 |
| Hello Rijksmuseum my old friend |
Clambering a few rungs up Maslow's ladder, it occurred to me that I could go look at some modern art. Across the way there's the Stedelijk, the museum for which the term "wildly uneven" was invented. The exhibits were, as usual, very interesting. There was Walid Raad, a brilliant Lebanese-American artist who (among many other things) picked up bullets in Beirut for decades and made art from them.
Roughly contemporary with our group (b. 1965) he's worth studying up. A good start is here.
 |
| Impact was here, and here, and here...and here...colors denote country of bullet manufacture |
There was Jacqueline De Jong's little pinball machine workshop, and some drawings they said they found in the basement on the back of other pieces, attributed to the late Marwan Kassab-Bachi but they're not 100% certain, all very mysterious:
And then, a brief, brutal encounter with Maria Lassnig.
Maria.
Fucking.
Lassnig.
Maria Lassnig was interested in many things, but generally quite consistent in her presentation: she punches you in the face, and then while you are blurting out a request that she explain herself she punches you again, then punches you again as a courtesy. My usual reaction to all things Lassnig is going into what I like to call "The Full Baxter":
Long ago I read something about a guy at the Whitney rejecting something because it wasn't "tough enough." Well, Mister Whitney guy, IS THIS TOUGH ENOUGH FOR YOU?
 |
| Could we go back and look at "The Night Watch" again? NO. |
If you're bored and looking for something to do this evening, give me 1,500 words on the viewer's confrontation with the staring nude woman in art. Please include Manet's Olympia in your answer.
I want to make something clear. I make fun of stuff, but I am not making fun of Lassnig (who passed in 2014). The work is legit, and I know it is legit. I am making fun of my own confused response to it, because making fun of my own confused response is basically my go-to algorithm. For a good discussion of her work, see The Guardian's "Maria Lassnig: Under the skin" (link).
So, I thought...maybe that's enough Maria for today. Maybe I should go lie down. But, inexplicably, I lingered a little, and found myself in yet another confrontation. There is another figure nearby, nude except for socks and cleats, looking you in the eye - bouncing a soccer ball off her chest.
"I'm sorry to interrupt."
"I'm kind of busy here."
"I came here to quit thinking about soccer, maybe think about something important instead."
"Maybe you should have a look at the information card."
"Thank you, maybe I will."
 |
| Oh. |
Johan Cruyff said: "it’s like everything in football – and life. You need to look, you need to think, you need to move, you need to find space, you need to help others. It’s very simple in the end."
And then he added, "maybe it's time you got your ass down to Olympic Stadium."
Yeah...
Outside, on the grass at Museumplein, an age and racially diverse, but - yes - male dominated, football game.
We go left here.
More beautiful, intimate neighborhoods, personable and lived in. After the war the Modernists could hardly wait to kill this off, and with half of Europe in ruins they had their chance. The Bijlmermeer was the purest large-scale expression of Modernist orthodoxy, and the slow and painful failure of the master plan reinforced in many Netherlanders the sense that this is how one should live.
Even the die-hards - the "Bijlmermeer Believers" as they came to be called - generally came to acknowledge the arrogance of the Modernists, the idea that if we could just rid of of all of these constraints and start with a clean sheet of paper, we could build a paradise in steel and concrete. Most importantly, everyone began to understand a little better that the city is not a machine.
In 1928 the Olympics came to Amsterdam, and the city opened its arms, knocked down some old buildings, and put up lasting monuments to the event:
As you approach the stadium the neighborhood changes and falls into a larger scale and more modern but (I think) pre-WW2 vernacular.
 |
| Shot by someone else on a nicer day |
But the grounds are interesting. There are the Nazi oak trees:
A nearby plaque explains that gold medalists at the 1936 Berlin Olympics got oak trees - a symbol of National Socialism. These two, won by Dutch swimmers, were planted here, and have thrived.
I wondered about the discussion of these trees at the Planning Association meeting.
- "They are Nazi trees!"
- "They're oak trees, and the Nazis are gone. It's not the trees' fault the Nazis liked them."
- "They're our trees, we won them fair and square. Should we melt down the medals too?"
- "Well maybe we should put up a plaque..."
Continuing, on our left, one of the many Cruyff courts that dot Amsterdam and other parts of the world. Cruyff's foundation continues to build these and has its offices near here.
Translation of Cruyff's 14 rules is here. Some are stereotypical, not much different from, say, John Wooden's Pyramid of Success. But I find one particularly noteworthy:
Initiative - Dare to Try Something New
"Think for yourself and ask me lots of questions" said no NFL coach ever. Where their competitors say "do as I say," Cruyff's coaching disciples encourage players to ask why, and to figure things out themselves. They have permission.
I'm not saying Dutch soccer is a commune - this clearly varies significantly depending on your coach. Coaches in the tradition of Van Gaal - winner of a Dutch 2017 Lifetime Achievement award - are probably a little less interested in players that talk back than Cruyff would have been. David Winner explains:
Cruyff and Van Gaal both loved the spatially sophisticated attacking football on which [Ajax’s] reputation rests but there were crucial differences... Van Gaal put his faith more in systems and rigid application of tactics. Cruyff believed in giving the most talented players freedom within a looser tactical structure.
That is Cruyff's brand, it's who he was, and my last stop is a monument to that individualism. It has been at Olympic Stadium since 1978:
That's Cruyff and Berti Vogts, the brilliant German defender, in the World Cup Final, 1974. Early in the match - which the Dutch went on to lose - Cruyff burst into the German defense on an amazing solo run, and got fouled in the penalty area (here, at 0:15). Neeskins converted the penalty kick, and the Dutch went ahead 1-0.
That moment was the high point of...something. But it's hard to say exactly what:
Perhaps it would be fair to say it was the high point of the Dutch football aesthetic. Dutch football would continue to be successful, but it would never be this beautiful, nor its success seem so assured. And if we must pick a career peak for Cruyff the player, this moment is as good as any.
I have mentioned this before, but a young child named Emilio Butragueño watched this run intently. Interviewed in a documentary he said:
That moment was the high point of...something. But it's hard to say exactly what:
- It was not the end of Dutch soccer, since they went to the World Cup Final again in 1978 and 2010 (losing each time).
- It was not the end of Totaalvoetbal since Barcelona went on to employ the system with great success.
- It was not the end of Cruyff the player, since he hadn't even gotten to Barcelona yet.
Perhaps it would be fair to say it was the high point of the Dutch football aesthetic. Dutch football would continue to be successful, but it would never be this beautiful, nor its success seem so assured. And if we must pick a career peak for Cruyff the player, this moment is as good as any.
I have mentioned this before, but a young child named Emilio Butragueño watched this run intently. Interviewed in a documentary he said:
It was so magical...he slows and speeds up twice within 45 meters, enough to completely disorient his opponent... This play is permanently etched in my mind. It's not that it changed my life, but with this Cruyff gave me insight into what soccer really was... Football is an expression of what you have in you. You go out onto the field to show who you are, to display your personality. And in some way or other...art is able to uplift the viewer's soul.
A few steps away, across a little bridge there is the Olympic Hotel. It is reasonably priced and has a restaurant with coffee, snacks, and a pleasant view.
I thought of something from David Winner's 2010 book that feels more true with each passing year:
Did you ever see the beautiful little haiku-like poem Xander van der Drift wrote...? He wrote it in 1999, and I agree with it very much. He meant Cruyff is our giant, and it will hit us one day. It goes:
“Question of the 21st Century: where were you when Johan Cruyff died?"
No comments:
Post a Comment