Posts Tagged ‘Vermeer’

The artist as employee in making new antique clocks. ( auto-biography)

August 5, 2015
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The VW Kombi

The first weeks were spent getting good bedding and turning the heating on. It was early May and still surprisingly cold.  We enrolled both our daughters in the local kindergarten school.  Our son  stayed home as he was still a baby.  Soon after we bought a VW Kombi bus. The VW bus  popularity was a world-wide phenomenon. There was an unwritten law that drivers of those VW buses would dip their headlights while passing each other on the road. Most often those drivers were anti-war. Both sexes grew long hair, smoked bongs, drank cheap red wine and listened to Bridge over troubled Waters.

We also had to establish our citizenship and get enrolled into all the different levels of the Dutch bureaucracy which is fairly complicated but generous. Child endowment, unemployment relief, all sorts of taxation requirements, getting banking accounts fixed. All went reasonably smooth and when things had settled I enrolled myself at an employment office seeking work as an ‘artist’. Much to my surprise and within a few days I was notified about a vacancy for an artist. An artist skilled in landscape techniques. It was about a twenty minute drive from where we were living. I was so intrigued. Can you believe this?

I turned up for the interview which was at a factory that made imitation grandfather clocks. Those clocks were apparently selling like hot cakes, exported world wide, especially the ‘Friesian stand-up clock’ with a swinging pendulum and hand painted clock dial. All had to be genuinely ‘hand painted’. This is where the job of the artist came in, specifically my skill as the artist landscape or sky/sea scape specialist. If possible it would be best if the clock dials were painted in a genuine ‘style’. A kind of mixture between a Hobbema or Vermeer would do.

I felt that it might be well worth the experience and after whipping out a quick little sample of a wind-mill and some sea-gulls was given the job. From what I could see on some of the clocks with hand-painted dials the previous painter wasn’t really skilled in faking an old master in any genre. The factory making the clocks was actually part of a much larger consortium doing all sorts of things including exporting tulips to America. I was in good hands. The salary was not bad either. Remember how I had taken lessons from Ronald Peters at the Parramatta ambulance hall in the late fifties early sixties in painting landscapes with a receding sky and dappled effects on gum tree trunks? Well, all this was now coming to fruition at the clock factory.

Those clocks were really amazing. The actual body of the grandfather clock was made from something that was poured in a mould. When taken out of the mould a brown stain was sprayed over it and, lo and behold, it looked like ‘genuine’ oak’. The actual grain of the oak was part of the mould. Amazing fake that could not be improved upon. Of course, today everything is fake. Reading only yesterday on a bottle of maple syrup at Aldi in small lettering  ‘flavoured’.

At the same time as my clock dial painting career took off, we also bought an original Dutch farm house with a soaring upwards part tiled and part thatched roof typical of that Northern area. Many traditional old Dutch farms had both people and cows inside during winter under the same roof. Hay that was cut during summer was stored inside together with cows and people. One reason for those high roofs was to stack the hay. It was all very cosy, intimate and above all in winter nice and warm. The cows heated the place up better than central heating ever could. Of course we did not keep cows and did have central heating installed.

The clock dial painting went very well. The management was very happy. A lot depended on the attractiveness of the clock face. They were bought solely on their looks.  The seagulls especially were very real. The manager said ‘they seem to follow me around the room’. I was emboldened to such a degree I managed to do the production of clock dial painting at home on the farm. Once a week I would drive over and hand the works of art in and pick up a box of blank  clock faces in return. As long as I did about fifty dials a week, all would be happy. I had achieved a fairly relaxed way of earning a salary and as yet had no need to apply for the Government artist salary. That was yet to come!

Of course, the clocks were super kitsch and some might query the moral fibre of someone happily doing that, but…who was I to not experience the life of a paid artist. Did not Jan Steen (1626-1679) run a tavern, had nine children and two wives.? What about Pieter Brueghel before (1525-1569), with his rejected ‘The Blind leading the Blind?’ There is hope for all Dutchmen!

We all make the best of circumstance.

 

Outgrowing- out crowded.

February 2, 2015

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There is this attempt by nature to dominate as well as nurture. We love to grow grass but against that we have to mow it. Actually, I don’t love grass, not in the form of the dreaded lawn. In 1956 soon after arrival I noticed our neighbour having a fixation about his lawn. It wasn’t directly noticed or seen by me. Each week-end instead of being on his knees in church or on football field, he was seen kneeling on his beloved lawn.

He would crawl along as if in prayer, his head bend piously and in reverence but hands downwards as if repenting something of the past and asking forgiveness, grasping at clumps of grass in the meantime. He could always be found on his lawn in the week-end. It must have been of great comfort and reassurance to his wife. He was a good husband, father of six children and loved his lawn.

The question is; was he in control of his lawn or the other way around? His aim, after I was first watching and then asking my dear neighbour, was his unshaken love and fondness of kneeling on grass to get rid of unwanted grasses. He called them weeds. To me it all looked green and lovely. Our neighbour ( his name was Bill) had a different view of nice grass. It had to be a pure type of grass and not of a multi- varied type. He made his life-long wish to get a perfect lawn.

There I was thinking grass is grass and green is green. No, not according to Bill. There are whole armies of true blue homeowners who are absolutely committed to a perfect lawn. During week-ends many are seen on knees digging out ‘weeds’, don’t mistake them for being bored. They take to lawns like Vermeer did to the painting of a Golden Girl and magic Pearl. I have seen this!

It would be unwise to question this too adroitly. One could end up being called a communist or worse, a Trotskyite reffo and lose out on a friendly neighbour. It does not go down well when migrants from stale cabbage smelling dusty Hungarian or Dutch apartments then emerging in a sunny cheery Australia, to meddle with things they should have left behind in the ‘old country’. It is never too late to learn something. Leave lawns well enough alone. Each to their own!

I did learn and accept but have as yet to be converted to preening a lawn during week-ends. As a concession and in memory of ‘Bill’ though, I now have an electric whipper snipper to keep down all the little grasses that with all the rain has sprung surprisingly quickly during the last few weeks.

As for things outgrowing. A year ago we planted what we thought a small leafy plant in a pot. It is much more now and is increasingly trying to take over. If you look at the photo, we have to squeeze around it now to get upstairs. It grows almost a foot per day and we have thought of calling the State Emergency Services with helicopter. It is getting out of control and if it keeps going, might have to move our computers and office downstairs. It is not a banana or palm tree, but it is big. It is close to three metres. Help!

Nature or nurture?