27/05/2005

27/05/2005
Originally uploaded by bridge guard.

24/05/2005

24/05/2005
Originally uploaded by bridge guard.

23/05/2005

23/05/2005
Originally uploaded by bridge guard.

19/05/2005

It is a blissful morning. I don’t know why. It must be written somewhere out there in the sky, behind the elephant-size clouds. In the last days, the chestnut tree threw most of its flowers on the floor. It must be tired of its beautiful looks. When I woke up this morning I saw the contours of a man through the frosted glass of my bedroom.
He moved from left to right, bending over from time to time. When I opened my curtains he was gone and so were the flowers. There were only poodles of water left. Who did the crying? Was it him or the tree? It wasn’t me. It is a blissful morning.

18/05/2005

Bratislava. Again and again. Why don’t I visit Budapest? An easy question. A simple answer. I always like the underdog best.
In Budapest I feel like another person. In Bratislava I feel like me.

Entering the Academy of Fine Arts and Design I am entering the Gerrit Rietveld Academy. It isn’t just the concierge, the long aisles, the classrooms, the ragged toilets. It is this hint of ......... of what exactly? Creativity? Experiment? Freedom? Or is it just the smell of paint and developer?

I meet the head of the Studio of Space Communications. In a way, you could call him the artistic forerunner of Captain Picard or a modern Einstein. His name is Anton Cierny. I forgot to tell him how much I liked the name of his atelier. But it is even better to tell you (yes you).

I am surprised how neat it is. The Rietveld was always just as neat in the beginning of the year. But during the year the corridors would silt up like the veins of a McDonalds addict. Here people work behind doors in smaller and bigger ateliers. I don’t want to intrude. I peep.

I wait two hours for a dvd being burned by a computer seeming to be tired of these fast and furious times. He promises me it will be ready in an hour (“1 minute elapsed, 58 to go”) but decides to take it easy. I don’t mind. Compelled waiting opens up another space and time. Even more when you are in the Studio of Space Communications. It gives me time to talk to Marián, Anton’s assistant and Lucia (sorry if I spell your name wrong). She shows me a handmade starry sky casting spotlights over a none-existing love couple in a gentle pace that must be a relieve for the computer.

After that I walk and walk and walk. I know the city. I don’t know the city. I know the city. I don’t know the city. I walk the streets like a lover tears petals from a flower. In the end it doesn’t matter. The answer is somewhere else. You can only get it from the beloved person herself. Himself. Itself.

The fast train takes me away from Bratislava. But we will meet again.

17/05/2005

17/05/2005
Originally uploaded by bridge guard.

17/05/2005

17/05/2005
Originally uploaded by bridge guard.

17/05/2005

17/05/2005
Originally uploaded by bridge guard.

16/05/2005

“Het enige dat steeds zal veranderen, is de manier waarop alles hetzelfde blijft.”

“The only thing that will keep on changing, is the way in which everything stays the same”

Hans Kox (composer) in “Het grote zwijgen”, NRC Handelsblad 6/05/2005

15/05/2005

Of course I knew they would be coming. But in a way I still didn’t believe it. I pictured the Esztergom streets with green trees and nice temperatures and just as crowded as they were during the colder spring months. Terrases with a choice of empty seats. No noise apart from the rolling wheels of skateboards on the small stone bridge and an occasional dog barking.
I am not naive. I knew the warm weather would bring them. However I was hoping they wouldn’t come untill I could imagine them here. But they sneeked in. And now they won’t go away anymore.
Am I being egoïstic? Not at all. I don’t mind them being there, as long as they are gone when I pass by. I want to be the only one walking along the water, admiring the beautiful old buildings, sitting on a bench in the square in front of the Belgium restaurant. Drinking coffee at my favourite terras (they have great cakes too!), walking the off centre streets. Okay, a few I don’t mind. As long as they don’t bring along that ridiculous tourist train, a childish version of a real one but crammed with middle aged men and women, too lazy to walk the cobbled streets. Mocking this beautiful city.

12/05/2005

I find it hard to look at. They worked like madmen. Flying of and on. But this morning the nest fell from the pillar. It is their second nest within a couple of days. A beautiful piece of work, but again they didn’t find a proper way to attach it to the metal structure. I saw the male trying to lift it from the ground. In vain of course. It is six times as big as he is. A small tragedy. But what can I do?

Get the ladder. Find my gaffertape. There it is. Black and sticky.

07/05/2005

She is smiling her sweetest smile.

Where is she now? When is she now? She must be standing in this same street. Two small kids on her strong arms. She is the same age as I am. 33. Life has started again. A war has just ended.
Big green trucks pass by. Noisy green motorcycles. Two gigantic tanks. Man with broad smiles. Sweets being thrown in the air. She is smiling her saddest smile.

I have known here all my life. I was born in her house. I spend half of my childhood in her house. I know her eyes. I know her worried look. But best of all I know her smiles.

Some of the men on the wagons are young. But the warcostumes make them look ancient. Some of the men are my grandmothers age. They might have been here 60 years ago. All the way from Canada. Fighting the German occupiers. Freeing this small little village in the east of Holland.

She makes a joke. She laughs like a girl. Sometimes she is here. Sometimes she isn’t. That’s when she is smiling her sweetest smile.