second day in Suriname at the javaanse markt, our hearts pounding fast as we heard the song. We would have run over children and the infirm to locate its source, but there were not meant to be any obstacles to our receiving of it. After all, we had waited many years and we had traveled long and far so that finally it could be ours. With every note we relived those early years in Suriname, we saw again our house on Johannes Mungra Straat. We saw our grandmother, our aunts and uncles, we saw so many family friends. We saw parties at Krasnapolski, we saw us dancing with our father, our little feet on top of his. We saw all the things we had missed, memories we were afraid we might lose. And when we heard the song it was then that we understood that somehow it had been for us a sort of capsule. A safe place where our memories would always be stored. The song was for us affirmation of what we had lived, what we had loved, what we had lost. But now we have “Wooi mi Debar.” And we do not have to fear losing that particular place in time, that particular place in our hearts. Now we close our eyes, we press our lips together, our hips sway gently, slowly. One or two teardrops fall. We always finish the song.