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 Ancient and modern times in Maastricht
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| A piece of the original Roman wall built when they founded Maastricht before the First Century. The poorest of the villagers lived under the shallow arches where they cooked and slept. Today behind them are modern (20th century) apartments for the prosperous citizens. 10:30 PM. Photo: JH. |
March 15. The Ides of March are upon us, to paraphrase ole Julius Caesar, (according to Mr. Shakespeare). And indeed the thought crossed my mind when things seemed to be going that way this past Saturday night as this writer, along with collaborator JH returned from the Netherlands and the European Fine Arts Fair in Maastricht on KLM Royal Dutch Airlines.
But first things first. On this Friday past, in Maastricht, after our breakfast at the Kruisherenhotel, JH and I went over to the European Fine Arts Fair for the second day to continue to explore. This was a very large fair – its largest in its 23-year history – and impossible to cover in one day. |
| The dining room of the Kruisheren where we had the great buffet breakfast every morning. The room is on the second of two levels of a piece of construction put up within but not touching the walls of the vast 14th century room. |
| Views of either ends of the dining room. |
| DPC reading the morning paper. |
| Reading the Dutch paper at the table next to ours. |
| A view of the first level of the hotel lobby seen from the second level of the construction, and a closeup of the higher part of that area. |
| Soft boiled eggs and freshly squeezed juices. |
| Nuts, raisins, and cranberries. |
| The selection of breads and pastries. |
| Breakfast from the extensive buffet at the Kruisherenhotel: scrambled eggs and smoked salmon, a croissant, granola with yogurt and figs, and a cappuccino. |
We first visited TEFAF five years ago. I am neither an antiquaire nor a collector or even what I would call passionately interested in the works of art and artisanship. Perhaps that’s why my aesthetic is high enough to being impressed, awed and overwhelmed by the artistry and creative resources of our crazy and confounding world. So it often astounds me to realize that much of what I see was actually made specifically for another individual.
You can see the thousands and thousands of concealed hours of human concentration and creativity. It’s too beautiful not to touch you in some way. Yet you realize all this beauty was patronized, i.e., funded, by those men and women of acquired, inherited or stolen great wealth down through the ages. So the two factions have been inevitably combined in the creative process, and continue to be. |
| The Maastricht Exhibition and Congress Centre (MECC), just outside the city centre of Maastricht. |
| The fleet of VW Phaetons to take visitors to and from the fair. |
| The entrance to the Fair exhibition this year was festooned with columns of thousands of white roses, twenty-five feet high. |
| The late afternoon buffet and bar with sweet desserts, champagne and oysters. |
| One of the various cafes in the exhibition hall. |
I qualify my personal interest only because at TEFAF you see the real thing in terms of customers, in all categories. At the great metropolitan art fairs you see mainly collectors, acquirers, would-be and otherwise, as well as dealers, curators, interior decorators They are all looking, browsing, keeping an eye out. But at TEFAF, besides all that, you see real business being conducted, the business of the Fine Arts, right before your eyes. You see them looking at the $25 million Gauguin at Dickinson. And know they may buy it.
You are aware that there are many men and women in the room seriously interested in merchandise that to a viewer like me is beyond the realm of personal possession and simply the works of museums. Yet these people at TEFAF are doing business. That and watching the process is the thrill of the place for me.
The inventory of this fair was insured for four billion dollars. The opening day alone had several thousand visitors -- all guests of the dealers, dealers selling merchandise at prices often into the hundreds of thousands and millions of dollars (or euros). The prices are impressive but the actual art itself dwarfs any currency in terms of being impressive. It’s like an equivalent of real gold.
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| Michel Witmer and TEFAF president Willem Baron van Dedem. |
Michel Witmer and Vivian Eberson. |
| Susan Pillsbury, Ann Nitze, Michael Pillsbury, Sydney Picasso, and Stephanie Stokes. |
Business, I was told by several sources, was much better this year, despite the continuing financial threats and uneasiness. The acquisition of fine arts is an antidote with real asset value for the purchasers. That was in the air.
During the visit, we grabbed some lunch at a cafeteria set up by the fair which also set up other food destinations, menu and price oriented. Good food at this place which had seating for hundreds (almost all taken): sandwiches, pastas, soups, desserts. Beer, sodas, water, juices. A man from Amsterdam joined our table. We struck up a conversation. He described himself as a serious collector although limited by his finances. He also loved coming to the fair because “it is like going to a museum and seeing the finest things.” Knowing they can be purchased, however, adds another dimension to the thrill of them. |
Agnew´s Inc.: Benjamin West, PRA, Cupid and Psyche.
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| Michael Goedhuis Ltd., New York and London. |
| Michael Goedhuis Ltd., New York and London. |
| The Robert Bowman Gallery. |
| Jaime Eguiguren, Arte y Antigüedades, Argentina. |
| Jaime Eguiguren, Arte y Antigüedades, Argentina. |
| Bernard de Grunne, Belgium. |
| The rudder of an ancient ship at Cahn International AG. |
17th century Saxon gold double sided medallic portrait "Gnadenpfennig" pendant at S.J. Phillips Ltd., London. |
| S.J. Phillips Ltd., London. George I silver wine cistern engraved with Royal Arms by Benjamin Pyne, London 1724. |
| Keitelman Gallery: Tapestry (approx. 6' x 8') designed by an artist from Ghana made entirely of pieces of commercial products, mainly thousands of disposed of beer bottlecaps. When you look at the close-up of the piece you will see they are flattened and held together with handmade tiny metal loops. The Museum of Art and Design showed a much larger and wider rendition of this artist's signature work in an exhibition last Spring in New York. They're beautiful and glittering pieces. |
| Salis & Vertes Zurich & Salzburg. |
Whitfield Fine Art Ltd., London. |
| Sycomore Ancient Art Genéve: Arm-shaped clappers adorned with the head of Hather made from Hippopotamus teeth, circa 1570-1500 BC. |
| Sycomore Ancient Art Genéve. |
| Anthony Meier Fine Arts, San Francisco. |
The FIne Art Society. |
| Philippe Denys: PH Grand piano, natural leather, chromed steel, lacquered wood, ivory and transparent celluloïd, Denmark, 1931. |
| Galerie Downtown Francois Laffanour. |
| Galerie Downtown Francois Laffanour. |
| Kukje Gallery, Korea & Tina Kim Gallery, New York. |
| Galerie von Bartha, Basel. |
| The Mayor Gallery, London. |
| Thomas Gibson Fine Art. |
Polak Works of Art, Amsterdam. |
| Krugier Gallery, New York. |
| Moatti Fine Arts, London. |
| The Weiss Gallery, London. |
| Noortman Master Painting. |
| Didier Aaron et Cie, Paris. |
| David Koetser Gallery. |
Douwes Fine Art. |
| The Windmill by Rembrandt at Douwes Fine Art. |
| Hammer Galleries. |
A young fan of the arts. |
| Kunsthandel Ivo Bouwman, Netherlands. |
| Kunsthandel A.H. Bies B.V., Eindhoven, Netherlands. |
| Albrecht Neuhaus Würzburg. |
| Jorge Welsh Oriental Porcelain and Works of Art, London & Lisboa. |
| Aronson Antiquairs, Amsterdam, Netherlands. |
| Egon Schiele at Richard Nagy. |
| On Thursday night we followed our General Manager's recommendation and dined at the Bisshop, an intimate space with about ten tables. It was a special menu (changing each day) offering a choice of prices according to the number of course offered (three to five). After dinner we decided to make the half hour walk back to the hotel. The streets of Maastricht at that hour -- 10 pm -- were very quiet with only an occasional passing car and no other sounds except the rubber tires on the pavent of an occasional passing bicycle. |
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| A note from the Kruisherenhotel's General Manager, Martijn Aarts, about our Thursday night dinner. The message was accompanied by some shower gel. Was it in fact two messages from Mr. Aarts? |
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| Eetkamer de Bissjop at Luikerweg 33. |
| Our favorite dish of the night, the cheese plate with a spoonful of an apple syrup which the Dutch often serve with cheese. |
| How much is the Moo-cow in the window? An art gallery on our walk back to the hotel from the restaurant. |
| A violin and cello maker's shop window. |
| A cobble stone alley along the way. |
| Back at the hotel, a view of the inner courtyard at night. |
| The inner courtyard the following morning as seen through the stained glass windows. |
Friday night we were guests of Michel Witmer at the Chateau St. Gerlach. Michel is the only American on the board of directors of TEFAF, and the man who introduced us to it five years ago. He entertained us at a dinner on our first trip at this same restaurant/hotel.
The history of the property goes back to the beginning of the 13th century when a wealthy landowner decided to built a monastery and gift it to the church. It was built near the grave of a legendary local hermit who was later canonized named Gerlach.
Gerlach wasn’t always a saint. He began as what he himself once wrote, a licentious soldier and a “brigand.” Evidently his activities of excess left him feeling he had a lot to atone for. However, when his wife died, Gerlach went on a pilgrimage to Rome and Jerusalem. Looking for redemption. In Rome he nursed the sick for seven years and performed rites of penance for the sins of his youth. |
| The Chateau St Gerlach from the driveway. |
Back in his native Holland in the area called Valkenburg aan de Geul (where the chateau stands today), Gerlach took up residence in the hollow of a tree on what used to be his estate. Sacrifice, sacrifice, sacrifice. He ate bread mixed with ash (not sure why) and made a pilgrimage on foot to the Basilica of Saint Servatius in the square at Maastricht. That was not a stone’s throw.
The drive by car is about twenty minutes going at a moderate speed. On foot, a thousand years ago, it must have been several hours for poor old humble Gerlach. However, his pilgrimages prevailed and whatever it was that motivated him to make these sacrifices and shed himself of all material things, he acquired a following of admirers, and later became a saint.
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| The restaurant entrance is to the right and the 14th century church from the original monastery behind it. |
Departed and sainted, in the ensuing centuries, by the 19th century the monastery with his name was transformed into a convent for girls from wealthy families. During the wars, the area fell under different countries’ domination.
The convent finally closed and the chateau part of the property was acquired by a family named Cornell and then by an aristocratic family named De Selys de Fanson who owned it up until 1979 when it was acquired by Camille Oostwegel, a Dutch businessman.
Mr. Oostwegel also owns the Kruisherenhotel where we were staying in Maastricht. He is famous in Holland for being a restorer of early architecture and a hotel entrepreneur, as well as an impassioned connoisseur of the contemporary. His product is Old World refinement, history and beauty, as well as contemporary art along the same lines as the fine arts displayed at TEFAF. |
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The restaurant is located in the chateau itself. The rooms are formal and retain their 17th and 18th century design and decor. Our dinner was held in what looks like the library. The clientele looked not unlike those you might see at dinner at an inn in Greenwich, Connecticut, or Pasadena, California. The menu was extensive and offered several courses, along with wines to go with each course. My personal description of it all would be the word: fancy. However, for a gourmet or epicurean or one with a curious palate, it might be: exquisite.
Toward the end of our dinner Beth DeWoody came in to say hello along with George Farias and Craig Starr. All of them came to town that day to visit the fair. |
| Scallop flavoured with lime accompanied by clear lobster cannelloni, Jabugo ham and piccalilli cream. |
| Sautéed wild sea bass with oyster dressing complemented by squid tempura. |
| Roast lamb from the Geul valley with rosemary sauce, a stuffed tomato and celeriac prepared in two manners. |
| Fresh figs in various manners served with cinnamon espuma, coffee granita and bitters of Ingendael herbs. |
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Saturday. Homeward bound. After the great breakfast buffet at the hotel, JH and I took a brief stroll down to the square for a last look at the Maastricht we know. We went inside one of the two great churches built side by side a thousand and 800 years ago. Man’s sense of time has been altered by the ages. Nothing we build reflects religion’s notion of the word eternal. This church was, and indeed still seems to be.
I grew up a Congregationalist in New England used to the austere white and wood, carpeted church sanctuary. The idea of the cathedral was remote and meaningless to me, outside of its grandiosity. However, walking through St. Servatius, observing its religious and architectural grandeur, its almost impervious defenses against the ravages of human time, along with its plethora of references to the man Christ and the barbaric Roman business of crucifying their accused, I found myself considering the paradox of humanity, or what we call mankind. |
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| Looking west across Brusselsestraat. |
| ... and a Dutchman's droopy drawers. |
The cathedral was of course quiet, and awesome and reverent. There were several tourists. There was a single person, a woman probably well into her 80s, kneeling in the pews, in communication with her God. Protected in her heart by the immensity of man’s testament of Glory sheltered and surrounding her. This is all my imagination, of course, but very possibly true.
There was a crypt of a man named Humbertus Proost, who died in 1086. This was where the prominent citizens of the community were buried. So Humbertus. There was gold. And silver. And great windows of stained glass to add warmth and majesty.
Outside in the square it was Saturday 2010 (year of Our Lord, etc.). There were shoppers in jeans and leather and woolen scarves, on foot and on bicycles. There were very few cars allowed in that area. It was the weekend in Maastricht just like the weekend in a million towns across the world: people out and about. It was centuries later. |
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| DPC in front of the entrance to St. Servatius Basilica. |
| Inside St. Servatius Basilica. |
| The church's inner courtyard. |
| Looking across Vrijthof Square towards St. Servatius Basilica. |
| Looking down a very crowded Grote Staat. |
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Back at the Kruisheren at quarter to one, we were greeted by a man named Bart (“as in Bart Simpson” he said when I repeated it) who was driving us to Amsterdam and Schiphol airport for our plane. The car was a Mercedes. Maastricht has an upper and uppermiddle class inventory of luxury European cars. Many look smaller than the American versions they manufacture. And oddly more elegant. Maybe it was the atmosphere.
The ride back to Amsterdam, therefore, was very comfortable. Bart also turned out to be a hilarious traveling companion as well as chauffeur. He’s a man I would guess to be in his forties. He’s been driving for twenty-three years and he had highly amusing tales to tell about the clientele that has come his way. Amsterdam, as the world knows, has always been famous for its Red Light District. The clientele it attracts were well-heeled and traveled by limousine, hence Bart. He regaled me and JH with his stories of their hijinks and various fetishes in car and out all the way to the airport 3 hours later. |
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| Crossing the Meuse River known to the Romans as Maas from which the town was given its name. |
| Taking a detour through a town of 350,000, who all seemingly ride bikes to get around town. |
P.S. I’d read on Accu-weather on Thursday night that a big rainstorm was coming into the northeast United States on Friday and worsening to hurricane like levels on Saturday. I wondered and reminded myself that their forecasts are often more spectacular than accurate.
By the time we were buckled in our seats on Flight 0643 on a Boeing 747, word was that the rains came and in New York at JFK one of the runways had already been closed down. This kind of information when you’re about to begin a transatlantic flight, is not warming.
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| The luxuriously-appointed KLM First Class Business lounge. |
| Our plane with storm clouds in the distance. |
The flight across the Atlantic was lovely, however, as we followed the Sun. By the time we were on the North American continent and flying above Bangor, Maine, the sunset was a deep fire red on the horizon until ... to the south was an ominous streak of black. Pitch black, not the dark grey you see in rainstorms.
From New Hampshire on south across Massachusetts and Connecticut we got closer and closer to the storm. By Connecticut we were informed by the pilot that heavy winds had moved into the area with heavy rainfall and JFK had closed for the night, there would be no more arrivals; and that we were going to be landing at Newark. By now the flight was getting that slightly squeaky jerky that happens when the aircraft runs into heavy winds. The attitude in the cabin changes. You wonder what’s going on in the heads of the people around you. Are they thinking as dramatically as you are trying not to think? |
| Our dinner inflight: Tilapia poached in orange butter. |
Chilled pasta salad. |
| Chocolate mousse and passion fruit mousse with pumpkin seeds. |
Our midflight snack: Lentil bobotie, a traditional African lentil quiche. With a pepper tapinade with biscuit and a lime custard with whipped cream dessert. The Best, Tastiest meal I have ever had on an airline, bar none. |
| The looming dark storm skies awaiting us ahead as the sun set on Saturday night as we entered the top north-eastern-most point of the North American continent. |
We expected, and were even gently told by the pilot, that we’d be “circling” for awhile as so many flight arrivals had been diverted to Newark. That massive aircraft was taking the bumps like child’s woodframed-paper covered aircraft. Nevertheless, the circling turned out to be fairly brief and soon we were going in for a landing. We only had visibility of the ground for the first time (at about 8:20 pm) from a few thousand feet. The pilots brought her in relatively smoothly in spite of the rainstorm’s heavy winds that even on ground pushed and shoved the several thousand tons of massive metal machine effortlessly.
That was the good news. Then came the story. On landing we were told that because KLM did not ordinarily land at Newark, they did not have a berth or a land crew. And therefore, we’d have to wait a while, maybe an hour or two, until one became available. Then after waiting ten or fifteen minutes, came some good news. We had a berth. But. We wouldn’t be able to get off right away because KLM didn’t have a land crew, etc. |
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| Sitting on the tarmac in the storm waiting to be allowed to disembark from the plane. |
So please remain seated with your seatbelts on.
After an hour the seatbelts were coming off and the temperature was rising among the passengers. An hour after that, two hours later we were allowed off the aircraft, told to go through customs and then to the luggage carousel and wait there. Do not leave the airport without your luggage. It was about 11:30. At 12:30 we were told (there were a couple hundred or more of us) that it would be awhile longer. Maybe an hour. An hour after that we told Maybe an hour. Then after that, a half hour. Then momentarily. Then momentarily. Then it began. By two o’clock, six hours after having safely set down at Newark International Airport we were out in the wind and the rain waiting for the taxi to take us back to Manhattan. At 3:30 I was in my apartment and really really glad to be back in little ole New York. The dogs were really glad too.
Since it was now more than 24 hours since I slept and not sure of the broken cycle I took an Ambien a friend had given me for the flight and went to sleep. |
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| The weary travelers waiting for what began to seem like Godot. |
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