My oh my, how beautiful can a sunset be?
Yesterday evening at Bergen aan Zee, Noord-Holland
Sunset at Bergen Beach, the Netherlands
La Clayette
Heb je Hockney’s landschappen van Yorkshire wel eens gezien? Kleurige velden en wegen lijken om elkaar te dansen en spelenderwijs om aandacht te vragen.
Afgelopen maand ben ik weer naar Frankrijk gegaan, fietsend over steile hellingen en zoekend naar dergelijke patronen in het landschap: boerderijen, houtwallen, percelen als een mozaïek door de geschiedenis neergelegd. Laat u niet bedriegen door het oog van de camera dat het landschap wat afstandelijk waarneemt: de fietser weet dat er hier wel degelijk behoorlijk steile hellingen zijn bedwongen. Jawel, ook die berg op de achtergrond!
(en dit is voorlopig de laatste met het thema Hockney)
Surprise!
Forest paths are a recurring theme in Hockney’s work. Shall I go left or right? Sometimes Hockney’s paths are mirrored, and a choice seems to make no difference.
Photo collages or ‘joiners’ are another recurring element. Sometimes to show one subject from different perspectives, sometimes to indicate the passage of time at a glance.
To me, forest paths are the perfect metaphor for choices that life sometimes unexpectedly presents. The mind craves rational choice, but you can never see beyond the first few trees. And in the end you always end up somewhere.
Glow-in-the-dark sea
I must have been about 10 years old when we spent the holidays in Bergen near the North Sea (Netherlands). One night my father woke me up: “Get up! Put your shoes on, we’ll go to the beach!”
“Why?” did I ask, still very asleep.
“We are going to watch the light of the sea!”
It had been hot and windless all week. Ideal conditions to see sparkling sea turning the beach into a magical place. The waves radiated a blue light. As you moved through the water, blue light rippled around you. And as you walked over the wet sand, a trail of glowing footsteps slowly died out behind you. Zeevonk, it’s called in Dutch
The light comes from the alga Noctiluca scintillans, which emits a bluish light when moved. Earlier I told about the herrings in my fridge that gave light – probably also caused by the ingestion of these algae while swimming (see Luminescence).
All these years I hoped to one day see that light of the sea again. And last week I did. Not as exuberant as I remember; actually I would have walked right past it if another visitor hadn’t pointed out the puddle that the low tide had left on the beach. But I was just in time, for that night was the last that the phenomenon could be observed. So I am more than happy now, with some fresh memories.
Olive trees in Saint Rémy de Provence
In the continuum of space and history, everything is connected. Musing about a second theme for the Hockney-initiative of our local photography club, I wanted to explore the relationship between David Hockney and Vincent van Gogh. Van Gogh’s art and Hockney’s art have a lot in common. Endless inspiration from nature, the landscape, the use of brilliant colours and the expression of ‘the soul’ of a tree, a road, a hill.
It had to be olive trees. Saint Rémy is the village where Vincent loved the beautiful light. I walked through the countryside where Vincent had walked, saw the landscape he had seen. Not far from the institution where he spent a year after his mental breakdown I found an olive tree orchard. I imagined how Vincent would have seen it, and how David would have filled that view with his colours.
There it was: a symbol of van Gogh’s Provence, with a Hockney filter over it and expressed in my photographic language.
Foggy blue
Our local photo club has a project: To create a piece of art photography inspired by David Hockney. I love these kinds of challenges, and dove into the Hockney universe. In turn, Hockney was inspired by Vincent van Gogh, so I dove into that universe as well and looked at it through the eyes of Hockney.
First piece is inspired by the double (or actually triple) portraits ‘My parents and myself’ and ‘My parents.’ I decided to look for the fragile state of existence of my father, age 95, and his sweetheart, age 93, and the relationship between the three of us in their shrinking and simplifying, schematizing world. Alzheimer has got a firm grip on him; yet the beautiful bright colours make life look wonderful
So. What next?
Waterfalls
Did I say I love waterfalls? Plenty of them here in Iceland
Gulfoss
Skogarfoss
Seljalandsfoss
Oxararfoss
Katla ice cave
Away from the paved roads into an alien world. Desolate. Windy. And once again bloody cold
The target is Katla glacier in Iceland. Cold winds have covered the icecap during many centuries in volcanic dust
A hostile but beautiful environment
I’m glad we came in these specially prepared ‘super jeeps’ that are able to drive over rocks and ice and through small glacier rivers
Paradise
They’re back! Spoonbills in their regular nesting place: a tiny piece of swamp forest tugged in between a highway and a lake. The archetype nature images in our heads are pristine, without human influence. And I have to confess: as a nature photographer I always try to replicate these images. Even when the pictures are taken in a densely populated and completely transformed area. I think we have a longing and even a need for dreams of purity and paradise. And well, it feels a bit like paradise here.
And now they´re back. All the way from Africa, ready for summer. Temperatures are still quite low here, but every spring when they return my heart leaps up.
And it’s not just one… It’s so many of them!
What a feeling to stand here in the middle of nowhere, and just see, hear, smell and feel nature all around.
This last little fellow brings back memories of the card playing game I had as a child. The bluethroat was my favourite card! I love this time of spring when all these birds have returned with a promise of lovely summer days to come
De Portrettenmaker 