I woke up with you in mind hearing your shouts, seeing your act art you said art

as i wait for the first bird song you wait for the first embarrassment

you have a name, you have a fame, you teach to earn

scream to act art you say

the thousand fine lines a question the embarrassment



Looking further into some facts

the aim for the shame

searching for what is lost

inside a scream of silence a scream of taal

en nog eens taal

Vergeefse woorden zoeken naar menselijke mening, menselijke redenering

ik herinner, terwijl de vogel mij niet ziet

een vermenging van woordeloze Beelden

Verbeelding van menselijk gezag

het gezegde van een FLITZZZZ

onderweg van het weg zijn van de



roaring trucks, zooming first cars

into the silence faling raindrops, rolling of leaFs


somebody else has been here, footprint from behind

shout for what is lost, what will be lost

only without the anger, leaving that embarrassment

a shout of silenced grieving, act silent walking, over a noisy track

should i act this sadden dance to get attention for loosing

perhaps it is the falling of failing



dat ik bewandel na de nacht

een druppel hier            een druppel daar

een gloeiende plaat, in ieder hoek

taal zeg je een vergeten woord van het niet willen weten

stilletjes nat worden voor het zien van dat kunstzinnige moment

kunst waar vind je dat, aan een hangende tak zonder bladeren

het niet weten voelt veilig aan

nee, laat maar     ik wil het voelen

achter de pijn van verliezen ligt de glorie van schoonheid

DIE komt zonder prijs

dansend over een bank, terwijl de bankrekening loopt leeg

genietend van een teer moment, regen valt niet leeg



treecreeper crawls away vertical movement


the rain truly falls

100 1000000

one hundred million

for a piece of skull

money of dead reminder of bulbs 1640

art for few collecting emptiness, no tax on art

10,000 times 10,000

art against reason a silent reminder of what i don’t want

is het een kunst om iets te maken waarvan iedereen zegt wat knap




is het een kunst om iets te maken wat jezelf niet echt snapt

een vergeten liedje van herman van veen met blijvende gedachte goed

walking back through the rain leaving art well behind

i sell what i create

artinisme off

dripping drops make no difference

i see your anger of lost words

leaf your act of desperation

its all a vague nothing on lendless paper



ik ga verder met mijn zin

zinloos dwalen tussen woorden van niets

lege druppels in jouw haar

warme bries in mijn gedachte

verder heeft het geen






do you see that word a silent word
hanging from every stick, from every line, in every circle
it says noting that word of stilte
would it be something you know, something you said, something you saw, while you question your seeing

lijn en line

untrusting minds wander along the glister trail
shimmer movement, no wind, no rain over sunbeams entrance
one site, other site, underneath a drop rainbow arrange itself for your eyes


any footstep will make it disappear
unhurry for that tiny moment of seeing, listen to no words
don’t let me show you, don’t let me
be surprised with wandering words, under silent feet, conformation of nothing
the river flows, a drop bows, unpredictable show

goede morgen

als de betekenis van het gesproken woord weg is op het moment het wordt gehoord, laat staan als het wordt herinnerd
ik kan het niet zeggen als jij het hoort





captured light

captured light

believe in Beauty, flashing senses
it takes courage to see sensuality
zoek a look
sensuous sentence, offers a pattern
simplifying simulation every stone in a Bubble
zoek a look

standing still


drop without an ocean, no flow of quadrant
a distant tree, whispering names on your way
zoek a look
across silent breaks
its in your hands, under your feet flowing in your ears
zoek a look

what goes around comes around

what goes around comes around

there over there
whiteout a whisper following maze
zoek a look
around description
saying nothingness
zoek a look

it hurts

it hurts

Dottle over a road, of mystery meaningless tread
tired march of stems
zoek a look
wisps makes you go
used to empty rooms, no matter what you do
zoek a look



locked away rocks
freak window seal leaking dreams
zoek a look
drop by drop, lash-hold of the scream bird
leave window by horsehairs
zoek a look
purple shoes as wings

wings in your eyes

wings in your eyes

A certain dream while walking along in different shoes around different times into different landscapes. Holding my camera in my hand.




The concept of a garden as a piece of art will be discussed for many years to come. The Japanese see gardens as art, no discussions there any more.


Zen-Scape inspired by Japanese gravel gardens

We from Dabe-Art were talking about it; you can’t answer this question without talking about the criteria for art. Creativity would be a number one, unusual would be an other, using material in a different way and last but not least a thinking behind it (intellectual). For many people art ends by making something beautiful (aesthetic) for us at Dabe-Art it is more than creating something pretty.
When Derek Jarman made his garden in the last years of his life his aim was not beauty, he used different materials, not just plants, he had an idea  which developed while making the garden. The garden he created became art and people use it as an example for a garden as art.


Vision 2004

Like any art a garden start with a base, the soil is for the gardener what an empty canvas is for a painter, or a block of clay for a sculptor. Before we create our art we work on the base,  the empty area. On the moment i work on the soil and like other artists while working on the empty the filling happens in the head.
A criteria for art we forgot is passion, if you don’t have the passion you will loose it already while making the empty base. The passion will filter through and makes it all worth doing.
You can understand why the Japanese gardeners made the weeding into something special, something creative, while weeding they create certain patterns otherwise their gravel would be hidden under a shower of greenery. The gravel gardens they made have inspired many gardeners for centuries, including myself.


wheel at the walled garden 1997

While reading Earthly Joy written by Philippa Gregory, about a famous English gardener and wanderer John Tradescant, it came to my mind to write a life story as a garden.
An autobiography written through landscapes into a garden landscape.
The soil from the garden gets shaped in an old design “The Wheel” a large circle divided in 8 triangels leading to an inner circle, like a wagon wheel. You will find the design in many old cultures around the globe. Each triangel of the Story Wheel will tell a story of a place where i lived during my life, reflecting how that place shaped experiences.


the Story Wheel where old and new will meet

The stories start at, yep the East, as there the day start as well as the night, sunrise, moonrise. Each triangle will hold a tree connecting the triangle to the place it describes. When all the flesh melts from the bones them trees will grow on and on changing the face of the land, hiding the written stories.

While weeding away, to have my blank canvas, my mind wanders to all them places and the piece, triangle by triangle starts to live and get filled.

So a new piece of Land Art began, which will grow on for many years to come just like many of my other Land Art.

You can follow here how it slowly but certainly take shape and how the creative story evolves.




coincidence of no focussing camera
macro point of view
into infinity




unexpected random appearance
don’t like
record of time
waving by on constant
looking for silence sight
finding literature gardens
standing in black past

black sight

black sight


observant mind draws an other
alert neglect
movement flows in air
float on water
leaving no remark

schimmen spel

schimmen spel


it goes shining over dreams
inspirational Blues
seeding representation under
Windlight sims
mention in passing fine lines
divide us

what you see    what i see

what you see what i see


a camera alone will never do it
eyes will not see it
together they show a screen


Inspired by


A new piece of land art inspired by a year, which is almost behind us.
The prime inspiration for the land art is an odd drifting part of a boat found in Rotterdam.

drifting oddness in Rotterdam

drifting oddness in Rotterdam

A great piece for some drifting land art however, just last year the canals of the UK had a drifting piece, called uprooted trees, so moving away from drifting. The shape stays as a pattern for planting trees.

reflecting thoughts

reflecting thoughts

A place for reflecting on our human being and the strength of trees.
Where ever I cruise with the Wånderlust I see the reflection of trees in the water growing like pieces of art holding on the edge of the land.

The next inspiration comes from a land art poem which is very popular on Flickr photo sharing site.



It made me think about a piece I made once in response to a video I saw about exponential function 1, 2, 4, 8, 16, 32, 64, 128 , etc.  How even today we still believe economical growth has no limit and keep on moving towards an ever increasing number. The report from the club of rome did already mention the impossible of continues growth, in the early seventies.

can we count

can we count

In the point of the pattern i plant one tree the next row 2 and than 4 finalising it with a row of 8 trees.

Further inspiration came from the street trees, how they are planted in the jungle of concrete and bricks. Around a street tree you will find a bit of earth, a place to shit for the city dogs. In 2013 Stamper died at the age of 16, my dear old doggie.

street trees in Dordrecht

street trees in Dordrecht

Dordrecht the place i was born the place where my papa died this year, looking over a chestnut tree, which stands at the edge of the river.
Not a square at the foot of the tree, too many corners for my liking. A circle with rocks around each single tree, filled with sticks as a mulch.

a vision between the stones of time

a vision between the stones of time

How dead trees help the living trees, going back into the earth, to feed the living. A vision of drifting sticks came into my mind. The sticks and pieces of wood we find in the canals drifting along the boats, the sticks we find, hiding behind the lock doors.

from the old comes the new

from the old comes the new

Willows, lots of Willows showing the art of trees showing the inspiration of drifting.

willow reflectionThe unexpected appearance in the spring, a living source of nectar for bees.

black hoodie

black hoodie

8 Willows it will be.
In between not so sure yet, Oaks or even Ash.
Every tree gets her own poem, some written in the past, some written now, some will be written. 15 written poems, land art poems, the written landscape take your time to read while you grow.

a poem once written this year recovered in the stream

a poem once written this year recovered in the stream

golvende momenten
van vrede
vallende draden
van het evenwicht
vloeiend naar de

Perhaps i will find it again, maybe not.

de river streams past

de river streams past

The location is clear somewhere on the edge of water, perhaps a peninsula, even better an island.
The shape made with iron hidden by driftwood. Iron collected from scrapped metal boats. You can visit the island by boat, only.

a drop in the ocean

a drop in the ocean

15 drops hidden in the ocean, drifting to be seen.


That is how a proposal was born.


At the moment I am working on two small poetry books which will be sold along the canals.
The question came up: should poetry be self explanatory, so people will read and understand about what you are writing? Shall Poetry be made according to the rules and regulations of language – grammar and spelling  – or can the poet just play with words?
The discussion came about due to a line in one of my poems were it looked as if the word “leave” should have been “leaf”. My answer is: it can be both, both meanings, whatever you want. When you read it in the context of the poem it even can be both, but I spelled it as leave meaning departure.
Leave has several other meanings like holiday, farewell, exit, goodbye and leave as a verb has similar meanings; depart, go, retire, pull out, set sail, abandon and next to it you have ‘leave out’  which means exclude.
In the poem:  “Where the leave touches the stream” followed by “soft reflection drifting into a motion of no direction” So it cold be both a leaf from the tree just fallen in the canal, or a departure or even a holiday. That makes it, in my opinion, special; that makes it literary art created with words, being creative with words.
If text needs to explain something you should not be creative with words but weigh the meanings of the words and use them in a clear matter.


old text Cathach of St. Columba

The druid in Celtic society, as the wise people, memorised their knowledge in the form of verse and poetry. These poems are not self explanatory but a way to train your memory as the Celts didn’t use books or script to store their knowledge like the Romans did.
When we look at these old poems, specially those that were written down in Ireland, we will be puzzled as time changes language. A language is not static, so the text can’t be a true text and will always be interpreted. Even more so when a text is translated in an other language.
We use language mainly as a form of communication. Art can become a form of communication but also can be open to the imagination, poetry can be imaginable, being dream like – even unreal – that shows the beauty of poetry and language: using words in a dream like way to stimulate the readers imagination.
Language can be just like a picture we all see it in a different way, as Rene Magritte said: “this is not a pipe” under a picture of a pipe.

My poetry will be with a photo but the poem doesn’t explain the picture, both will show a way of seeing. The human imagination comes in many shapes and forms and we shouldn’t be afraid of it. Some of my poems show how I see the photo, or the moment the photo was taken this doesn’t mean that you should see it in the same way as me. The title of one book is; “the little book of drops” yet every drop shows a lot more than just a drop of water.


Dusky glimmer in the rain     
gives a dashing stroke without a brush,  
to avoid the flashing witty twinkle

The dropping becomes the prism without the cutting edge     
The colour palette holds the Rainbow against the light

The beast gets a revelation on her hair   
No more hiding away in the dark corner

She slowly wander to the glowing ball of water,    
hangs on while it falls from the movement of her legs,     
a lost tick


What do you think?