Anne and Van.

Due to the fact that my four day “Amsterdam Experience” was a vortex of art and debauchery, these blogs on the events are probably going to all seem like an extension of one another. I am also writing them all on the plane in one sitting, so its going to be a blur and for that I apologize in advance.

One thing that my European stay made abundantly clear is that my knowledge of European history is embarrassingly shallow. The other thing that was abundantly clear is how eager I am to remedy that. Looking back on my time in school, I wish that I had paid more attention to detail but I never was one for academia and there is no point dwelling on what I didn’t learn because it’s as easy as choosing to learn it now. Of course that leaves about five topics that I am going to search out books for in the near future but I’ve got a bit of touring coming up and nothing but time to devote to reading.

(Blaine, Roman and Patrick wait to get into Anne Frank Huis.)

Oddly enough, I think I may be one of the only people I know who hasn’t read “The Diary of Anne Frank” and even though I may look a little foolish picking it up at the age of 20, I feel as if now I must. From the few quotes that are strewn about the Anne Frank Huis (House) which I visited on Wednesday, I was already moved by her maturity and intelligence in the face of such horror; I can only imagine how much the entire text would move me.

(The odd modern entrance.)

Stepping into this “museum” brings an odd sensation to the body. The front of the building looks more modern than any other building I saw in Amsterdam and boasts one of the longest queues (oh yes, I’m THAT European) in the whole city but it is worth the wait. Creeping through the house, which is remarkably preserved, there is an overwhelming sense of horror that comes over you. I have never had the experiences and effects of a war this overtly humanized and realizing you are trudging over the same ground the Franks had to creep through to avoid discovery for two years is heartbreaking. What is wonderful is the “museum” doesn’t do anything to over sentimentalize the events that occurred there, the space speaks for itself and it is a visit I will never forget.

(The entrance to paradise.)

Shortly after leaving the Anne Frank House, with an odd discomfort I traced the canals until I reached the Van Gogh museum, also known as heaven on earth. Over the past few weeks I have stated that none of my experiences had really done much to sway my opinions on particular artists; those I liked I loved more and those I didn’t remained the same. All that changed moments after I walked into Van Gogh. All of the previous work I have seen (admittedly not much) was without a doubt beautiful but had become such pop culture reference that my reaction was fairly indifferent towards it. Little did I know that I hadn’t even begun to see Van Gogh.

Part of the allure of this genius seems to be the life that he led; a sort of romanticized tortured artist. When going chronologically through his work, as it is displayed here, it is amazing to see the transformation from pious young man to artistic genius. There is something about his work that is refreshingly unpolished but none more so than his early work which provides some of the most striking portraits and representations of rural life I have ever seen.

(Dark and gloomy, "The Cottage" is beautiful in person.)

Here was another painter less concerned with technique than emotion but in that “disregard” emerged an entirely new technique that others would emulate forever. Progressing through the time periods I was interested in seeing what influence the French Impressionists had on him and noting that my least favorite work of his were his forays into pointillism. George Seurat is one of my favorite artists but to me it is a technique that he dominated with such authority, others can’t begin to do it justice.

(My favorite of Van Gogh's "Head of a Woman" series.)

It is impossibly difficult to choose my favorite works from this prolific artist but it is astounding what he can do with trees and faces. This beauty was best summed up by one of the cards which stated Van Gogh wasn’t concerned with the castle in a painting but the movement around a castle. His landscapes, usually such a boring genre to me, actually move so they become so much more. A few highlights of the permanent collection including the gloomy “The Cottage,” an incredible series of works he created while in an asylum that recreated works of other artists with color, and my absolute favorite (and obviously others due to the fact that it was the only sold out print) “Small Pear Tree In Blossom.”


Before heading up to the permanent collection I had gone down an escalator to explore an exhibit billed as “Vincent van Gogh and Expressionism” which grouped the works of Van Gogh next to the Expressionist paintings he influenced. It was incredibly interesting getting this kind of comparison up close and displayed among gorgeous works by Klimt and others (didn’t copy names but will look in my book) was my new favorite painter Egon Schiele. My only familiarity with Schiele comes from peering through a coffee table book that David has with slightly feigned interest. It’s amazing what viewing an artist in person can do for your opinion and I am counting down the minutes until I can search out that book and buy it for myself.

(One of three incredible self-portraits they had of Schieles. I love the exaggerated posturing.)

Art, oh, art, how you make me wish I had money to collect you! I have never been one to crave investments but I would love to have a couple million dollars to put towards some incredible work of art to display in my apartment. Perhaps that rich man I marry will pull through in that regard. I’m laughing at myself typing this right now because as I sit on the plane I have just started reading a book titled “The Subversive Imagination: Artists, Society and Social Responsibility” in which the first few essays bemoan the elitist status created by collecting art. Reading about how much art of today seems concerned with its political meaning and context, I wonder what intent Van Gogh and the other painters I have seen over the past weeks had with their work. Art was much more bohemian than it is now but perhaps it is just history that has created the illusion that they were working to create rather than to gain notoriety. Now I’m just rambling, I’ve been typing for too long. Time to watch some “Ugly Betty” on my iPod. Van Gogh to “Ugly Betty,” jeez I run the gamut don’t I?

Comments

[Jennifer]

your talk of the anne frank house (which is, of course, amazing) reminded me of david sedaris' story "possession" (from his recent book "dress your family in corduroy and denim"), where he talks about redecorating the anne frank house. you should read it if you get a chance...it's a great story

[Nick McCarvel]

Matt, your yearning to learn more and more in everday life is astonishing to me - you're an inspiration! I hope that you are enjoying Europe to the fullest, it sure seems like you are. Hugs from the West Coast.

[petroz]

Vincent van Gogh self portrait found at Geneva flea market by Jules Petroz
watch video
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JqQDtEizSt0