Member-only story
On my balcony in the afternoon sun. Traffic races under me. People rush by. The days slip by me namelessly. The city breathes turmoil and energy.
My sketchbook just packed up. Tomorrow, I travel back to the cold Netherlands. Then I leave Madeira to the sun and the warm gulf stream. Top of a mountain, rising from the depths of the ocean.
The world is restless and no one can stop that restlessness. My sense of justice and peacefulness is constantly being hurt. While so many good things also happen and so much love is given. I am in danger of becoming bogged down in chronic cynicism. My view of the world is distorted by cynicism.
The artist in me threatens to turn into a fighting machine. I want to rebuild my kick-boxing fitness, yet I don’t feel like it anymore. Maybe my age? I want to sit peacefully behind my easel again and delve back into my own imagination. Want to hold my art world and turn away from the hatred and violence.
The sadness creeps up in me again. Feel my old restlessness grabbing at my throat again. Back home in my little apartment, I feel peaceful again. Peace takes possession of me. Look with love around my studio, in which I have created many, many works and made many buyers happy.
Also, Amsterdam, breathes the same atmosphere, but much more dangerous than Funchal, Madeira. My exhibitions are running well.
