vignettes of vanishing

“Press 2000”

It had been optimistically named like that in the early 90s : “Press 2000”.  A competing newspaper shop close by was called  “Euro Press”. Yes, those were the days that millennial & European enthusiasm was at its peak. And those were the days that people still smoked ‘en masse’,  and read papers & magazines. 
I used to be a regular customer at the “Press 2000” -  for cigarettes, The Economist and Vrij Nederland (its literary supplement!) – torn, as always, between left & right politics and between left & right brain parts. On Sundays the “press 2000” counter was manned by a young guy who looked like he’d landed there straight from some heavy duty nightclubbing. His off-beat humour and defiant attitude might have one worrying about his use of certain substances, but in any case never failed to  lighten up an otherwise dull Sunday.  

Since then I have moved to another neighbourhood, have quit smoking and the literary supplement of Vrij Nederland has turned into a faint ghost of what it once was. But last year, after an interval of maybe 15 years, I happened to drop in there again.  The shop was still called “Press 2000” and, lo and behold,  the young guy was there at the counter, still looking, well yes, young & trendy. He recognized me too, and we greeted each other as if we were long lost friends.

For days I felt happy at this unexpected continuity - not everything vanishes without leaving a trace!  

But then, this summer, riding by on the bus, I saw the place was boarded up, some left over magazines starting to yellow in the shop window. 

And today, when I cycled past, only gaping voids where left – a demolition company had taken over.


“Service, Quality  - Guaranteed!” 

The lady in the photoshop was a walking encyclopedia of photography know how. From analogue to digital, from automatic compact cameras to sophisticated reflex cameras – she knew every button and functionality. And she did her utmost to guide her clients to the single best camera suiting their needs. She was not going to be beaten by some stupid on-line camera buying wizard, oh no!  Service and Quality , that was how she was going to compete! 

 But fear did flash up in her eyes when the camera she had guided me to, was not in store and could only be delivered 10 days later. Would I perhaps be ready to make an advance deposit? Reluctantly she admitted that, yes, sometimes people did come in for a lengthy advice session, only to walk out the shop and buy on-line. I duly bought my camera there, picking it up 10 days later. When I entered, she was serving an elderly client, explaining enthusiastically some very advanced function of his camera.   While waiting, I took in with pleasure the many shelves that were crammed full with photography paraphernalia – from expensive lenses to humble rain covers, from protective bags to tripods, from printing paper to albums – everything a photographer might ever need. 

Except that our world’s recording frenzy is now catered to by smartphones – allowing a real time flooding of the web by millions (billions?) of images.
So, in August, there was a sign "Liquidation Totale” – "everything must be gone by September 30th" !

And yes, when I walked by today, everything was gone, systematically gone, vanished without a trace -   the shop window empty, the logos and publicity signs gone – only, high up there, the remains of a bleached poster promoting the printing of digital photos and faded letters promising Service - Quality – Guaranteed! 


Musical Messengers in Brussels

“why is it that we are unable to say – as we must have expected to say – Poor Miss Marsalles?  It is the Dance of the Happy Shades that prevents us, it is that one communiqué from the other country where she lives.”(1)

Perhaps it is not even that outrageous, the fact that I secretly consider them as urban angels.  After all, amidst the urban stress & struggles, they do are messengers from another country, a country where harmony rules.  I’m referring to musicians here, musicians travelling about town in particular, transporting their instruments, carrying cases betraying the form of their instruments.  

You can sometimes spot them, struggling to get on the tram through narrow doors, cautiously handling a bulky black case with the sensual contours of, say,  a double bass.  Or you can see them cycling, one hand on the handle-bars, another hand used to balance their instrument.  Some musicians can move around more discreetly, clutching an elegant violin case, or one of those slender oblong cases that leave the on-looker guessing: maybe a clarinet? 

They always look happy, or perhaps it’s me, always imagining musicians to be happy, having their music.  In any case, they always console me, these messengers from another country, magically removing all cares & perplexities, like a sudden happy whiff of Mozart drifting through the air.

So what a marvellous otherworldly gift it was for urban flâneurs of all stripes, this joint initiative of three musical organisations (2),  to have musicians & ensembles popping up & playing at unexpected venues in the city : a shopping arcade, a swimming pool, a home for the elderly , a cellar, …. 
The lack of decorum gave a paradoxical, moving intimacy to the music, creating a secret understanding between musicians and listeners.  None of the classical musical rituals or dressing codes, only musicians and their haphazard audiences, grateful for the unexpected enchantment.

Leaning against the wall of a shopping arcade, I was captivated by the joyful intensity of four  young people so manifestly enjoying making music together.  Tourists & shoppers were flowing by, audiences formed and dissolved while the music worked its wonders.  Only the security guards remained impassive, dutifully scrutinising all passers-by (a by now familiar sign that not all is well in the world).

Musicians never seem daunted by ordinary language problems. The Japanese double bass  player put up quite a show with just a couple of French words and an immense talent on the contra-bass, the Japanese and European pianist duo played a vigorous quatre-mains without need for translation. 
Neither were the musicians taken aback by their irregular audience in the old-fashioned chapel of a catholic home for the elderly : lavishly adorned wooden statues of saints &martyrs, blissfully smiling painted angels, silently staring exceedingly old people in wheelchairs, still vigorous elderly people oozing loneliness (poignantly excited by the unexpected excitement), young families with kids, hipsters, ...

And then – a concert in an indoor swimming pool, on the third floor of an inner city building.  Climbing the stairs I heard vague intimations of paradise  - the deep sounds of faggot & contra faggot, the alternately mellow  & pizzicato sound of strings. But little was I prepared for the magical marriage of music with the echoes & smells of an indoor swimming pool. The melodies gracefully bouncing off the water & the walls. The melancholy vision of musicians on a raft in the pool – their graceful silhouettes against the Brussels sky. 

So yes, what a blessed gift, what an amazing grace it is, this reminder of music & harmony in an imperfect world.

(1)    Alice Munro – dance of the happy shades
(2)    United Music of Brussels  (Belgian National Orchestra, La Monnaie, Bozar) 

Looking for Bruegel

Where to fit in Bruegel? 

There's this neat illustrated art historical timeline in my head, one in which all western art works can snugly find their place according to time, place, subject matter. But Bruegel has always been a nuisance : where to fit him in? 
Born around 1525, he should qualify as a renaissance artist, but in vain one looks for antique gods or heroes or columns in his work. If he's to be pinned down as a local Netherlandish genre painter,  then what with all those dazzling land- and seascapes, stretching far beyond the northern horizon? 
Or is he perhaps a comic painter? But what kind of comedian conjures up armies of grinning skeletons roaming a scorched earth? Where's the humour of a  Mad Meg/Dulle Griet on a plundering binge in a blazing red hell?

There are loads of books on Bruegel's art  – each with its own angle, its own prejudices, reflecting  the era and the agenda of the writer. 
Bruegel has been treated with  contempt as  a peasant painter impervious to noble renaissance ideals, he has been framed as a Flemish rebel denouncing Spanish oppression. His village winterscenes and rowdy peasant meals & dances have been reproduced a zillion times on postcards, restaurant naps, invitations for Breughelian eating feasts. 
 (Post)-moderns have hailed him as an inclusive & subversive  painter showing  real life & real people instead of glorifying the  ruling classes.

Leen Huet's masterly book on Bruegel ("Pieter Bruegel - De Biografie" ) is in many respects  as un-classifiable as Bruegel's work itself, and equally fascinating through its richness of details and its panoramic reach.
It's called a biography, but what kind of biography can one write, when no personal letters or diaries survive, when verifiable personal facts are scarce?
Huet's approach is based on unrelenting  attention to Bruegel’s works coupled with a multi-faceted evocation of his world. 
 And interpolating between his works and his world, one indeed comes tentalisingly close to the man, that is, to his creative imagination, his “vital interest”, his sensibilities.

Cosmopolitan connections

Huet lets us almost smell the stimulating 16th Century Antwerp environment of humanists, editors & printers : “the smell of ink, wood and pigment drifted through the street, in each house Bruegel heard the creaking of the printing presses”.  She also paints a fascinating portrait of some of Bruegel’s patrons and friends. Such as his first Antwerp master, Pieter Coecke (1) : an entrepreneurial, adventurous and erudite man, who, not even 5 years after the Turks stood at the “Gates of Vienna”,  undauntedly travelled to Constantinople, which resulted in a fascinating series of panoramic prints of the city . A later patron & friend, Abraham Ortelius, a Flemish mapmaker, was to became famous with the “first modern world atlas”. 

Her evocation of Bruegel’s two year tour of Italy lets us travel over the Alps, watch over Bruegel's shoulder as he sketches landscape scenes that catch his eye or as he discovers the works  of Italian masters. Though there is little Italian renaissance idealised beauty to be found in Bruegel’s work (“his visual imagination came to very different solutions”), Italian manners did find their way into his work, but strictly on his own terms (2) . 


It is one of the merits of this caleidoscopic book to have its readers wonder about how 16th C Northern Europeans came to terms with the tumultuous international and local politics of the time.

When Bruegel’s compatriots saw his famous print "Naval Battle in the Strait of Messina" ,  showing a battle between Italian and Turkish ships in the Gulf of Naples, did they worry about the possible repercussions of this Mediterrenean unrest on the rest of Europe? Or did they merely marvel at the dashingly detailed representation of those spectacular ships?

Huet opens up vertiginous  historical vistas when describing Bruegel’s friendship with a succesful immigrant artist in Rome, Don Giulio Clovio, whose life seems to sum up the Central & Southern European  political   predicaments of that time. He was born in Croatia where his parents had found refuge, fleeing the advancing Turkish troops in Macedonia. He then found employ in Hungary, but  had to flee when his patron-king  lost a major battle against the Turks. When he eventually arrived in Rome, this was not the end of his travails: he was molested by imperial soldiers during the 1527 Sacco di Roma.  

Together with Huet one cannot but speculate whether his conversations with this Giulio Clovio inspired some of Bruegel's pessimism?
Or was his pessimism mostly fed by the mounting uncertainties and the religious strife  in Northern Europe?

War correspondent or pessimist visionary?   

As an historian, Huet cares about facts, and she notes how the dates of Bruegel’s life (1525?-1569)  and works are difficult to reconcile with the hypothesis that  Bruegel’s paintings (such as the "Massacre of the Innocents") denounce particular Spanish war crimes. (3)

But Bruegel obviously  witnessed the growing tensions between protestants/calvinists and catholics.  As an agelong European catholic unity was coming to an end, he too may have worried:  what can preserve the peace in these countries?”

So, no need to pitch Bruegel as a “propagandist for this or that party” -  perhaps he rather was “a philosophical observer”, whose “understanding of human nature” (and of its depravities in particular) resulted in visionary paintings. 

But how to cope with the infinite bleakness of some of these paintings? Gazing into the blazing sulphurous hellish reds of the "Mad Meg" (DulleGriet) – is this unredeemed horror? Or is she a farce, this giant madwoman?
Or take the  "Triumph of Death" where the horrified eye bounces from one ghastly detail  to another - seeking for some glimmer of hope, but none is to be found, except, perhaps, in the pale dawn on the horizon?

Then again, could it be that we (post)-moderns, deprived of the consolations of religion, exaggerate the pessimism in these paintings?  The paintings probably reminded his fellow Christians of the perspective offered by the resurrection; thus offering hope instead of melancholy.”

Or maybe we are too sensitive – too much of the weeping Heraclitus instead of the laughing Democritus. What was the 16th century sense of humour like? Huet adduces  Montaigne, who preferred Democritus’ laughing mockery of human vanity and folly to Heraclitus’ earnest compassion, because as humans “we are less evil than dumb”, not really deserving esteem & respectful compassion.

A humanist abundance of details

Huet also aptly mentions the then widely published Erasmus (when not censured) as one of the intellectual influences of Bruegel’s time.  There’s of course his ”In praise of folly” which offers further insight into the Northern renaissance satirical state of mind: “what a spectacle, what a jumble of fools”

 And,  strikingly,  there is Erasmus’ work called  A double  abundance of words & things - which advocates the use  of abundant variation, in subject matter and in expression,  to communicate and to charm.
Witness the dizzying number of proverbs represented on a single painting by Bruegel?  Witness the many “tätig kleine dinge”, so typical of Netherlandish painting ...?  

No detail of human activity is unworthy of attention.   Humans in  their most banal aspects are worthy of representation.  Is that why in Bruegels’s paintings, the central element so often almost vanishes amidst a swarming mass of figures, all getting equal attention (4)?   

Now, about these swarming humans, does Bruegel in fact poke fun at his peasants? Are they held up as moral examples certainly not to follow -  with their hardly conceiled sexual lust, with their unabashed gluttany ? Partly, perhaps, but then again, the  aristocratic customs of the time were hardly any more ascetic, as Huet dryly evokes in a hilarious counterpoint (5) .

Maybe Bruegel (6) , his contemporaries, and we ourselves,  just take genuine pleasure in the representation of a great many of  human beings, who are all doggedely going about their daily business, even when miracles or tragedies are unfolding somewhere in the background.

Maybe we all like to watch the human spectacle, how it unfolds in an unending range of poses & manifestations, in different landscapes and settings.

Maybe we all quite like the way in which Bruegel's elusive & philosophical paintings allow us to meditate also upon our current predicaments. 

Parsimonious Notes

(1)   One marvels at the seemingly self-evident multi-linguism of the time.  Coecke for instance  published guidebooks in Flemish on antique architectural principles (compiled from  both antique Latin and contemporary Italian source texts), which he valiantly translated into French himself while at the same time ordering a German translation.  Huet’s Bruegel-book would definitely deserve a similar multilingual dissemination.
(2)    With a fine feeling  of paradox Huet wonders whether Bruegel might perhaps be the ultimate mannerist – borrowing for example refined Italianate gestures for a sturdy peasant  robbing a nest, or reapproriating  an invention  from a Titian wood print (a formidable winding tree trunk) as a characteristic compositional feature for his own landcapes (the repoussoir tree).
(3) Bruegel still lived  to witness the Iconoclastic Fury of 1566, but the Spanish Fury ( aka the Sack of Antwerp) took place only in 1576. Spanish troops operated in Flanders from ca 1567 till about 1700.  Bruegel’s most vertiginously pessimistic paintings, "Mad Meg" and "Triumh of Death",  date from 1561 and ca 1562.  His “Massacre of the Innocents” is usually dated around 1565-1567.
(4)   the position of the divine or the sublime in daily life in the northern regions:  Christ succumbing under his cross, hidden in the midst of a crowd;  Maria on her donkey, just another figure in a winter village
(5)   Huet evokes Alexander Farnese (son of the Governess of the Netherlands) boasting about his “3 good rides on his new bride”
(6)   “an instance of faithful adherence to such characters and incidents as will be found in every village, when there's a meditative & feeling mind to seek after them, or to notice them when they present themselves” (John Dewey in Art as Experience , citing Coleridge on the cardinal points of poetry)