With his book ‘Beeldhouwen met pleinvrees’ (Sculpture with agoraphobia,1996) Sjaak Langenberg has shared, for the first time, his thoughts on public art. Dissatisfaction with traditional models of exhibiting led him to seek out public space as his work territory. The projects he produces together with designer Rosé de Beer, are always preceded with an essay which in many cases becomes a publication. His critical reviews on art and public space have been published in a range of national magazines and catalogues and he has also given numerous workshops and lectures on this topic. Time and again he redefines his role as an artist.
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More essays (Dutch only) |
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It’s not rhyolite, not obsidian, not basalt, and not granite or tourmaline, never mind quartz or agate. It’s just a stone. Well… not just. For sure it’s very old. It’s older than the Haarlemmermeer Polder, of that I’m certain, even if I’m not an expert. My lack of expertise allows room for imagination - it’s a meteorite airlifted in by a celestial body! And it’s just lying there, totally unnoticed in the car park at the plane spotters corner at Amsterdam Schiphol Airport next to a bright red rubbish bin with on it the words: ‘LITTER in the bin THANK YOU’ and below that the McDonald’s logo. Multinationals are capable of airlifting their products to anywhere in the world, so it’s a comforting thought that this stone will outlive McDonald’s. It’s a less comforting thought that this stone will outlive me. But then again, the ultimate airlift is life itself. We’ll just have to live with it. In the meantime we spot planes in the Haarlemmermeer polder, as if our lives depended upon it. Everyone here only has eyes for the aeroplanes, even now when there aren’t any. Out of boredom I go for a stroll around this godforsaken place where we’re expected to spot all kinds of things. ‘For safety reasons you are requested not to feed the birds or to leave food scraps lying about.’ The litter of planes at Schiphol takes priority over everything. But I have turned my back on the airport and become a geologist.
I’ve imported stones into the Netherlands. Strangely enough the best of them were found in car parks. In Iceland, a geological paradise where you can pick up stones blindfolded, I saw things glittering at me from the most trifling non-sites. Staying within the 20 kilo baggage allowance was always a gamble. So prior to the return home, all the stones would be washed and laid out to dry under the tent awning or on the bedside table. Hard decisions had to be made before the homeward journey. Some stones remained in the land of their origin, others ended up in the Netherlands where, as natural souvenirs they would continually evoke a whole world of memories.
On the outdoor café of the McDrive, a space shuttle that’s been converted into a climbing frame is forlornly dreaming of the aviation museum. What a feeble gesture in comparison to the stone at my feet. White veins run through the stone, and some parts glisten like silver. It’s lying wedged between two kerbstones, on pebbles which must surely recognise the superiority of the stone. Where has this stone come from? That question keeps plaguing me. It’s not jade, nor malachite nor azurite, and also not lapis lazuli or rhodochrosite, never mind spinel or moonstone. It’s just a dead ordinary stone in the car park of the plane spotters’ corner at Amsterdam Schiphol Airport. And tomorrow, once this column’s been published, motor coaches will congregate on this very spot. Japanese tourists just off the plane will have themselves photographed next to this stone. It is a meteorite, I’m certain of it. A sign from above that we shouldn’t be paying attention to the aeroplanes, but to what’s lying at our feet.
© Sjaak Langenberg, 2005. All rights reserved. This text is intended solely for personal use. No part of this publication may be reproduced or displayed without prior written permission from the author.
