Dutch landscape: limitless, bound
Limitless, bound only by the turbulence of the northern sky (so romantic), I dwell among giants, and the controlled nature of the lowlands, in permanent discovery.
My mind is rendered useless – not finding anything familiar unto which to hold on to; in terms of color or texture.
Then I become all soul.
“As the body is ravaged”- can I quote? - “the spirit grows stronger.” - Morrison.
I can’t find more precise a picture of the ineffable, of the infinite paleness of this horizon.
This is the landscape of the low lands, for me: A clean sheet of paper; where destiny brought me.
Pale blue eyes, by the Velvet Underground, in the look of huge women; a place where the drama of the Andes is replaced by the violence of the North Sea; where the peace of valleys impregnated by meandering rivers becomes geometry.
Parallels and perpendiculars, in the end, operate at the heart of this reality. And still, all the landscape of the Netherlands is contained in this dirty pub where I savor a sip of the old, old Genever, leading me into a drunkenness which could only be described as American.