at first, a portfolio
DESCRIPTION
artwork and poetry of the first 10 years (roughly '88- '98) of dutch artist, poet, musician and writer René Maagdenberg. grofweg de eerste 10 jaar schilderijen en gedichten ('88 - '98) van kunstenaar, dichter, muzikant en schrijver René MaagdenbergTRANSCRIPT
at first
René Maagdenberg
zo ongeveer de eerste 10 jaar schilderen & dichten
in 1 handige verpdf-ting
about the first decade of painting and poetry in just one useful pdf
”splinters of an athmosphere”
while forgotten music holds the grass,just above its’ roots
& stops it from moving with the winds,sure of itself
as only a child or a cat can be,I start to like the darkness,
‘cause her thoughts are of her ownyes, she is female
& I draw the lines between images& feel the splinters of an athmosphere
1989oil on linen (40 x 50)
“curl up and hide”
senseless in a way of speakingI close my eyes & feel
the inside of my eggshellperfect round, a million familiar spots
no reason to get out herebut curiosity & a strong urge to
-finally- stretch my legs
senseless in a way of speakingI open my eyes & feel
the sharves of my eggshelldivided, broken, a million now strange spots
no possibility to get back in therejust a little fear & the strong urge to
-again- curl up & hide
let’s all grow up to be wise children
1988oil on plywood
(45 x 65)
“will I sleep on a mirror tonightand break it with my dreams?”
1988oil on linen(65 x 80)
”her silence”
the water did her flowingturning, twirling to the left
she watchedher feet embraced
the surface of a flat stoneher fingers watched her
from strange positions in the waterstopped watching
when she felt her thoughts dragged outthe stream was grinning
ruthless sun burninginvisible voices stopped for a moment
& her silence held it all between two fingers
1988oil on canvas
(40 x 50)
”I’ve got three voicesto talk to thin airnot one of them
needs to be heard”
1988oil on canvas
(65 x 80)
”the end of winter”
it’s cold and whiteand the horizon dances around
in a wide, wide circleand doesn’t seize to teasefrom the dark, grey sky
come the white, white flakesand my chill reaches the ground,simultaneously and just as silent
if spring’s gonna start hereI swore I’d take it like a man
or like a flowerand drink the melting snow
and what I imagine to bean arm around my shoulder
will begently falling rain
1991oil on canvas
(40x50)
”absurd rain”
whispered sentences through the parkthought them making sense
in absurd rainsmall sounds suggesting silence
the grey grassland is wrinkling its’ skinhumoured by the noisy speed of youth
1990oil on projection-screen
(42 x 74)
”why compliment her with the beauty of her skin”
freedom is in naked shoulderssometimes in just bare feet
what I want to do lies behind tomorrowa night, a barrier to overcome,
smooth and easy and like a dream
nothing interests me morethan the mood that’ll hold my hands& I hope I can put them on my belly
and make them smile to what’s in there
1990various techniques on chipboard
(40 x 50)
”at times I sniff reality”
at times I sniff realityat times, when you’re discribing
this world to me,I long to see it
at times I fantasise a two steps further,turn my back
& whisper words of soothing to the pastdeaf as it looks through me in future
I twirl in presentfind no grip
in has been or will be
1990oil on plywood
(80 x 120)
”so be it, coffee spilled over broken wishes”
well both in the fleshneeded abstract utilities
invisible in the hugh, high hallwas the man with the lampI walked right through him
as I once did before
so be it, coffee spilled over broken wishesmy island floats,
I feel securebetween this winters’ pearls
I take my humble bow
1990oil on plywood
(75 x 88)
”to all of your commands I obey,who made your worldand created your life
to all of my commands you obey,who wander through my world
and live all of my lives”
1990various techniques on chipwood
(80 x125)
”I touch, I stroke, I feel”
the deafening silence thunders,has her wings spread over my wings and
singsshe sings between my fingers,
her thoughts hang on my shoulders for nowI touch her brieflystroke her kindly
I feel her warmth from within
the darkness on a horse is in hereit shouts no words
it screams no soundsinvisible for the eye in daylight
not to be mentioned in a motionless nightI touch her brieflystroke her kindly
I feel her warmth from within
1991oil on plywood
(67 x 67
”the thought”
one day one of the dices will explodeon a round table, making music disappear
I captured a thought in a bell below the ceilingcould do nothing more than open a window
& hope it was all & would be foreverI know the feeling was mutual
the thought loved to leave me behindand independently fill another sky
1991oil on something
(20 x 35)
”I’m sorry we lost touch”
my difficult worldhow do you do?
I’m sorry we lost touchyou know how it is in these hasty days
remembrance takes half the speed out of livingthere’s always something
behind my thoughtsasking to be forgiven
or –at least- be reconsidered
1992oil on plywood
(61 x 152)
”let’s see…”
I push a cloud into freedomthrough the hole in my head
in a soft whispering voicedreaming words I fed with liquid emotions
this time I quit in timeonly half an houre too late
let’s meet in heaven afterwards& see who lived in happiness
to the fullest, to the brim& see who lived the lowest
the coldest & most dark& see which one of us has learned the most
& let us shake hands afterwardswhen we see that nothing mattersequally to anything, anything at all
1992oil on canvas
(40 x 60)
”nicht zum sterben zeit gehabt”
If the bottle had a triggermy third eye would soon be real
tumbling downI’d meet the colourfull waves
I wouldn’t even have time to flashbackIs death time, holding pace?
or is deathwhen time stops
without letting me know?
1992various techniques on chipboard
(56 x 119.5)
”one day meditation”
the whole operation took only five minutesone did the shoutingone did the running
and I did the jumping and waved my armshighly astonished the sun coloured the beach
when she tried to climb the horizon
wish I could meditatefor only one day
would live my lifein twenty-four houres
1992oil on something
(17 x 35)
”noone alive is innocent”
there was a child at the doorand it knew how to knock with a questionmark
noone alive is innocent“am I guilty for laughing?”the child asked the priest
and he thought a ball of firewould come from his mouth
then I saw my finger pointed in the airmy hand closed, needles formed a crown of thorns
through & through & yet, no bloodsometimes I’m alive & I see
the world only moves out of habit& I try to slow down its’ speed
sometimes I wonderhow women put miracles together
I watch & I wonderI enjoy & I fear
1993oil on panel
(24 x 44, 24 x 44)
”nothing stops right at the skin”
my thoughts were on my her shouldertalking nonsense with conviction
with half an eye on the days behind us& the ones
that were hanging from my belt-that evening-
were far beyond preoccupationtheir reactions pure, rough, still uncut
from the outside I feel my insidenothing stops right at the skin
1993oil on plywood
(70 x 117)
”miracles & visions do uccur”
miracles and visions do occuras the morning suns’ beams
draw architectural structures
1993various techniques on chipboard
(56.5 x 57)
”hiding in the corner of an eye”
I found magic in a forrest-silent fingers-
found mysteries in the sea-liquid skin-
unable to comprehend a yeardidn’t understand a decade
always felt the strange connectionwarmth between mathematic coldness
aging we singwires in wind
forgotten connectionsforgotten what parted
I’m surprised at what I take for granted;hear sounds fall from great height
hit the ground & spread in different anglesI’m very, very small now
curled up, hiding in the corner of an eye
1994oil on chipboard
(37 x 46)
”aquamarin they called this day”
& suddenly I rememberwe never went to a pool together
I was holding my breathin a room in the cellar
aquamarin they called this day
1994oil on chipboard
(67 x 78)
”an implosion”
did we speak in slowmotion,when houres flew by?
somehow, by trading our illusions,we got lost in them
the evening before me grew cold,the hundreds around me froze to slow-motion
this morning I watched coffeeno old habit ever died,
as if anything between the eyesdiffers in any way from the stars in motion
it’s all there; the speed of light& the absolute temperature
of zero degreesratio tumbles in holes of fantasy
& it is not nightjust because the day is not present
1994oil on projectionshield
(188 x 146)
”there is no other victimthan of circumstances”
we never tread on solid groundfew words control us, living
circle in grasstakes different positionssmall veins run memorydown episodes and erasthat’s where I found it,
three days & a yearmade skin wrinkle & breath go faster
1994oil on chipboard
(35 x 45, 35 x 45)
”the eagle has stranded”
1994oil on canvas
(180 x 90)
”I wanted to go search nothing”
no solution we askedno solution we got
on this mountain which was a hillon this hill which was aflat road to anywhere
I wanted to go search nothing
1995oil on plywood
(102x143)
”breaking the cristal dew”
I put the morning in a nutshelltook it home, enjoyed to watch
I wanted it to stay foreverI desired to live in it
we, friends, came to a solutionwe left it in the grass
It hid for the nightthen played with the afternoon
got impressed by a solemn eveningEvery day now
I get chills up and down my spinebreaking the cristal dew
1996oil on panel(30 x 95)
”my garden is colourfull, my truth is today”
am I me surprising meunbound still unbrokenone moment I’m here
the next I’m over thereboth places, both times
I am another manI love to like to try to hatebut never finish feelings
every abillity’s there to grabI just carefull taste & grow experiences
my garden is colourfullmy truth is today
1996oil on carton
(12 x 15)
”wish I could”
I wish I had life in my hand& could twist it,
turn it, squeeze it,push it, pull it,
roll it between my fingers& mold it, mold it
I wish I had life in my hand & could colour it, enlighten it,
feel it, fit in it,just hold it between my fingers
& mold it, mold it& there would be all kinds of ways to end it
after a lifetime of stretch & bend it
1996oil on linen(50 x 70)
”anyway it comes”
take the fire through my mouthbreathe it out noseways
this is lifetake it anyway it comes
the tide of water flows through megrows moss on my northside
this is lifetake it anyway it comes
1997 (87x52)
oil on panel
”rendez-vous”
fallen backwarts I liebetween the leaves of a large, large treewe outsmart eachother; the tree and me
while he took the liberty to do some thinkingI took the oppurtunity to just ignore
now we always meet at the same placewhere he whispers majesticly loud
into the ears of one who listensthere’s something peacefull
going up his branches,something vital going down his roots
I’d like to say something to add to the feelingonly nothing excists that would do just that
1998 (87x52)
oil on panel
”stories of the spring”
when my tongue has timeto talk to me
stories of the spring burst outthe agony for it hasn’t been yet
the joy for it once will comewatching truth leave moments
It so strangely surprises meeverything comes so early
the sun always sets in the middle
1996oil on panel
”the morning of creation”
we painted ourselveson the morning of creationin the colours we liked best
with naked eyesa childrens’ sight
& then we admired the clouds in the sky
1994oil on plywood
(69 x 29)
”wooden waves”
couldn’t find fingers enoughto plug my ears
had a square pattern of moving-puppet on a curtain-rail-
held on to solid waterup to my knees in three days’ ashes
could only glance in eyes approachingheld a firm grip on the wooden waves
1994oil on chipboard
(37 x 46, 37 x 46)
”the here & now”
& I can almost seeinfinity & eternity in darkness
won't wait for a crack between years no morewill only be waiting for now
searched from the inside out into the opengazing for the proper place
found it just lookingfrom the outside within
1995oil on plywood
(40 x 50)
”today”
1997oil on panel(100x120)
“pauze”
na wortelen ontwortelende blote voeten uit de gronddauwtrappend de heuvel op
de roze dageraad & neveldruppel voor druppel tot me nemen
liggend voelen dat de wereld leeftde zon as wordt
een argeloze pauzein het midden van het zijn
1997
pastelkrijt & olieverf op karton(20 x 25)
”les beaux temps,ils sont arrivée”
& the clouds seemed to havea concrete structureif I raised my hand
I was sure to touch themcould not bring myselfto breaking the spell
I walked under a clear blue skybetween moist amorf monuments
1997oil on panel
(45,5 x 65,5)
”never ever pour me rain”
euforia,I balanced it on a spoon in my mouth
& had to choose one out of care & speedtrying to fight the stormwith bare hands & teeth
black flag moving oppositeto the raging shades of grey above
I, myself can’t hear my laughter
never ever pour me rain
1997oil on board
(79 x 97)
”fresh smell of forbidden fruit”
and more, much more’s to comeas I slice a melon
from the inside outas to escape I penetrate the walls
I thread on the seeds& cut my way to the fresh smell
of forbidden fruit
1996oil on blackboard
(90 x 170)
gaat worden vervolgd in een groeiend aantal series van varia-
bele datering. en dan heeft u de cartoons, de illustraties, de
muurschilderingen en het toegepaste grafische werk nog niet
eens gezien, de muiek gehoord of de verhalen en overige poëzie
gelezen. ..
over wie gaat het eigenlijk?
ooit begonnen als toon-, woord- en beeldkunstenaar ging rené
maagdenberg niets uit de weg als er maar creativiteit bij aan te
pas kwam. tijdgebrek en de beschikking over slechts één lichaam
noopten hem tot beperkingen. maar als immer is hij bezig met
woord en beeld, en, als mensen het heel vriendelijk vragen, zo af
en toe een cursus of workshop.
is to be continued in a growing number of series of variable work.
and you haven’t even seen the cartoons, the illustrations,
the murals, the grafic work. Or read the stories and
poems, quite difficult because mostly in dutch, or heard his music...
who are we talking about?
in a far and distant past artist rené maagdenberg started to use
sound, words and all the material he could manage, to shape his
creativity. lack of time and the availabillity of just one body lim-
ited him. a bit. none the less he’s putting together all his ideas and
anything in his direct surroundings to new work. and, if people ask
him very polite, he incidentely tends to do a project or workshop.