Breda. Below the rivers aka in the south of The Netherlands. Not Holland. The inauguration of March. That is where it was. Where I was the first of March. Had some trouble getting there. Missed the first train. Tried to catch up. Missed it by a minute. The second train stopped. Right before the platform. It did not reach the platform. So I stood there waiting and waiting. At last it arrived. Late. Took a sprint on a rental bicycle. Need I mention that I made it?
A talk and a half later I got around to asking a few questions. Is it normal for army answers to sound like riddles? Nevertheless. Got some answers. But first regarding the rooms. Less furniture that mine. Satisfaction. Why do I get slack over that? Took a photograph just to be able so say this. I am not alone in this. Someone onces asked me ‘are you in the army’ on a day when I was dressed in green. Meaning: green bag, green suitcase, green coat. A smile. The memory. The resemblance.
The answers: regarding my business. Please note, no-one mentioned this. Just adding one and a few other comments. Brilliant at that. Force to fit. The economy. The lay-offs. An opportunity. My company lacks security more than anything else. Although it could do with an increase in budget. Nevertheless. Security experts in need of transfers. That is where to find them. Negotiating over the details can be done in person. Soon enough. Currently imagining: company security, company spirit, company sports, company corps. In transit. Idea to blueprint to market.
Spent the 27th of February in Nijmegen. Visited a meeting of the local legislation (D66 only). To jot down opinions. The cause. My house. Sadly my house is not my sanctuary but my worst nightmare. What I know now but could never have imagined. It was a setup. This house full of holes. I was set up! By whom? For one, the owner. These holes where there when I first moved in. Hidden behind a double ceiling. Hidden behind wallpaper. I rent this place through a real estate management company. A middleman. In need of maintenance? Add complaint to complaint and be certain it will not be done. The last thing I needed when I started my own company Laurganic. Another day job. It was a bit worse than just that. There was a person with a key. Regular break-ins occurred, apparently. Photographs were taken. A fantasy tale unfolded. A problem took shape. While I was away. Working. Trying to get the company running. Although I have a zillion tons of discipline to help me cope. I would need about twice as much to succeed. Breathing in. Breathing out. Smiling.
Someone once told me: being nice is a liability. And I am a very nice person. All understanding. Ever helpful. All free sector. All independence. But private. Then someone unkind saw an opening. I was approachable. Not afraid to be imperfect. Still in transition. Frightful potential at it’s wake. It had to be cut before it grew. I had to be unmasked. As someone without all those scary potentially conservative possessions. Worse still. I had my facts straight. Libertarian remember. We like things literal. We like rules to be verifiable. We like everything in writing. But worst of all: we read everything in advance. And refer to what we’ve read. To be defeated by a fact-sheet! Tragedy. Terror.
Back to those free sector credentials. My company. It took of while under attack. Than the house was what tore it to pieces. Holes and some kind of recording device. Nothing sells a lie better than twisted words. To lie with images as opposed to numbers. Tried, tested and one level down from everage. One step back. What got me to this house. Shortages in housing. House-mates causing a riot. Desperation. What will prevent this being done to your house in the future? Anybodies house? At last. Arrived. At the heart of the conversation. Currently carrying out: reviewing current options, assessing possible routes. A route towards legislation appears to be opening up. I would prefer self-regulation or Open Detective. Improved detection of holes and devices. Expanded negotiating power by more access to and better communication of current options. Keeping things libertarian. Although legislation is not in principle non-libertarian. Open for debate!
The one book it seems almost everyone agreed was worth keeping. The Arnason. A while ago I picked it up. Ran through it’s pages. And stopped. In disgust. The phrase which began with ‘I saw the best minds of my generation, destroyed’ suddenly seemed to ought to stop at that particular point. Some sad excuse for an anti-artist got to it. Vulgarized it. Leaving an ashen shroud of artistic vandalization on MY treasured pages. MY memories of Art history classes during the late nineties. Trashed. Debased. Simply sad.
Stumbling over the rocks. Ruins barely recognizable. Scrambling for peaces. Recalling, recall, recollection on hold. Took some pictures. Took some time. Be puzzled by the images below.
Anyone in for IP litigation? Let’s go through this set. Right, below. Max Pechstein, Somali dancers. Really? Next. On the left. Salvador Dali. Cannot imagine that one being into hairless males. And whatever happened to his surrealism? Rather dull, not? Collection FRAC de Bourgogne must be surreal in name only. This morbid greyscale is fading as is. So is 1984, this image would simply shame Orwell. Irrelevant. A suggestion for the vandal of my Art-lit. Visit http://www.kmm.nl/collection
With my sight unwavering set on future waves. Oddly conservative choices. This business, his businesses. This Art, her Art. In veins or simply in sight. A follower without a cause. Simply because.
What I have been told. My father the economist. As anyone of his age and background send to study in the (formerly) motherland A.K.A the UK. Think London in the fifties and sixties. Add some advanced university degree in New York and that is that. I set up a business. He did that a couple of times before. I will persevere. Got miles of catching up ahead.
Will run the distance in spite of a mad and seriously bad crowd kind of in my way. The distance run despite of me.
Looking on. Years of watching her paint and draw. Think Georgia O’Keefe for style reference. My mother and her Art. I remember the coal nudes from her course at the Willem deKooning academy. Sculptures have filled up the house now the children are gone. Her art teacher from ‘de haagse school’ was apparently impressed. Judge by this example of her Art below.
Done some drawing. Added some strokes of wine. Find LaurganiQ Art at http://laurganiq.tumblr.com/page/2. The distance run. Ahead from here. A view for 2014. Somebody else’s Art and somebody else’s idea. A matchmaker in between. A little the one. A bit the other. Yet totally LaurganiQ.