Art about the Sint Jan cathedral in Den Bosch ('s-Hertogenbosch)

Sint Jan

The Netherlands is a small country, which allows me to say that I live in a big city about the small city I live in.

If I wanted to.

In this big/small city, there's a famous ancient building called the Sint Jan. I've had memories of it for as long as I can remember. Because of my disinterest, I still don't understand much about the building. Still, I used to not understand anything, only knowing it was beautiful.

Even though the building looks grand, being inside makes it seem even taller. If I didn't know any better (and I definitely don't), I'd assume it was. 

Someone should measure someday.

The building somewhat scares me, which is hard to explain: to me, it doesn't seem to be decorated; it's elegant, though everyone keeps talking about its impressive statues & decorations.

This is annoying because I have to pretend I see them as well, meaning I have to figure out pretentious ways to express my appreciation. It's scary because the building is supposed to be some kind of holy. 

I guess I'm going to hell.

Weird Girl

I'm one of those people with weird parents; when people look at me, I feel them (annoyingly, correctly) assume so.

But they're the good kind of weird, I promise. Their friends, the few they had, often turned out to be the bad kind. Many weird people are; the weirdness starts as fun, but when further explored, it quietly becomes evident that they're kinda dysfunctional. Weird people are somewhat of a gamble.

A lot of normal people, the older they get, see themself become more and more like their parents. Well, let me tell you, as a weird guy, this is also true for us. 

Like my parents, I prefer having few friends, and the ones I choose to spend time with are primarily weird. 

If you don't end up like your parents, you'll end up pretending to be their opposite. Hopefully, convincingly enough to one day trick yourself into forgetting it was an act.

Anyway, so this painting is about my new best friend, who's rather weird.

Now I get most people might call a lot of otherwise normal people weird because of a few things they do out-of-the-ordinary -- that's not the case here.

Are you wondering what makes her weird? I get that, but that's not what this painting is about.

Stolen Ice Cream

There's this girl who keeps showing up at my apartment. I'm not sure how she does it, but she keeps convincing me to let her in; she practically lives here now.

And some time ago, she convinced me to go to a theme park with her.

Which might not sound crazy to you -- but I hate theme parks. Maybe hate is a strong word, but I can entertain myself very well, so I would never choose to spend the money. 

But again, somehow, she figured out a way to manipulate me. When we arrived, I felt stupid as I feared every attraction. And you can guess it; she convinced me to join her in taking the rides anyway.

I don't know what it is.

After we finished the whole park, she asked if I wanted to get some ice cream. Nausously, I told her I was watching my weight but that she could get some herself.

So she got some ice cream. 

But she didn't even touch it much: she force-fed me until most of it was gone. Then she told me she was too full to finish the rest and that I had to finish it.

And so I did -- all she said she wanted was one last spoonful, with which she scooped all the ice cream until the only thing I had left was confusion about how I got into this situation in the first place.

Wish I learned something from this situation.

Drunk lady

How often do you act like you're a good person? This painting is about a day I did twice, or at least as far as I can remember, which I probably would as I generally remember any time I do something good for somebody (because I'm not a good person.)

The first good thing was picking up my girlfriend from the train station to walk home together (She thinks I do it for her, but I only do it because I like spending time with her.)

Anyway, while we were walking back, I was trying to be romantic (to manipulate her into liking me so she'll keep helping me clean) when I slipped and stumbled.

(Which made her rudely laugh uncontrollably.)

When I tried to recover from my failure, she noticed a drunken lady who had fallen from her bike. We rushed to help her. I couldn't but help -- so that's what I did.

She must've been Thai, as they started to talk in some foreign language, presumably gossiping. And she won't admit to what they were talking about. That's what I get for (pretending to be) good. Huh.

Well dressed homeless

Waking up in a bed that isn't yours, for whatever reason, to me at least, is a little disorienting. Even if I've been doing it daily for what feels like my whole life, it never gets easier.

Though, this morning, when I awoke, I felt something special. I'm not a spiritual person at all, but the brain can make you many feelings that evoke sympathy to any religious zealot.

And because it's 'just' a feeling, there's no way to rationalize it. So I went on with my day and put on my suit. The first mirror I found, I spent an hour looking in, after another of cleaning myself first.

Looking my (regular) best, I went to my favorite work spot and sat down to start. And as usual, people walked by, disregarding my desperate pleas.

Some greet me, others smile, but none give me what I want -- which shouldn't be surprising, yet the feeling present during my first hours made me expect change -- maybe I am more spiritual than I'd like to believe.

When I felt like giving up (my hope, not the job), I saw someone who made me feel weird again. The way he walked at me made me sense this was the day I'd finally get what I deserved.

He slowly walked, seemingly to me, and when he was within touching range, he waved and gave me 500 euros.

Which made me cry like I had never before. I felt like a little boy again. He said it wasn't a problem and I should use it wisely. I responded: thanks, I guess.

As he walked away, I understood we were both more disappointed than we had been in years: because we didn't get the praise we had anticipated, he for the money they could easily miss, and me for the stunning suit I had again put on.

Learning to wait

Anticipating something good is often almost as pleasing as the thing itself. Add in uncertainties about whether you'll receive anything and what you'll receive, and you've got significant parts of most addictions described.

But if the wait is too uncertain or prolonged, it can be one of the most agonizing experiences. It's better than waiting for something nasty, but it's close. 

For some reason, my girlfriend keeps telling me I have to learn to wait for something good. Though she lives in Belgium, and we only get to see each other on the weekend and have to wait to see each other frequently, I'm not sure what exactly she means.

Challenging questions can only be interesting for so long, and after a while, I lost interest. So, instead of starting a fight with my girlfriend, I have just been practicing to wait for something good to happen. 

Something too easy for me.

To challenge myself, I'm now trying to learn to wait for nothing. I've removed everything from my apartment that could give me any distractions: my computer, paint, books, and instruments.

Now, I happily wait in my chair for nothing to happen -- until I can't anymore.

Lost in translation (2)

This painting is about a girl who, like most people, was born in a world where she didn't understand the people around her but slowly learned.

Nothing is fascinating about that. It is very intriguing, actually, just not extraordinary at all.

But then, one day, (not so) out of nowhere (after taking a magical flying machine to the other side of the world), she lost the ability to communicate.

For months, she lived confused until she met me, a long-legged man who didn't understand much -- except that she was colorful.

And I wanted to capture that as quickly as I could. To better understand it and to make sure I would never lose it.

However, without saying anything, when I showed her the painting, she left me. I'm unsure what she meant by that. Perhaps seeing herself be understood scared her away, or maybe she was just offended by my portrayal of her.

That's all.

Lost in translation (1)

While walking through the beautiful Den Bosch, I frequently wonder about all the genius ideas people that pass me by are having. They don't know me, so they'd never tell me, and if they did, there's a big chance I wouldn't get it.

It's hard to explain interesting ideas sometimes. 

I knew this genius in high school, who could've solved many of the world's problems had he been motivated to (instead of solving obscure ones).

However, whenever he tried to explain his thoughts, his words came out in a language nobody else could understand. 

Maybe you don't understand how I knew he was a genius, but sometimes you know from the moment you see somebody. Yes, he could not communicate well through language, but the beautiful way he solved problems showed me enough.

Nobody else could see it. They all called him an idiot because he could not bring his mind to words. Thinking about him still makes me sad, and the worst part? To a lesser extent, this is true for everybody.

Bruges Is Dead

What's the craziest thing you've ever done for someone close to you? I like to see myself as very rational. I've got emotions, of course, but I don't drastically act on them much.

But when my girlfriend asked me to go on a small vacation to Bruges, I couldn't help but say yes. I know—very crazy stuff.

My girlfriend is pretty crazy as well. That's why I like her as much as I do. There's one thing, however, in which she is typical; she likes tourist cities.

And Bruges, the city she took me to, is one of those. It also, for large parts, has been stuck in time, seeming to only still exist to give people the feeling of being in such an old world.

That sounds cute. But nobody lived there. The only reason (that part of) the city exists is for theater -- this made me sad.

Life means change, and the most beautiful thing about a city is seeing how the great collection of humans keeps changing everything. Eventually, it could become hard to recognize the origins, but that's life.

Disabling my lights

At some point in my life, I decided I liked drinking coffee. I don't remember when that happened, and there are many things like it. 

I also developed a hatred for ads at some point, perhaps because I don't particularly appreciate feeling like the easily manipulated sucker I am. But I know that the right ad still manages to entice me occasionally.

For example, I bought these expensive Philips Hue light bulbs. Who knows why? I barely use the features they provide. It's overkill, but controlling my lamps from an app is pleasant. I suppose.

Somehow, these expensive lights keep turning off in a way that requires the manual light switch instead of the app to turn them back on.

When I was a young boy, probably until I was 20 years old, I was scared of monsters in my parents' house. But when I moved into my apartment, where I thought no monster ever could come and which was way smaller, I stopped being scared.

It took me months to figure out what was turning off my lights. To do so, I had decided to sit in the corner of my living room, dressed as a painting, with the lights on, and to wait and see when they would turn off.

And then it happened. The door opened, and my girlfriend, who I now realize might be a monster too, came in, used the light switch to turn off my lights, and walked away again.

I couldn't believe it. I still can't.

Cutting an onion

I'm reasonably intelligent (the cleverest person I've ever been), so today, I'll grace you with a story about the most important lesson I learned. 

Here is how I learned why you should never sincerely try to help anyone with anything:

My girlfriend told me she was a horrible cook -- she worked as an au pair and told me that her host children always cried when they ate her food.

On our first date, she wanted to cook dinner together, and because I knew she was terrible, I thought I'd give her some tips. 

Well, that was a mistake. We started by cutting the vegetables we would be using in the dish. While my girlfriend listened intently, I explained easy ways to cut them.

I felt exemplary & clever, like the genius I am, until she started laughing maniacally, like some weird cartoon villain. For some reason, she only pretended to be a poor cook but had trained for years.

Not only did this make me feel like one of the dumbest people on the earth, but now I struggled to trust anyone else.

And that's how I learned why you should never trust or help anyone, even yourself.

Living in garbage

If you're at home right now, I want you to do something for me (if you aren't, you might try as well); look around you, and what do you see? I'm trying to understand if the stuff around you is useful. Or does it just sit there without any acknowledgment?

Because of laziness or perceived meaning, if you've owned something for long enough, it becomes nearly impossible to throw away. But I know better: it's garbage if I haven't and won't use it in ages.

My parents (but my mom especially) have large amounts of garbage. It's so bad they have rooms dedicated to all of it.

My mom has invented whole systems for organizing her garbage so that she can keep them more efficiently. For a lot of it, their only usage is getting re-organized.

That's one way to keep them useful.

But I think that's a waste of time. Instead of inventing these systems, I use the time to make more garbage. A big part of my life is committed to making this garbage that I barely look at. It's even all over my walls.

It's so bad that I've convinced myself that making said garbage is the meaning of (my) life. At least it's better than not having any meaning, woohoo.

Frustrated psychologist

Being in a, at worst near constant & and at best frequent, state of anxiety is just a hobby of mine.

But due to circumstances I'm too ashamed to admit, my family and girlfriend hosted an intervention, ugh, consistently ruining my fun.

So, a while ago, I started going to therapy. I guess to learn how to relieve some of that anxiety -- but I'm not an optimist, so understanding myself better is a more realistic goal.

The fact I don't understand myself much sometimes makes me worry that I can't communicate my feelings very well.

Occasionally, I'm nervous that my psychologist will get frustrated with me as I'm unclear about what's in my mind (because I don't know). And periodically, I'm anxious that her frustration could make her scream at me. 

I've decided to act like nothing is wrong anymore: the best way to solve all my problems.

To take a picture

For those who don't know, there's a small & magical city called Efteling in the Netherlands. It's mostly for children -- when you get old enough, all that mystical stuff is much less endearing.

So my girlfriend, who's slightly childish sometimes (and an alien, so unfamiliar with the city,) wanted to visit to see what all the fuzz was about.

I enjoy the idea of spending time with her, so I did to validate that imagination: we went and had a lot of fun. 

She wanted me to go on all these supernatural rides that made me incredibly nauseous; I did anyway to make her happy, but because I complained about my nausea, she called me a loser.

Very rude & annoying, though I wouldn't expect anything else from someone I like enough to spend time with. 

She likes to take pictures. It always makes me very happy seeing her focus on getting a good shot, much happier than seeing the perspectives she's capturing themselves.

At one point, she asked if I wanted to get coffee (and then, of course, bought a muffin & hot chocolate for herself as well), and when we were sitting, she made a picture.

I wanted to capture her taking that picture, but was too late. I asked her to take another one so I could still. Nothing about her picture, mine, or this painting portrays much reality. It's all staged or interpreted, but everyone likes living in fairy tales. So it's okay.

Some people are born wise, and you're probably not one of them. Though maybe, if you're lucky, you've met or even known someone who was. 

These kinds of people seem to come out of the womb with knowledge from outside, which is easy to understand but hard to figure out while being more truthful than anything others ever think of.

My toddler nephew sometimes seems to be like that. I'm not sure if he's genius or even intelligent, and he may lose his wisdom with age, but for now, the guy seems to speak truth into life.

While playing in the backyard, we talked about life a little bit -- like young men sometimes do -- I asked him a question that wasn't important enough to remember.

But I could never forget his answer: "Ja!" He loudly exclaimed, which helped me make sense of so much of what once had seemed unrelated.

Then he put his toy car in an impossibly tall tree and asked me to add another vehicle. But I was too busy thinking to play around, and before I knew it, he also had grown too old to play. What a shame.

It's okay sweetie

Normal people are scary for the same reasons monsters are: because they don't exist. When someone is strange, it will feel like at least you know what's wrong with them, instead of the fake normal ones for whom you'll have to figure it out.

Anyway, these scary people like going on vacations, yuck. Staying home is easy and great. I've felt more love while looking at the same old bland buildings than I have while looking at great world wonders.

But when my parents (some of the weirdest people I know) rented a small house in Delft and asked if I wanted to stay with them for a few days, (I'm trying to work on my anxiety -- part of the reason why I love home so much), I did something radical and said yes.

It was nice seeing them for longer than I had been (it's hard to see people you don't live with.) And, ever since becoming an adult, playing with my toddler nephew is the most fun I'm still allowed to have.

Though cute that he is, he's also a real troublemaker, so there wasn't a night where he didn't wake everyone up by screaming.

There must have been (fake) monsters in his dreams. Fair enough, they are scary sometimes, but even more frightening than that should be the real ones in his life. 

He'll understand that someday. Then he'll wish to return to the ones in his dreams, but it'll be too late, not that he ever really could.

Far from home

This Thai lady is lying on my couch -- don't worry about how she got there; it's a story I'll reveal some other time. 

I had told her she would look great as a painting, which she struggled to believe, only making her more beautiful.

She allowed me to sketch her anyway, and because I didn't know when I'd get such an opportunity again, I took full advantage, stealing her soul and capturing it on my canvas.

Well, that was probably my biggest mistake ever.

Don't get me wrong, the painting is excellent, but now I have this soulless body in my apartment who's NOT pleased with me.

Apparently, stealing one's soul is frowned upon -- maybe THAT is something they should teach you in school (though perhaps they did, and I wasn't paying attention.)

I would appreciate any ideas about rectifying this situation without destroying my painting or upsetting her more than she already is. I like her a lot, and I'm not ready to depart from my painting yet.

From the floor

Somehow, this girl found her way into my museum. She won't leave, and I frankly don't want her to.

(I do know how she got in; I let her. But still, it's surprising she's here. In the same way, it feels weird when you switch a job or something.)

Because of me, we fell on the floor while we were playing (building this Lego set she had bought, using me as an excuse to get it "as a gift.")

A mistake I can't believe I made, which I don't regret as much as I should -- I hadn't been making enough errors before she appeared, so her allowing me to make more is appreciated.

When I looked up, I noticed something I had neglected for a long time: the ceiling, which, at that moment, looked like an abstract masterpiece. 

Seeing my room from this new, yet oh-so-common, perspective made me realize what I already knew -- that it's too easy to just sit in a chair.

(artist) screaming into void

The biggest problem with cliches is how good they are, yet how unoriginal it feels to use them.

Maybe being unoriginal shouldn't matter much -- maybe most cliches were created as other cliches dressed up in a fancy enough coat to make everyone forget their nature.

Even what I wrote before seems cliche, but hopefully, my dressing will be tasty enough for you to be saturated. If not, well, I'm not sorry. You've got enough time to waste a minute on something I wrote.

Anyway, I'll keep this one short so that you won't have to feel bad if my pretentiousness isn't able to impress.

The working title of this painting was 'A real artist happily screams into the void,' but I didn't feel like writing such a long title, so I shortened it, perhaps a little too much. 

A real artist doesn't and can't ever exist, but if there was one, I imagine they would have to be able to make art because they want to make art and be happy doing so, even if nobody else notices or cares.

And that's all I've got to say about that.

Hating the gift

Lisa met Johny in a comment section for a post about a new pair of shoes that, for a couple of days, everyone seemed to talk about. 

They discussed and bonded over their shared hatred for the original poster -- who, in their opinion, wasn't cultured enough to voice their opinions.

They quickly started talking more and developed a close relationship rooted in complaining about pop culture; they fancied themselves unique.

However close they might have been, their physical distance did not help to resolve their otherwise lonely and empty existence.

Generally, most distances are reachable. Unfortunately for them, a human could not travel this route. It just was not possible.

But when Johny went to the post office to send back a recently no longer trendy sweater (he had ordered it when it was still stylish, it arrived late and now clearly wasn't,) he noticed that he could fit into the grandest allowed box.

So he shipped himself to Lisa, but the moment their eyes met, they found another shared thing they could hate -- each other.

Long legged monster

If you don't know, you may be one of them, but in this world, there are a lot of monsters. There isn't much of a problem being a monster, and if you want to be friendly, you might choose not to call them that -- what is a 'monster' anyway? But there is no need to be friendly around these parts. 

I played, learned, and grew like anyone else, with similar friends, so you might've called me normal, that's at least how we viewed each other.

Only many years into high school did we learn that not everyone has such long legs. We called the others 'monsters' back then, thinking: "What a weird existence must it be; how could they reach the tree tops or climb steep hills?"

When I turned 20 and felt like most at that age that I knew & had seen it all, I decided I wanted to explore the world that allegedly was full of weird monsters, including ones with short legs.

Then I started to learn that in those other parts, I was the monster. Even though the short-legged weirdos could use my help with many tasks otherwise performed with uncomfortable or expensive tools, they all ran away.

Due to that ostracization, what used to be my benefits became my shame, and slowly, every day, I became a little bit more like the monster I appeared as. 

Finally, only an unreachable moon accompanied my heroic journey of leisure.

Date in the wrong city

Do you ever run out of your house in a frenzy, almost late, after checking you've got everything you need, only to remember you forgot something when you're just too far not to want to go back again?

I don't date much, but I'm trying to see what more than art (& family) I can appreciate in life. Anyway, I had a date, we were supposed to meet at the train station, and when I was halfway there, I realized I had forgotten my shoes and socks.

When I arrived at the train station, I felt a million eyes on my feet (there were probably none, if not only a few.) I was on time, and when I looked at my phone, I noticed a message from my date; they had arrived and asked where to go.

In this case, straight ahead of oneself, does, in fact, take one very far, or at least far enough to where they needed to go. 

So, their question confused me. They told me we should meet at the cafe, but when I arrived it was closed, they confusedly told me it really wasn't.

As my anxiety was peaking higher than ever thought possible, I felt the world slipping, looked around for cameras to make sure I wasn't in a prank show of some kind, then got a message from my date; they had mistyped the name of Den Bosch and had accidentally gone to Den Haag instead.

So all by myself, I walked through Den Bosch on now cold feet, carrying me to the beautiful places I had seen a thousand times, thinking: maybe there is no need to explore any further than this.

Ruined food

If you've ever wanted to do anything exemplary, you'll know that that journey is filled primarily with failures. 

Those who end up with anything worthwhile may start seeing them as successes; you overcame them after all, didn't you? That's a success, right? 

Maybe so, but that's a little optimistic for my blood. So, I'll call it what you did at the time -- failures. 

There's a discomfort I get from that struggle that I hate to feel as much, if not more, than how much I love the satisfaction of success. 

And here's an observation: that struggle isn't very similar to hunger, except that they're both undesirable yet inevitable. And cooking food, which you may have to do if you get hungry enough, is one of those things you can fail at. 

Let's say you decide to experiment with your food. But while cooking, that oh-so-common uncomfortable feeling starts spreading through your veins while a worry pops up in your brain: "What if I ruin this food?"

Your hungry state of mind isn't helping to calm you down, and after cooking, you prepare yourself to eat -- it smells alright, but for some reason, you fear the worst.

You take a bite, and it's terrible. You would have almost preferably gone hungry for the rest of your life than taste that, but here you are.

While holding back the tears, you walk to your window, where you hungrily stare at the buildings. Even in all their beauty, they can't solve your hunger-filled disappointment, but you have to work your way through it, at least that is, if you still want to continue learning.

Anxious dissociation

We all know that the universe, and life in general, is bizarre. There's no way to talk about it without repeating what billions of others have thought and without sounding pretentious.

And worst of all, it doesn't seem like anything meaningful is ever actually discussed when talking about it. So I won't bother.

Anyway, so one day, while I was walking through Den Bosch, or perhaps while I was sitting at home, it doesn't matter. I was lost in thought, thinking very deeply about something simple.

But I could not wrap my mind around it, which scared me. How could something so straightforward be incomprehensible?

I felt like if even something like that didn't make sense anymore, how could anything else? I'm not sure how long I felt like this, but at some point, I continued walking through the beautiful city while sitting in my apartment, accepting that the most bizarre thing seems true -- it's all just real & normal.

State stole my bike

Unlike most Dutch people, who own 5-10 (one for each workday, perhaps a weekend, a vacation, or a birthday one, with some local regions having their own, admittedly weird habits too), I only owned one bike.

So here's the story of how I neglected her and eventually, due to that neglect, lost her at the hands of the state. 

However, this is not a story about how I miss her or advice for you on what not to do. Those feelings and that strategy are my secrets to keep.

Complaining is life's greatest pleasure, and complaining about an authority, like the state, is beautiful, but I'm not complaining here. Yes, they stole my bike, but I'm happy that they take care of the abused in this country.

That might not be true -- maybe walking is life's greatest pleasure, though I feel it's not as universally appreciated. However, what do I know? 

Anyway, I neglected her, mostly because I love walking. I'd walk everywhere instead of using her while she slowly rotted away over time due to the weather.

(Also, her tire was flat, and I didn't want to be bothered to fix it.)

Then, one day, the yellow mark of death appeared on her. Something I didn't understand and had to research, which took me a while to do, and even then, I didn't bother taking action.

I don't remember when it happened, but at some point, when I walked past where she used to be, I noticed she was gone. Only then did I fully realize the implications of the yellow mark; I would never see her again.

Caffeine High

There you are, after your fifth black coffee, feeling high & well, seriously on edge, exactly how you like it, looking at another cup standing on the coffee table in your room.

You're unsure what you're thinking about when you snap out of it and realize you don't own a coffee table. You like to live that way, lean, nothing that isn't strictly necessary.

Afraid that this is it -- you're finally losing your mind, you look outside the window and notice another room, which is mostly empty, with only a lamp, a carpet, and, of course, another window.

Nice, minimal, exactly how you like it, which calms you down enough to look back. When you do, you notice a door, which you decide to inch towards to try and reach the tableless room, but the door doesn't feel like opening right now. 

So with nothing else to do, you continue losing your mind, going in loops in your mind, again and again about how you're losing it, until finally:

You stand up from the couch in a tableless room, exclaiming: 'And that's why I stopped drinking coffee,' which you did after just starting again four weeks ago.

It seems like the whole thing was just in your mind; perhaps it was a daydream, whatever that means. For some reason, you're scared that if you had continued drinking too much coffee, you'd lose your mind, which is ridiculous, primarily because -- I think you already have.

Grandma's ring

Some memories are questionable: is it something you honestly remember, or is it a story told to you so frequently that it starts to feel like you do?

But this story is about memories that are as authentic as any other.

I remember standing in this large room with tall ceilings, a friendly home, in front of a closet. 
I wanted something from that closet, but this large, aged woman would not allow me to get it until I did something that scared me -- ask for it.
When my desire for sweets overcame that anxiety, I finally asked for and received my candy.

Recently, that memory changed a bit, but I'm still sure it's authentic.

So, instead of a closet full of candy, my grandma is handing over a ring with a red gemstone. She tells me I'll have to grow to fit into the ring as it's too large for my tiny fingers.

Even now, 19 years later, that ring is still too large, and it's unlikely for my fingers to grow. Perhaps she meant that for me to grow would mean overwinning the anxiety of having the ring be made smaller.

But she probably didn't, as I assume she was only human.

We'll never know, as not long after the memory, she died. Any day now, I'll have known the ring she gave me longer than I ever knew her.

I wore that too-large ring anyway and broke it before ever really using it, and now, in my memories, there's no candy, and she's handing over a broken ring, as it always seemed to have been.

Shadow Master

When I stand up from lying on the floor, I may engage in what was once one of my favorite activities, which has now become a challenge to entertain: going on a walk.

And if I'm lucky, the sun will shine, and I quickly may again learn why I once fell in love. Looking around will expose too many perspectives worthy of being painted than I have time to paint.

I'll walk a similar enough route to allow me to fall in love with the surroundings, yet different enough to keep me from getting bored.

One time, while standing in front of these beautifully boring buildings, I did something absurd. I'm still not sure what got into me, but while standing in the hot sun, I looked down, and you'll never believe me when I tell you what I saw -- my shadow. 

But it wasn't just my shadow. Instead of the shadow following me, I felt like I was following my shadow. Devastated by this realization, but knowing I had no choice, I walked the route I was supposed to walk, getting inspired by the perspectives that were supposed to inspire me while thinking about who was leading who.

Lazybones

Looking up from the floor is a mesmerizing perspective. You get to witness this part of the room that you frequently see but rarely pay attention to.

The otherwise unappealing sight has recently become a big part of my entertainment. Once in a while, I lay there for half an hour or so, often at least once a day.

And I could not tell you what I did while laying there -- though, of course, I know because there isn't anything to do.

I've become the laziest person on earth, hopefully having my recent medication to blame. Because the alternative is something I don't think I can accept currently.

Even making my art is something I have to force myself to do, but maybe this has always been more true than I'd like to think now.

At least I'm a little less anxious, and social interactions are less dreadful.

Dreams create desire

What's the most intense desire you've ever experienced? And what caused it?

I often experience the most intense desire after absurd dreams, which I barely remember. Some flashes, if lucky, but the desire they inflict can persist for a week easily.

And it always feels weird. In a way, it's not even necessarily easily identifiably linked to the dream, just a lust for a friend, a partner, fame, money, or whatever else you can imagine. 

If you'd ask me, I'd say that I don't generally want these (kinds of) things, but still, apparently, dreaming about having them makes me, in some way, crave them;

That begs the question: are these not just passions that I otherwise try to hide from myself? What's the point in wanting something you "can't" have anyway?

Waiting for the call

I feel anxious about whether I'm actually anxious or not, and I'm not even sure about the authenticity of that feeling.

I've always experienced anxiety, but the feeling used to be predictable. Recently (it's already been more than half a year), it has become part of my regular experience -- making art about being hungry might have me feeling off.

It took me a while to talk to my GP. It took us longer to figure out it probably wasn't physical, which led to me getting referred to a mental health clinic, which is taking even longer to call back.

They told me I'd be on the waiting list for 72 days. When I had waited those days, and they hadn't called me, I assumed they didn't count weekends and vacations. When even accounting for that, the days had passed without a call; I became anxious about whether I did something wrong. 

I know I should call them to confirm, but I'm sure I've become very fond of waiting for the call. Maybe I am actually anxious, but it's just another hobby to fill my empty time.

Always changing house

I've only ever lived in three buildings. The first one, because of me, we had to leave within the first year of my existence, and the second one I spent most of my life in, about 21 years. 

And that one building was many more houses than most people live in during their entire lives, to my great annoyance. And probably to my parents their great annoyance too; I don't believe they had much control.

Anytime I woke up, I had to relearn the layout -- I often had to clear out the dishwasher, and there wasn't a day where I didn't need to ask where something needed to go (and they'd always complain about having to explain the 'logical' layout).

I remember one early morning waking up and still finding my mom moving closets in the living room. I told my dad she was up early, and he replied that she hadn't slept yet, which probably indicated a stressful period, but I was too young to understand.

The weirdest part is that somehow, my apartment seems to be struggling with similar issues, though suspiciously now, I do always know where everything is.

Innate hero complex

I'm talking to an art collector and explaining my art in a museum. I keep saying these cool-sounding, fascinating sentences. Any question they ask me, I somehow know the perfect response to -- they're amazed by my cleverness.

I turn the corner, and an ordinary (for Den bosch) yet beautiful building that I've looked at a thousand times before but for the first time see appears and slips me out of any other thought I might've had, in this case, what I think is a daydream.

I don't KNOW if it's a daydream, but unlike other thoughts, in all of them, I'm in scenarios where I'm a hero of some kind. It's hard to talk about because it's embarrassing and not something you remember. 

So I'll let your imagination fill in the blanks; it's either grandiose fantasies, what I should say to my colleagues or family when I see them again, or what I should've said in the past.

Boy in skirt

Vaguely, I remember a boy in a skirt at one point, lying on a couch, sleeping, sucking his thumb. I don't and can't know if it's true, but lying there, he looks so unbothered by it all, just living his life exactly how he wants, at least as far as a child can do whatever he wants.

My parents try to make me believe that I used to be that boy, but I know that can't be true. I've never been so chill, not even while I'm sleeping, or at least it's hard to imagine.

I also couldn't imagine wanting to wear a skirt, but my parents tell me it's true. There's really no issue here. I don't want to wear skirts anymore, if I did, I would. 

Except that I'm scared that they took that decision from me and that I wouldn't want to, even if I tried, and if I did want to, I wouldn't do it.

But it's easier to not think about it and to do what I enjoy. It's not like I'm that normal anyway.

The keymaker

The apartment building I moved to has an electronic lock that needs a keyfob to open. I only received one, a fact that irritated me the day I moved in, but the rent is cheap, so it's hard to complain.

One day, when I came home from a walk, the front door didn't open anymore, so I went to another that didn't open either. 

I've never felt so vulnerable. Of course, I assumed that my keyfob was the problem, and anxiously I called a keymaker to replace it, who told me I had to come over, which I did.

Surrounded by many large keys, the keymaker skeptically asked me what was in front of my apartment building. I assumed to figure out whether I lived there, and nervously, I thought and, after a minute, crying, I said I didn't know.

The keymaker, now confused, asked me why I was crying, to which I again responded I didn't know before the keymaker told me they ordered my key and I could go. So humiliated, I walked back home to a locked apartment complex.

Bad Year Can't Complain

Comparing your state of mind from year to year seems nearly impossible. 

Last year might've been the worst year of my life (so far) because of some anxiety problems that now constantly seem present. 

It wouldn't surprise me if it were, but I'm uncertain how I could compare how I felt like as a 4, or 12-year-old. 

So, I'll settle for calling it just a bad year.

Maybe one of the worst things about it is that I've got it good in many ways; I work on so much satisfying art, live comfortably, and have little stress in my daily life. 

That may not sound bad to you, but it is -- now I feel like a loser when complaining. 

And complaining is one of the most fun things you can do.

Parents In Mirror

The older I get, the more I start recognizing my parents in myself. I'm not even that old yet, so I fear the similarities will only get more apparent with time.

Even though she might not like or admit it, the same is true for my sister. 

I'm sure there are many more positive similarities than negative, but my sister and I love complaining about our parents, and nobody likes being a hypocrite. 

I guess it's a small cost for something as fun as complaining.

Then there's my art. As an artist, it's horrible to be stale. My art isn't like anything my parents have ever done. And when I'm delusional enough, I hope that my art isn't like anything anyone has ever done. 

But it's hard not to compare my parents' work with many of the characteristics that, I think, are important for making good art.

Fighting Sleep (Like Valentijn)

My baby nephew Valentijn, like everyone else, gets tired sometimes. And when he does, his grandparents will prepare him for bed. 

When they do, he's always fighting them, which is ridiculous. His tiredness is unmistakable, and when he finally gets put to bed, he falls asleep instantly.

More ridiculous than that are the adults who, when they get tired, know they should get sleep but stay awake.

I'm a very responsible adult, so for me, this isn't an issue at all. I've got a job, meaning I need to wake up in time, so I'll get in bed early enough to get some good sleep.

But when I don't have my job the next day, I act just like my nephew, but unlike him, there's nobody to put me to bed except myself, so I stay awake, wasting so much of my precious free time for no good reason.

Dying Alone

"Sometimes, I feel like I only make art to upset my mom. Probably because she's one of the only people I talk to about my art. 

And honestly, I love seeing her get sad because of my art; the whole point is to provoke emotions. But I also hate knowing my art hurt her. I know she's hurt because of the reality of what I've decided to portray, not because of me, but still, I'd rather see her happy.

Regardless, a family member recently became terminally ill, which inspired this piece. We're no longer in contact, so I'll probably never see them again.

They seemed to have become quite delusional the last time I saw them, and I didn't have much of a relationship anyway, so their passing doesn't hurt. 

Frankly, they're not important enough for a painting dedicated to their passing. But it made me think about myself.

Making friends is easy, but I never want to do anything with those friends. After a while, they all learn not to invite me, as I won't attend anyway. It's not that I don't like them. Some of them are very cool people. The others are nice enough. But for some reason, I prefer to be alone. 

However, I can't help but be afraid of the future. There's a good chance that I will die alone, and I'm not sure if I'm going to regret those decisions. 

So sorry, Mom. I know it's not too late to change, but I'd rather be alone."

Only Light In Window

This time of year is so dark here. I thought the shortest day of the year was a month before it was. I made the same mistake last year. And again, when I realized we would have another month of ever shorter days, it made me incredibly sad.

Regardless, something I now realize I've missed in the summer months is that in the dark world, the lightest parts are the insides of houses.

I might have missed this because I don't go outside that much when it's late, so I don't see the darkness in the summer, or because during the summer, people have a lot of time to realize it's getting dark, so they often close their blinds, and somehow they forget to do it when it's dark earlier.

The result is that now, during my walks, I get to look around and see all the fascinating rooms inside all the buildings. 

Parent With Child

I'm not very sentimental, or maybe I simply don't want to be.

So when I saw a woman with her child in a cargo bike, and I thought about my parents, how they carried me around the world for so long, and how now they don't. That wasn't me being sentimental: some things in this world are good, interesting, universal ideas that require capturing, which I did.

Honestly, I'm happy to be independent from my parents, and they're probably glad that I can take care of myself. I love them, even if they, understandably so, radiate stress sometimes.

But I feel I should appreciate them more than I do. It's hard to find the time to spend with them (even though it's too easy to find the time to waste on useless dopamine machines). Even when I do, it's challenging to find good topics. So many things are not worth speaking about, and so many worthy things are easy to forget.

They, or probably me, 'deserve' that extra time though;

Because, so often, while working on my art, or I suppose, in general, I still feel like that kid in the cargo bike getting brought to where I need to go by my parents.

Zen Dageraad captures the essence of an early 20s song with a vibrant depiction of solitude, inspired by Vincent van Gogh's bedroom painting.

Empty Bed Blues

Drawing inspiration from the melancholic notes of the early 20s song, 'empty bed blues', Zen Dageraad embarked on a journey to capture its essence on canvas. The rhythm of the tune awakened memories of Vincent van Gogh's iconic bedroom painting, which Zen Dageraad channeled into his artwork. Presented is a room bathed in intriguing hues: a stark blue bed and an equally desolate chair take center stage, surrounded by verdant green walls. These walls come alive with splashes of pink artwork, while a solitary yellow window stands as a beacon of hope or perhaps solitude. Adding depth and dimension, the vibrant orange floor is meticulously divided into myriad shapes, each varying in shade, creating a rich tapestry of color and emotion. It's a visual ode to loneliness and contemplation, resonating with the soulful tunes of its musical muse.

Zen Dageraad's artwork captures self-reflection with a pointed gesture and bold colors. Dive into a world of introspection and challenge your perceptions.

Self Absorbed Loser

Conceived during a late-night spark of inspiration, Zen Dageraad crafts a provocative representation of self-reflection. The artwork features an irate, pink-hued figure, vivid against the backdrop of a blue-striped room, pointing directly at the observer. This accusatory gesture is heightened by the audacious yellow crown adorning the figure's head. While the subject remains ambiguous, the painting invites the viewer into a realm of introspection. Zen Dageraad's intention, subtly layered within, is to nudge the beholder to see themselves in the artwork; recognizing the inherent self-absorption that's woven into human nature. With a blend of humor and candidness, it serves as a mirror, compelling us to confront our own egos and assumptions.

Zen Dageraad's artwork captures a poignant moment of a blue figure having its blood drawn. Evocative green shades set the tone for this personal narrative.

Stealing My Blood

In Zen Dageraad's evocative piece, a vibrant blue figure extends its arm in the bottom left, revealing vivid red veins leading to the bottom right. The poignancy is palpable as a blue hand emerges from the top right, grasping a needle that draws blood from the character. The contrast between the blue of the figure and the striking red of the blood is intensified against a background palette of varying green shades, representing a room with a singular window. The painting was borne from Zen Dageraad's personal experience, during a time when he was unwell for two months and underwent a blood test. Although the results indicated no health concerns, there existed an underlying sentiment of having blood taken seemingly in vain – a feeling of theft, perhaps, yet tinged with relief.

Explore Zen Dageraad's depiction of transformation with a pink butterfly amidst a vivid backdrop, capturing the essence of change & constancy.

Sobriety

In Zen Dageraad's evocative creation, a vivid pink butterfly takes center stage, contrasting beautifully with its background that transitions from a warm orange at the top to a serene green-blue below. The segmented shades used within both the butterfly and the backdrop lend depth and dimension, drawing viewers into the story behind the piece. Zen Dageraad reveals his journey of personal transition and self-discovery, reminiscent of the transformative phases of a caterpillar to a butterfly. After quitting a daily habit of smoking weed, the artist experienced a paradox: a significant change externally, yet feeling internally unchanged. This nuanced duality is captured with the butterfly, suggesting that while we may undergo profound transformations, our core essence remains intact.

Experience the cold embrace of the pines in Zen Dageraad's painting inspired by Smog's song, enriched with whimsical colors and a nostalgic musical narrative.

In The Pines

Drawing inspiration from the musically rich soundscape of Smog's "In the Pines", artist Zen Dageraad ventures into a cold, mystical realm in his work. Although the exact narrative of the song remains a mystery to Zen Dageraad, its essence evoking images of a pine-laden escape, carries through in his artistry. The artist first crossed paths with the tune through a heartrending cover by Nirvana, "Where Did You Sleep Last Night", adding layers of historical and emotional context to this painting.

Amidst the soft, light blue backdrop, Zen Dageraad plants a thicket of pines with contrasting orange trunks and verdant leaves, symbolizing both tranquility and stark reality. A pink railroad whimsically cuts through, bearing a purple train with bright yellow wheels, a literal and figurative vehicle transporting viewers into the chilliness of the pines evoked in the song. The fusion of colors not only accentuates the cold but brings a surreal warmth, an homage to the tune's ambivalence.

Delve into Zen Dageraad's visual narrative on hope's comforting embrace amidst adversity, portrayed through a vibrant tree under a radiant sun, evoking depth and emotion.

Hope Is Everything

Exploring the profound theme of hope amidst adversity, Zen Dageraad creates a stirring narrative through a vibrant visual metaphor. The art encapsulates the artist's journey through illness and the comforting warmth of hope that eased his voyage, albeit devoid of the anticipated recovery. The piece immerses viewers in a realm where the green tree stands tall with uniquely shaped leaves in varying shades, symbolizing life and resilience, orchestrating a serene dance with depth and perception.

The ground below, illustrated with different shapes and shades of orange, holds the tree steadfast, providing a contrasting warm palette that symbolizes the bittersweet reality. Above, a sun radiates beams of light amidst a purple sky, embodying the nurturing essence of hope that propels life forward. The technique of color variance and shape diversity utilized by Zen Dageraad creates an enthralling visual depth, drawing observers into the narrative, enlightening them on the indispensable virtue of hope, which unveils a comforting perspective amidst life's unpredictable journey.

Explore Zen Dageraad's artwork capturing the struggle of joy amidst prolonged sickness. Dual windows depict time's swift passage in vibrant hues.

Too Sick To Be Happy

In Zen Dageraad's evocative artwork, the central figure – portrayed green with striking red hair – stands in stark contrast to a room adorned with hues of pink intermingling with green-blue walls. The figure's evident frown echoes the challenge of finding joy after battling illness for an extended period. The dichotomy of the room's two windows offers a poignant commentary on the fleeting nature of time. To the left, a window frames the solemn moon, twinkling stars, and a brooding night sky; to the right, a window reveals the radiant sun against a bright backdrop. Both serve as reminders of time's relentless march, even when one feels stagnant. The choice of a purple floor, grounding the entire piece, further amplifies the internal turmoil Zen experienced during a prolonged period of ill health.

Zen Dageraad's art mirrors Matisse's self-reflection on past works, showcasing a vivid canvas scene amid purple-shaded backgrounds.

Matisse's Shame

Inspired by the poignant reflections of Henri Matisse on his past creations, Zen Dageraad presents a profound visual narrative that interlaces with the words: "so matisse said he was ashamed of his older work. No need, of course, but sure, I get it matisse. I know what you mean." This sentiment, echoed by many artists including Zen Dageraad, underscores the evolution of an artist’s perspective over time.

Zen Dageraad's piece is a vibrant tableau of emotions. At its forefront, a blue-green canvas, touched by a pink brush, stands proud, framed in passionate red. Behind it, an orange window captures the viewer's gaze. A luminescent yellow light cascades from a green string, illuminating the scene. The backdrop features three purple stripes, each filled with varying shades, crafting a room that resonates with the soul's introspection.


Experience the mystique of Zen Dageraad's artwork, where a serene bike path unfolds tales of psychedelic explorations and a journey towards the unknown.







Distant Figure

Embark on a visual journey along a mystical bike path depicted in Zen Dageraad's evocative art piece. This work immerses the observer in a serene yet eerie pathway located behind the Jeroen Bosch hospital in Den Bosch, as traversed by the artist frequently. The scenery, imbued with the spectral resonance of a past psychedelic adventure, unveils a distant figure marching towards a blue realm, embodying the haunting allure of the unknown. The narrative is enriched with a whimsical poem, a tribute to the path's natural psychedelic aura even in the absence of truffles, alluding to a memorable day of curious exploration turned awry.

The meticulous design employs a myriad of shades and shapes to engineer depth and perspective. A yellow path, methodically sectioned and shaded, guides one's sight towards a purple distant figure venturing into a blue enclave, evoking a sense of mystery and anticipation. Adjacent, the yellow-green grass and pink-trunked trees with verdant leaves exhibit a similar geometric technique, delivering a surreal yet grounded frame. A solitary red bench witnesses the scene, a silent testament to past experiences, as told through the prism of psychedelic truffles, friendship, and the unexpected voyage into the depths of consciousness.

The essence of transcendent discovery, the blend of cool and warm tones, alongside a narrative enriched by poetic reminiscence, makes this piece a profound exploration of reality and perception, perceived soberly or under an altered state.

Explore Zen Dageraad's evocative artistry that blends nature's serene beauty with the imaginative spark of a lighted boat amidst a colorful, tranquil setting.

Boat With Light

Embark on a whimsical journey with Zen Dageraad's captivating artwork that brilliantly intertwines the natural allure of daylit serenity with a spark of imaginative flame. As one strolls through the serene landscapes of Den Bosch, the eye is caught by a quaint boat, its lantern aglow despite the midday sun. Though the light vies against the sun's brilliance, achieving little to illuminate, yet it becomes the muse for a poetic and artistic endeavor. The modest boat, brightly painted in shades of pink, becomes the protagonist in the artistry, amid a well-designed backdrop crafted meticulously with shapes and shades depicting nature in its quiet, colorful splendor. The bottom teems with shades of green, representing grass, creating a soft contrast to the cool hues that fill the surroundings.

To the left, tunnels adorned in soothing purples draw a gentle mystery, while above, more green hues blend harmoniously with dark purples, cradling another tunnel exuding a lighter purple glow. Amidst this orchestrated color play rests the boat, with red benches awaiting stories and a yellow light at its prow, shining a path of imagination. The delicate contrast of dark and light blue around the boat further enriches the scene, under the soft gaze of an orange sun that casts a light blue reflection beside the boat. The sky, a canvas of blue-green with varying shades, adds depth, embodying the boundless sky of imagination triggered by the sight of the little boat. The narrative unfolds seamlessly, with each color and shape inviting the onlooker to a tranquil yet evocative realm where the mind sails freely, spurred by the simplistic yet profound light of the boat as echoed in the verse: 'just a little boat I saw, bravely shining a light...its light shines on, triggering my imagination.’

Zen Dageraad's art captures the legacy of Mark Rothko, exploring the bond between artist & artwork. Poignant commentary on appreciation & context.

Love, Don't Kill The Artist

Capturing the essence of the relationship between the artist and their art, Zen Dageraad presents a poignant commentary on the legacy of artists. The piece juxtaposes a portrait of Mark Rothko, framed within a heart, with one of his iconic artworks, "Untitled (Blue Divided by Blue)," side by side on a wall. The vivid setting is painted in varying shades of red; from the lightest hue on the floor to the darker shades on the surrounding walls. A striking purple bench sits on the ground, casting a deep red shadow, flanked by a green door and window.

Inspired by a personal conversation about Picasso's sketches and how context influences art appreciation, the piece delves into the paradoxical nature of artists' lives and legacies. Rothko's intent to "kill the artist" culminated tragically in his own death. Yet, the art remains, and in part because of his tragic end, it is now extremely popular.

Experience Zen Dageraad's art: A brilliant portrayal of anxiety in a gentle encounter. Colors and lines blend, revealing vulnerability's nuanced narrative.

Still Anxiety

Immerse yourself in Zen Dageraad's exquisite exploration of human vulnerability and anxiety, encapsulated through this remarkable artwork. The narrative unfolds on a simple path, where two entities cross; a cheerful figure greets with a wave and a smile, mirrored in hues of light to dark blue. A seeming non-threat, yet this interaction invokes an unsettling response in the other figure.

The second character's reaction embodies the artist's personal interpretation of anxiety, expressed as a Scream-inspired visage; light blue terror morphing into darker tones of dread, magnifying the metaphorical punch that transforms a smile into a source of anxiety.

The path they tread, starting from the bottom right, sways left before a rightward curve, disappearing into a deep purple forest. An orange sign, adorned with a forward-pointing arrow, accentuates the singular direction of their journey. Surrounding this path, you'll find three trees with teal leaves and two distinctive purple lakes, adding serene complexity to the vivid tableau.

The striking color palette continues with the sky and ground, brushed in gradients of red, complemented by the outlines in bold yellow, adding a profound sense of depth. Zen Dageraad's ingenuity is reflected in his ability to transform a peaceful scenario into a vivid depiction of distress, prompting a profound introspection on how the seemingly benign can sometimes be a source of disquiet.

Zen Dageraad's art captures the essence of family's unwavering strength amidst challenges, blending vibrant hues and powerful symbolism.

Family

Discover the narrative depths and symbolic resonance in Zen Dageraad's vivid creation. The piece eloquently illustrates a family's complex dynamic under a stormy metaphorical sky, personifying life's perennial challenges. Three vibrant, green figures are prominently featured; a representation of Zen's mother, holding an embodiment of Valentijn, and his father, brushing a radiant sun onto the backdrop. Their resilience shines, even as an overcast cloud shrouds them.

A moon in the corner weeps, reflecting melancholy and struggle, juxtaposed by a wall embellished with twinkling stars. Across the room, a purple door on another wall implies untold stories and potential exits. Above it all, the sun, bifurcated in colors, echoes Zen's personal journey, portraying himself amidst the familial landscape.

Dominating the scene, ominous blue clouds cast an expressive face upon the family, while varying shades of pink create dimensional depth, manifesting the emotional spectrum within the familial setting. This masterful blend of colors, symbols, and emotions is a testament to Zen's keen artistic and introspective prowess. Despite the looming cloud, the family persists, embodying resilience and hope, and painting their own sunshine.

Dive into Zen Dageraad's artistic exploration of identity and success in art. The piece, through color and poetry, questions what it means to be an 'artistic failure.'

Artistic Failure

Immerse yourself in Zen Dageraad's introspective exploration of identity and artistic journey. The piece captures a poignant narrative through the written word and vivid visuals. Dageraad uses colors and figures to echo the sentiments conveyed in his striking poem. "This is not me," he begins, alluding to a face in the top right corner, its sadness underscored by a light red hue and a purple eye filled with longing.

The intricacy lies in the details. Three arms, filled with darker red, extend from the head. Two hands, gesturing in a begging pose, carry 3 coins and an artwork bearing the creator's signature. A hint of self-doubt, perhaps, or a reflection of the commercial trials faced by Dageraad. Yet, his affirmations of artistic success are mirrored in the vibrant pink walls adorned with stark white paintings, and the dark blue door suggesting possibilities beyond.

His work culminates with a second eye at the bottom, lighter purple and equally compelling, positioned next to a wall. Overhead, the split canvas casts a darker yellow shadow on the floor, as if it absorbs the sentiments echoed in the artwork. Despite its original title, 'commercial failure,' this piece effectively contests the notion of failure, both commercially and artistically.

Experience Zen Dageraad's artistic vision of his solitary confinement in his studio, brought to life with vibrant colors and intriguing symbolism.

Trapped In Studio

In Zen Dageraad's vivid interpretation of his week-long solitude, one feels the intensity of confinement. Bounded by yellow-outlined walls adorned with whimsical purple sketches, he brings his creations to life, echoing a feeling of being besieged. His artistry transforms the corners of the room into separate entities; the bottom left and top right walls cloaked in a midnight blue hue.

The centerpiece, slightly shifted to the left, is an eye painted in shades of azure, perched upon a contrasting green chair. The seat, casting a shadow of deep blue, seems to radiate an uncanny sentient aura. The eye, amidst the confinement, glows with anticipation and curious exploration.

To the right, an overhead lamp spills soft pink light across the room, playing on the chair, the diligent eye, and a table angled distinctively from the seat. This table, tinted with the same blue as the top-left wall, hosts a variety of brushes dipped in vibrant colors—pink, green, yellow, purple, and blue. They symbolize the artist's coping mechanism, creating amidst isolation, hinting at the brushes' role in manifesting this 'in-studio' entrapment.

Against the light blue backdrop of the floor, the shadowed furniture and multi-hued palette brings forth a tableau of immersive creativity birthed out of solitude and illness. Thus, Zen Dageraad's artwork captures the relentlessness of his own creations, a testimony of the artist confined, yet defiant in his own studio-museum.

Experience Zen Dageraad's vivid portrayal of summer's unforgiving heat, embodied in an abstract face amidst a fiery backdrop. A must-see visual symphony!

Way Too Hot

Dive into Zen Dageraad's unique artistic interpretation of the sweltering summer heat. Experience an intense fusion of warm hues—fiery red, dark orange, and sun-kissed yellow—that sets a backdrop emulating the unforgiving heatwave. The piece evokes a feeling of waking up in the wee hours, seeking refuge in the slightly cooler atmosphere of the morning.

In the heart of this visual symphony is an abstract face, meticulously outlined by a single blue line flanked by two lavender strokes. The face appears distorted, melting under the severe heat, with a jumbo eye shining red with a dash of yellow, reflecting the burning surroundings. A wide mouth, awash in rich purple hues, appears to emit a silent scream, underlining the intensity of the scene.

Echoing the torment of the heat, sweat trails the face, etched in vibrant pink with a purple-blue contour. The hair, just a triplet, stands stiff, framing the surrealist portrait. The palette, predominantly green for the face, purple for the mouth, and pink for the tears, adds to the dramatic intensity, making the artwork a captivating ode to the relentless summer heat.

Explore Zen Dageraad's captivating art piece, illustrating an awkward encounter through vivid colors and expressive caricatures.

Somebody Touched My Hair

The essence of an awkward encounter through an imaginative blend of visuals and text. The artwork captures the innocent act of grocery shopping being interrupted by a stranger’s unwarranted touch. Zen Dageraad employs an expressive caricature with light blue hues, enhanced by the striking contrast of a dark blue border, to convey the protagonist's emotions. Red blush on the caricature’s face and the lengthening of four exaggerated brown hairs suggest both surprise and discomfort.

Another arm, belonging to the intrusive lady, extends from the left, caressing the protagonist's hair. This interaction takes place under an unconventional light source, depicted in an arresting green with purple borders, casting green highlights and shadows on the figures and objects. The light also plays with the depth perception by interacting with the three yellow-tinted edges in the background. Zen Dageraad's use of color, shadow, and lines lends the piece an engaging depth, making a simple interaction profoundly resonant.

Immerse in Den Bosch's tranquil charm with Zen Dageraad's art of Moerputtenbrug, fusing vivid hues and poetic storytelling. Discover daybreak's enchantment.

Moerputtenbrug

Zen Dageraad invites you on a tranquil journey to the heart of Den Bosch, through his immersive artwork featuring the Moerputtenbrug, an iconic landmark surrounded by natural beauty. Bathed in the soft glow of dawn, the bridge stands majestic and serene in hues of vibrant yellow and a soothing palette of oranges, as if personifying the stillness of an early morning in a nature reserve.

From the bottom left corner, your eyes are drawn to the curving bridge, guiding you to the top right. The orange railings and pillars, darker on one edge, gracefully descend into the surrounding water, enhancing the depth of the scene. A subtle purple border encapsulates the entire vista, tying together the elements with a flourish of color.

In the distance, lush green trees rise, their vivid trunks casting playful reflections on the water, subtly tinted a darker shade under the bridge, and a brighter green under the foliage. The scene is completed with a sprinkle of green water lilies that adorn the water surface, a silent testament to the region's rich ecology.

The artwork, with its intricate detailing and thoughtful composition, echoes Zen Dageraad's poignant sentiment beautifully captured in his poem, a tribute to the beloved Moerputtenbrug. Each line resonates with the profound tranquility and age-old charm the landscape exudes, encapsulating the essence of what it feels like to be the first visitor on a peaceful morning.

Discover Zen Dageraad's vibrant tableau inspired by a lyric from 'The Ballad of John and Yoko'. An artistic blend of color, poetry, and perspective.

Two Gurus In Drag

Wrapped in the vibrant world of Zen Dageraad's artistry, we uncover an unusual tableau - two figures, encapsulated in striking shades of green, comfortably tucked into a bed, their sprawling purple tresses cascading to the edges of the page. The figures, reminiscent of two gurus in disguise, present an intriguing scene, their presence complemented by a curious red guitar with a dark red border, resting on the bed's edge.

Strangely enough, it's the bed that first catches our attention - its sides colored in varied hues of blue, creating an offbeat perspective, its borders bathed in a vibrant yellow, a hue echoed by the pillows cradled on its surface. A blue-green lamp, casting an orange glow, stands partially obscured by the bed, offering an odd sense of displacement. Framing the room are two windows, subtly shaded in differing purples, overlooking a backdrop of red walls and a pink floor, while a duo of flowers rests quietly at the bottom.

Drawing inspiration from a cryptic lyric within 'The Ballad of John and Yoko' by The Beatles, this masterpiece subtly weaves in a narrative echoed by a heartfelt poem. The artist's words offer a soothing refrain – 'it ain’t easy, I agree, and I won’t crucify you, instead, I drew an ode to the ballad of yoko & you.' A journey through layers of visual storytelling and poetic language, Zen Dageraad's work is a truly memorable experience.

Experience Zen Dageraad's vibrant reimagining of a musical classic, a journey of empowerment through captivating colors and meaningful symbolism

Boots Made For Walkin'

In Zen Dageraad's tribute to Nancy Sinatra's classic tune, the creative fusion of vivid colors and daring symbolism commands your attention. The heart of the piece lies in two green boots, their vibrancy echoing the lyrics 'nancy's boots were white & mine are green'. As if strutting down an orange road bordered by purple, the boots' journey mirrors the song's message, that of walking all over you.

The orange path narrows into the distance, outlined by a fresh green, implying an endless journey of empowerment. Overlaid on this scene is a background meshed with four different shades of blues, a visual symphony that transforms the verse 'have you seen these hues? four shades of blues!' into a breathtaking spectacle.

At the center, a dark pink eye gazes at you, and another waits at the end of the road. These elements symbolize the singer's unflinching determination and future conquests, culminating in an artwork that boldly articulates the essence of the song.

Discover Zen Dageraad's breathtaking art, merging vivid hues and nature's beauty. Inspired by poetic words, his buzzing bees ignite a vibrant ode to creativity.

Bees

Immerse yourself in the whimsical world of Zen Dageraad's expressive art piece, born from an evening of shared creativity and camaraderie. Drawing inspiration from a friend's book filled with engaging poems and captivating illustrations, the featured bees took flight in his imagination, culminating in an effusion of colors.

Two vibrant bees, bathed in surreal hues of blue and orange stripes, command attention with their pulsating red eyes. Their wings, a curious concoction of purples, contrast with their bodies, drawing one's gaze. They flutter above a unique landscape, where the ordinary becomes extraordinary through the artist's lens. Four ruby-red trees, each outlined by dual crimson lines, punctuate the scene with their vivid presence.

A solitary flower, an understated emerald spectacle lined with blue, anchors the image on the left. Above, a cotton candy cloud fringed with purple outlines the horizon, subtly shifting between two shades of pink. All of this set against a backdrop of a radiant yellow sky that transitions into a warmer, sun-like orange at the farthest corner.

The terrain is an amalgam of green and blue shades, hinting at Zen's trademark style of blending elements. Shadows cast by the trees and bees ripple on the darker green-blue surface, amplifying the sense of depth. The piece demonstrates an intelligent color palette strategy, with the sky, cloud, and ground reflecting each other’s hues, showcasing a cohesive unity amidst the diversity.

Discover Zen Dageraad's stunning interpretation of Mac Demarco's 'You're Out', an artwork laden with emotional depth, vibrancy, and a tale of regret's futility.

You're out

Delve into the exquisite visual narrative crafted by Zen Dageraad, an embodiment of Mac Demarco's song 'You're Out.' Focusing on the theme of regret's futility, Zen Dageraad brings to life an emotionally charged scene. A lone figure, ensconced in a bed of layered green hues, stares into oblivion. Their surrounding environment, a bedroom painted in variegated shades of red, sets the mood for deep introspection. The poignant details of purple bed lines and orange drawers, encased within bold red borders, provide a stunning contrast.

In the corner of the room, a window serves as the canvas for a larger, piercing eye, its blue-green panes reflecting an exterior world. Through the strokes of Zen Dageraad's brush, an element of voyeurism comes alive as the eye gazes upon the scene, intensifying the melancholy. The presence of a nearby lamp casting yellow light subtly adds depth, bathing all in its warm glow and outlining the existing elements.

The brilliance of Zen Dageraad's work lies in its ability to portray an ordinary moment with extraordinary emotion and depth, echoing the poignant words, 'you’re out, you might as well face it & take it lying down.' Each color, shade, and line in the artwork furthers the narrative of the scene, making it a heartrending visual poem of acceptance, regret, and quiet introspection.

Dive into Zen Dageraad's depiction of Dutch windmills, where skilful artistry meets poetic narrative, offering a fresh perspective on the familiar.

Windmill

A compelling tribute to the timeless Dutch windmill - or wind turbine, as he affectionately terms it. Framed by towering trees dwarfed in its majesty, the windmill, drawn with immaculate detail, reigns supreme, echoing the artist's deep-rooted connection to this symbol of his homeland.

His deft strokes breathe life into a panoramic landscape, illuminated under an unobstructed sun. Its brilliance subtly mirrored in the golden halo encircling the drifting clouds and reflected by the sun-kissed flowers gracing the foreground. These elements coalesce, achieving an illusion of depth - a testament to Zen Dageraad's keen eye for perspective.

The accompanying verse resonates with this visual narrative. It tells a tale of a journey, where an ordinary encounter with a windmill magnifies into a transformative moment. As the poem echoes the windmill's enormity, it becomes a metaphor for shifting perspectives - a recognition of the colossal within the commonplace, artfully captured by Zen Dageraad.

Discover beauty in Zen Dageraad's art - a vibrant tribute to nature, calling viewers to find greatness in life's unexpected corners

Forest

Explore the vibrant embrace of nature through Zen Dageraad's unique artistic perspective. Inspired by a hidden pocket of serenity, this illustration brings to life a miniature world nestled amongst urban dwellings. The focus is a length of water, flanked by towering trees - a scene of simple beauty, yet it captivates with its sheer verdant allure.

Breaking from reality's color palette, Dageraad employs vivid hues to imbue depth and intrigue. The water dances in an unnatural blue, reflecting the red tree trunks that defy convention with their green and purple tones. Leaves don a striking orange, contrasted by the pink reflections dancing on the water's surface. The grass basks in yellow, subtly shifting to a darker shade under the tree's shadow, conveying depth and dimension.

Despite the unusual perspective that reveals hidden layers, the message remains grounded in nature appreciation. The art echoes the sentiments of a poem - finding beauty and greatness in the simplest, most unexpected places, if only one knows how to look.

Pablo

Drawing upon the poignant rhythm of the roadrunners' song, this artwork captures the essence of an older, more distinguished figure, reminiscent of the iconic artist Pablo Picasso. A subtle tribute to his unyielding charisma and undeniable talent, the piece is infused with a sense of both respect and humor.

The accompanying poem echoes a familial appreciation of the artist's brilliance, an aspect that is humorously contrasted by the suggestion that the artist was not without his faults. The piece encapsulates the song's dry wit, reflecting on the artist's romantic success despite his short stature, a playful nod to Picasso's renowned allure.

The artwork itself mirrors the artist in his later years. The lines, shapes, and forms pay homage to Picasso's distinct style, yet they are layered with a unique interpretation that adds depth to the piece. The creator's love for Picasso's work is evident, making this art piece a thoughtful and entertaining exploration of the artist's identity, legacy, and the impressions he left behind.

This subtle blend of admiration, humor, and critique offers a multifaceted perspective on the artist's life, highlighting his influence while also acknowledging his humanity. As such, the artwork and its accompanying poem present a captivating tribute to Picasso, illustrating the enduring impact of his work and personality.​

BlueJayWay

Inspired by a Beatles' song penned by George Harrison, the artwork encapsulates the ethereal, psychedelic vibe of the track. It paints an evocative scene of Harrison lounging on a bench, hands clasped, wrestling with the lure of sleep.

The piece is underscored by a poem, a surreal fusion of George Harrison and Lewis Carroll's worlds. It playfully warns of the danger of falling into a rabbit hole and becoming an opium-smoking caterpillar, a nod to Carroll's fantastical universe. The poem poses a poignant question, who has lost their way? Is it the song's friends or is it the song's creator himself?

The artwork and the poem together create a tantalizing narrative, blurring the line between reality and dreams, individuality and universality. It's a reflection on the nature of identity, a kaleidoscopic journey that invites viewers to ponder, is it really them or is it really you?

Stairs

An enigmatic art piece that breathes life into an ordinary setting through an imaginative blend of colors and elements. At first glance, the art captures one's attention with its dominant yellow railings, evoking a sense of intrigue. A poem accompanying the piece gracefully expresses that, although not as magical as the yellow brick road, the combination of yellow railings with various shades of pink and green resonates deeply, with a captivating charm.

The artist uses different shades of roses to impart depth to the walls, while the contrasting shades of green render depth to the stairs. The lines of the building and stairs are consistently colored to maintain harmony. A prominent, striking element is the eye embedded in the wall, paying homage to Kees van Dongen, whose captivating eyes seem to haunt the artist’s consciousness.

Interestingly, the perspective in #512 Stairs is a tad peculiar, adding an abstract layer that challenges the viewer's perception. The piece, overall, is a vivid tapestry that creatively elevates the mundane.

10 Minute Wait

A captivating art piece that vividly depicts the fleeting nature of time and the anxiety that often accompanies anticipation. Rendered in a palette restricted to three primary colors - yellow, red, and blue - along with additional shades of dark blue and orange-pink, this piece is a visual representation of an individual’s struggle with time. The dark blue figure, ostensibly agitated, is seated on an orange-pink chair that casts a subtle shadow, suggesting the presence and passage of time.

At the core of this art is a poignant poem that resonates with the painting, encompassing the essence of the frustrating, yet sometimes zen-like moments of waiting.

In essence, #511 10 Minute Wait is an ode to the internal conflict that arises when the mind is torn between the present and the impending future.

Grassfield

An enthralling art piece that effortlessly blends visual charm with poetic allure. The painting portrays a serene landscape, with three trees meticulously aligned in a perspective that guides the viewer's gaze into the horizon. Each tree exhibits masterful gradient shading, growing darker towards the base to suggest depth.

In the mid-ground, animated birds are soaring gracefully, with delicate shadows beneath them, immersing the viewer into this idyllic landscape. The grass field is speckled with vibrant flowers, adding a touch of whimsy to the painting. Strokes of yellow are masterfully used to represent both the flowers in the field and the stars in the sky, forming a recurring motif across the canvas.

Accompanying this visual delight is an evocative poem. The words gently prompt one to seek simplicity and contentment through nature’s embrace, resonating with the effortless beauty of the art piece.

In essence, #510 Grassfield is more than just a painting; it is an invitation to discover tranquility and wonder through the simplistic splendor of nature.

Chaos

An introspective and captivating self-portrait by Zen Dageraad Visser. A symphony of symbolism and self-reflection, this piece embarks on a journey into the artist's inner world. The canvas is adorned with sweeping locks of hair, representing not only a physical attribute but also an allegory for how the artist’s tresses often cloud his own vision. Adding a dash of humor and desire, a pronounced moustache takes center stage, underlining Zen's personal aspirations.

Additionally, the artist's eyes are veiled behind glasses, which may signify a protective barrier due to his introverted nature or a simple divergence from his usual 'Kees van Dongen' style eyes. The background intermingles three harmonious colors, subtly whispering of complexity and unity.

Accompanying the artwork is a whimsical poem, which reinforces the elements and adds depth to the narrative. Through light-hearted verse, it invites viewers to experience the essence of Zen, who symbolically dawns as a reflection of everyman. In #508 Zen, Dageraad Visser brilliantly intertwines raw self-portrayal with evocative symbolism.

Chopin

An emotive art piece that plunges into the psyche of the renowned composer, Frédéric Chopin. Through a stunning blend of colors and elements, this piece visually represents how Chopin, known for his introverted nature, would seek solace in his piano, particularly his emotionally-laden preludes. The artwork’s focal point is a tear, meticulously constructed using a triad of colors, symbolizing the depth of emotions flowing through Chopin. Additionally, the face, depicted in a singular hue, portrays a sense of detachment with the nose turned away from the piano, while the eye engages the viewer, seeking understanding and connection.

The background’s amalgamation of three colors sets a poignant tone, harmonizing with the piece's central theme. Accompanying the art piece is a contemporary poem, which converses with ‘Freddy’ (Chopin), appreciating the enchanting yet painful world he shared through his music. #507 Chopin is an eloquent tribute, thanking the maestro for the timeless gift of his music.

Hi I'm Zen Dageraad, I've lived in Den Bosch for my entire life and currently, I live in a museum

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