Apparently some people go to Amsterdam solely for the red light district and the coffee-less coffee shops. Neither of those particularly interest me, so I chose instead to completely lose it in the button shop. It turns out I have expensive taste in buttons: Thea the very sweet owner told me several of my choices are vintage and haven't been made in decades. I now have enough buttons to last me for several years, way past the end of my current Ravelry queue.
I also lost it to varying degrees, involving actual tears in one case, in the Anne Frank Museum, the Van Gogh museum and the Rijksmuseum. On the one hand this is slightly embarrassing; on the other hand, it is pleasing confirmation that I have not grown as coarse and cynical as I had feared. But then, who could possibly be cynical in the face of this?
6 comments:
It has been years since I last visited Amsterdam, but I can relate to the emotional response to being at those Museums, especially Van Gogh. You can almost feel pain of the artist when you look at some of his work; so beautiful the creation, so torturous the process.
Are you going to take some pictures of these wonderful buttons you found?
I've given you a "you make my day" blog award over at my blog. I'm not sure if you do this kind of bloggy thing, but do pop over there to collect it and see the rules if you do.
I too would have had a catastrophic self-control in the button shop. :)
And that painting is absolutely lovely. I'm a very non-arty kind of person, but in the few museums I have visited, I'm always surprised by how emotive actual original paintings can be.
I love Van Gogh, he is the fullest of win painter evar.
My love got me a Starry Night painted by a friend (it's in my dining room, I don't know if you noticed it) and most recently Irises, painted by same friend.
I would go to Amsterdam for got Van Gogh action. And tulips.
The irises were in America, but I did get to see the sunflowers -- and the almond blossoms, which instantly became my favourite. He painted them as a present for his baby nephew when he was otherwise very miserable, which makes them all the more marvellous. I even bought the T-shirt :-)
I've been wondering why paintings are so much more emotive in the flesh -- the best I can come up with is that they're such a peculiarly intimate art form. When I look at an oil painting in particular, I'm forced to confront the fact that this is the work of a real person - a real hand, holding a real brush that made the marks I see in front of me. And when the artist is long dead, but there his brush strokes are as fresh as the day he made them... it can be overwhelming. It's like reading someone else's letters.
I had the same response to some of the Rembrandt paintings in the Rijksmuseum; not the Night Watch so much, but the smaller works like the portrait of Haesje van Cleyburgh. It's not just that his command of light was so astounding, but also that he's made such a real person....
That is my absolute favorite Van Gogh. It's just beautiful!
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