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Monday, October 21, 2013

Believable Dreams. By John von Daler


                We were supposed to have eaten lunch at a better restaurant in #Amsterdam, but our feet got tired and we stopped beating the path we had planned and went into a little bar by a canal. The plastic menu listed a spicy chicken and some beers, so that is what we ordered.

                Our waitress - who also took care of all the other twelve or so tables - took the order in a taciturn and efficient way, looking down at her pad, her short blond hair falling in front of her cheeks and almost covering her eyes and mouth from my side view. But as she turned away from our table she raised her head and I caught a glimpse of two intense eyes, a prominent nose that pointed at God without being cute about it, and fleshy cheeks below a broad forehead.
                Jodie #Foster, I thought. But then, more pertently, No. Every Dutch woman you have seen today in all those #Vermeers, van #Goghs and #Rembrandts. The quintessential Netherlands woman of the people. Then her eyes flashed irritatedly towards me and then around to the rest of her customers.
                No, I thought. Jodie Foster was the right choice.
                Then again, why should the right choice for those great artists of the canvas be any different from that of our contemporary film makers? Both this woman and Jodie Foster combine a kind of peasant ordinariness with extreme attractiveness. That is what we want to see: the extraordinarily ordinary, Dutch, American, or whatever, at lunch or at the movies or on a canvas. Believable dreams.


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