/donny7

#7

ISSUE #7 – 2011 STRICTLY UNEDITED JOURNAL ON THE PERSONAL EXPERIENCE OF NATURE IN THE URbAN ENvIRONmENT

CLUB DONNY

INTO NATURE Maria BarNas He says he doesn’t dare to write.

‘I don’t know. It’s – I sit down and I just freeze.’

A mouthful of grated carrot is left hanging from his lower lip when I say: ‘Writing is like walking.

You’re not afraid of walking, but of arriving somewhere.’

While he seeks a way to remove the carrot eruption from his face as discretely as possible, Arnold is briefly motionless.

The bright orange petrified bush looks like a scream.

Arnold bends over forward as far as possible and crams it in his mouth with an index finger.

The bottom bursts out of a reservoir above the city.

I don’t see raindrops, torrents, or cats and dogs. I see the sky transformed into water.

A grey sea washes over us and beats at the windows. Our voices sound muffled.

I say, ‘only when you’re afraid of looking like a messy eater do you look really grubby’. I try to say it with a friendly laugh. A high-pitched braying noise escapes from my throat. I don’t know whether my words have reassured him.

To avoid mentioning that the dollop of salad dressing on his chin looks like a map of the Netherlands, I say: ‘I’m thinking of buying a Steiner Safari Pro.’

Arnold now concentrates on a lettuce leaf. He cuts it into strips and prods this onto his fork. Did he hear me?

‘The 10x26’.

binocular is no larger than a pack of handkerchiefs.

The 10x26 features foldable eye cups, making it also suitable for use with glasses. When folded out, the eye cups reduce side-light and cold air on the eyes. The Fast-Close-Focus wheel lets you zero in quickly from a distance of 3 metres to infinity. Be persuaded by the extremely clear image obtained through UV coated lenses. The binocular makes the image almost sharper than when viewed with the naked eye.’

I can just see myself trekking into nature, carrying my new binoculars. With the eye cups folded out, I’ll observe the trees. I’ll take a pocket guide to trees with me and look up what types of trees I see. I zero in on a rare bird with my Fast-CloseFocus wheel. Maybe I should bring a bird guide along too.

When it remains silent on the other side of the table, I take out the folder I’ve been carrying around with me for weeks. I read aloud: ‘Ten times magnification, high levels of brightness deliver excellent sharp images, tremendously stable image, highly robust and durable, includes hard storage and carrying case, for holidays, rambling, bird spotting, excursions, etcetera.’

‘Excursions etcetera?’

‘Yes. And no less than ten years guarantee.’

‘What are you trying to tell me?’

‘Nothing, I just thought I’d go into nature sometime.’

‘With binoculars?’

I didn’t notice Arnold getting up from the table. I ‘You might want to join me. You could write wonder whether he said something. something.’

He leaves the restaurant without looking round. He walks through the pouring rain, as if oblivious. His Arnold loses himself in the nature on his plate. drenched clothes stick to his body, a strong, supple Oak leaf lettuce and wild spinach. body. Not a writer’s body, more a lumberjack’s.

‘Thus the Safari Pro is ideally suited to a huge It wouldn’t look out of place in nature. variety of situations, from wildlife observation to concerts. Its compactness means the 10x26 can be taken anywhere. When folded, this compact

CLUB DONNY #7 2011 > 03

MEMORIES

OF A UNIFORM DIVERSITY feNNa haakMa wageNaar Being a parent can trigger childhood nostalgia.

‘You just want for your children what you loved most as a kid’ says yet another school-mum, moving her family away from inner London back to her countryside, to a bigger house, with a garden and a small English village school.

‘Of course…’ I say looking for words reciprocating her suggestion with my own melancholic wishlist: A park. I would want them to live in a park. A spacious one in which they can run away from me for 200 metres without disappearing from view and without danger of running into any cars.

No cars. The park would be public, surrounded by long apartment blocks and balconies and life but without any traffic. The roads would be a safe level up.

A multi-storey garage. There would be big empty multi storey parking garages where the kids can practice unlimited and un-policed skating and boarding.

Space The public green park would have tennis courts, an allotment garden, grass fields large enough for a football tournament, and loads of children to play with, from all over the world, all of them without their parents. The park should be big enough for Sinterklaas to land with a helicopter, for people to attempt balloon rides and to host a fair or festival. There would be bits of nature, forests, hills and ….

Lakes The park would also have lakes, connected lakes on which the children could make boat trips with their little dinghy.

Independence The kids could walk/cycle to school alone, without an adult.

Balcony The children would have a big sunny balcony in front of their bedroom with wide views of the park and metro-station from where the elevated trains will bring them into the heart of city action. They can hear the ding dong of the doors closing, announcing that they have 7 minutesto the next train, and that would be just enough.

Deck -Access. The house would be accessed from a gallery deck, a 500 metres long one that they can skate along and back (1 kilometres!) of which loads of friends live. All these cosmopolitan friends live in exactly the same homes, with the same lay-outs, but in different styles and colours, with different smells and different shows on tv in other languages. All of them could hang out on the gallery and pop in and out and stay for dinners, exotic dinners, from all over the world, watch reruns of kung fu films and learn to curse and count in Cantonese at their Hong Kong friends on nr 304 and learn how to dance Caribean grind on nr 623 or stumble on the Ghanian porn books at their older friend’s at the end of the gallery at nr 878. Oh no, not this. DELETE. 04 < CLUB DONNY #7 2011

Every Sunday all the children could run from their homes to our house to have pizza. That would be nice.

Now where to go? Returning home, to flat Kleiburg in Amsterdam’s Bijlmermeer is no option. The flat, one of the few surviving the high-rise satellite city’s endured ostracism, is on sale for 1 Euro to any developing group with a reasonable plan for its future. A future, without the park, without garages, without the elevated roads and without its surrounding uniformity. A future against ideology.

The CIAM paradise that the Bijlmermeer was to be, has been slowly but hap-hazardly destructed.

Apparently, according to most adult account, it was never a paradise anyway or ever going to be.

The Bijlmermeer had even in its conception been branded ‘inhumane’,‘soulless’ and this label it would never be able to shake of. When in 1978 Amsterdam’s new prison was nicknamed The Bijlmerbajes just because of its modernist highrise look (the prison was not in the Bijlmer), the Bijlmermeer’s future fate as concrete crime-ghetto was sealed.

Little did we know. I remember the Bijlmer like paradise. The CIAM’s 80% recreation space was more like 99%. Everything that was to cause the Bijlmer’s almost instant demise, its uniformity, its endless space, its lack of cars and roads, was bliss to us, children. Oh yeah there was violence; In 1976 a thin lady with long brown hair and a purple headband rang our doorbell and asked us to sign her petition to stop the grass mowers cutting the park’s grass and killing thousands of insects.

My cousin, who lived in a large freestanding house with big garden with pony-country life in new polder Lelystad, begged her parents to move to the Bijlmer. She remembers ‘I loved the gallery deck access, the concrete areas for cycling and skating. I loved the lift-rides, the high view, the sound of the metro. It made me feel so safe and protected. It was like an endless playground, like all that space was just there for us.’ The Bijlmer, was the best of all worlds: the rural freedom of green space, the excitement of a dynamic cosmopolitan society, the safety of a fenced of playground of endless proportions, and a cosmopolitan multicultural diversity all with a backdrop of futuristic uniformity. Sounds great right, or does it?

When I joined Barleaus High School in the heart of Amsterdam I was told the Bijlmer was a dangerous place and some of my new friends, were not allowed to visit me. At 12, in 1983, 9 years after moving, it dawned on me that the Bijlmer was actually considered a very bad place to live.

About the same time things started changing and made this presumption, more and more, true.

In 1984 our concierge was replaced by a new security system replacing all social control with

jail house security. Corridors were cut in pieces and new entrance lobbies with intercom systems, now partitioned the long flats. We could no longer skate the entire length of our block or zig-zag our way downstairs picking up friends . With every safety and control system, the Bijlmer became less fun and strangely, less safe. Where I could have always escaped weird or nervous neighbours, by walking the other direction or taking the stairs or another lift, now I would be locked in with them in the ‘secure’ small cabin of the lift lobby. Suddenly anonymity, where it had never mattered before, became threatening.

The Bijlmer quickly became more impractical and scary. When the lift broke down we would not be able to use another lift, as we wouldn’t have the key to the next section. The lobbies were dark, enclosed by our mailboxes and the lifts became smelly because our concierge was gone and the new cleaning company uninterested. It was difficult to forge social cohesion or a sense of community in an area whose population was constantly changing, but this had never any visible effect on its tough large scale identity, it was part of its charm. Now we were left with a series of unpleasant claustrophobic spaces that we had to suddenly feel responsible for. In a panic attempt to foster a sense of community the housing corporations tried to diversify the Bijlmer’s identity by painting the blocks, in different colours, brown, cream, yellow, light pink. It just made the area look more like what it was starting to smell of. The area’s robust uniformity and roomy anonymity instantly turned dangerous.

The Bijlmer’s new clumsy, eleventh hour, smaller scale-ness was accomplice in its downfall.

Today Kleiburg and a little bit of what is called the Bijlmer Museum is still there but only because it is too costly to demolish. The long concrete slabs where built rock-solid. What was not solid was the Bijlmers identity. Its uniformity made every crime stick to its identity like tiny stains on a big white sheet. With the media happy to jump the bandwagon to predict and confirm the Bijlmers tragic fate from the start, the Bijlmer’s demise was at least a self fulfilling prophecy.

While our political leaders are all joining the international bandwagon to publicly declare the failure of ‘30 years of multiculturalism’, I am struggling to recreate for my children any of the multicultural idyll that I so cherish. Closest I’ve come yet was putting my children in the area’s most culturally diverse state school where all kids are united by their bright red school uniforms. I love school uniforms! But this mother doesn’t, and she doesn’t love the schools diversity or its rowdiness or its metropolitan scale, but anyway she is nice so I say: ‘…, great, that’s wonderful… a big garden… I had one of those once…’.

Addis Ababa jaN hOek

They’re actually just like drifters, only with a whole lot of money They wear baggy trousers, white feet in tattered slippers Red sunburned faces, full of peeling skin I never feel guilty Their money is better off with me Like when I fooled that American couple who wanted to go to the market into lending me a month’s salary so that my mother wouldn’t die of malaria They would never have understood that those white Nikes are truly the finest in all Addis Ababa Of course I’m not saying that I’m better the Rasta’s that work round Piazza are more than just colleagues late in the evening there, with no more tourists around when the sweet crazy with a half cigarette in his nostril picked up the green pepper he’d thrown in the air for no reason from in front of our feet, I just joined in the kicking against his arm, in his belly, on his head Although I wasn’t angry that this man is ruining the dreadlock reputation, for everyone, but especially for the Rasta’s I do that for them, but when I learn English words in my room at night, I do that only for myself On the television I see that it doesn’t have to be like this White women in black shiny gala dresses, men in tailor-made white suits Also the sort of whites we get, Africa is the dregs of the world But then: this woman Even the blind beggars looked round Golden blond hair that waltzed through the streets How she was totally spellbound when my Rasta friends taught her an Ethiopian handshake while they fished a purse out of her handbag ‘Thank you,’ she said when I was able to return her plundered wallet later that evening ‘At least there are some Africans I can trust,’ and off she walked, without looking back

‘I will never stay here again!’ she shouted to no one in particular To me: ‘At last, we can sleep together every night’ And every night before we did that she whispered: ‘When I make love with you, it's like making love with the dark’ While her naked skin illuminated even the darkest darkness I saw my Rasta friends in the street, chewing on khat, red eyes they laugh with green stained teeth ‘that bitch is at least forty!

And soon she’ll fly back to her own country’ Five days later her plane leaves, without me on board ‘This is not the end!’ a final cry from the open window of the taxi as it tore off Thinking about her constantly, I try to forget her until, months later, someone places two hands in front of my eyes The German backpacker who didn’t want to buy any weed quickly exits my field of vision Her hands smell delicious, and without even wanting to see that they really belong to her, I push the fingers in my mouth Try to suck her inside me ‘Marry me,’ her familiar husky voice ‘Okay,’ I say. Five months later an airplane leaves.

This time with me on board.

Amsterdam

‘Leave it alone,’ she hisses sitting far away on the other side of the table She drinks white wine, red lipstick on her chin So I throw it towards her the mobile phone past her head smashing it against an abstract painting which I was also never allowed to touch Just like at night in bed where more and more often she abruptly turns her ass in the other direction ‘My body belongs to me,’ she says then That is not mutual: I have to go to the dentist Her girlfriends feel that black men should have white teeth without yellow stains Eventually I do get my own place ‘You’re going to live in Zuidoost,’ she sighs gazing out her window at the canal ‘it’s better for all of us’

We rented a room in a whorehouse five times Despite her vehement protest, I was not allowed into Taitu Hotel ‘I know all too well who you are,’ he said in ‘Welkom in de Bijlmer kankerbitches!’

Amharic Scratched into the tiled wall of the Kraaiennest The elderly guard in his baggy aviator’s outfit She came outside again with her wheeled suitcase metro station

My Dutch is going well, the only the word I don’t know is ‘kanker’ My suitcase bumps along behind me as I walk over patches of grass, crossing paths spied on by blocks of flats that loom up time and again An abandoned wheelchair with empty bottles of Bacardi Breezer in it the umpteenth group of black kids their Nikes whiter than mine when I decide to buy their weed they run off laughing without giving me my money back I want to shout at them, say that where I live I’m the best at that too, only, never do that to my brothers, I’m not white can’t find the words my Dutch isn’t good enough yet Luckily the key fits the door A mattress on the floor where I lie down smoke a joint until it gradually becomes dark must admit that the weed here is really much better A dark girl with blue braids introduces herself as Ebony from Suriname One day she wants to start her own hairdresser’s salon Everyone has to laugh when I ask which part of Africa Suriname is in A poster hangs on the wall: ‘Golden opportunities to seize, in Zuidoost’ So I diligently count the number of plastic coins before I put them in the red-yellow-blue till and hand the elderly Mohammed his change ‘Quarters in with the quarters, and euros with the euros, eh?

Councillor Hetty with the henna-red hair points at my trays But gives me a pat on the back anyway ‘You’ll get the hang of it, eh Solomon?’

I nod ‘yes’ I’ll get the hang of it golden opportunities Luckily the walls of my flat are thin I can hear the neighbour’s reggae music loud and clear Lying on my mattress I write a letter Ebony is wearing only her blue braids Smiling dolphins glitter on her nails softly she tickles my back ‘Dear mum, Everything is going well here in Holland, I am still very happy to be married In Amsterdam we live next to the canal where lots of little boats sail through Also, I have a good job now’ Ebony’s hand slips into my boxer shorts I turn around and put the letter away Feel her lip-gloss melting on my lips I never want to go back to Addis CLUB DONNY #7 2011 > 05

FlAgSTONE

CRAZY PAVING For centuries, elegant walks and terraces have been constructed of cut stone. The type of stone varied by region and era. However, two popular choices have been slate and sandstone, particular bluestone.

Before 1900, large, rectangular flagstones were the norm. In the early-20th century, “crazy” paving came into vogue. Its irregular pattern of broken flagstones recalled the thrifty, picturesque paving of English cottage gardens. Arts and Crafts gardeners like Gertrude Jekyll (18431932) often combined flagstone with brick, cobbles, millstones and tiles to create elaborate pavements. >

FlAgSTONE IS EXACTlY AS ITS NAME SUggESTS, A TYPE OF STONE THAT CAN COME IN VARIOUS SHADES AND HUES OF COlOR. IT IS A TYPE OF STONE OR ROCK WHICH IS MANY TIMES USED FOR MAKINg WAlKWAYS OR PATIOS. FlAgSTONES gO BACK CENTURIES IN VARIOUS CUlTURES WHEN IT WAS MORE POPUlAR TO USE FlAgSTONES TO COVER AND ENCOMPASS THE ENTIRE HOUSINg STRUCTURE. HISTORY BOOKS BOAST MANY DIFFERENT EXAMPlES OF MAN USINg STONE SUCH AS FlAgSTONE TO MEET HIS EVERY BUIlDINg NEED, EVEN TO THE POINT OF INCORPORATINg FlAgSTONE IN THEIR HEADSTONES IN CEMETERIES All OVER EUROPE AND AMERICA. THE lATEST RAVE OVER THE PAST FEW DECADES HAVE BEEN TO USE FlAgSTONE ON THE SIDE OF HOMES AND BUIlDINgS THROUgHOUT THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.

From the masons point of view, flagstone is very practical because each stone can actually be cut in two or layered for walkways and patios.

It is easily laid down because the mason or homeowner has the choice of actually setting the stone upon cement, sand or stone dust. This is especially appealing and practical because one does not have to use any cement in between the stones as one would when laying tiles, for example.

Flagstone offers the person using it the luxury and ease of simply being able to decide where one would like a path to serpentine or which route a wall will take. Borders for garden beds are another popular use for flagstones.

06 < CLUB DONNY #7 2011

MODERNIST ARCHITECTS FAVORED FlAgSTONES FOR THE PAVINg OF THEIR PATIO’S POlE HOUSE, JOHN M. JOHANSEN, CONNICTICUT USA.1974-76 >

HISTORY OF FLAGSTONES The history of flagstone use goes back at least to the 14th century when flagstones were used as flooring in castles and other building structures in Europe. In the United States, early settlers used flagstones for building fireplaces and fences, as well as for use as grave markers. Small farming communities became large towns practically overnight with the discovery of flagstone in the ground.

Quarries would employ hundreds of workers to dig the quarries, cut the flagstone, haul flagstone and other related jobs, such as bootmakers to repair the workers' shoes.

The work was very labor intensive with only steam engined shovels to dig for flagstone, and cutting the flagstone was done with hand saws.

Nowadays, flagstone quarries are in many regions of the United States and all over the world, making it one of the most readily available building stones known.

BURLE MARX MASTERING THE LYRICAL LANDSCAPE Lyrical use of flagstones at ‘The Garden of Volumes’ with flagstones and rocks covered with bromeliads, orchids and other epiphytes.

gARDEN OF VOlUMES >

THE JAPANESE COURTYARD GARDEN The Japanese Courtyard Garden began with a practical purpose in 15th century Kyoto, but it soon became an art form in its own right.

It's a garden designed for very small spaces between buildings and is intended to be viewed through windows and enjoyed at close range, as one might survey a painting.

Like other Japanese landscapes, the courtyard re-creates the beauty and balance of nature but on a miniature scale, replete with symbolism. These serene gardens are carefully handbuilt, each item especially chosen to serve a purpose within the whole.

FlAgSTONE

NOGUSHI FLAGSTONE SERENITY Garden at Unesco in Paris (19561958), a collection of stones are made into a garden, plants are used for visual richness, while flagstones form the place.

HESTERCOMBE (1906-8) This formal Edwardian garden, featuring flagstone terraces, pool and an Orangery was designed by Sir Edwin Lutyens and Gertude Jekyll The idyllic 40 acre Georgian pleasure grounds have been lovingly and meticulously restored and provide FANTASTIC & ROBUST delightful woodland walks, lakeside Free and modern interpretation of views, classical temples and the historic use of flagstones for robust Great Cascade. fireplaces in the houses of architect John M. Johansen, Connicticut USA. ROCKY BIOTOPE Flagstones are great for making a natural rocky site.

Experience a good example of creating a special sandy biotope with flagstones at the Priona Gardens, Schuinesloot the Netherlands by Henk Gerritsen.

THE FlAgSTONE PATHWAY AT HESTERCOMBE SOMERSET ENglAND >

El PEDREGAL THE ROCKY PLACE El Pedregal in Mexico city designed

by Luis Barragán, 1945. The heavy geometry of wall and gate both engage and give way to the garden – the primary drama. Planting serves as counterpoint.

>

HOW TO MAKE A FLAGSTONE PATIO 1 – Rake out the patio site. Use an already-level area and rake until the soil is smooth and evenly distributed. hose. Use a center marker and tie 3 – Dig out 3 inches of soil from the 2 – Mark the outline of the patio a radial piece of string to create a patio site. Use a level and a 2-bywith rubber tubing, twine or a garden circular patio.

4 piece of wood to even out the surface.

KATSURA VIllA KYOTO: VIEW ON THE CENTRAl POND 4 – Pour sand into the hole, approximately 1 inch from the top edge, and rake again until smooth.

Even out the surface with the level and 2-by-4 again.

5 – Spray the sand with a hose until moistened. Use a hand tamper (if available) to tamp the surface, or use a mallet and wooden board to pack the sand.

LAYING THE FLAGSTONES 1 – Set out the flagstone pieces on the patio site. Start at the outside edges and work your way into the center.

2 – Configure the larger pieces first, and then fill in the gaps with the smaller pieces. Verify with the level while placing the stones.

3 – Break larger pieces of stone to fit remaining gaps. Score the stone with the chisel, then place the chisel on the scraped score line and gently hit it with the mallet to gradually break the stone open. Check that the patio is level.

4 – Lift out the outer marker (hose or rubber tubing) carefully, without disturbing the outer layer.

5 – Pour sand over the flagstones, and use a broom to sweep the sand into the cracks. Gently hose off the patio area.

6 – Repeat step 6 until the cracks are filled and the flagstones are clean and free of sand.

CLUB DONNY #7 2011 > 31

FlAgSTONE

NOGUSHI FLAGSTONE SERENITY Garden at Unesco in Paris (19561958), a collection of stones are made into a garden, plants are used for visual richness, while flagstones form the place.

HESTERCOMBE (1906-8) This formal Edwardian garden, featuring flagstone terraces, pool and an Orangery was designed by Sir Edwin Lutyens and Gertude Jekyll The idyllic 40 acre Georgian pleasure grounds have been lovingly and meticulously restored and provide FANTASTIC & ROBUST delightful woodland walks, lakeside Free and modern interpretation of views, classical temples and the historic use of flagstones for robust Great Cascade. fireplaces in the houses of architect John M. Johansen, Connicticut USA. ROCKY BIOTOPE Flagstones are great for making a natural rocky site.

Experience a good example of creating a special sandy biotope with flagstones at the Priona Gardens, Schuinesloot the Netherlands by Henk Gerritsen.

THE FlAgSTONE PATHWAY AT HESTERCOMBE SOMERSET ENglAND >

El PEDREGAL THE ROCKY PLACE El Pedregal in Mexico city designed

by Luis Barragán, 1945. The heavy geometry of wall and gate both engage and give way to the garden – the primary drama. Planting serves as counterpoint.

>

HOW TO MAKE A FLAGSTONE PATIO 1 – Rake out the patio site. Use an already-level area and rake until the soil is smooth and evenly distributed. hose. Use a center marker and tie 3 – Dig out 3 inches of soil from the 2 – Mark the outline of the patio a radial piece of string to create a patio site. Use a level and a 2-bywith rubber tubing, twine or a garden circular patio.

4 piece of wood to even out the surface.

KATSURA VIllA KYOTO: VIEW ON THE CENTRAl POND 4 – Pour sand into the hole, approximately 1 inch from the top edge, and rake again until smooth.

Even out the surface with the level and 2-by-4 again.

5 – Spray the sand with a hose until moistened. Use a hand tamper (if available) to tamp the surface, or use a mallet and wooden board to pack the sand.

LAYING THE FLAGSTONES 1 – Set out the flagstone pieces on the patio site. Start at the outside edges and work your way into the center.

2 – Configure the larger pieces first, and then fill in the gaps with the smaller pieces. Verify with the level while placing the stones.

3 – Break larger pieces of stone to fit remaining gaps. Score the stone with the chisel, then place the chisel on the scraped score line and gently hit it with the mallet to gradually break the stone open. Check that the patio is level.

4 – Lift out the outer marker (hose or rubber tubing) carefully, without disturbing the outer layer.

5 – Pour sand over the flagstones, and use a broom to sweep the sand into the cracks. Gently hose off the patio area.

6 – Repeat step 6 until the cracks are filled and the flagstones are clean and free of sand.

CLUB DONNY #7 2011 > 31

PlACE MarLies LeveLs In the impassioned style of William Kentridge, a filmed Hand draws an aerial view of a street bordered by electricity poles. Birds are perched on the wires like musical notes. The contours of a few thatch-capped farmhouses, barns and cowsheds, meadows and orchards appear in the picture. Rows of beanstalks, fruit bushes and plots with vegetables in neat formation lie all around.

On one corner of the street stands the bakery and grocer’s shop, on the other a pub. The image zooms in on a place next to a farmhouse, in front stands a round well and a pear tree. Then, tabula rasa: the remorseless Hand erases everything up to the ditch, only a single tree is allowed to remain.

This is where the tree frog lived in a knotty privet.

It was his spot, his biotope and haven in one. On a winter morning the tree is chopped down to widen uncle’s driveway. I am irreconcilable; the little creature disappeared once and for all. Does my latent animosity towards humankind and the outside world date from that moment? At that time too, a white squirrel-rat appears on father’s plaster-spattered overall and fear plants itself in my life.

I work my way through the tall thicket between our house and the farm. Four little kittens in my skirt. Stalks reach up high above my head. In May, I pick wildflowers along the dyke with father. I carry on insatiably until my hands can no longer grip the stalks.

The photo of mother in the back garden dates from much later, tiny among the hollyhocks. She is in good company. The July garden is as full as an embrace.

In the nineteen thirties, the brothers L. settled in a market gardeners village in the Betuwe.

They bought land from farmer Willemsen, on whose former yard we came to live. My uncle (architect) designed both their houses, and my father (contractor) built them. Time left their mark on the aesthetics and craftsmanship of the house.

The front garden was planted with formal beds of roses, while the side garden was landscaped with a choice selection of lilac trees and privet. My birth occurred later in a war-damaged house.

The back garden did not exist at that time. With the exception of a cabbage rose that mother planted (from grandmother’s garden) and the cherry tree (from farmer Willemsen), it was a purely functional space. The shed was a workshop and storage space for building materials and coal. Behind that was the lime pit in which dead frogs were constantly floating. Close by the house was the rectangular cistern with water pump. Next to that were the sty for the pig and hutch for the rabbits, bordered by the clothesline and a rack for beating the mats. In the midst of this everyday world of purpose and utility, the May-cherry blossomed in the spring.

The transformation of this property ran counter to the sweeping changes that the village underwent.

32 < CLUB DONNY #7 2011

Driven by the post-war economic ‘improvement’, the phenomenon of reconstruction and modernization developed. Apart from the radical changes in everyday life, reforms also took place in the land and horticulture: from small-scale mixed production to large scale monoculture, from growing vegetables to flowers, from cold earth to hothouse cultivation. The market gardens disappeared, firstly from our street, then from the adjacent roads, and later they were banished to the outskirts, where they were merged with the industrial area. Standard orchards were uprooted, farms demolished, steamrollered by the urbanization process. The streets were widened and asphalted. A pavement now lined the road instead of large muddy puddles. All the empty spaces were built on and each decade had its own ‘style’. The remaining ground was paved over wherever possible. Human beings conditioned by technology show no mercy to resting places and coincidence. New infrastructures dissected the village and brought the city closer by.

The ‘back garden’ underwent a reverse development. As the village urbanized, the grounds gradually matured into an uncontrolled oasis of flora. I cannot describe the exact course of events.

I daydreamed my way through childhood and after that I moved to the city and left everything behind.

With the standardization in the building trade, the ‘new’ shed became redundant and was pulled down. It was replaced by two peach trees. The arrival of running water made the water pump and cistern obsolete. At first there was a pond where the well used to be, then father’s aviary. After the last pig was slaughtered the sty was converted into night-quarters for the chickens with a run built on. When father hears of his incurable disease he gives away all his birds, chickens and pheasants.

Their redundant accommodation was demolished; what remained stays empty to this day.

After father’s death the place becomes mother’s domain and is transformed into a ‘wild’ garden. Here, ‘wild’ stands for coincidence and arbitrariness. A repertoire of perennial plants, all ‘from the family’ occupy the empty spots: fragrant phloxes (Whizzy the cat’s favourite spot), the peony that never bloomed (which years later bore 18 flowers, once only, in the summer after mother’s death), a lot of forget-me-nots, clumps of violet blue iris and white daisies, hoards of campanula, lupine and foxglove lend the garden rhythm. Every year, more hollyhocks shoot up in random spots. Whether they are allowed stay or not depends on the colour. Together with the string beans, leeks, rhubarb and the local wildflowers (‘just let them bloom first’) they represent the seasons. Branch by branch, the May-cherry tree becomes overgrown. The blossoms remain just as beautiful, but the red fruit turns orange-yellow and

tastes bittersweet.

As mother ages, little by little I cautiously take over the upkeep and direction. When planting a plum tree, her realistic comment was: ‘it’ll be no use to me now anyway’.

After her death I continue to visit the place as a site of pilgrimage; I cherish the garden and grow only poppies. It becomes a place of remembrance and timelessness. I don’t want anything to change; only decay and wild growth are tolerated. A concrete fence had already been erected between the new neighbours’ bungalow with their obligatory lawn.

Now I also have the back of the garden walled in, to keep the outside world at bay. Demarcated by the ‘old shed’ and the house, the garden is now a hortus conclusus.

Gradually I resume the gardening, seeking diversity, allowing small alterations. I plant a white gooseberry and white currant. The March violet is preserved and the lily-of-the-valley, which at some point had crept under the fence together with the wild strawberries, is given its own domain at the rear of the garden around the sweet-smelling ‘rose from grandma’. I am merciless with the rampantgrowing Chinese lantern, an impulse seeding after a journey. The mint, campanula, hollyhock and lupine all fight for their spot. Mother’s cultivation of string beans is continued. I sow basil, parsley, rocket and coriander between the Mexican aster and poppy. In September the peaches ripen on an aging tree in which honeysuckle and clematis Elizabeth ramble. In autumn the indestructible local hedge bindweed turns the garden into one big tangle. The now completely dilapidated pigsty is kept standing by a massif of ivy.

The back garden has gradually overgrown into an anarchic entrenchment in a ‘jumbled’ or irretrievably industrialized ‘landscape’ fuori mura.

It is a verdant plea for chaos, diversity, wilderness and decay. Every year different and yet the same: a slow-moving colossus that rises and falls with the seasons. With a constantly altering light and colour. Plants wander, they spread or they wither.

Sometimes they blow in from elsewhere or are planted, relocated, divided, uprooted or carefully preserved through will power. In addition to being my beloved pets’ cemetery, the garden is also a sanctuary for small animals, birds and insects. It is a vegetable garden but also decorum. In the twilight hour it exudes a delicate fragrance and its dark silhouette stands out against the colourless sky. Shining dark green in the rain, mysterious as the autumn crocus. Wildly gesticulating in a storm and motionless in the morning when the garden path is obstructed by silvery spiders’ webs.

The garden is a perfect reflection of my being: indecisive and whimsical. It is symbolic of my failure to give it any form. But above all, it is my destiny and my ‘Archimedean point’, which shows that I have never been able to free myself.

SUCCESSION Huan Hsu Nudation When I first met my girlfriend, while I was still living in Shanghai, she told me she was from Amsterdam. Specifically, she lived in an area called the Bijlmer. I had been to Amsterdam before, but had no impression whatsoever of the Bijlmer. It took me a number of attempts just to spell it correctly.

I soon learned that the Bijlmermeer, as it’s called, was conceived in 1963 as a utopian “city of the future”. Guided by the rationalist idea that man – in this case architects – could determine human behavior through changes to the environment, the Bijlmer was billed as a Jetsons-like vision of largescale communal housing complexes connected by footbridges and interior walkways. Transportation infrastructure was created on three different levels, so that pedestrians or bicyclists, cars, and metro trains could move independently through a milieu in which the mind’s eye could easily insert hovering cars and robot maids, too.

It’s also one of the greenest areas in greater Amsterdam, dotted with parks and marshes that connected to a lake. When my girlfriend and I video chatted, I could see the crowns of trees swaying behind her when she was upstairs. Downstairs, she often sat before a carefully sculpted garden with a striking fig tree, Japanese maple, and rosebushes guarded by a tall, ivy-covered wall. For someone who had no more appetite for the chaos and pollution of China, it sounded, well, utopian.

to me as a “problem”– on my first weekend when I went shopping: plantains, mangos, figs, loquats, pomegranates, even lychees and spiky rambutans.

The family-run grocery stores stocked sugar-laden snacks and piquant sauces. The perfume of their spices mingled with those from Dutch cheese stalls, bakeries, and fishmongers.

Ecesis Bereft of larger, more charismatic wildlife, the Dutch adore their birds. As the weather turned colder, I sat transfixed by the procession of birds visiting the feeder hanging from the fig tree: blue and black tits, finches, blackbirds, and a bashful robin with a flaming breast that put the dull coloring of its American cousins to shame. One morning I even spotted a parakeet in green and pink Caribbean hues, a fellow transplant descended from pets that were released and managed to adapt to the harsh winters.

Across from the grocery store was a petting zoo intended to introduce the neighborhood children to wildlife. Guides gave tours of pigeon coops, sheep pens, and strutting roosters with thick, glossy plumage. On weekends, handlers took kids out for rides on miniature horses. My girlfriend told me they lock up the animals at night, lest residents try to eat them.

I wondered what my fellow immigrants saw in the Bijlmer. Did they also come with memories of less-developed nations and appreciate the order, cleanliness, and freedom of their integration Migration with nature, where lifelong Amsterdamers saw My first impression of the Bijlmer was at night, only chaos, danger, and wildness to force into walking through a Mondrian alley of buildings, submission with concrete and rebar? all right angles, accented with carefully controlled squares of greenery. In daylight, as I began to Competition explore the neighborhood, and my eyes began When I told people where I lived, they usually to adjust from the monumental scale of Chinese reacted with confusion. Over the years, the Bijlmer industrialization, the first things I noticed were has gained a reputation for being the dilapidated, all the small signs of fecundity – bumblebees, economically depressed, and dangerous section ladybugs, earthworms, songbirds – that I had of the city. The scale of the housing projects grown accustomed without in Shanghai. From and transportation structures turned out to be there, my eyes traveled upwards to marvel at the inhumanly dystopian, and also provided abundant canopies of old growth trees pumping fresh oxygen cover for criminality. The planners, it seems, into the atmosphere. I almost laughed when one accounted for every force save human nature.

Dutch friend complained of overcrowding, and Perhaps it was the hubris of an American abroad, another of poor air. but I didn’t feel the undercurrent of menace or It was explained to me that the Bijlmer was specter of violence that’s so prevalent in the United originally intended for urban families wishing to States. Instead, I focused on the proximity to the escape the increasingly crowded city center. Then, natural world and new opportunities, like joining when Suriname gained independence in 1975, the local basketball club. The guys were surprised the former colonist became colonized, and many to learn that I actually lived in “the neighborhood.” immigrants were attracted to the low-cost housing After practice one night, I talked to the coach’s son in the Bijlmer, which now boasts more than 100 about the neighborhood’s undeserved reputation. different nationalities.

There are still places you shouldn’t go, he said, I saw the fruits of this immigration – often explained shaking his head. Especially this time of night.

Reaction Depending on the weather, a steady stream of air traffic passes directly over my house. Nearly 20 years ago, an El Al cargo plane crashed into two Bijlmer apartment complexes, killing its crew and 39 people on the ground. In keeping with the Bijlmer narrative, many reports suggested that the buildings housed many illegal immigrants, which contributed to the relatively low official death count. A memorial was erected near the crash site.

The grand urban experiment of the Bijlmer is widely seen as failure. In recent years, the monumental high rises have been torn down in favor of smaller scale housing. Debates continue about who to blame, what to do, and how to pay for it.

One afternoon, I received a call from my girlfriend, whose oddly calm voice immediately put me on alert. While giving a group of her students a tour of the Bijlmer, one of them was attacked and robbed by two dreadlocked men. The attack was in broad daylight, on a footbridge mere steps away from the El Al disaster memorial. The police, who never found the attackers, commented that this kind of thing happens every day in the Bijlmer.

Stabilization A few weeks later, I was shooting around alone at a nearby basketball court, ignoring the noisy group of high schoolers socializing on the sidelines. Three men approached, quickly, from the other end. I felt their energy before I saw them. As the high schoolers finally fell silent, the men cut across the court, taking a direct line towards me, spreading out slightly as if to cover my escape routes. While my mind raced with question of whether I knew them, how to interpret their body language, what my options were, my body remained rooted in place. By the time the men were upon me, it was too late to run.

Climax “The committee would like to highlight that in its opinion, planning issues are often confused with social factors when discussing the Bijlmer.

This urban plan can still be seen as a model city and a functional solution to the problem of urban concentration in post-war Holland. There are also other arguments for a positive appreciation of the Bijlmermeer: many residents enjoy living there and the district has shown tremendous resilience in coping with the unforeseen problems such as a sudden wave of immigration, rising crime, and social divisions.”

From the citation awarding the 1998 Oeuvreprijs to Siegfried Nassuth, architect of the Bijlmer

CLUB DONNY #7 2011 > 33

DONNY’s favOUriTes

VOUDOU-VODDUN The fondation cartier pour l’art contemporain presents for the first time an exceptional group of vodun objects from the collection Anne and Jacques Kerchache, in a scenography conceived by Enzo Mari, one of the great masters of italian industrial design.

COOKINg WITH THE VEgAN ZOMBIE WWW.THEVEgANZOMBIE.COM Our favourite slogan ‘I don’t know get creative’ DIRTY BEACHES BADlANDS Dirty Beaches is the sound of waves against a picturesque and putrid shore, the silent rumble of a Chevy as it speeds by in slow motion. Sparse but condensed, relentlessly edging forward: this is music for locomotive travel, for racing your weary motorcycle through neon archways and into dusky tunnels. The man behind Dirty Beaches is Alex Zhang Hungtai; solo performer, sound-smith, and trans-Pacific nomad. Born in Taiwan, Hungtai has made Toronto, Honolulu, Montreal, and Vancouver his homes.

10 ARqUITECTOS MEXICANOS HTTP://MONDO-BlOgO.BlOgSPOT.COM/2011/07/VIVA-MEXICAN-MODERNISMO.HTMl Thanks to Mondo-blogo see the blog for some of his favourites MondoBlogo found this book 10 Arquitectos Mexicanos in a thrift store. To quote Mondo its a‚‘pretty sweet little book. The printing is for shit, but the architecture is outstanding.’

ST. PETERSBURg URBAN gARDEN ClUB As you might imagine with any large urban metro area with over 6 million residents, there exists an ongoing challenge of what to do with all the waste. The St. Petersburg Urban Garden Club (in Russia) sets out to create something that was more ecological and also gave something of great value to its neighbors: freshly grown food. It began in 1993 with a rooftop garden – on the rooftop of the apartment building of Alla Sokol’s home – and in 1999 they began worm composting. Each week kitchen scraps from the building’s participants are collected, pulverized, and turned into compost – which is used in growing vegetables on the rooftop garden.

BOTANICAl gARDEN gOTHENBURg Carl Skottsbergsg. 22A, Slottsskogen, Göteborg Cost: Greenhouses SKr 20, park free Hours: Park daily 9-sunset With 1,200 plant species, this is Sweden's largest botanical garden. Herb gardens, bamboo groves, a Japanese valley, forest plants, and tropical greenhouses are all on display. Once you've captured some inspiration, you can pick up all you need to create your own botanical garden from the on-site shop.

PIET OUDOlF lANDSCAPE IN lANDSCAPE Publication with 200 'highlight' colour illustrations of the natural gardendesign by Piet Oudolf.

Including the High Line in New York, the gardens of RHS Wisley (UK) and his own garden in Hummelo (NL) ISBN 9780500289464 - www.architectura.nl PRINZESSINENgARTEN, MORITZPlATZ, BERlIN WWW.PRINZESSINNENgARTEN.NET Nomadisch Grün (Nomadic Green) launched Prinzessinnengärten as a pilot project in the summer of 2009 at Moritzplatz in Berlin Kreuzberg, a site which had been a wasteland for over half a century. Along with friends, fans, activists and neighbours, the group cleared away rubbish, built transportable organic vegetable plots and reaped the first fruits of their labour Prinzessinnengärten is a new urban place of learning. It is where locals can come together to experiment and discover more about organic food production, biodiversity and climate protection.

SAN FRANCISCO CITY TREASURE > THE SOUND OF SIlENCE WWW.SIlENTFIlM.ORg We believe the best way to truly appreciate the power and beauty of a silent film is by seeing it as it was meant to be seen: on the big screen with live musical accompaniment.

HOMETOWN gARDEN JACOBUS TUIN Jacobusstraat 103/107 | Center Rotterdam Living in Rotterdam can be quite a challenge when you’re new in town. Having explored the city and suburbs extensively during the years, we have found little gems tucked away in places you wouldn’t think of. We like to share one of them with you which is the communal garden Jacobustuin in the neighbourhood known as Cool.

This garden is semi public as it partially still belongs to the people living there. In 1978 people decided to give up their private gardens and made it into one big garden. They maintain and share it together and for us to visit during opening hours.

34 < CLUB DONNY #7 2011

Club Donny is a biannual magazine on the personal experience of nature in the urban environment presented by Samira Ben Laloua, Frank Bruggeman and Ernst van der Hoeven.

PAGE 01 / 36 Vossemeren Centerparcs, Bas van Beek PAGE 02 / 35 Iguague, Frailejon, Willem Hoebink TEXTPAGE 03 Into Nature Maria Barnas TEXTPAGE 04 Memories of a Uniform Diversity, Fenna Haakma Wagenaar TEXTPAGE 05 Addis Ababa, Jan Hoek TEXTPAGE 06 Flagstone PAGE 07 / 30 Lille, Jonathan Deltour PAGE 08 / 29 Stolzenhagen, Michiel Keuper PAGE 09 / 28 Moscow, Roderick Hietbrink PAGE 10 / 27 Bijlmermeer, view on Kruitberg, Willem Haakma Wagenaar PAGE 11 / 26 Gdansk, Debora Treep PAGE 12 / 25 Amsterdam, Peter Hermanides PAGE 13 / 24 Colorado, Pinecones in Boulder, Hudson Gardner PAGE 14 / 23 Den Haag, Leonie Linotte PAGE 15 / 22 Strasbourg, Giulio Ghirardi PAGE 16 / 21 Nienke Terpsma & Rob Hamelijnck PAGE 17 / 20 Egerton Place, Kensington, Mika Savela PAGE 18 / 19 Zuidplein, Rotterdam, Joshua Thies TEXTPAGE 31 Flagstone TEXTPAGE 32 Place, Marlies Levels TEXTPAGE 33 Succession, Huan Hsu TEXTPAGE 34 Donny’s favourites TRANSLATION / Mike Ritchie DESIGN / BL/DP PRINTING / die Keure, Brugge PUBLISHER / post editions www.post-editions.com SUBSCRIPTION / Bruil & van der Staaij www.bruil.info/ ISSN: 1879-7466 Club Donny www.clubdonny.com © 2011 Club Donny The authors and contributors.

Reproduction without permission prohibited.

This publication was made possible

by Municipality of Rotterdam Department of Art and Culture.