Getting better

In my last blog, I wrote about the fears that I'm facing nowadays of not succeeding, of not becoming what I want to be. It' still a daily battle to conquer these thoughts.

When I decided to leave my job, the first obvious questions someone would ask upon hearing the news was: 'so what are you going to do?' Whenever I answered that I wanted to become a documentary film maker ánd a graphic designer, the other person would frown and ask: 'Oh, are you going to film school?' or: 'Are you doing a course at art school?' or: 'How are you going to do both?'.
I wasn't planning to go to school again, I just wanted to give it a try with the experience I had so far, and I had no clue how to do both. So being put on the spot like that would easily put me in a state of panic.

What was I thinking? I have asked myself the same questions over and over again: how can I do something I am not educated in? In the Netherlands, having the 'right' education is very important, or at least, so it seems. Thinking of a career in high school or changing your career later in life is always connected to having 'the right education' to be successful. However, looking at the people around me, most are doing something else than what they are educated to do.

Being confronted with the American way of thinking made me realize that there are other ways to look at this: you can do whatever you want, as long as you work hard for it. The American Dream. Obviously, this concept has a lot of downsides to it, but I really love the American reaction to my new career: 'That's great, what kind of movies do you want to make?' 'Cool, what do you design?' 'Nice that you are able to combine these things!'.

I am still working on becoming what I want to be. But I must admit that looking at the possibilities, instead of the obstacles is definitely more empowering. I still compare myself to all the people who have had the 'right' education, or have a lot of experience, and it always puts me down. How can I live up to their level? Then I saw this inspiring video, and I realized: I don't have to be great right now. I just have to get better. And the only way to do that is to work on it. Which is exactly what I've been doing this last year.

A year after quitting my job, I'm at the point where I call myself a beginning graphic designer and film maker. Which is more than just wanting to become one. And I'm starting to realize that this is ok for now. Instead of comparing myself to other people in the field - who are obviously mostly more experienced - I try to compare myself with me, a year ago. And I look at all the things I've done, and I've worked on. And even though my fears still will tell me it's not good enough, I do know it is better than before.

Click to see the video

New love

He is funny.
He is intelligent.
He is musical.
He is dramatic.
He is reasonable.
He is sexy.
He is exciting.
He is great.

The occasional address he gave in Perth in September was the first thing I saw of him. Then I saw Rock and Roll Nerd, a documentary from 2008 in which he transforms from a nice, shy and starting comedian into a rock star/comedian/composer/actor. After that, I got lost in the endless (but unfortunately still limited) amount of youtube films. I am living in the world of Tim Minchin and I want to stay here forever.

Again and again, I am struck by the combination of his musicality and his, imbued with intelligent messages, songs and jokes. Both the sounds and the content move me. I would like to keep all of this to myself, so I don't have to share his world with others. But in fact, he is already very famous and I am never the first to discover someone or something. So I turn into a desciple and preach the gospel of Minchin.

My friends roll their eyes when I tell them my stories. My enthusiasm and devotion are not connecting with them. They watch the things I show them, but they don't believe me. They know about my missionary zeal or the never ending dedication with which I lovingly and vigorously focus myself on new discoveries. They already have wondered about my fascinations and do so now again.

So I remain alone in Tim Minchins world. In which god and jezus are not a taboo, in which lovely lullabies are actually not so sweet, in which nothing is taken for granted and in which love, involvement and humour predominate. If you're looking for me, this is where I am.

Now what?

Why would you quit your job in these times? Didn't you like your job? Why would you walk away from all those securities and submit yourself to an adventure that is only guided by uncertainty? What are you doing now? What do you want to do? How are you going to handle this? What are you plans exactly? And... how do you earn your money now?

These are a few of the questions I got since I quit my job last Feburary, both from friends and from people I've just met. The strangers are easy to distract by asking them about their own work/job/life purpose/hobby. It's harder to talk about something different with friends and acquaintances. They want to know the ins and outs. They want to try to understand what I am doing. Often, this causes a lot of stress for them, that they directly fire back at me.
My honest answer to their questions is: I don't know. I am on a search, and I want to do a lot of things. But I don't know what or how or where. I was looking forward to do 'something else', but I don't have a clue what that is supposed to be. But not having a clue is not the right answer in a world where the economic crisis, melting polar ice and impending wars are a constant threat. There are too many uncertainties already, why the hell would you create even more?

Creating a new life is not easy. Not without stress. Not relaxed. But the vacuum that occurs when all the certainties disappear, leads to new ideas and new plans. I have to get used to the fact that 'everything' is possible again. I myself, and not my incoming mail, will decide what my day is going to be like. Of course there is money to be earned. Of course there are bills to be paid. But fortunately, the bills are relatively low, as is the money. So they cancel each out, which leaves time. Time to figure out 'Now what?'.

I'm not alone in this situation, I knew that. Next Monday, (October 7), the Dutch documentay show Backlight airs an episode about 'my generation' and how it 'handles the crisis that influences them in a time that is about carreer, founding a family and thinking about the future'. Everyone who asked me
one of the above questions perhaps should watch Backlight first. Then we'll talk.

<iframe width="420" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/Jbszn17tMNk" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>

New

October is Buy Nothing New month. An initiative that started in Australia, and now also has a Dutch version. The idea: not to buy anything new for a month (and enjoy what you already have). When I registered for the Challenge, which mainly means you promise to participate in exchange for tips and ideas, I was asked for my motivation. My answer: I think that this idea is already part of my lifestyle. 

Maybe it's the books that I've read and the documentaries that I saw about the excessive use of stuff, raw materials and especially the impact on the environment, global warming, climate change. Maybe it's because I never really outgrown my student life. Anyway: I buy very little new stuff. My last major purchase by this horrible Swedish furniture company was about four years ago, when due to circumstances, I had to buy half of my furniture new. Only for the convenience - and not for the money - I dragged myself on a weekday through their shop to get my pre-selected couch and bookcases from the warehouse. After that, everything I bought for my house has been second hand stuff.

As far as my clothes go, I have limited myself to the closet space that I currently have (2 cabinets from that same Swedish company, bought when I moved to a bigger student room). This fits both my summer and winter collection, and there's only room for something new when something old goes out, which rarely happens. When I see something nice or beautiful, I always wonder if I really need it, which 9 out of 10 times results in not buying it. Because I really don't need it after all.

My big temptation are bookstores and shops that sell paper and paint. I can not go into a bookstore without buying a book. My solution: only going in to buy a present. That way, I can fulfill my need, without having another book at home. And once in a while, I let myself walk around a paper shop, where I can feel the different paper, and look at all the different patterns they have. Sometimes, I let myself buy some of them.

Since the beginning of this month, the only thing I've wanted to buy new is a frying pan. The one I have is crooked, which makes my food slide to one side when I'm cooking. But hey, as long as I stir enough, it's not a real problem.

I have decided a long time ago that I won't ever buy anything from the Swedish furniture company anymore. And so far, so good!


 

Marina

Het is alweer een paar weken geleden, maar de beelden schieten nog steeds door mijn hoofd. Het enorme podium, de gekte van Defoe, die zich inleeft in het verhaal dat hij vertelt, terwijl de beelden naast en achter hem aan het publiek voorbij trekken, de strakke blik van Marina, wanneer ze haar moeder speelt en natuurlijk, natuurlijk, Antony, die in een prachtig gewaad letterlijk voor me stond waardoor de rest van Carre leek te verdwijnen en hij alleen voor mij zong. Vooraf wist ik van de hype. Ik had gehoord over de run op kaarten, en besloot niet mee te doen. Ik kende die hele Abramovic niet echt, en voor zo'n bedrag hoefde ik haar ook niet te leren kennen. Tot de mogelijkheid zich voordeed om voor een dubbeltje op de eerste rang te zitten. En ik letterlijk voor het podium zat en het geweld aan beelden, teksten en muziek over me heen liet komen. Toen begreep ik de hype die door Amsterdam zoemde. En na afloop wilde ik meer. Meer Marina, meer verhalen. Met dank aan Holland Doc kreeg ik meer. Profiel besteedde een hele aflevering aan haar project Meet the artiest, waarin ze drie maanden lang in Moma voor zich uit staarde, en keek naar de personen die tegenover haar plaats namen. Het verhaal kende ik, en ook de ontroering van de bezoekers. Maar ik begreep het niet. Pas toen ik haar zag, en haar performance, en de mensen die allen op hun eigen manier terug keken. Toen begreep ik het. En zat ik met tranen in mijn ogen naar de televisie te kijken. Sterker nog, ik huilde. Net als de mensen tegenover haar. Net als zijzelf soms. Hoewel ik al weken mijn best doe om uit te zoeken wat het nou precies is dat zo ontroert, kom ik niet op de juiste beschrijving. Maar waarschijnlijk is het precies dat: er zijn geen woorden voor, en daarom ontroert het. Zo hoort kunst te zijn.

Faith

Easter is the time of suffering and reflection, but fewer people know about the Christian meaning of Easter - even less know about Ascension Day and Pentecost. In the next days, everyone will have decorated eggs, Easter bread and fresh orange juice for breakfast, but none of us has consumed less food for the last fourty days to reach this reflexion. Carnaval nowadays only refers to partying and costumes, not to the beginning of Lent.

We live in a society that adheres to the Judeo-Christien tradition. Honour thy father and thy mother, thou shalt not kill, thou shalt not steal. I personally believe that those basic principles already existed before the start of religions, only not in writing. Then, someone had the idea to establish those principles, and figured that it was easier to tell them in stories that people could remember. Those stories also contained other valuable information for the people of that time: it's easier to get sick from pork then from veal, so don't eat pork, seperate meat and other food for hygene and instead of forcing himself on to every woman he sees, a man should stick to three or four women and call them his wives.

I don't believe the writers realized that all these stories would dictate for centuries how billions of people should live. Nor that in name of their stories, wars would be conducted. I believe they wanted to entertain people, and probably wanted to teach them something at the same time, and perhaps they hoped their stories would survive them. But I do not believe that they wanted their stories cause billions of people to die of AIDS in 2012, because they were told it is sinful to use condoms, or that young boys would be abused because the so-called true believers apparently have no sex drive, and that whole populations would declare that their faith is the true one, and all wish hell and damnation to all others.

Let it be clear that I am an atheist. My great grandfather was offered less work in the mines because he didn't attend church on Sundays. My dad threatened the diocese to actively commit all sorts of immoral actions in order to be able to quit his church membership, which he was denied at the first try. Instead of having my first communion, my parents threw me a Gentile party.. I still curse when I walk into a church with my choir to sing the beautiful music of Mozart, Bach and Fauré. Childish, I know. But no less childish than people who hide behind all the good qualities of a true believer, yet despise anyone who doens't share his or her views. Love they neighbor, but only those who are like thou?

Some time ago, I read a wonderful book of Dutch writer Guus Kuijer, Hoe een klein rotgodje god vermoorde (How a little nasty god murdered God), in which he discusses in a clarifying way the real stories and how they deformed to the myths of today. I just saw a speech by Stephen Fry, about his idea of the Catholic Church, which, in my opinion, articulates very well what is wrong with religious institutes, like in this case the Catholic Church. Lastly, Alain de Botton preaches a new gospel: Atheism 2.0, which gives modern atheists that don't want to subject themselves to the institutes, on one hand get the oppertunity to enjoy the positive contributions of religion to our society (beautiful churches, rituals, the frescoes of Assisi) and on the other hand also adopt some religious aspects into secular society.

For anyone who is looking for reflexion in this time of the year...

Stephen Fry (2009) part 1:


Stephen Fry (2009) part 2:


Alain de Botton at TEDGlobal 2011:

Work

Is my job my identity? Am I satisfied with the identity that I get from my work? These questions come up at the most inconvenient moments.

After working one temporary job after the other for several years, I decided almost six years ago that I had to look for a permanent job. The idea alone already freaked me out, the fear for eventually not daring to leave anymore had kept me from commiting all those years. In fact, the only activity on my resume that showed any form of commitment was (and still is) singing in my choir. But I also got tired of the anxiety of always having to look for the next job, while I was just starting at a new place.
Now, I'm working at one and the same place for almost five and a half years, and whenever I describe my job to others, they roll their eyes in envy. I have a job that other people are jealous of. Yet, for years already, I'm restless, and think that I need to look for something new, that I want to do something new. The current economic situation makes these kind of thoughts frightening, because who in his right mind gives notice to a nice job and the security that comes with it, without knowing what's coming next? On the other hand, the adventure calls and there is the - perhaps inappropriate - hope that in the end, everything will be fine.

Luckily, I'm not the only one with this dilemma. Among my friends,there are countless similar cases. And there are so many other Thirty-somethings who share our struggle. Fortunately, there are tv-shows like the Dutch show I am: I work therefor I am. Here, philosopher Stine Jenssen explains how in our current work obsessed economy, having a job and working hard for it, are seen as high values. You work to develop yourself and your job gives you your identity. But the freedom we think we pursue is an illusion, because even though employers tell us to be self-reliant, eventually we all depend on the system, and the prevailing norms and values are so strong that they leave little room for freedom.

All of this can lead to interesting discussions and lots of thoughts while cycling, taking a shower, or during boring meetings. For me, I am still contemplating my thoughts. I'm anxious to leave and to try new things, but I'm also afraid of leaving a great job that so many people would love to have, and never find anything like it anymore. In other words: to be continued...

Pina

I saw Kontakthof during the Holland Festival in 2003, when I worked there for a month, tucked away in the darkness of the main box office. At night, I could see performances, including this beautiful dance with twenty older dancers, a remake from 1978. I still clearly remember the thrill I had in Carré, one of the main theaters in Amsterdam. I knew I saw something special. Not only the concept of the older dancers, or the mere fact of seeing a show in Carré, but most of all it was special because it was a show of the Great Pina: a woman who was so well known, that I felt ashamed for not having seen any of her other performances.

Her Rite of Spring I knew, if only because three years earlier, again during the HF, I had tried to learn as much as possible about the Rite while working at the show ZIngaro. The latest version of Kontakthof was modest and fragile, but The Rite was violently, intense, exhaustive. Even behind my computer screen, I could feel the breath of the dancers, I smelled the earth.

And that happened again a few weeks ago, while sitting in the BAM cinema in Brooklyn, wearing 3D glasses, watching Wim Wenders film about her, for her, Pina. I usually don't like 3D movies that much, since I'm not so interested in the special effect. But in this movie, it was different. It was tactile, with beautiful images, where it felt like you could touch the dancers, as if they were dancing around you. Sometimes, a dress nearly blew in your face, or you had to push away a curtain to see them again. It was like standing beside them.

The images created by Pina herself of course, were very important too in this experience. Improbable situations, like a huge rock on stage, with an endless waterfall next to it, where dancers moved through the water like insects. Or a glass chamber in a forrest, where, when the dancers finally open the doors and ran out, you could smell the trees and the soil, that were only visible through the glass at first. And of course, The Rite.

She's hardly in it, in the film that bears her name. But one of the few things she says is: when there are no more words, dance starts. And with that, she expresses exactly what I felt as I watched.

PINA - Dance, dance, otherwise we are lost - International Trailer from neueroadmovies on Vimeo.

Day

June 24, 2010 must be the most recorded day ever. Worldwide, people responded to the call of Ridley Scott and Kevin MacDonald, to record a moment of that day, and share it on youtube. They got 4500 hours of material that they turned into the film Life in a Day.

I realized that one day on this world actually takes about 36 hours, from the time it turns 12 AM in the most eastern part of the world, untill it is 11.59 PM at the most western point. I have no idea where that may be, but one of the major candidates for the latter, has recently changed into a candidate for the first.



The day begins in the night, when people are drunk, sleeping, feeding their babies and watch the moon. And while the sun slowly rises and thousands of people put their feet on the floor, coffe gets made in so many different ways, people make breakfast, lovers wake up, the days slowly progresses. Between all the quick cut scenes, abruptly abandoned stories return and you start discovering a fragment of somebodies life.

People answer some simple questions in their own films, that unfold the simplicity of this world. What's in your pocket, is one of these questions. The answers? Money, phones, keys of a Lamborghinis, but also knives, guns, flags of all the countries from the ancestors of a (presumably) autistic woman and nothing. Or a stick of a of the Neem tree, that one can use as a tooth brush.

How simple is life? Some have everything, others nothing. It's simple and unfair. And even though no-one complaints, you can't deny this fact. When asked What do you love?, people answer: 'my family', 'my cat', 'cleaning very dirty things so you can see results', God, the Lord and our Saviour' and 'driving 150 miles an hour with my car'. We are all different, but we;re not. All over the world, people get married, they all eat their own strange foods, and everyone tries to make the best of it. The sick mother, with her battered body and her young son. The Berber and his fourteen children who live in a house without electricity or running water. The American girl whose husband fights in Afghanistan, the Korean guy who cycles the world and who gets emotional by Nepalese flies, because they are just as big as the flies in his home country.

And as the day progresses, and the evening falls, the Love Parade turns into a drama, fires burn down houses, people cry in their bed, the West celebrates life with dancing cheerleaders and half naked women, somewhere fireworks lighten the sky and in other places, a thunder storm does. As the moon rises, and it's 11.58, a girl films herself at the last minute. "I hoped that something special would happen today, so I could show the world that something special happens everyday somewhere. But nothing did. And even so, I still have the feeling that something special has happened.

Life in a day.

Protest

I cycle through Berlin. It's warm, the sun shines brightly, and I've spend hours already, in search for the perfect place to sip some coffee and read. I cycle past large buildings that carry memories of times that I can't recall. The Reichstag, the Brandenburg Gate. All of East Berlin. I stop at the Topography of Terror, a corridor where once the headquarters of the SS and the secret State Police stood and where now the remains of the walls still bear witness to remind us of that time. A few blocks away I wander through the maze of pillars of the Holocaust Memorial, where silence comes and goes between the heavy concrete blocks. The diaries and letters that are displayed below recall familiar images that are still intriguing, sickening and disturbing.

Later, on a terrace in the sun, I loose myself into the harsh world of José Saramago, who describes in his book Blindness how, after an unexplained blindness epedimic first the government, and then the crowd reacts. The nasty, degrading and violent world he describes makes me forget about the sun. The fear that governs and that accepts inhuman behavior so easily, the power that is abused as quickly as possible by anyone who holds it, the indifference and brutal violence that people apply when they apparently feel forced to do so, it's all not really encouraging. The few attempts of compassion can not compete with the trouble that is accepted by the masses, but also implemented by them. It's every man for himself.

When I go online a little later I see the images of New York. Here, a big mass of people makes its voice heard, to challenge systems that are larger than they are. While the media is silent I see police officers with sticks strike bystanders, I see how people are dragged over the ground, how the crowd talks with one voice. I'm looking for coverage online, but time and again, I can only find videos and personal stories that seek their way to the rest of the world through modern media.

Afterwards, it's always easy to talk about such things like who is the villain and who is the hero. As is presented in films too. I wonder how the resistance during the Second World War was seen by the masses back then. As heroes? Or as crazy people, who did not know what they were doing? I think of the woman who stands up against the abuses in the city of the blind: the only one who can see when the rest has been blinded. The protests in the Middle East were seen as a new, fresh and hopeful movement, but no-one speaks about what is happening right now. First, thousands of people have to get arrested, beaten and humiliated. Only after more people move to the streets, and all around the world they raise their voices, the media start talking about it. I wish I could already look back on these times.

Fifteen Minutes

The concept is simple, the idea inspiring, but then you have to execute it. Put a number of people, who may or may not know each other, together for a weekend and give each one fifteen minutes to say something.

Once, I had a conversation with a friend about how little we actually knew about the work of each other and and our friends. After our time at university, when we talked a lot about classes and research, we became increasingly removed from substantive conversations about our daily activities. When we were studying, we spend more time in the pub and had less to do during the days, so logically, after ten beers we eventually started talking about our thesis subjects. After graduating, we all disappeared in different directions and hid behind doors and walls to work at computers, doing work that we liked but that we wouldn't talk about a lot. Most of my friends know I do 'something' at CREA that also involves organizing summer courses, for which I have to make long hours. What this organization exactly involves and what I do in those hours, they don't know. Just as I know little of other friends. What does M do as an assistent to a professor? And why is J traveling through Europe for the mediainstitute that he works at? I know V. works online a lot, but why exactly? And S. conducts research, and coaches people, but in what? The idea was born to gather together and talk about it. But even though we're still interested, apparently there was no energy to actually organize it. And who would we invite? Do I want to know about L.'s brothers work at his high school?

In the end, the idea evolved with another friend into Fifteen Minutes of Fame. A weekend where you get fifteen minutes to talk about anything you like. It can be about your job, but also about the book you recently read, or your favorite computer game. The only restriction is that it should be done in fifteen minutes.

Last weekend was the third edition, with twelve people, of whom not one knew everyone. With strangers, acquaintances and friends, we drank, we danced and we ate. We swam in the sea, we walked through the dunes. But mostly we listened, and we anticipated. We brainstormed on projects, we learned about associative thinking. We judged different products on their taste instead of brand, we improvised, we discussed.

What is special about these weekends is that everyone talks about their passion or about what's on their mind. Even though the presentations can be incredibly different, they always lead to further talks in the remaining time. Even though we didn't know each other in the beginning, we parted as friends. Because when someone shares something personal and show his or her vulnerability, you can no longer be strangers.

I love bringing people together and share things with my friends. But I am very grateful that friend A. decided to actually start organizing these weekends. Now we have parted and thanks to the social media, we can stay in touch with eachother. And guess what? We all write about our experience and keep sharing.

Rabat

Although I love Dutch FIlm, and especially the Dutch Documentary Film, when it really comes down to it, I must admit I'm rather sarcastic. I'm too childish to leave factual inaccuracies behind, which makes it hard to really get into the story, and often, I've seen the actors so many times before, that I keep having thoughts like 'That Barry Atsma guy isn't getting any younger' or 'What new project is Carice van Houten working on right now?' That last argument could also count for Films in general, not only the Dutch versions, but I blame the size - or the lack of it - of the Netherlands here. I don't ever think these thoughts when I see Johnny Depp or Heath Ledger in a film.

After Sonny Boy, the last Dutch film I saw this winter, I decided I was done with Dutch Films. So when the media campaign of the movie Rabat started, I didn't feel any urge to rush to a movie theatre to see this new Dutch Pearl. The hip-ness of the producers Habbekrats doesn't interest me, and vaguely, parts of that other cool Dutch movie forced themselves into my mind. A movie that actually kept me out of the theatres for a while, or one in particular, the one that specializes in Dutch movies, since I got so frustrated while watching that I couldn't stop commenting during the film, after which I was afraid to return to that place.



But faith brought me and Rabat together. On a very pleasant evening, that started with the vegetarian version of Kebabs and a Morrocan mint tea to get into the right vibe. In the beginning, I watched with bated breath. The sound wasn't really good and the 'real' Morrocan accent sometimes was difficult to understand. But once the guys started driving, and when they apparently realized they had to change something about the sound, and once you get used to the accent, it turns into a great road movie!

With beautiful images, really, beautiful, and great scenes. With characters that you start to love along the way and with all the Big Themes that belong to road movies.

I had a wonderful time. Apparently, it is possible, great Dutch movies. But I wonder if it's a coincidence that this film was made on a tiny budget, with a lot of love and little pretentions. Especially in a time where Dutch actors and artists walk a March for Civilization, these guys show us that the Art that really HAS to be made, will be made. Hey cat, right on!

Subway Musicians

New York is music. The city has a rhytm, a sound, a swing. At your first arrival you want to dance, because you're in New York! After spending some time in the city, you slowly discover each neighbourhood has its own melody, its own genre.
Times Square and its surroundings feels like a piece of Philip Glass, a busy, constantly repeating built up of sound, that sometimes seems to disappear for a moment, but that will return even louder than before. Chelsea sounds like the old Standards of Sinatra and Garland, swinging, longing, sometimes exited. Williamsburg is bursting of modern pop and the Upper West Side has a somewhat stiff opera sound. Bed-Stuy is of course rap. Rap 'n Roll.

Not only above ground, but also underneath, there is music. Everywhere. It's almost impossible to find a train station that hasn't a musician in it, who fills the narrow hallways with his voice or his instrument. Musicians, wanna-be musicians and true geniuses are performing everywhere, in the hope to earn some money. Some have other jobs to attend, others live from the life underground.

The subway musicians made the soundtrack of my travels through the city. On my way to work, the toothless Cuban and the melancholic music of his home country, would start my day in a special way. On my way back home, the two hipster boys and their happy songs would make me forget about my hunger, the drummer on 6th Ave and 14th st, whose sounds were hearable from afar, would fill up the train tubes all the way to Union Square and Joe, who regularly could be found at Metropolitan Station, didn't only fill my heart with his music, but, unknowingly, created even more love during a spontaneous jam session.

I filmed them, the subway musicians who give more color to New York. Hours of clips, of people perfroming their passion with love, are waiting to be edited into a story. And of course, I'm not the only one who sees them. The number of film makers, wanna-be film makers and geniuses that have just as much and even more material is countless. Although I'd rather be the only one to make a film about this subject (apart from Hedy Honigman who made the beautiful film The Underground Orchestra years ago), I realised that all the stories that are being filmed, together tell the real story. Or, at least, come close to the real story, that exists of all those different stories of musicians, listeners and travelers.

Two of the first musicians I filmed.


And this is a film about my New York subway friends

Happiness

Everything and everyone seems to be focussed on only one thing nowadays: happiness. Every magazinehas at least one article about how to reach it, some are even devotedto the subject. At Barnes and Noble, both Philosophy and Religion and Inspiration are filled with paperbacks and hardbacks that lead you in x steps closer to this desirable state of being. TED offers hours of inspiring speeches about exactly those steps and other succesful experiments.

It's possible to spend days and weeks learning about happiness. But then what? After spending all that valuable time, that you could also have spend sitting in the sun with your love or with friends and good food, on a huge amount of information. Then what?

Will you start using all the advice you got? Will you make a list, so you can check of the things you've done - because that's what makes the average person happy - and did you put some simple tasks on that list - because that makes you feel satisfied and leads to more action? Or do you try to let go of everything - because only than, real happiness appears - and do you move to a mountain in Asia to start meditating in a colorful dress - because there, people understand happiness better?

Let me be clear: I've spend many hours of reading articles and watching films that inspire for a happier life. Of course, I would do anything to make my life even richer. Because I also need to say: I'm pretty happy already. One of my friends rolled his eyes and asked: "Oh, no, not one of those books about how small things make you happier and spending time in the sun with friends and good food does too?" I just started talking about The Happiness Project, a book by Gretchen Rubin, who experiments with little changes in her life to become an even happier person.

On one hand, of course he's right. We've heard it all before. On the other hand, I do believe that you cannot hear it too many times. Because apparently, listening is pretty hard and it's not that easy to start making those little changes. Rubins book show how you don't have to change your life to become a happier person. A little more sleep, a little more love and attention can make a huge difference already. And that, I believe, is not a bad message to all those people - including me - who sometimes wonder: what to do now?

Bill

Bill

New York is like all other metropoles. The real New Yorkers have moved out of the city. Just like all real Amsterdammers mostly live somewhere in Almere, most New Yorkers have moved from Manhattan to Brooklyn, Queens or the Bronx. So to who does New York belong to? The tourists, that wander the island with forty-seven million every year? Or the eight point two million INWONERS, who moved here from all over the world to this place to try their luck in the city where everything is possible?

Do the bankers own the city, in their little southern tip of the island, an area that involves just a few square miles, where they make decisions that influence the rest of the world? Or is the city owned by the companies, that are all trying to earn something on the energy that is a part of the city? Or is it owned by the artists, the Andy Warhols and Woody Allens, who create the cultural values of all these different genres?

If it would be possible to say that someone owns New York, I think it's the city of Bill Cunningham. He moved to New York in 1948, and since then has not only photographed special events in the city, but also the fashion that he sees on the streets. His first spread in the New York Times was the beginning of an ongoing collection of pictures that show fashionable New York in a wonderful way. Bill brings the catwalk to the streets and shows how 'normal' women invent their own creations after the fashion of the big designers.



The film Bill Cunningham New York shows a portrait of a very amiable and moving man of eighty. A man with a big smile that opens his face and his eyes. A man who, despite his age, still crosses the city on his bike, from one society event to the other, where he chats with the guests - who all know him of course - but where he won't ever eat or drink. "I'm working there," he says. A man who lived over forty years in one of the artist lofts of Carnegie Hall, until new regulations drove him and his fellow artist to other places, who filled his small room with archives of his pictures and who slept on a single bed between his files, with just a sheet and a blanket. In his new apartment with a view over Central Park, he asked the movers to tear down the kitchen, to make place for his cabinets. A man who will always wear his blue coat, because this is the only one that can stand the movement of the camera without breaking. A man who has a million friends, but who keeps everyone at a distance. No one knows his history, no one knows wether he's been in love or who his 'real' friends are. A man who doesn't want to be at the centre of the attention, who doesn't think about the impact he has on others, but has one without a doubt. A man who knows exactly what to say in images, but who stops talking when he's the subject of the conversation. A man that belongs to New York, who lives from the city and gave his life to the city. By being there and by capturing what he saw.

"He who seeks art will find it," he says in the end. Indeed.



Bill still works for the Times.

Earthalujah!

New York is the city of consumption. Food, clothes, stuff, ideas, experiences. Everything is for sale. Thousands of restaurants, diners and bars try to lure get you inside to eat your next meal. Stores seduce you with cheaper, more expensive, better or more special clothes than others. In Manhattan, every street with beautiful and desirable stuff follows another, leaving you in a world of greed.

A while ago, before leaving for New York, I decided to consume as little as possible. Why would I need so much things in my house? Why should I buy new clothes that often? With these questions in mind, I try to be aware of my choices. Why do I want that, do I really want it? Does it make me happier?
Partly it's easy: it's impossible to buy everything, to own everything. My shrinking bank account, helps me to pass those beautiful and tempting stores without a lot of trouble. But on the other hand, I sometimes wish I would have a pot of gold, so I could buy beautiful notebooks, that desirable bag and wonderful shoes and all the great food that stares back at me from the counters.

I have been searching for soul mates for a long time, people that share my beliefs. Then, I found Reverend Billy and the Church of Earthalujah, who not only share my beliefs, but also act on them. Much better than I do. During the sunday service, the Stop Life After Shopping Choir sings songs like 'Stop Shopping, Shop no more, We won't shop again, forever and amen' , 'Earth is speaking, do you speak earth? Got to listen harder, put your ear to the dirt'.



But apart from their weekly services in the theatre, they also act out outside, in parks, squares and preferably in shops, where they try to awaken consumers and DUIVEL KASSA. They have organized events against Starbucks, Victoria Secret and shopping in general, but also have different campaigns that are all part of their bigger goals:

* stimulating and pleading for sustainable consumption
* stimulating strong local economies
* defending the First Amendment and public space.

This all lead to campaigns for the conservation of Union Square park, Coney Island and more recently Mountaintop Removal,which means that mountain tops are destroyed for cole mining.

Reverend Billy and his choir have inspired me. Apart from their high entertainment level, they have a strong message that I support. Their way of viewing the world is one that I'm likely to adapt, and that I want to share with others. In other words: I am a believer.


Earthalujah!

Choreography

People are standing, spread out. Some sit on wooden benches. Everyone seems to be in their own world, staring in front of them, playing a game on their phone. Some people are wearing head phones, that produce parts of music. All those different songs create a new sound in which some songs sometimes are better heard then others.

Then, a loud sound. Two lights that come closer. The sound of doors opening. The mass moves. All the different positions move to one and the same place, they mingle with others, passing characters in a life.

Speed takes over and gives a rhythm to the people. Together, they move to the left, to the right. Little movements, perfectly coordinated, at the same time. Every one holds on, some sit, others lean to doors or poles. But they share the rhythm. It seems uncontrolled, sudden.

Every one keeps staring. In front of them, or down, in books or phones. They try not to touch and move away when people get to close. But sometimes, with or without purpose, they touch. A foot touches a leg, a hand touches a back. Small signs of solidarity, of being part of a group. Confirmations of each others existence. Sometimes, looks cross. One nods, sometimes smiles.

When the doors open, the ritual repeats itself. Old passengers leave the group, new ones arrive and blend in with the rhythm of the speed.

Imagination

Maybe all relationships are fake, because thy only exist in our imagination. Don't we all have our own concepts of friendship, love and hate? What is the value of friendship if both parties have different perspectives on the issue? And - even worse - what is the value of love for that matter? Two people, pretending to share something, but in the end, only trying to fit the other person in their own concept of love?

These all seem like cynical thoughts, but they only arose after seeing two special films that touch on these issues. A dilemma that can be overwhelming. Because the whole concept of perspective is so personal. We all agree on what is 'green', but do I define the same colour as 'green' as you do? Or is your concept of 'green' similar to my concept of 'red'? I can get lost in thoughts like these. So it's nice to watch a film that deals with them for you.

In Les amours imaginaires , two friends, Marie and Francis, are looking for true love. Both think the young and pretty Niko, who slowly grows to be their Adonis can give it to them but Niko is an undecisiive and slightly arrogant boy who chooses no one and lives in his own imaginary world. He claims to love both, but chooses neither and leaves them broken. Both Marie and Francis think they have a chance with him, both have hope and imagine themselves with him, and forgetting about their own friendship while becoming rivals. It would have been a sad and tearful story if it wasn't filmed as beautiful as it is. Francis looking like a new James Dean, who nervously combs his hair. Marie wearing enviously beautiful vintage dresses and lace gloves, smoking cigarettes to a pastel background. Close up of body parts, details, looks, that show so many feelings at the same time.



In Certified Copy, a man and a woman meet at his lecture about real and fake art. Their conversation about when someone or something is real, first seems to built up to a beautiful romance, but slowly develops at a meta level about the reality of the film. instead of talking about real and fake, their relationship changes and uses the audience in a game about the same concepts. All expectations an audience can have about their relationship, but also about the relationship between the film and the audience are being tested. First, you think you go along in the game that they start playing, but at a certain point, you wonder if what first seemed reality might have been a game to start with.



So, what is real? I try to trust my own feelings. I can only trust the value I give them myself. Although, even that sometimes changes, looking back at things…

Extacy

I love films that are set in New York. A lot of films are. Even better is to see films that are set in New York, in New York. Sometimes, with Dutch films, I have trouble to loose myself in the story, because I get derived by little mistakes that are not factually true. (One cannot park at the Munt, not at night and never, dear Reinout Oerlemans. And the bathrooms of Tuschinski are in Tuschinski and not at some fancy nightclub, dear Antoinette Beumer). But in New York, I don't know the city that well so I don't see most inconsistencies, and second, I'm still so exited to be here that I don't even care. Best of all is to watch a movie about New York in New York, while you can hear the subway rattle under the venue. Though the Not For Tourist guide points this out as a disadvantage of this locatie, I think it adds that extra touch.

There are so many films about New York. There are scary film, like, Aftershock, Earthquake in New York or Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs. There is action, like Spiderman or The Day after Tomorrow. There are blockbusters, like Sex and the City (the film) and Confessions of a Shopaholic, and there are good films, with about all Woody Allen films, The Godfather and Smoke - that happens to be taped in my neigbourhood.

But the films I like best, I must confess, are the the socalled Indie movies, about modern day New Yorkers, which are great to identify with. They are often about wannabe artists (check), who are struggling with difficult times in their lives (check), who do cool things with friends (check) while hoping that everything will end well (check). Often, there's a lot of drinking coffee in parks, drinks in dark bars and a lot of personal conversations (check, check, check). To give the film at least one consistent story line, at least one strange thing happens in the beginning that will evolve during the rest of the film.

Three years ago, they made Nick and Nora's Infinte playlist, about teenage New Yorkers, two years ago I saw New York I Love You, with eleven short stories about love in the city and this year, there's Happythankyoumoreplease. Written, directed and played by Josh Radnor, known from the television show How I Met You Mother, that is about the same principal. That actually leads me to a critical note about this film: half way through, I sometimes didn't know if I was looking at Ted from television or Sam from the film. Even more critical would be to say it didn't matter in the end.

But I didn't care. I just had a great time. Nice film, nice city, nice actors (additional plus is that Josh appears to be allergic to dogs) nice film locations, and very nice music. And afterwards a nice ride home by train.


Happy. Thank you. More please.

Scent

Whenever I find myself in the darkness of a theatre performance or film screening, it always strikes me again: all those different scents around me. The man in front of me, who is wearing a delicious aftershave, the hideous perfume of the woman behind me. Sometimes, it's just a little whiff, that quickly passes your nose and never will return. Other times, it's there, whenever you move or get to close to them. Unfortunately, they're not always pleasant scents. Sometimes, it someones sweat, because he or she had to cycle hard to make it in time, or it's a fragrance that doesn't fit the person.

However, my conclusion is that all those scents will determine your perception of the show. Every time I smell something, my thought wander from the performance and I start wondering if I would experience it differently if the scent would be better or worse. And how would it be? Would I like the performance better? Or worse? Would it make me laugh less loud, so I wouldn't bend forward because I'd want to avoid the scent of that person in front of me?

The next thought that always follows is that I really would like to try it. I would love to make a scent performance, in which the audience get different scents while watching something. Afterwards they'd have to see it again with different scents, to see if there's a difference. I know what you're going to say, I'll say it for you: the experiment stops here. Because you cannot see a performance a second time with the perception of the first time anyway.

And so, my thoughts are brutally stopped, because it's impossible to figure this out. Still, my scent experiment always makes me happy. I realize that there is this extra experience in everything you do, that others might not be aware of, but that, in my opinion, definitely adds to the experience! Try to think of it, next time you're in a dark theatre venue. And don't run to the theatre in a hurry, be considerate to others..