In my messy office I found this old school "phenomenology assignment". In this cloudy day reading it was interesting although it's dated almost 10 years ago!
"It's early morning in Amsterdam as I wake up in the tiny room of the hotel Acacia. It is raining outside. The rain is falling down creating a wonderful natural music. I open the blinds. It's very cloudy. Colors have no meaning in this moment. No colors, just the sound of the rain. Today's program is a trip to the Van Gogh Museum.
The museum is located in a Mies Van Der Rohe building. Two experiences in one! As usual I stop at the entrance reading the endlesss resume of the life of the artist, then I start my walk thorugh the spaces. There is such a contrast within the building. Big white spaces and no ornamentation beside the big collection of paintings and the few windows. Two, three, four colored powerful paintings and then one window. A window, a frame for the outside world that today has no colors. I think I was spending more time staring outside the window then at the paintings. I can't hear the sound of the rain like it happened this morning at the hotel. In front of me the grey world. Behind me space and colors. A house, sunflwers, a room, faces, landscapes. Suddently I found myself in a new room. I stop and look outside the new window. Something strange had just happened. Wasn't it grey and raining outside? For some reason the sun is shining. I can feel the wind touching my skin softly. I keep looking until I notice a man working with passion and intensity in a wheatfield. Behind him the space is enclosed by mountains. No sound of rain. The man, although working hard, isn't making any sound. He is dominated by the sound of nature. I realize I feel great. All this is very intriguing and I begin walking towards the man. Should I talk to him or should I just start running in this great landscape with no apparent boundaries?
"Lily! Are you coming upstairs?".
I do not know what happened, the only certain thing is that I "was back" in the museum space. I start walking towards my group when I look back at wheatfield image. It was there but it was static now. The feeling of the wind was now gone, the man wasn't moving anymore. My friends words transformed my reality back to a painting. What happened I really do not know. It was probably what I wanted to see that particular moment. Movement and colors. Not only a fixed image on the wall. The image people usually call "a painting".
Or maybe this was the real window I opened early in the morning at the hotal Acacia".
Interesting writing! Among the so many bullshit I wrote back in that time!!!!
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