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Archive for November, 2011

These dolls were purchased as souvenirs in Noord Holland and the costumes are stylised and simplified. The fabrics and decorations are selected to make the dolls aesthetically pleasing. The Dutch girl has a beautiful face– rosy cheeks, and pretty blue eyes that open and close. Her face is hard plastic but looks like bisque. The male dolls wear black harem pants (broek) with two buttons at his waistband, shirts, vests (borsik) and hats. His feet are sitting in wooden shoes (klompen). These dolls were made in the late 1970s.

Atelier de poupées – 1950

Dutch Costume

Dutch clothing and costumes originated in the country now called the Netherlands, which has 14 provinces. Every province has its own traditional costumes. The most well-known type of dress, considered the national costume, came from Volendam.

Traditional dress for women includes long skirts, blouses, aprons and shawls or other shoulder decorations.

In almost all provinces, Dutch ladies wore some type of head covering made of fabric or lace. Some of them wore small lacy caps tied under the chin.

The men also wore hats, or fishermen’s caps.

The Marken men wear a blue and white or gray and white. A double-breasted red vest is worn on top, which shows below the shirt. The costume is finished off with gold buttons.

The dutch men are still proud to wear the baggy woolen trousers.

Meisje ik ben een zeeman (Girl I am a sailor)

by De Havenzangers

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“The City of Dreadful Night”

by James Thomson, (1834-1882)

O melancholy Brothers, dark, dark, dark!

O battling in black floods without an ark!

O spectral wanderers of unholy Night!

My soul hath bled for you these sunless years,

With bitter blood-drops running down like tears:

Oh dark, dark, dark, withdrawn from joy and light!

My heart is sick with anguish for your bale;

Your woe hath been my anguish; yea, I quail

And perish in your perishing unblest.

And I have searched the highths and depths, the scope

Of all our universe, with desperate hope

To find some solace for your wild unrest.

And now at last authentic word I bring,

Witnessed by every dead and living thing;

Good tidings of great joy for you, for all:

There is no God; no Fiend with names divine

Made us and tortures us; if we must pine,

It is to satiate no Being’s gall.

It was the dark delusion of a dream,

That living Person conscious and supreme,

Whom we must curse for cursing us with life;

Whom we must curse because the life he gave

Could not be buried in the quiet grave,

Could not be killed by poison or the knife.

This little life is all we must endure,

The grave’s most holy peace is ever sure,

We fall asleep and never wake again;

Nothing is of us but the mouldering flesh,

Whose elements dissolve and merge afresh

In earth, air, water, plants, and other men.


Picasso & Weeping Women

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