Thoughts on rain - Gerrit Rietveld Academie

SLS
g . t . j . d
Thoughts on rain
Making.Rain
Wintergarden 2008
Thoughts on rain
Making.Rain
Wintergarden 2008
DesignLab, TXT, Mode
GRA
Text and drawings:
Media group students
Editorial:
Eleni Katsali
Mariette Wijne
Johanneke Lamoraal Wichers
Design:
Erik Wong
Mariette Wijne
Rana Ghavami
Robbert van Strien
Stefanija Najdovska
Johanneke Lamoraal Wichers
Amsterdam, January 21st 2008
Hello media-group!
As we announced last Thursday: it’s time to write.
To translate your thoughts, feelings and experiences
into words en sentences that are interesting for
other people to read. The subject of your writing
will be The Wintergarden/Rain. Report what’s going on! Bring us hot news, give us a view behind the
scenes, tell us a personal story or let your thoughts
run free…
(…)
Success,
WRITE AS WELL AS YOU CAN!
5
My walk of pride
Erna Einarsdóttir (Mode)
‘Hello?’
‘Hey sweetie.’
‘Oh, hey mom! Can I call you back in just 15
minutes, I’m on my way home?’
‘Well, I’ll call you back later tonight then, me
and dad are taking the dog out for a walk,
there’s a snowstorm outside, I’ll tell you
about it when I call back!’
‘Umm. Okay… nice. Well then I’ll talk to
you tonight’
‘Bye honey.’
‘Bye mom.’
As I bike home I can feel the rain
start to drip down on me and when I lock my
bike outside my house I am already soaking
wet. I run upstairs and jump out of the wet
clothes into my cozy pajamas. I look outside
to check on the rain, the sky is pouring water.
Across the street are some people crumbled
together under the shelter of the local flower
stand. I laugh to myself thinking why it
seems that the Dutch can’t handle a little
rain unless they have an umbrella for protection.
I have never owned an umbrella.
No, where I am from people never let the
weather stop them. But then again, in a
country where a windy, sunless summer with
the average heat of 10 degrees is considered
reason enough to bring out your skimpiest
summer dress it’s no wonder we don’t let the
rain stop us. In fact, we are maybe somewhat
proud of being able to handle about every
weather condition there is, and even get
quite obsessed with it.
6
I have never
owned an
umbrella
At this point I am not really sure who is looking more stupid, the poor people standing
under the flower stand, putting their lives on
hold until the sky dries up, or my parents who
are by now somewhere mid way through the
dog walking process in the icy cold snowstorm.
Then I remember something. No matter
what, the Dutch and Icelanders will never
look as ridiculous as the Californians.
I used to live there when I was 17 and there
it’s just sun sun sun. So imagine the surprise when the sky came pouring down. As
I parked my car by the school I could sense
chaos in the air. My fellow students had made
strange little outfit changes. The girls wore
their usual miniskirts matched with tank tops
but had put on gloves. Some kids were still in
their pajamas and one guy forgot his shoes.
This was odd to me but I just walked with my
calm Icelandic weather pride looking at the
kids like they were all acting insane. As I got
into my classroom my teacher slammed the
door behind me in sheer terror, counted her
stressed students and then locked the door.
She said that we would not follow the regular
study schedule; instead she would read us a
story from English literature. I felt like a 5
year old in pre-school.
At that moment my mom calls back, I stop
thinking about the old days in California, forget to check on the Dutch in the flower stand
and put all my attention on weather news
from Iceland. That is, of course, the only
weather that matters in the end.
7
It is lovely today, isn’t it?
Kunji Baerwald (Mode)
You are sitting next to somebody, you
don’t know very well and you are talking,
after you finished your sentence there stays a
silence between the two of you, the theme is
over.
What more can you say?
The silence starts to tickle you. It starts to
make you uncomfortable. You look around,
out of the window and the sky is gray:
„Oh the weather is nice today.“ (No, it’s not,
but anyway)
„Oh yeah, I like the air outside before it
rains!“
„Yes, exactly...“
Talking about the weather seems to me to be
superficial. To tell each other what you must
already know, that it is hot or cold, bright or
cloudy, windy or calm. It seems to me that
the sentence “the weather is nice“ is just
an empty sentence to fill an empty uncomfortable space, a gap, but the real thought
behind is that you want to go on with the
conversation or hide a embarrassing moment
of silence and don’t know what to say.
Just like Oscar Wilde said: “Conversation
about the weather is the last refugee of the
unimaginative”
It adds nothing to the conversation; in this
case it creates distance, it doesn’t help to get
to know a person, it’s more the opposite, you
may have said also “Blabla” with the same
outcome.
But on the other hand weather does in fact
connect, it always appears in whole areas
and brings you and the people around in
the same situation, the sun shines to you all
8
“Oh, the
weather is nice
today.” No,
it’s not, but
anyway
and the raindrops are falling on everybody. We
are always surrounded by it; it influences our
moods, our actions, our behaviour.
Though it is a good opportunity to start a conversation with, because everybody can refer to.
I took the moment of rain when the people
open up their umbrella, declaring, “This is my
space.” and putting up with the appearing
humidity. I wanted to make contact and open
up their declared space, „Can I join you under
your umbrella?“
Everybody I asked was willing to share his or
her comfort of the umbrella; (automatically it
tickled me to take somebody’s arm, but I did
not). I talked about the rain to have a theme
we both can refer to and immediately a conversation started.
In this case we did not talk out of an uncomfortable silence about the weather, more an
uncomfortable weather made us talk.
Thus talking about the weather can create distance between people but it also can be used to
step over the first distance and make contact.
I agree with Oscar Wilde, who also said:
„Whenever people talk about the weather, I
always feel quite certain that they mean something else.“
There is a message underneath the spoken
words, but it just might be simple like, “I feel
like talking to you! But I don’t know what to
say! And you?” or “You are boring, so leave me
alone!” or “I am doing a rain project in school,
and you are part in it!“
9
If Mr. Einstein could hold my umbrella I wouldn’t need a Polaroid.
And other tales of ridiculous theories of mine.
Eleni Katsali (DesignLab)
I collect Polaroids. I am severely obsessed with them.
It’s the frame I like so much: The white border between this world and the one of your
photo.The frame, accentuating the subject
and rendering it to a different dimension.
No, I do not like photoshopped Polaroids.
I like the real thing. Maybe because I have
never taken a Polaroid that looked stiff, and
posed for. Maybe because in my Polaroids,
time stands still.
You look through to your subject and capture
it in a fuzzy, slightly blurred colorful piece
of paper. Immediate and blurry, providing a
sense of materiality and directness.
You capture a moment. You don’t think.
Time! It’s the key to every Polaroid photo.
I wonder are these time-suspending moments
frozen with the ink the reason my Polaroid
films cost so much? Seriously, I cannot afford
this obsession much longer.
Then, last week I was biking home.I could
have expected some raindrops but did not
quite anticipate a rainfall. Thankfully, I did
not have my precious Polaroid camera with
me. Unfortunately, I did not have my raincoat
either, thanks to the “learn to appreciate the
rain” Wintertuin thinking. Still I was cycling
fast trying to “escape” whatever was pouring
down from the sky. And trust me, I wasn’t the
only one. Time was speeding forced by the
outside activities speeding pace and slowed
down under the influence of a safe dry place.
10
Does rain
manipulate
time?
Then suddenly, it came to me! A pure revelation! Polaroids were not the only way to
manipulate time! Rain exercised a peculiar
tension in the time lapse of everyday cycling.
By the time I got home I was very much wet
so I decided to change before going for groceries and standing in the 6 o’clock Albert
Heijn line.
Still, it kept on raining and raining and raining... and Albert Heijn seemed a whole lot
further away than ever before.
Of course I decided not to go out again.
What would you do?
Besides, time seemed to slow down and the
urge to go outside disappeared. The natural order of everyday routine shifted. Went
into a relaxing, prolonged and melancholic
trance, which gave its place to a cleansed detoned wet aromatic morning.
My Polaroid camera got lonely the next
morning. The urge to use it on capturing
my reality had disappeared. For my reality
was already in a slow frame to frame viewing mode. I was relatively late for class. I
sincerely though everyone would be. Apparently no one was late, other than me that is.
Time is personal. Mr. Einstein said so. I
should have known better. “There exists
no such thing as ultimate time, but relative
and personal. And it depends on the position and the movement.” That’s what Mr.
Einstein said mind me telling you. He did
not quite mean it as I perceive it for he was
talking about energies and curved space, but
11
that is only because he didn’t have to ride a
bicycle on rainy days. Or maybe cause his
umbrella was not as bold and beautiful as
mine. Therefore, he did not bother to consider rain and time.
So, if rain can influence both a position and
a movement, does rain manipulate time?
I would love for someone to verify my hypothesis. Being an amateur scientist should
not be treated any less. Unfortunately, I don’t
know any scientists, and Mr. Einstein is not
here to hold my umbrella. Thankfully, I have
Polaroids. A whole collection of them.
P.S. And yes! After writing this I have some
rain Polaroids too. Only these ones don’t
show frozen moments of time. But frozen
fast forward frames of moments in time.
Or slowly pause-play stills. Manipulated
manipulations of time.
12
Surround me by your songs
Rana Ghavami (DesignLab)
‘Rain is a type of precipitation,
a product of the condensation of atmospheric water vapour that is deposited on the Earth’s
surface. It forms when separate drops of
water fall to the Earth from clouds. Not
all rain reaches the surface; some evaporates while falling through dry air. When
none of it reaches the ground, it is called
virga, a phenomenon often seen in hot,
dry desert regions.’
But I don’t feel, see and experience rain
in the scientific term. What kind of description would I give to rain?
I woke up with the sound of the rain falling on my window.
The filter has fallen over the horizon
again.
It’s in this moment that some shadows
disappear and the colour of darkness
surrounds me. The rythm of life changed.
As I was walking in the rain, I asked
myself;
What if every drop would have different
weight, speed and time.
Than rain becomes an instrument. And
our surrounding becomes its tool.
The road, the cars, the houses, man and
life becomes his strings.
Instead of drops I saw notes. The rain
glockenspiel was playing. The music score
appeared in front of my eyes. When the
drop assaulted on my window, it transformed in to a c note.
The composition captured me, the more I
heard it the more I drowned into it.
14
But an image perturbed me. There it was. A
cello being protected from the rain, by
a man holding an umbrella.
The clash of the reality and my imagination
woke me up.
I was in the fine line between normality and
reality.
The lack of control made this clash possible.
In my state of mind I had control. I was free.
I woke up with
the sound of the
rain falling on
my window
15
Treading water
A fable of modern life
Kate Vereker (TXT)
Like most weekends life was pretty
hectic. The weekend started on Thursday
night and ended on Monday morning,
depending on if you had a job or University.
My weekend ended on Monday morning,
the fact that I had a full job didn’t faze me
at all. I would still go to work, tired and exhausted, just to save up money for the next
weekend. Partying was my routine, this was
my itch that I needed to scratch, and this is
how it has been since I was 16. I knew no
other way.
It was the late September and we were having yet another party to celebrate the end
of summer. Each gathering was supposed to
be the last, but they just kept happening. It
would get to Thursday morning and people
would start to get restless and blue that nothing was on the agenda for the forthcoming
weekend. So, if all else failed, have a party,
if there is booze and music they will come.
In the words of Jim Morrison “It’s better to
burn out than fade away” Right?
The beach was packed with our lot, most of
them my friends. I had spent a lot of time
with my crowd over the years. We danced
all night and laughed so hard sometimes,
we have history together – our youth. I had
also cried over some, protected others, been
used as a taxi by a few and tidied up after
all of them! They were my mates; we will
be like every week but we would not loose
touch, I was sure of that.
The sun was still putting an appearance in,
16
The last
time we
would all
spend together as a
group
perched in the sky, still warming my face
and body. The shutting down of the summer sun told me it would be the last time
we would all spend together as a group,
stragglers and all. I noticed cracks appearing that day, looking back but didn’t want
to believe it so I just ignored it. Factions
were splitting, some settling down, some
salvaging what is left of there health thanks
to all the late night drinking and bad diets,
some key figures not coming to the party
at all, some keeping the dream of no responsibility alive. I couldn’t tell you which
group I was in, I was only 26. I’m not old
enough for a mortgage or children; I have
plenty of time, that’s for old people. No to
responsibility, yes to not changing and yes
to staying out another hour, that was my
Philosophy.
I moved away form the group and made
my way to the seashore. I wanted just a few
minutes on my own, away from the welloiled wrecks on the beach. The temperature changed, the wind was picking up,
and I could feel a storm brewing.
The sea was cold as it engulfed my ankles,
the froth travelling skyward up my bare leg
as though trying to escape. Each step taken
into the expanse of sea seemed easier to
do. The sand got softer underfoot and the
swell larger as I swim some more.
I saw my tribe getting smaller in the distance, the music now muffled, restricted
to the sound of the base line. I turned to
17
wave but no one turned around. Surely
someone would see me so I waved again.
No response. They were getting more
and more faint more and more remote.
The panic started to set in, my heart
started to race. I had no back up plan to
fall back on, I was going adrift. I thought
my friends would realize I was gone but
they carried on as usual, without a second
look. I had no plan for escape.
I started to tread water, keeping my head
above the waves trying not to let the sea
grip me and take me to a place I didn’t
want to go, the sea looked dark and menacing over there, a fear of the un known
and what lurks beneath the surface. A
dark place and I wasn’t planning on visiting it.
It took a lot of effort going nowhere, I still
moved my arms, I still moved my legs,
I shouted for help, I was exhausted and
I hadn’t made any advancement. Just
treading water is all I could do.
A piece of flopsom and jepsom went floating by, first travelling to the left, then to
the right then it remained stationary as if
to keep me company, it too treading water.
The netting had come from a fishing boat,
used every day, it had a purpose in life but
now left broken and drifting not missed
by the fishermen. Seaweed was clinging
onto it, using it for support, and dragging
it down. A wave broke beside me and the
debris was gone, swallowed by the sea.
The evil sea sprite had won.
The motion of the sea lulled me into in
security; she was trying to allay my fears
by the rocking motion. I kept thinking of
the things I didn’t do, the places I never
18
I had no
plan for escape.
saw, the laughs I never had, the books I
never read. All I had was vague memories
of the parties I had been too, the friends
I had made, it wasn’t enough and where
were they now? I felt cold and alone the
sea growing darker by the second.
All along I was hoping someone or something would rescue me but they didn’t. I
started to cry, tears trickling down my face
adding to the mass of salty water. A few
teardrops make no difference in the sea, it
takes many to fill even a glass, it takes a lot
to make a difference; but it’s not impossible I concluded.
I felt frightened, I felt unnerved but I felt
alive. Do I sink? Or do I swim? I was
tired of treading water it only caused me
pain. I needed a plan to make me live life
again. I no longer felt water logged, life
drowning my growth. The water was suffocating the old me then started irrigating
my fields and planting new seeds in which
to flourish.
My legs were picking a fight with the water; I started to kick back at the sea with
new energy, my arms following suit. The
waves reduced to a flutter and she finally
gave in. I started to move towards the
land. We were working together, I would
give one kick and in return the sea was
moving me closer to where I wanted to be.
I arrived on the beach safely, no one was
there to greet me, all those people were
gone. It was for the best.
They say “It takes a strong man to swim
against the current; any dead fish will float
with it” bear this in mind next time you
think you may go swimming!
19
RE: Time to write
Marjan van Aubèl (DesignLab)
… excuses voor mijn late reactie.
Ik had al een klein tekstje geschreven over
de lezing van Vincent Icke. Ik wilde eerst
een samenvatting geven van de gehele
lecture, maar aangezien het al onbegrijpelijk was voor sommigen die de lezing
volgden, kon ik me niet voorstellen dat
het interessant zou zijn voor degenen die
de lezing niet gevolgd hadden. Ik heb dus
wat leuke feitjes over water die de revue
waren gepasseerd onder elkaar gezet.
Vandaag ga ik David (onze stoere machoman die mode doet) interviewen over De
Wintertuin. Maar ik wil eigenlijk ook nog
een column schrijven. Het punt is dat ik
nog te veel kleine verhaaltjes heb. Wat
maakt een plas een plas? Wat gebeurt er
als er iets anders regent, liefde bijvoorbeeld, of wodka? Dat wordt nog een
beetje schuiven dus…
groetjes
20
Trying to analyze a rainy mood
Sara Conen (TXT)
This rainy, gray weather makes me want
to stay at home. Even though I enjoy staying inside my beautiful flat in Amsterdam,
where I live only for a short time, this grayness makes me depressive. I think it is more
the dominance of darkness during this time
that gives me this feeling. This mood catches
me when I am outside as well as at home.
The early dusk covers me like a thick, heavy
blanket. It makes me move and think very
slowly. It slows down my vitality. My eyelids
feel so heavy that I am sleepy all the time.
The moment it rains this mood becomes
stronger. To me the rain then feels like tears
and beneath the darkness in my mind I also
begin to cry inside. All this heaviness grows
to an indefinite sadness. But the mood itself
is not growing inside of me; it feels as if it is
pulled over me.
Therefore I feel over-directed. I believe that
here lies the main cause for this depression.
The feeling grows while I try to overcome it.
But I have to live with it; there are so many
things, which must be done...
If I could just be like an animal, which
hibernates, I believe this wintertime could be
very cozy.
22
Warmte op de bodem
van de put
Robbert van Strien (DesignLab)
Hoewel ik mezelf niet beschouw
als een uitgesproken somber type – ik ben
in elk geval niet de mening toegedaan dat
er in het leven niets te lachen valt – vrees
ik dat ik een aangeboren aanleg voor een
zekere melancholische droefheid bezit.
Over het algemeen beperkt die droefheid
zich tot zwaarmoedig uit het raam staren
en lome middagen in een luie stoel. Er is
eerder sprake van een gebrek aan energie
dan een naderende depressie, en uiteindelijk breekt de zon vanzelf weer door, en
klaart de wereld op. Er zijn echter tijden
dat de mineurstemming langer blijft hangen, en serieuzer van aard is: wat begint
met een gevoel van droevige frustratie,
zwelt langzaam aan tot een lichte paniek.
Die lichte paniek implodeert onverwachts,
en slaat een gat in mijn verdedigingslinie;
zoals ieder mens presenteer ik mezelf met
een zeker zelfvertrouwen, en de dingen die
ik doe verhul ik in een sluier van vertrouwen, of dat nu toepasselijk is of niet. Op
de langdurigere momenten van zwaarmoedigheid verdwijnt die sluier, en verlies
ik meer en meer de overtuiging dat de
dingen wel op hun pootjes terecht komen.
Onverwachte tegenslagen dienen zich aan,
mensen in mijn omgeving uiten hun twijfels en als een sneeuwbal die van een berg
afrolt begint het vertrouwen in een goede
afloop steeds sneller te dalen.
En dan ineens is de hoop weg, verdwijnt
het naïeve optimisme, komt het vertrouwen in een vrije val en duikt als een razende de diepte in.
24
Ineens
spoelen onze
maskers weg
Op de bodem van de put, wanneer de
wanhoop het grootst is en alle controle is
verdwenen, dient zich echter onverwachts
een gevoel van warmte aan: de overgave,
het accepteren van het onvermijdelijk lot.
Een gevoel van opgeven dat, zo lijkt het,
vaak zijn intrede doet als het – nog bovenop
alle andere tegenslagen – ineens begint te
regenen; regen lijkt nu eenmaal om overweldigende emotie te vragen, of dat nu
intense verliefdheid is of vreselijk verdriet.
En van die zware buien, die je binnen tien
seconden weten te doordrenken, die wekken
nu eenmaal de overgave op. Ineens spoelen
onze maskers weg, verdwijnt de geforceerde
uitdrukking van vertrouwen van onze gezichten, en ineens zien we in hoe onhaalbaar
onze ideeën zijn, hoe onmogelijke onze
waarheden. Wat we vol vertrouwen propageerden, de oplossingen waar we tegen wil
en dank in bleven geloven – al was het maar
voor de buitenwacht – is ineens belachelijk
onhoudbaar. We hoeven even niet te doen
alsof alles wel goed komt, alsof we alles
kunnen hebben: voor enkele ogenblikken
vergaat de wereld in een stroom van water,
en in het licht van dat naderende einde
grijpt dat vreselijke gevoel van nutteloosheid en onafwendbaarheid dat slechts uit te
drukken is met de zin ‘ik weet het
allemaal ook niet meer’, woest om zich
heen, dwingt het ons tot overgave aan de
onmacht, overmant het ons, neemt het onze
gedachten binnen een nanoseconde over en
schreeuwt het, jankt het, via onze keel, via
onze stem, over al die frustratie, irritatie, en
verdriet.
En na dat moment van overgave lijken de
dingen, zoals altijd, op te klaren.
25
Step back, my wonders!
Stefanija Najdovska (DesignLab)
It was until the mid nineties when
I still believed things that were simply
beautiful didn’t need reasons. You might
say every child believes that. When I look
back on those days, all seem sunny and
bright. And here I am now, in this grayness. Why? Is the world grayer now then
what it used to be? Or is it in my mind?
Maybe it just comes on it’s own, with
growing up. As children, we tend to take
things for granted, not asking questions
like: “what if ? What for?” but enjoy them,
simply because it feels nice.
I still remember how it felt. I can still see
all the colors.
But not always...
Why is it that we forget these things? Or
do we glorify them so much, that soon
enough they become superficial?
How do we keep track of what is worth
reasoning, and what is made to be what it
is?
I am very much influenced by colors and
light. I can stare at “pretty things”, no
matter how small or ridiculous they are,
just because they have an unbelievably
deep color, or they reflect the light in an
interesting way. In some ways, I can say I
kept my fascination for the appearance of
things. Yet, most of the time I tend to be
very much logical and investigative. I think
it’s funny, it’s ironic, and it’s just too big
contrast.
Back then we used to play outside school
on every break. The playground was our
world. Many things were happening there.
26
Surprises
coming from
any direction
I was just 9 and I thought my world started there, went up in the sky, spreading in
the air. I was very happy. I especially remember that sky. It was blue. Sometimes
there would be a plane flying above... and
then my sky was everyone’s sky: we all
knew what was about to happen:
“CICKO PUSTI LETKI!!!”*
In my memories, thousands of papers,
reflecting the sun, were falling down on
us. I remember it didn’t really matter
what was on the paper. The very purpose
of a flyer is it’s content... but we didn’t
care. It was just there in the air. Flying.
Falling down. Trying to catch as many
as we could, it didn’t matter it was just
paper, but for us it was beautiful. That
was MY magical sky. Wonders in that
sky, surprises coming from any direction,
falling down on me. Just for me, creating
new worlds - new spaces.
One can only imagine the view nowadays. I am aware that it is very hard to
imagine and believe in my childhood
wonders in this rainy sky. I don’t ask you
to. I just try to remember, to remind my
self...
RAIN is just water.
FLYER is just paper.
Back then it didn’t matter, should it now?
*Literally it means: “Uncle throw the flyers!!!”
It’s a Macedonian saying/ ritual when one sees a
plane flying over that is about to throw flyers (for
commercial or political propaganda).
27
Regen, saai?
Johanneke Lamoraal Wichers (TXT)
Zoals in Mongolië iedereen in een
winterslaap raakt als de vorst zijn intrede
doet, zo staat in India het leven stil als er regen valt. Iedereen verstilt, wacht. En daarna
komt alles weer druppend tot leven. Een
zegening zo’n regenbui.
Om de regen aan te roepen laten ze in India
zelfs kikkers met elkaar trouwen! Zo berichtte een ANP-bericht afgelopen september.
Dit alles om de regengoden gunstig te stemmen. Kan je je voorstellen? Daar denken wij
hier in dit koude kikkerland toch nooit over
na. Een tekort aan water is voor ons niet
voor te stellen. Natuurlijk weten we hier in
Nederland wel wat het is om er te veel van
te hebben, maar als je onze overvloed aan
water afzet tegen de droogte, de allesomvattende verwoesting van droogte, dan verbleekt
dit als sneeuw voor de zon. Men voorspelt
zelfs voor 2020 al een massale volksverhuizing in India wegens een te extreme droogte.
Ongeveer 1.2 miljard mensen komen dan in
beweging. Waarheen?
Wij, hier in de Nederlandse steden, weten
niet echt wat regen is. Wanneer maken wij
nou een echte stortbui mee of ongekende
droogte? Alleen onze boeren. Op het platteland zijn zij gewoon aan het werk. Ze schuilen niet, maar maken gebruik van de drassige grond. De vruchtbare aarde. Hoe hard
het ook regent of stormt. Op het Nederlandse platteland waait het. Nee, het stormt.
Het is koud. De regen voelt anders dan in
de stad, dan in Amsterdam. Het striemt in je
gezicht. Geen stedelijke omgeving om je te
beschermen voor extreem noodweer.
28
Je voeten zakken diep weg in de modder.
Over het groene, maar ook modderige veld
lopen ruige sporen van een grote tractoren.
Hier en daar wordt het beeld verstoord
door een oranje veldwerker, machines die
altijd stil lijken te staan of heel soms sloom
in beweging komen. Hazen rennen in volle
vaart voorbij op zoek naar een warme
schuilplaats. Dat is wat wij stadsmensen ook
het liefst zouden doen.
En nu ik daar over nadenk, voelt de regen
ineens heel anders. Als ik thuis ben kan ik
intens genieten van het binnen zijn voor
de storm. Het geluid van de regen op mijn
zolderraam. Een intens knus gevoel. Een
kachel die mijn koude handen opwarmt.
Hier in Nederland krijgt iedereen in de stad
plotseling haast als de eerste regendruppel
valt. Snel gaat iedereen op zoek naar een
droog plekje, een huis, een binnen. En dat
terwijl in andere landen mensen heel anders
reageren op regen. Een gelukzalige glimlach, hoop op leven, een alles overheersende
rust. Een verlangen naar meer. Of juist naar
minder. Wanneer leren we nou eigenlijk de
regen te zien als een wonder? Ik weet dat ik
het als kind juist wel ontzettend uitgelaten
werd als het begon te regenen. Mijn vrolijk
gekleurde regenlaarzen werden uit de kast
getrokken en ik begon lekker in plassen te
stampen. Vergeet je dit als je oud wordt? Dit
gevoel.
NEW DELHI - Twee kikkers zijn donderdag met
elkaar getrouwd in de heilige hindoestad Benarés, in
de noordelijke deelstaat Uttar Pradesh. Honderden Indiërs waren getuige van de plechtige ceremonie die de
regengoden gunstig moet stemmen, meldde het Indiase
persbureau PTI.
29
The Deserted Zoo
Chi Chi Lam (Mode)
The space group of the ‘Wintertuin’ project had a workshop on a farm in
Wassenaar. The assignment was to research
the influences of rain in a rural area.
During our walk to the farm we were told
about a deserted zoo that has been empty
for 20 years because of financial reasons.
I’m not sure if it’s really this research that
brought us there, or just the thrill of going to some place that’s deserted. Either
way Laurie, Charlotte, Levien and I went
in search for a part of the roof that was
barbwire free and out of view from the
neighboring houses.
Laurie was the first on the roof. And a moment later I could feel the pulling of my
arms and the pushing of my feet. Then
I was on the roof and began helping the
other two. Now all we had to do was find
a place to jump off, which was easier, said
than done – barbwire, glass shreds, ruins,
and fear of heights.
When finally we were inside… it was like
stepping into a scene of the ‘Blair Witch
Project’.
For a few moments the only sounds that
could be heard was our own breathing and
the crunching of the leaves and twigs underneath our feet. When I looked around
it was a total different world that we had
entered and the feeling of not belonging
becomes overwhelming. It’s strange to
think that this used to be a place filled with
animals and welcoming to its visitors. Now
with the animals gone, ruins of what might
have been storages, empty cages - with no
signs of living it feels hostile.
30
To think
that we spent
so much
effort just to
feel…
uncomfortable?
To think that we spent so much effort
just to feel… uncomfortable?
The hours seem to have blended into
each other. And so did all the different
paths and buildings. There were traces
of people who have been working in
the zoo clearing out ruins, wild growing
tree and plants. The presence of these
people made me feel even more awkward.
When we were all spent, hungry, cold
and more wet than comfortable we
called it quits. Before we could discuss
the best place to make an exit, Charlotte
lounged into a story of how she has
seen two monkeys living in one of the
buildings. We didn’t know whether to
laugh that she thought we would believe
her or to follow and see if it’s true. But
with three votes against, we made our
way back to the farm.
Later when we were back at the house,
the owner of farm told us that there
were indeed still monkeys in the zoo
that were kept there too breed. The
three of us were gaping. Charlotte could
be heard laughing in the back. After a
moment the farmer asked:
“How did you get in there then?”
“By climbing over the roof.”
“Climbing over the roof ? All you had to
do was to ask and they would have let
you in.”
Ouch!
31
“Plaats voor ons een bom onder
het stadsdeelkantoor”
Anne de Leeuw (TXT)
Bij gebrek aan een leuke lunchvoorziening, probeer ik nu maar met een
koffie verkeerd, zonder melk, bij te komen
in de HEMA.
Heb de hele dag door Osdorp gewandeld.
Vandaag is de eerste dag dat we als pilotgroep voor ‘jonge designers in industrie’
onderzoek doen. Aan ons de taak te kijken
naar wat er van de peilers waarop Osdorp
destijds is gebouwd – te weten lucht, licht
en ruimte – na dertig jaar nog over is. En
te kijken naar wat er zou kunnen verbeteren aan het openbare groen.
Ik kom net terug van mijn eerste veldonderzoek. En om eerlijk te zijn weet
ik het even niet. Wat kan ik als buitenstaander, die niets van de wijk weet, na
één dag rondlopen nu voor zinnig oordeel
vellen? Ik behoor niet eens tot de doelgroep van deze wijk. Ik ben geen autochtone 65-plusser en behoor niet tot een jong
allochtoon gezin. Wie ben ik om te bepalen
wat goed is voor de bewoners van deze
wijk, te zeggen hoe ze hun groen zouden
moeten gebruiken, te zien wat aan hun
eisen voldoet?
Ik zit wat te peinzen boven mijn koffie en
kijk wat om me heen. Ineens valt het me
op dat in dit te drukke HEMA-café alle
‘doelgroepen’ van de wijk Osdorp vertegenwoordigd zijn. Er zijn zowel oudere
Amsterdamse dametjes als Turkse jonge
moeders die de laatste roddels uitwisselen.
Er zitten Marokkaanse mannen te praten.
En een paar tafeltjes verderop zie ik jonge
32
“Waarom
vraag je
dat, als je
toch niets
met onze
mening
doet?”
meiden van verscheidene afkomst hun nieuwste aankopen vergelijken.
Ik trek mijn stoute schoenen aan en stap op
het tafeltje met de oudere dames af. Nog
voordat ik mijn vraag ‘hoe ervaren jullie
het openbare groen in deze wijk’ goed en
wel gesteld heb, krijg ik een boze stortvloed
over me heen. “Waarom vraag je dat, als
je vervolgens toch niets met onze mening
doet?” Ik ben lichtelijk verbaasd. Vanwaar
deze boosheid?
Twee uur en drie koffies later heb ik vijf
levensverhalen aangehoord. De dames
vertelden me hoe ze vijfendertig jaar
geleden in Osdorp zijn komen. Hoe zij met
hun gezinnen intrek namen in de vijf appartementen aan dezelfde galerij. Hoe hun kinderen gezamenlijk speelden in het toen nog
mooie park, waar ze uitzicht op hadden. En
hoe zij nu, vijfendertig jaar later, allen in een
andere hoek van Osdorp wonen en de laatste vier jaar gemiddeld al vijf keer hebben
moeten verhuizen, omdat de toegewezen
flats toch weer op de slooplijst bleken te
staan. Maar voornamelijk vertelden ze
over de strijd die ze hebben geleverd en die
tot niets heeft geleid. De eerste keer dat er
gerucht kwam dat hun o zo geliefde flat
tegen de vlakte zou gaan, hebben ze allen, geen enkele flatbewoner uitgezonderd,
handtekeningen verzameld. Ze zijn naar de
inspraakavonden gegaan. Ze hebben aan
iedere vraag om het geven van een mening
gehoor geven. Maar elke actie van hun kant
33
werd door het stadsdeelbestuur beantwoord
met: “Dankjewel voor de moeite, maar het
plan is er al door.”
Na twee uur met deze dames, heb ik nog
steeds geen antwoord op: “Wat te doen met
het openbare groen?” Maar nu ik weet van
alle teleurstellingen en frustraties, ben ik wel
veel wijzer. Als we hier ook maar iets willen
verbeteren, zullen we moeten beginnen met
het doorbreken van de schijndemocratie.
Zullen we moeten leren luisteren naar de
wensen van de bewoners. “Plaats voor ons
een bom onder het stadsdeelkantoor”, is wat
de dames me vroegen. En toen was ik wel
weer toe aan een koffie.
34
35
36
Refresh button
An interview with Sophie Krier, head
of DesignLab and ‘founder’ of The
Wintergarden-project.
When did you start The Wintergarden project?
“The first Wintergarden took
place (in the winter of) 2006”
What were the motives behind the
whole idea of The Wintergarden
period?
“After a few years teaching at
the Rietveld I starting noticing that January was often
a low energy period, with
‘more of the same’, hence
not very productive or inspiring. Of course the weather
doesn’t help in January and
February. I felt these two
months needed a different
approach to the rest of the
year. A more open, reflective
and experimental approach.
I don’t remember where the
name Wintergarden came
from. Maybe Hortus Botanicus inspired me!”
38
Can you give a brief statement of
the main points for The Wintergarden, and explain why they are
important? In other words: What
does it mean or transmit to the
students?
“The Wintergarden is a
place to try out innovative
educational processes - cross
disciplinary, context-driven,
skill-oriented, collaborative,
even meditative... The Wintergarden should work like
a refresh button: injecting
you with new references,
energies, ideas and tools.”
During The Wintergarden last
year, the students of DesignLab
were asked to keep a journal,
covering their thoughts, experiences, findings within that project
and period. What was the reason
behind it?
“The journal has two
purposes: it allows on the
one hand the student to
keep track of and to reflect
on his findings, which has
proved – when thoroughly
done – to be intense and an
educating experience. On
the other hand The Wintergarden Journal provides
an overview of the different
facets and perceptions of
the Wintergarden for tutors and for outsiders. The
collection of journals is as
important as the individual
journals.”
This year also students form
TXT Department and Fashion
are participating. Why did you
choose to do it different this year?
And what do you expect from it?
“Since one of The Winter-
So what do you think we can
learn from each other?
“These kind of small scale,
individual cross overs are
very important for everyone’s
development in the academy. Meeting each other
means being confronted with
your own assumptions and
ways of doing, and possibly
evaluate and improve them.
This is true for tutors and
students alike. Meeting each
other also means you know
where the ‘other’ works, what
keeps him/her going, and
how you could enrich each
other in the future. Extending your horizon, and hence
your skills and knowledge,
starts with perceiving other
horizons. In simple words:
knowing where the fashion
department is located might
seem trivial but it’s an essential first step to actually
initiating other collaborations
in the future.”
By Rana Ghavami (DesignLab)
39
garden’s aims is to ‘open
up’ (something Eleni of
DesignLab voiced last
fall too), the step to share
DesignLab’s Wintergarden
with other departments, in
this case TXT (textile) and
Fashion, was very logical.
Ideally, The Wintergarden
would spread through the
whole of the Academy
and generate a thrilling six
weeks of exchange, discovery and experiment.
I expected this year’s Wintergarden to be a positive
challenge both for the coordinators, the tutors and
the students involved from
the three departments. So
far the sharing has yielded
surprise after surprise,
mostly positive (other ways
of doing things, new worlds
and approaches, a certain
freshness and joyfulness in
apprehending the ‘other’
students...) and sometimes
negative (miscommunication, different ambitions
and ways of working,
schedule stuff).”
Live production
40
Making.Rain
GRA 2008