Three hours ago, I went out to have some night shots of the city. Excitement level rose to an unprecedented level. This was after all my first night out in Amsterdam where I wouldn’t be worrying much about work and how things would turn out to be if I’d go out. These seemed like two same ideas but there was more to these rather than mere apprehensiveness. I needed to unwind and gather my thoughts. The whole day was just too much information for my not-so-artistic brain. Or maybe, it was just so colorful that really showed so many shades of life. Whatever that was, maybe a walk along the many streets of the city could be my buffer solution. So with a bit of layers and a shawl, I embarked to discover the fuzz that gave this area rather a funky and stoned reputation. This area was the Red Light District.
Coming from the Central Train Station and entering one of those narrow alleyways, I came out to a lively colorful street. Moulin Rouge was shining in that sexy deep red letters in one of the houses. I smiled to myself with the idea of Nicole Kidman as Satine would suddenly emerge from one of the glass doors. Instead was a burly man, dressed in that don’t-mess-with-me kind of black shirt standing in-front of the door. Looking back, I didn’t even remember seeing his eyes and could be that he was wearing black shades too in that smothering dark evening. Following the next house and you’ll see a different strobe of lights, flickering with that kind of trance that your brain slowly got accustomed into. Reason would tell you to explore and delve more, thus; commanding the neurons on your legs to join the maddening crowd. And before you knew it, you were already inhaling that smooth smell of cut-grass, slightly-burnt aroma, slowly whisking you off to another street and then go on for the next one, walking like an angel around the lively and dreamlike prospect.
Pause and stop. And maybe rewind a bit further and you’d see me walking towards the Museum district. I just passed the former Heineken Brewery which now stood as a museum. My thought was just so excited to tell you the concoction I’ve made inside the brewery. A bit pricey though but good enough to give me that chance of brewing my own beer. Time was around 2pm and I knew where I was heading to. The Van Gogh Museum. My hands were looking and trying to feel something. Yes, I remembered that I only have 10 euros and urgently looking for a money changer. Four euros and some more maybe for lunch. Darn, I was hungry then. So many damn reasons for converting my hard-earned dollars into euros.
It seemed like an eternity before I finally purchased my ticket. Contrary to what I’ve heard and read before, there was no queue at all. I was even more surprised to note that the lobby was almost deserted. Where are the people? I stood in the middle and quite hesitant to move further. This happened to me so many times. I don’t know whether to eat first before I start my museum trip or whether to purchase the headset. I was so restless and couldn’t gather my thoughts. It was like you were in a middle of highly-charged concentration place and every corner pulls your thoughts. I decided to go to the restroom first. On my way, I couldn’t help but look at the ticket. It has the Sunflowers painting on it. Interesting, I thought.
My fascination with Van Gogh started when I was in high school. I was researching some famous artists and found some snippets of his life story. I was intrigued and after reading it, sadness engulfed me. A friend of mine back then told me why he was not interested anymore to enroll in Fine Arts. ‘Artists just die miserably and I don’t want my family to starve!’ Partly true but an inner voice begged to disagree. Sometimes it’s not anymore about money.
The museum was nicely done. I moved with ease from one painting to another while reading all the notes on the wall. This was a good move for guests without the headsets. Though I am a sucker for information but most of the time, I just enjoyed looking at things and let my mind wandered around. As I moved slowly, I thought of my friend-artist and how much he would love to be here. I’m not an artist and unlike other visitors in the museum, there’s no way for me to tell whether Van Gogh was really good or not. If one painting moved me, that was good enough for me. And true enough, I felt his struggles as an artist and the changes in his paintings through time.
Now I know where most of the visitors were! They were all converged in the second floor and third floor. I’ve noticed a particular middle-aged man of thick glasses who was staring at one of Van Gogh’s famous painting ‘the Potato Eaters’ and slowly retraced his steps back to the other one entitled ‘ the Skull of the Skeleton with Burning Cigarette’. What an odd movement and what was he trying to piece together? I smiled to myself. I was here to admire his paintings and not to observe how people moved from one painting to another. When I finally found myself in front of the ‘Potato Eaters’, it seemed that the world stopped. This was so different from others. The colors, the expressions and how they gathered around the table. I fondly remembered my grandma when I was growing up in the province. My brothers and I couldn’t contain our excitement everytime my grandma would call to us to eat, I prepared something special! Almost the same kind of environment in a faraway land where food was nothing but simple agricultural crops. Enough to last you for the evening till the wee hours of the morning.
Time moved so fast while you are in the museum. You wanted to contain it while admiring the different paintings. I personally liked the Sunflowers, Garden in Montmartre with Lovers and the Portrait with the One-eyed Man. The Almond Blossom was a cute one too and gave me so much hope in this world. This was his gift to his brother Theo on the birth of his nephew. There was one particular painting that struck a chord in me but couldn’t remember the title. Please consider the fact that I was writing this in the middle of the night with an aching body and legs trying to write as many I could possible remember. The painting was a beautiful, beautiful wheatfield and seemed like a ghostly shape loomed out of that beautiful surrounding. The painting was so real that I almost felt it. At some point in our lives, we always feel like finishing things that we started years ago and unfortunately time is always the essence. I believe this was the Wheatfield with a Reaper. Very powerful painting that trancends beyond the human impression.
Excuse me if I had to transport your thoughts again but you are standing right now in front of the Dam Square. Around you are thousands of tourists that flock to this gorgeous city. I saw policemen in horses and that made me smile. Amidst the late afternoon light, they seemed to emit a different kind of light in those brightly-colored neon-green uniforms. I could easily paint them in a style that Van Gogh was so brilliant at-Pointillism. Funny but I saw these police officers again patrolling in the Red Light District. Now that seemed so surreal. I stopped and surveyed the surroundings. People come and go. Some were enjoying the company of their friends, chatting and laughing at the same time. Others were peeking on different stores while the rest were so much in a hurry in a direction that I had no business knowing about. And here I was, simply admiring these fleeting movements and crisscrossing among them on this beautiful solitary Amsterdam evening.
How I wish I’d seen Van Gogh’s Starry, Starry Night. Maybe it was in another museum that I’ll have to visit soon. But for now, I’m slowly liking the idea of having some glow–in-the-dark stars in my ceiling or maybe add some colors in my rather grey and off-the-beaten kind of bedroom. By the way, Van Gogh’s famous Bedroom painting was under extensive restoration and another reason for me to come back again. Maybe then, I could gather some thoughts on what might be the symbolism for his Tree Roots painting. I just feel sometimes that our brains are so capable of doing so many impossible things and beautiful objects are oftentimes constructed with so much pain and heartbreaks.
I opened my eyes again and started writing this piece. I have been to so many places in my life that I kept forgetting them so fast. This will remind me soon about my different impressions on places, the thoughts that came to me and lastly, why travelling could be so beneficial to our soul. Maybe, it is our way of traversing to a different universe where things are shown differently that could help us understand ourselves more. My Van Gogh trip resurrected so many facets of my life. By looking at his paintings would help you see life beyond the irises, sunflowers and cherry blossoms. Or maybe, that was all he wanted us to see in the first place.
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