in between watching films at the architecture film festival in rotterdam, I wander by dramatic structures old and new, floating heavenwards with monstrous glowing fruits let loose in the luminescent sphere of the markthal...
waiting for my ship to sail from the dock of the holland america line building, now transformed into the hotel new york, I dine in a lost era on a moonlit evening overlooking the wilhelminapier...
de rotterdam soars skywards in vertiginous splendour while I am lifted to the seventh heaven floor where the glamour set rises to the occasion and sometimes confuses the sunrise for the sunset...
drawn into the courtyard of the museum boijmans van beuningen by the black and white stripes swirling towards a mirror-framed folly, the alice in me slips through the slats and disappears into another dimension of dutch eminences...
enormous grey and yellow cubes of the kubuswoningen tumble precariously towards the square but manage to balance each other into place before being just great big boxes cluttering up the shaken ground...
it is enough to just skirt around this divine modernist villa, now the chabot museum, and to trace the pure geometry, the orderly arrangement and the pristine whiteness, still de stijl even in today's stylistic jumble...
finally, my ship has docked, but the rotterdam no longer sails out of rotterdam and the captain has left the bridge; the river breeze cools the decks and those passengers who embark can pass the night on a calm phantom sea...
...and in the morning the tri-colour flags of the netherlands will again flutter briskly against a clear northern sky...
No comments:
Post a Comment