Winifred Wikkeling

What if we raised a shield…

Most often a mirror is for gazing, at times for questioning and sometimes for reflecting.

Ah…the Dutch. Clever, liberated, progressive, open. Intellectually curious about all cultures, history and creativity.

Every so often we realize that the child in us holds much sway over our tastes. We never quite got over the elfin world of Galadriel, and the work of Natalie Shau makes us envious.

A spritz or two of rose,

me, at the tip of my toes, my nose in pursuit,

hovering close,

brushing lightly the curve of the base,

I follow rose to the hollow,

there below the ear, savoring,

I take a deep breath in,

holding rose briefly, I release, reluctantly, but rose stays with me,

when I open my eyes,

he smiles knowingly,

how easily I succumb…

Occasionally we suffer bouts of self importance that lead us to believe the designer should tailor their work to match our tastes and desires rather than their own.

With a name like Winifred, it should be no surprise that we have an affinity for traditions more of the Victorian kind.

Contemporary architecture frequently leaves us wanting.

English is our second language. We arrived in America knowing 3 words. Eight days after leaving Spijkenisse we found ourselves enrolled in 6 classes where we did not understand anything.

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.