On Blogging about Antwerp

I write for the Fans of Flanders website once a week.  It's been interesting finding my voice over there because it feels less about me as a photographer and more about me as a foreigner here in Belgium ... kind of.

But this weekend's post was slightly simpler to write ... well, it took ages but I was working through a small crisis.  You see I have been known to complain about things here in Belgium.  It's a very flat country, there's only 60kms of coastline, it's polluted, and people can be quite rude in the shops and on the trams ... not always but by crikey, I have more than enough stories of outrage.

Last weekend we had a party and one of our guests was the lovely Spanish-based American friend called Erik.  He is friend to Simon and Paola, and so it was that he stayed with them over in Brussels, and they decided they would leave exploring Antwerp until the Saturday of the party.

I realised I would have to leave them to it, as there were more than 25 guests coming and we were cooking dinner for 7 plus 2 kidlets, beforehand.   I found it strangely painful not to be involved in micro-managing their city wandering. 

I was bemused ... but wait, what is this feeling???  Is it really that I want Erik to see Antwerp in the best possible light?  Really?

And I realised that this is my over-arching desire when it comes to this adopted Flemish city of mine.  I love introducing people to it, to the secret places tourists don't always find, to the restaurants and cafes with the best food and wine, to the ancient cobblestone streets that hide so many surprises ... really quirky surprises sometimes.   I love it because somehow this city has become part of me.  

Anyway ... my small crisis played out over on my Antwerp page.

Things Left Behind ... (written in 2006)

Thing: an object that one need not, cannot, or does not wish to give a specific name to. (things) personal belongings or clothing. 2. an inanimate material object, especially as distinct from a living sentient being.

This morning it occured to me that my life has been so much about leaving things behind ...

And it should go without saying  that I miss people more than I miss things ... mostly but today I was thinking of things missed.

I lived in one house until I was 20 and so nothing prepared me for the constant stream-lining of possessions that lay ahead of me. I moved house at least 11 times during my 14 year marriage to a high school teacher back home.  And then, 4 times after the divorce,  before leaving for Turkey.  There were two homes in Istanbul and now here I am, almost possessionless again here in Belgium.

I had so many books, over 400, a beautiful desk and chair, and a bed that I loved, back in New Zealand ... photo albums, a material history made up of precious things.

I left my winter clothing in Istanbul, with other things abandoned when my excess book luggage cost me a cool 240 euro.

I was flying back there in September 2005 anyway, on my way home to New Zealand but I haven't managed that yet.  The Belgian distracted me and here I am, still waiting to be legal.  Then legal to work.

Here, in this new life, I have two journals, a laptop full of photographs, my cds and dvds, my camera gear and my books.

The oddest things make me remember those things I've loved in other places.  Yesterday I bought a new cup. I love beautiful cups and this cup, its shape, its colour, how it fits in my hand ... it's perfect.

The new cup made me nostalgic for beautiful things left behind ... in Istanbul and in New Zealand.

Mostly I don't think of these things but sometimes, just sometimes, I miss them.

Artists ...

Artists are some of the most driven, courageous people on the face of the earth. They deal with more day-to-day rejection in one year than most people do in a lifetime....

Every day, artists face the financial challenge of living a freelance lifestyle, the disrespect of people who think they should get real jobs, and their own fear that they’ll never work again.

Every day, they have to ignore the possibility that the vision they have dedicated their lives to is a pipe dream. With every role, they stretch themselves, emotionally and physically, risking criticism and judgment. With every passing year, many of them watch as the other people their age achieve the predictable milestones of normal life - the car, the family, the house, the nest egg.

Why? Because artists are willing to give their entire lives to a moment - to that line, that laugh, that gesture, or that interpretation that will stir the audience’s soul. Artists are beings who have tasted life’s nectar in that crystal moment when they poured out their creative spirit and touched another's heart.

In that instant, they were as close to magic, God, and perfection as anyone could ever be. And in their own hearts, they know that to dedicate oneself to that moment is worth a thousand lifetimes.

David Ackert

Somehow ... it was all this and more

Somehow, without intention... without preparing for it all, I have been busy.

Monday, I interviewed the lovely singer/musician/yoga teacher, Luc Acke.  Friday night, I had the pleasure of attending his sneak preview concert, the one where he and Spring Groove performed tracks from the album they're making together ... HOME.

I was interviewed by a student of journalism on Wednesday.

Wandered city streets for the photography workshop on Friday.

All the while, preparing for a massive dinner party/party on Saturday.  Erik Rasmussen was in town and it seemed like a good idea to catch up with him, Paola and Simon, Cloe and Brian, pre-party.  And so we did dinner.

There was this really fast  turn-around, and we were ready as everyone started arriving for the party at 8pm.  It was a good party.  10 nationalities, excellent people, intense conversations, and much laughter too.

My carriage turned back into a pumpkin around midnight and voila, I fell into this horrible cold that's going around.  I've spent the last two days dozing and napping, only venturing out into that 'other world' called Facebook, when the notion of slowing down and stopping has become too much for me.

But this week has to be quieter, even I know that ... although the headache has gone, the cold remains.  I might just chill out a few days more and make sure it goes.  I  play Missy Higgins and listen to the sea in her track, sure it has some kind of medicinal property.  I wash dishes and do laundry quietly and slowly.  It's okay.

Gert meanwhile, has been caught up in preparation for Belgium's local-body elections.  Last night, the country watched as the Flemish Nationalists stormed to victory in Flanders, and so I'm curious. 

Back in New Zealand in 2000/2001/2002 ... what was I studying

The European Union, of course ... via political anthropology classes with the author of this book, Douglas R Holmes.  He was fascinating and we were lucky to have him for more than one paper down there at the bottom of the world.

So you can imagine, perhaps, I'm bemused to find myself in the centre of this nationalist victory here in Flanders.  Other countries in Europe will surely be watching to see how it all plays out as Belgium begins to walk towards their national elections in two years ... with a nationalist government in power in the Flemish half of the country.

I shall observe with interest.  But anyway, meet Luc and Spring, taken during their Friday performance ...

Autumn Garden ...

Gert has begun preparing the garden for winter and I couldn't resist photographing the colour of the decaying rhubarb leaves yesterday.

The red raspberries are almost finished.  The parsnips are almost ready.  He harvested a huge load of silverbeet (Swiss Chard/Bietole) and we froze some.  Then he cut back the Thyme and the Rosemary too.

We had a wet warm Spring and then there was enough rain in the summer for the garden to grow madly well.  This morning I was on the school run and as we left the house at 7.30am, the air was Crisp ... with a capital C.  We're losing the light now ... the door to the garden stays shut while we eat breakfast, and the big metal shutter isn't opened until after 8am.

I'll miss Summer ... well, until I reach New Zealand anyway. 

Going Home ... and Missy Higgins.

I found the music of Missy Higgins today, just after finding an old favourite of mine ... Paul Kelly's song, Midnight Rain, via youtube.  I've been searching for it online for years.

He sang with Missy and, curious, I went wandering through her world and found Everyone's Waiting ...see the clip below.

And I watched it and remembered swimming in New Zealand's oceans.  I remembered how good it felt to walk my dogs on the beaches.  I remembered startling one of my favourite dogs out on Long Beach, in Dunedin, when I ran into the surf with her ... fully clothed, one day when I just needed to swim.

Then I hit replay and listened while I wrote to a friend.  Not seeing the flim clip, I heard the familar roar of the surf, the crackle and slosh of the sea ... and something clicked, in my soul perhaps.

And I cracked open a spare moleskin notebook I had here. 

I wrote New Zealand there on its front page, and started a list.

- find a copy of the movie 'In My Father's Den'.

- swim in the sea

- stand and walk in the surf, (photograph that to bring back to Europe when I leave).

And finally, so long after booking the tickets, I let my mind sift through the possibilities ... sunrises with coffee, outside, someplace beautiful.

Seeing my nieces, the Georgia and Katie creatures, who were 8 years younger when I left and now, well ... they're both teenagers. 

And my much-loved favourite sister, Sandra, and my dad ... and one of my brothers, Steve, will be over from Australia.

There might be sunsets and wine, and long conversations ... with friends, like Dave and Jude, Christine and Peter, Fiona and Barry and others ...  but I talk of them here.

Anyway, I'll be letting this song of Missy's take me home in the meanwhile ... and maybe I'll play up loud as we wander New Zealand ... letting Home sink back into my bones and fill me again.