I hired a fat lady to lie down on my sofa

The Silent City. An old room in an old house. A sofa. A fat lady lying on that sofa. A historian in his armchair. Ticking of multiple clocks moving counterclockwise.  HISTORIAN I hired a fat lady to lie down on my sofa. We all have our unusual habits and she didn’t mind Apart from the sofa…

Artist-In-Residence Week II

In June and July 2014, I will be spending two months as a writer-in-residence at Teatru Salesjan in Malta, creating new work and holding workshop sessions under the name ‘Beyond Borders’. This project is supported by the Malta Arts Fund. Part of the process will be writing down my experiences weekly.  Another week has passed….

Artist Feature: Stella van Lieshout

Originally posted on the LIFESTYLE:
Sometimes writing is a way of making sense of the world as I experience it. But my writing is also meant as a ‘conversation’. Meaning is created partly through the eyes of the reader or the audience and my work doesn’t try to show the truth, but can contain many.…

Artist-In-Residence Week I

In June and July 2014, I will be spending two months as a writer-in-residence at Teatru Salesjan in Malta, creating new work and holding workshop sessions under the name ‘Beyond Borders’. This project is supported by the Malta Arts Fund. Part of the process will be writing down my experiences weekly.  The second monday of…

The School of Life

You walk into a theatre, you drink a cup of milk tea with the creative director and before you know it you’re writing and directing a new production. Welcome to Kathmandu! At Mandala Theatre, thirteen young people came together to form a group. A group that wanted to learn all there is to know about…

Small Poems (Dutch)

Two small poems, one I wrote while living in Kathmandu and the other right after returning home. (‘Heimwee’ is written on march 5th and ‘Thuis’ on May 7th) Thuis In de stilte heb ik eindeloos geluisterdnaar het deinen van jouw borstkas,de ontbrekende toeters en het niet meer blaffen van de honden. Geluisterd tot het tijd wasOm het nu…

Scottish warmth

Alex had found me, dirty from the mud mixed with the sheep poo that lay all around. The remote landscape of the Scottish Highlands had provided little comfort during the day and the rain had soaked all my gear apart from my sleeping bag. Hours before arriving at the warmth of the walker’s pub that…

The woman carrying seven thousand letters

You should see her sitting there. On a bench, looking out over the ice covered sea that makes Stockholm’s islands reunite in winter. Her face ravaged by the sun and the years of living outside. She has got those wrinkles you get from sadness, not the laughing kind. Her clothes are worn, but still got some…

The last man of Myrdal (Part I)

I clearly remember taking their picture. It was a lovely day in August, the summer of ’57.  The train came in from Oslo and paused in Myrdal for a few hours on its way to Bergen. It gave us the chance to persuade the tourists to stay the night in a lovely hotel, so they could see the…

Sadly, no coffee with Harold

When I came home from a cold and amazing day at Hastings yesterday I found a letter in my mailbox. At first I thought it was some sort of advertisement, but it turned out to be the response to my letter to Harold send by the solicitors that handled his estate. They wrote me that Harold had…

A letter to Harold

To find out Hilda’s story I need to find out which face goes with the driving licence. I would also like to visit Kettering, because that is where she was born and where she died. It’s only an hour from London and her partner, Harold, is still living there if the Yellow Pages are still up to date. She had no…

The search for Hilda

About a week ago I headed for Camden Markets. Months before I had stumbled upon a little stall where they sold old photographs and I had the intention of buying them all. When I came there I found the box being too big and also stuffed with a lot of things I couldn’t use. So…