De poes zegt mauw

Ik spreek over mijn gevoel.

Maar zij spreken niet mijn taal.



Memories of memories of memories



The view he so often saw, still there but almost hidden like memories


I almost missed it if not

My journey remembered me of

A memory and that reminded me

Of yet another memory.

A box in a box, a simulacrum almost

A shock in shock. How fast the time goes

I’m not good with dates,

but forgetting a death date of a one you lost

seems both wrong, and strangely natural.

Although 5 years, I can feel your skin.

Your clothes, your nose. your kind eyes

Your ‘no smiles on pictures because I should

be a serious example for my grandchildren’

Your stolen rhymes, your ‘farewell if won’t see you,

cause writings, not for me.’ Who knew that

was the last time we would meet?

And there yet again, a memory and a memory

in a memory. I can’t lose you, you were in all those

years but mostly you are in my heart

Here with me.


Tangible witness- filtred to perfection by nature itself.

roaming fantasy real time

The anticipation, the hope of creating

of making something that hasn’t been before.

I want to dream and see all I hope a

reality. To plan and seek and lead to

that one picture i saw in fantasy.

reality dirrived from undiluted imagination


The beauty of movement


after the rush

After the rush. the doubt if you did well

the slowly getting prouder, or at least,

accepting. It hardly matters, who said you did well

if the compliments are not specific enough,

they are not really true. The strange feeling you get

mixed and mingled by a single task, a project,

completed. I did what was needed. Kind of.

I did what I thought was a good idea, and also just

moved where the wind brought me. Full stop.

Now, something new has to happen. everything is prepared.

Yet it is difficult. Or rather, vulnerable. I am not needed.

I am in need. Needless to say, I don’t like that very much.

No rush now, just the pressure in my ears, my stomach my chest

my throat. I’ll watch another series. I’ll call it a project finished.




ever tied- to him or her

ever twined- when they’re there

looking to somehow win over

what again? some twisted sense of acceptance

never feeling good enough,

stuck on earning just a smile

being struck by how far that smile

is from making you more comfortable.


The snow has fallen.

The snow has fallen. Outside it’s freezing i suppose.

And I too am frozen. Not knowing how to go on.

Feeling completely and utterly vulnerable.


Snowed In, Locked In

But in the cold, the snow also shows so much beauty still.

How do I make something beautiful,

from all that is frozen, feeling ill?

I’ll sit inside and wait for the light to come

and I’ll put the kettle on, and look outside

looking from the inside. looking at the snow

from here it looks not cold and freezing but

simply beautiful.



Abstract rhythms//cross stitch

What a word. rhythms. Perhaps one of the words that have the least a,e,o,u, i or y’s. yes, I do not know the word for these subdivisions of letters. In dutch they are called klinkers or medeklinkers: basically sounds or added sounds (probably a terrible translation but these words are really confusing dutch to me). Anyways, a new blog post. Yet another one about cross-stitch. Why? Because I found myself making more patterns and projects, and I find myself in uncharted territory. Or at least, that’s how I feel about it now. I wouldn’t say that I am a truly original artist, but the history of cross-stitch and how I use it in my work is quite interesting to look at (I think). So how do we know cross-stitch? it seems to be everywhere nowadays. Of course, some of the traditional applications are the samplers: in dutch the ‘letterlappen or merklappen’ the sometimes huge textiles on which often very young children learned to stitch the letters of the alphabet to be able to mark their (future) linens to mark them as their own. In addition to letters, there were numbers, borders and some images such as trees, humans, and animals.

The other kind of cross-stitch you might now is now easily explained as an enlarged computer image: the image is build up out of pixels, or in this case crosses, cross-stitched. A third option is the more traditional more abstract ways of applying cross stitch: for instance, the folklore patterns that were used in traditional garments which often are symbols for things important to man and that particular culture. In these certain colors are often required, or the lack of it as in traditional blackwork.

Now I must confess: Growing up I thought samples and the pixel images to be very very boring. Basically, I thought: why would you first go to the trouble of making a sampler if you could just make an actual project, such as stitch a little poem (the lazy fox jumped over the sleeping dog, anyone?). Neither was I, or am I very interested in making ‘realistic’ images of things and objects via cross-stitch: I think it is loads of work and the medium does not add enough to justify this work. Personally, I am mostly drawn to the more traditional folklore patterns and blackwork.These ancient patterns are good at what I called in the title the post ‘abstract’ rhythms. Nevertheless, they are very static, these patterns repeat them selfs, and even though I find them very pleasing to the eye, they do not leave very much room for creative expression.

I love the cross-stitch medium, for the same reason I find the images made by cross-stitch very boring: you only have crosses and a grid, on which you have little freedom. However, as in most creative endeavors restrictions give unknown opportunities. In my cross-stitches, I like to explore the idea of abstract rhythms. As seen in the previous post with cross-stitch you can repeat a pattern, you can turn it, copy it wholly or half, you can add an extra color, or take one away. In that way, you create some kind of living creation. You still start with a ‘fixed’ pattern, but you don’t have to keep it that way. You can ‘abuse’ the basic principles of cross-stitch: rhythm and abstraction.



To the bone

For a long time I listened to the band skillet a lot- My brother had one of their albums, and some days I have to go back to that beauty of an album ‘Collide’.

There’s something deep inside
That keeps my faith alive
When all you can do
Is hide from the fear
That’s deep inside of you