About Me

Born in 1963 in Liberec, former Czechoslovakia

Arrived in The Netherlands in the summer of 1969

Brought up bi-lingual: Dutch-English

 

Educated as an independent artist at ARTEZ from 1988 - 1992                   (bachelor)

Started an ongoing Cultural Science study at the OU from 1993 - . . .        (propedeutic +)

Added Master of Art Education at the HKU from 2014 - 2016                      (master)

Currently studying Creative Writing at Cambridge University 2017-2018   (undergraduate)

 

Since 2003 I am creating, and teaching, courses on art and language for the pop department of the Conservatoire of Amsterdam at the Amsterdam University of the Arts.

 

In 2010 my DarkEnsemble project came to life which gave me the opportunity to further develop my writing and performing skills and lead to two productions: Body with Drawing and Human Bondage

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I like making lists but escape them at every opportunity. Love structure but dwell uncompromisingly within. Am not a global trotter, rather a homebody, but my imagination is galactic.

On a personal note:

Never would I invite all of my friends to come to my birthday party where tigers are better looking while the fat woman's joke goes horribly wrong as I lay dying watching the red tulips being too excitable. Their redness corresponds with my wounds as I'm lying by myself, quietly as the light lies on white walls in a room of once's own.  The tulips should be behind bars like dangerous animals; they are opening like the mouth of some great African cat, as he paces in cramped circles, over and over. Only at times, the curtain of the panter's pupils lifts, quietly--. An image enters in, rushes down through the tense stillness of the muscles, then into the heart where it disappears. The grapes of wrath no longer taste sweet to those who seek the queen of spades at the top of the magic mountain only to find a woman of no importance exchanging her wuthering heights for the lowlands of Mansfield park, so appropriate for the second sex.  Meanwhile, on the waves below the old coastline,  the old man and the sea join together.

However in the innermost hour of the soul appears der Steppenwolf in almost a Faust-like fashion to bring notes from the underground where dead souls collect the poetic dust.

It's all much ado about nothing to the conformist serving, or should I say surfing, less than zero. If this is a man in his totality and infinity, it is a man's search for meaning. Beyond good and evil, beyond the joke, our ethics lies in the metamorphoses that always awaits us on the way to language.

If this isn't nice, what is...

Want to know more? 

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