an artist's work

This is not the first time I’ve encountered living statues, and this will certainly not be the last time I’ll run into performance art on the trip. But I was moved by the focused intensity of some of the artists in Dam Square in front of the Paleis and Nieuwe Kerk.

Granted, there were a few crowd pleasers. Darth Vader was there – he was a big hit among the kids. I gave him some money just to take his picture, but he grabbed me and pulled me in for a hug and… well, I was a little afraid.

Two grim reapers were also there, and for some change you could have a picture of yourself being harvested. The older generation liked them a little more (morbid, no?). These characters saw plenty of business – their pots were full of coins. Then there were the other artists – the ones off in the corners, perhaps not as impressively dressed or not as theatrical, the true performers, doing it for the love. Artists like this guy.

There were seven coins in his pot – nine after I left. But this didn’t affect his performance – didn’t make his arm shake, his lip tremble, his brow furrow with jealousy or contempt. He kept perfectly still while in his direct line of vision Dark Vader grabbed me for a hug, and Death scythed another tourist. Over and over, coin after coin, picture after picture. And still he stood, perfectly. What fortitude! What composure, what concentration. I wanted to throw my arms around him, say “it’s all right, you’re just ahead of your time. Years from now they will appreciate your work!”

But I just lowered my eyes as he bowed his thanks, and walked away. I don’t know – maybe they all get together at day’s end, share a pint or a joint, talk about the silly tourists. Maybe they trade costumes, or cycle through outfits. Maybe they’re unionized. I don’t know. I like my story better this way: the passionate, the proud artist – tortured yet at every waking moment tempted by his art.

Whichever truth may be, I’ll run by tomorrow and drop a few more coins in his tin.