I am a privileged person, yes I realize this now more then ever.
I am happy most of the times, sometimes not.
I live in a place I have chosen to live, surrounded by people I love and they love me back.
I am able to pay for my every day needs and passions.
I can speak out loud, give my opinion about daily issues or politics in freedom.
I can write whatever I want without being punished.
I am a woman but to me this has always been an advantage. Luckily I was born in a free country where women and men are treated equally.
Unfortunately I am one of the few lucky ones.
Many peoply are not so fortunate...
because of hunger, discrimination, poverty, religion or war.
Yes, I am privileged, my small world is beautiful but the big world is not.
But now everything is changing...
some people think they have the right to decide what I have to think or feel. If I am saying things they do not approve of they feel they have a duty to kill me just to keep my mouth shut.
What is happening?
But I do not want to be silent, I want to scream NO, STOP, We do not tolerate your extremism and violence. We ignore you and keep on talking, shouting and screaming as much as we like, in Freedom.
Monique Lucy Weberink
Mikhail Vrubel. Six winged Seraph (after Pushkin's poem Prophet), 1905
A Feeling That Can Not Be Described, Only Felt ~ Poem By Monique Lucy Weberink
Seldom I live in this imaginary world
Surrounded by ghostly energy, I can feel it
Nothing else is present in my dream today
All that is there is this huge dark space
I feel haunted now all the time
What scares me most is being alone here
All alone. Without any good soul to accompany me
Just the screams of demons and evil spirits
Joyous feeling, why did you leave me?
You deserted me and left me here all alone
Wandering around in a delirium that is not mine
It takes over my unconsciousness
Going around in circles until I lose direction
Now I can surrender, let myself fall into the deep
Nothing more of me is left other then a black hole
My spirit lost and my body absorbed due gravity
Knowing that I am going to die.
Monique Lucy Weberink
Painting is Angel in Chains by Odilon Redon
My Daily Walk Home ~ Poem By Monique Lucy Weberink
My daily walk home...
There is a river on my right
fast flowing deep and dark water
these leaves being dragged along
twirling, what a curious sight
High up a blackness of one cloud
when I am starting to talk to you
and even though you are not here
mist forms a cover like a shroud
A few strange birds glide in the sky
the variation of trees just in front
suddently a squirrel running across
and the grass covered by a grey dye
Now there it is again, this massive weight
pressing hard on both of my shoulders
I need to find a way to break free from this
free myself from carrying this freight
These thoughts of us are crossing my mind
just because and despite of what happened
they intertwine, merging into the distant
for what is next to happen is not aligned
Do you think it just happens like this
do you think it just falls out of the sky
if so I can't be bothered to pick it up
It's definately not something I shall miss
Walking, step by step, slow but steady
always avoiding the mud and the puddles
still going through the drissling rain
I am clearing my mind, am getting ready
To fight this poison without a remedy
like a powerful flame that burns me up
I must wake up out of this bad dream
to finally reenter the realm of reality
You are hardly worth my while
but the curious world around me
pulls me out to another place
its only for a short mile
A sound distracts me
pulls me back here
someone walking past
that is not all I see
This is the brand new me
exactly how it was dreamt
this is the end of the road
There exists no more we
I used to think I was strong
but now I know where I belong
...its just another daily walk home
Monique Lucy Weberink, 2014
James Abbott McNeill Whistler (1834-1903)
Nocturne in blue and green
Camille Claudel, A Female Genius ~ By Monique Lucy Weberink
A Female Genius…
“You're wrong to think it's about you. You're a sculptor, Rodin, not a sculpture. You ought to know. I am that old woman with nothing on her bones. And the aging young girl... that's also me. And the man is me too. Not you. I gave him my toughness. He gave me his emptiness in return. There you are... three times me. The Holy Trinity, trinity of emptiness.”
Among the female artists I admire is Camille Claudel a French sculptor and graphic artist who lived from 1864 till 1943. I truly admire her strong determination for being accepted as an artist, which was definitely not easy in her time at the end of the 19th century. Her life is a story about having to go through a live long struggle in both her private and in her professional life.
Since she was a child Camile was fascinated with earthly materials, in particular stone and soil. With the support of her father she was able to attend the Academie Colarossi where she eventually met Alfred Boucher who was already a established sculptor. He become her mentor for several years and also introduced her to August Rodin that later on took over the role as being her mentor and it became the beginning of their passionate and tumultuous relationship. She started to work in Rodin’s workshop and after some time Claudel became a great source of inspiration for Rodin, she was his model, confidante and lover. After an unhappy relationship that continued for over 15 years, Claudel finally left Rodin. Her private life was left to bits and pieces her professional success then started to take off. But it would be a mistake to assume that Claudel's reputation had been established and then survived the years simply because of her ‘notorious’ association with Rodin. To illustrate her reputation: the novelist and art critic Octave Mirbeau described her as "A revolt against nature: a woman genius". Her early work is similar to Rodin's in spirit, but shows an imagination and lyricism quite her own, particularly in the famous Bronze Waltz (1893).
In the period after 1905 Claudel appeared to be mentally ill. She not only disappeared for long periods of time but also destroyed many of her statues. She exhibited signs of paranoia and eventually was diagnosed as having schizophrenia. Her condition deteriorated up to a point where she started accusing Rodin of stealing ‘her’ ideas and of even leading a conspiracy to kill her.
Apart from her father her family did not support her decision to become a sculptor at all. But her father kept supporting her financially but after he died in 1913 her brother had Camille admitted to a psychiatric institution right away. The word went out she had volunteered to be committed. But it was her brother who had signed the admission forms. The hospital records that have been preserved clearly show that even though she did have many mental outbursts, she was very clear headed while working on her art. It was the will of her brother, and her mother as well, that she was not released from the institution.
It is really sad to see that a brilliant artist like Claudel literally got locked away simply because she did not conform to the norms of society of that time. Where there male artists were admired, the artistic behavior of Claudel was considered as strange and even schizophrenic. It is my opinion that her insanity might have been largely due to the social constraints and pressure forced on her up to a point that even her own family and Rodin who she so dearly loved and abandoned her had viciously betrayed her. She felt rejected and suffered a lonely and sad life. We are fortunate that a large part of her artworks have survived leaving us with her beautiful and inspirational legacy.
Monique Lucy Weberink
It's A Womens World By Monique Lucy Weberink
“How wrong is it for a woman to expect the man to build the world she wants, rather than to create it herself?" ~Anais Nin.
When I was asked to write a column for an American cultural magazine, my first thought was if I would be able to do this, first of all being European and second – strangely enough - being a woman. Would I be able to write something interesting that can capture the mind of the American reader? Then I realized this behavior is perhaps just typical for a woman. Am I able to, can I do this at all, how will other people perceive me? Stop whining! Just go and do it?
Let me properly introduce myself. Having studied Italian literature with a strong focus on Magical Realism I am a digital artist and poet and spent most of my time working on my art and writing my blogs. Born in the Netherlands, but as I have never felt typical Dutch I traveled a lot, lived in several European countries and so ended up today living in Gran Canaria, a paradise island located near Africa but officially part of Spain. I am passionate about art, literature, music and anything that enriches our life, things that make it beautiful and worthwhile.
My first article for this column I actually had planned to write about successful women in visual arts. But after having started I ran into my first big dilemma: “Was I able to think of enough important female artists?” While I had no troubles whatsoever to think of female writers and musicians I was only able to name a few women painters from the top of my head, and that made me think.
If I would have decided to write about male artists I could have named hundreds of them and there would have been enough information to write a library full of books - which other people actually have already done - but why is it that there are so few female artists. Had I just forgotten about them? One artist that most of you probably would have thought of right away is Frida Kahlo. She is an inspirational character, a truly great female Mexican artist. But when you think of it, her art was partly inspired on her suffering that was caused by her husband Diego Rivera. He treated her very bad and had many affairs which she turned into inspiration for her art. Many works are self portraits in which she presents herself to the world how she saw herself, suffering from physical and emotional pain, a tortured soul. The question is would we have remembered her if her husband wasn’t one of the most famous artists of his time?
When I try hard enough other artists come to mind like Dorothea Tanning, Remedios Varo, Berthe Morisot, Mary Cassatt, Sophie Anderson and Tracey Emin.
Why is it that there is such a big difference in the level of success between women and men in visual art. I believe an artist needs some form of inner freedom to be able to create, but isn’t it so that women have a greater need for admiration and approval of others in order to perform? Woman are perhaps more likely to be judged on their behaviour and what they express while men can create whatever inspires them. Perhaps there is a correlation between these two.
It wasn’t up till the late sixties that things began to change largely due to the feminist movement and ‘woman in art movements ‘that Art galleries were almost forced to start taking female art serious, they demanded attention. The motto was “Art creating identities” where Art becomes personal and persons became art.
Happily most things have changed a great deal and I do believe we - meaning the artistic women - have broken free of many chains of society being free to develop, create and express. The question remains is it just our inner self that sets boundaries and creates our own obstacles in the creation of art and promoting ourselves. As a ‘typical’ woman, of course I am not sure either… am I right, am I wrong.
This article has been published earlier in Sweet Henry Magazine, April 2012
Portrait is by Frida Kahlo
A Soul Inside ~ Poem By Monique Lucy Weberink
For sure you must have a soul
Somewhere there buried inside
With strong metal welded shut tide
You play your mister perfect role
But things are not as they always seem
Fragile are the walls that you keep up
And if I could peak through the cracks
Its all just compromises into extreme
Why don't you show your true face now
For once lower the wooden painted mask
I beg you to show me your teardrops
All I get is a lonely sounding sough
I admit when you do I might run scared
Your face forward straight and open wide
With eyes as window holes without the glass
It happened right after you no longer cared
Shadows growing on the walls and floors
The room gets dark and a struggle starts
Its following me and freaking me inside out
Paranoid trying to escape via narrow doors
Personal private sufferings took control
You committed suicide of your inner self
I know noble thoughts are fighting inside
just figure out whats wrong with your soul
I want to run away from you for good
To be the one who ditches you hard
Make you feel the same pain and anger
Being the girl who did what she could
Taken your passion and your freedom restrained
Trying to break your soul free from its cage
Bittersweet deep down up till its solid core
but the key to unlock is all that maintained
I am forced to lie, but do whatever it takes
Shorty said, exactly that and not a bit more
Every wise man should know himself to be a foul
To save you even when it takes till day breaks
Its made from paper so there is nothing to destroy
Only delineate it to get it back to the surface
Writing memories down with different colors of ink
Red curves for our love and black words to deploy
Watching the ink lines getting sucked dry
I just elegantly reclaimed my true soul mate
You are not going to take me down again
If erasing is the only option, I wonder why
Then that is what I will do.
Monique Lucy Weberink
Feeling Of Immortality ~ Poem By Monique Lucy Weberink
FEELING OF IMMORTALITY
Please stop, I need silence inside
Be quiet, there is so much noise
No longer is it possible to live
Words are floating away from me
Dragged along with the ocean tide
My body and soul are kept in piece
While walking along this seashore
Feelings are drawn away from me
Picked up by the unpredictable tide
Gone forever dragged into the deep
New waves keep arriving onshore
The water looks so tender and soft
But at the same time so very cruel
I am much aware of my vulnerability
So small am I in the presence of you
Why did you always need control
You have drowned my personality
And the water continued to call me
Always these same waveless voices
Why didn't you just let me drift away
A meander of tears escaping my eyes
This desperate heart of mine is leaking
Flooding my remorse and bitter feelings
A pool which colors are nothing but dark
Slowly vaporized by the heat of hatred
The sand sticks to my feet as if a warning
But its no use I am encouraged to walk on
This luring abyss is dangerously present
A constant flux of changes but I hesitate
Before me the sun disappears at horizons end
I realize I am just focused on my own pain
Words no longer reach my sinking heart
But the emotional wound is cut too deep
I am desperately seeking my own relief
Do I honestly think this is not the end?
Monique Lucy Weberink
Demon and Angel with Tamara's Soul (1891) by Vrubel
Why I Love Anna Karenina ~ By Monique Lucy Weberink
ANNA KARENINA BY LEO TOLSTOY
Anna Karenina is definitely one of the most impressive books I know.
I have read it several times and every time I seem to be able to discover something new again.
Of course this has everything to do with my life experience. The first time I read it I still was a teenager and was much impressed by the passionate love between Anna and Wronski. Of course I could completely understand why she left her husband to stay with the great love of her life. The romantic parts of the novel impressed me most as a youngster and obviously the more philosophical texts I could not fully grasp and to be honest they I didn't try very hard either. Love is a so much more interesting subject at that age.
A couple of years later I read Anna again because while having an interesting conversation with some friends the books happened to be discussed and there were parts I just did not remember having read anymore. I re-read the book with a much different view. What interested me most now were Tolstoys political ideas that are integrated in the story. At that time I was in my twenties and very idealistic. I supported Tolstoys ideas about proletarism. The love story between Anna and Wronski was less interesting.
Only a short while ago I overheard an interview on the radio with a writer. The funny thing is that I do not remember who the writer was and the only thing I do remember is that he spoke so passionate about Anna Karenina and Tolstoy and in particular about the love of Anna and Wronski. He said this story gave him so much inspiration that he had written a new book himself after having read Tolstoy. When the interview was finished I walked to my bookshelf to look for the book, where was it? I was in desperately need for some inspiration myself and the way this writer was talking about the story startled me again.
This marvelous novel does inspire one and give you a desire to re read all the books by Tolstoy and the other great Russian writers…
This third time I read it I finally could deeply understand the true love story going on between Anna and Wronski and has empathy for Anna's feelings and despair. Every single time it was exciting to read again.
I think this is great and it shows the excellence of his writing, even after so many years the topic is still actual and it almost seems nothing really changes in live. Love is love and desire is desire, no matter in which age we live or under which circumstances…
“In our day marriage is only a violence and falsehood”
Monique Lucy Weberink
Painting by Ivan Kramskoy
Just Me…being Happy
JUST ME...AGAIN..BEING HAPPY
Musical Dream Of Passion ~ Poem By Monique Lucy Weberink
Dancing, dancing the tango
With you my love
As if we are the only ones
Dancing in this world
We both feel this passionate love of ours
Bodies close together
While we are turning and moving around
Listening to these bittersweet words
Of pain and despair
Please let the music continue,
I do not want to stop
And step back into the real world
Let me dance
Just a little bit longer
Cherish this safety
Of your protective arms
Seeing these proud movements
In a sensual way
Submission and coalescence
Are taking control over me
Your masculine posture, my sensual spinning
I let myself go,
Nothing on my mind
Just the deepness of the music
And the necessity of
Being close to you
The music stops
Words are fading away
Shadows are falling on us
It is getting late
This dancing of us
Has come to an end
And so has this glorious feeling
Of surrender and passion
One step back into reality
A reality without you my love
A last look in your eyes
And I can read the message they are telling me
But you can not speak out..
Adios mi amor
KEES VAN DONGEN
Dance with the Archangel