Joop
1 member found
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Joop
Thailand
73 creative works found
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Painted from a photo that I took of my daughter, standing on the spot where my grandfather used to operate the bridge, in Gouda, the Netherlands. My daughter was carrying flowers to take to my aunt. It was 2005 and my daughter and I were visiting the town of my birth. My grandfather (Opa, Jan Postma) used to manually turn the bridge to let the barges through, as they passed Gouda, from Rotterdam to Amsterdam. / When he retired, at 65, after opening and closing locks and bridges, in a lot of different locations, in the Netherlands (A lot of it below sea-level), since he was a teenager, his photo made the local paper. When I was little, I was sometimes allowed to stand, on the bridge with him. The boom gates had been lowered to stop the people who wanted to cross the bridge (mainly walking or riding bikes to the market square, but some cars and trucks as well). Grandfather (‘Opa’ ) would then get out the ‘handle’ with which he manually turned the bridge, joking with the skippers and giving as good as he got to the people, waiting on the road-way, who had been inconvenienced by the boom, going down. Canals, ditches and rivers, everywhere, in Gouda. The only other way to cross them, was on real winters’ days, when the ice was strong enough!
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In 2006, I entered the “Inspired by Rembrandt competition, conducted by Radio Netherlands. I had only just begun to really paint. I attended a Painting for Beginners Class, at Hazelhurst Art and Community Centre. Not so much to take part in the lessons but to obtain advise from the teacher. It worked out very well. / The competition motivated me too. I used a photograph, taken of me, in front of the entrance to the town-hall of Gouda for the self-portrait. / I highlighted the ‘lamp’ above my head, to make a connection with the way Rembrandt used light to in his paintings. / The photo was taken in daylight and, of course, the light was not really on. / The town hall, in Gouda, the Netherlands, remains, to me the symbol of where I come from. / It is where my parents were married, in 1943. It is symbolically, where my presence, in the world was registered. It is for me, the focus of my family history.
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North end of Maroubra Beach, where I lay and read so many Readers Digest Condensed books, in my teenage years.
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I believe this museum was used in the film: How to steal a million, starring Audrey Hepburn and Peter O’Toole. / My daughter, definitely an Audrey Hepburn fan, took me there, when she was living in Paris and I visited her.
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My ‘real’ (original, Dutch-) name is Joop. (Pronounced: Yope). / One day, in 1956, a friend and I were walking towards the old Sydney Stadium. (Might have been to watch the Harlem Globetrotters play.) In the street, this friend, Neil, introduced me, to someone as: “Joe”. That was the moment my name was Anglicised. / In the eighties, while changing the last name, from the Dutch: Mul, to the Irish: Mulholland, it was the right time to change, Joe to Jo. At school we were emphasising non-sexism and multiculturism (and the ‘senior’ form of Joop, is Jo -short for: Johannes.)
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After playing the traditional St Nicholas (Sinterklaas) songs for the residents of the retirement village, where my father now lives, in the morning, my daughter, son and I visited my father there, in the evening. / For some reason, he had not attended the visit of Sinterklaas and Zwarte Piet (St Nicholas and ‘Black Pete’ ) in the village recreation hall, in the morning. / So I brought back my accordion, and played some more of those songs, just for him and his grandchildren. / ... / Definition of a gentleman: One who can play the accordion, but doesn’t !
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Was searching for something else, in my computer. / Came across this. Cannot remember why I made it, some time ago. / Seems suitable here.
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Another Gouda shot, specially dedicated to Joop! His his ever so touching personal memories of his home town are a great boost to my photographic activities on this gallery! It was a wonderful town walk which I had that December day at Gouda. The light was just perfect. And the lowness of the sun together with the bareness of the trees created perfect conditions to let the beauty of the houses appear clearly and properly, while all those bleeding cars were less obvious. Taken at the “Turfmarkt”, the old peat market of Gouda. Gouda, 14th December, 2.26 pm / Nikon D80, Nikkor 18-200 mm at 42 mm / F 11, 1/160, ISO 200
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Samengesteld voor Gerry en die haar lief zijn. / Composed for Gerry, a friend, in the Netherlands.
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Two features in "Dutch Touch" - dankjewel, Joop!!
by Gili Orr“Living in a box – II” / !http://images-3.redbubble.net/img/art/border:blackwithdetail/product:laminated-print/size:small/view:preview/167…
“Living in a box – II” / />http://www.redbubble.com/people/gili/art/1675139-2-living-in-a-box-ii and Pink /
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Five Dutch Australian Cultural Centre Board members, were at the opening of the Remembering, an anthology exhibition, to celebrate my 65th birthday. / / I was so pleased that Mr and Mrs Zindler, made the effort to come and take a look at the art of a fellow-Dutch-Australian. / / Robert and I share an interest in genealogy and know each other particularly from the meet-ups held by the Dutch Australian Genealogy Group. / / A guided tour of my art, was followed by a good cup of flat-white (coffee). What else?? (LOL) / / And, yet another, fellow-Dutch-Australian, came and had a look. / (Should have recorded your name. I’m so bad, at remembering. / / I certainly enjoyed our chat, e.g., about the earlier days, before my parents brought me to Australia.) /
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Tomorrow the exhibition finishes. / The last day of telling visitors to the gallery about the story behind every painting. / Do drop in!!! It’s a great day to be out and about! / .. / The full story, here!
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The party’s over. / / It’s time to call it a day! / / (I hope you’re familiar with the book: Bring On The Empty Horses, by David Niven, because that’s inspired my subject title, here. / .. / The full story, here!
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.....that this one would not be coming home with me again. / Karen H. (from a photo taken of her, in 1967) was part of my Remembering – an anthology exhibition, 6-12 October, at the Tap Gallery, Darlinghurst. / Karen’s parents were kind to me that year (when some others were not). / It would have been good if they could have come to the exhibition. / But it has been 41 years, and I guess that Karen looks different now. :) / Having been welcomed with such fanfarem (and I am very grateful!) to the 1 on 1: The fine art of portraiture group, I shall break my own rules and submit this painting, as Mr Joop (That’s the name I grew up with, in Gouda and I am still known by by Dutch and Dutch-born people. Not the Mr part!) / .. / My son was wrong. / Are people, currently perhaps holding on to their well-earned money a little? / / This is one of 62 oil paintings that I have produced, these last 2.5 (two-and-a-half) years.
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52 jaar in Australië, Joop Mul, emigreerde toen hij 12 was. / Hij was 37 jaar onderwijzer en woont in Sydney. Hij heeft ook voor de klas gestaan in het verre noord-westen en ook zuid-westen van Nieuw Zuid Wales. / Hij houdt van stranden en van schilderen.
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Jo Mulholland’s 65th Birthday celebration and Exhibition Opening, remembered.
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We boarded the little private bus, outside the railway station, in Gouda, The Netherlands and headed for Amsterdam. / At the quay-side, I posed one last time with my best girlfriend and my best boyfriend and the rest is history…............. / I haven’t stopped telling about it, particularly since retiring from from teaching. / If you are the one person who has not read about this before, please go to: / My story, here / ........or several pages here, on Redbubble or practically anywhere on the net!!! :) / . / Ria soon got sick of my aerogrammes filled with lessons from me on how to learn English. / But Piet and I stayed in contact. I visited him in the furniture store, in The Hague, ( which he ran for his father, who owned a furniture factory), in December 1969. And again, in December 1971. This time at his home, with his wife, daughter and son. But things went wrong. There is now the occasional contact (Christmas Cards. Some letters and some email contact.). / . / . / The little bus had dropped our friends, Gerda, Gerard and daughter Netty (6) and myself (12) and my parents, off in Amsterdam, to board the Johan van Oldenbarnevelt and it then drove on to the coast. / . / There, as we were going through the final lock, and on to the North Sea, we saw them all, one more time, down below. / . / My friend, Piet, raised his arm, to cover his face, and that broke the dam. My mother and Gerda van Hoon had been cheerful. Had put on brave faces. It had been the men who had been most keen to migrate. / . / When they saw Piet raise his arm, my mother often told after-wards, she thought: What have we done? We are going to the other side of the earth and may never be back. What have we done to these two boys who may never see each other again?!? / . / It all did not work out too badly and we did see each other again. :) / . / Our parents swapped with another couple and so our parents shared a cabin and Netty and I shared with a couple, returning from a holiday, back to the Netherlands. / / . / There was one stop on the five-week sea journey. It was at Port Said. We were world-travellers for the first time. / Several times, as we wandered around the city, we were warned not to go down side streets. We basically didn’t. / / . / My father had a state-of-the-art camera with him – a box-brownie- style basic little metal box. / / . / Gerda van Hoorn ( in the white blouse, at the back) and I reminisce, via Skype (She is back in the Netherlands) every so often and I believe that she has told me that we did also stop off, in Aden, at the other end of the Suez Canal but the scary thing is that I do not remember this. / In this photo we obviously are not all wearing the same clothes, as in Port Said. / / . / It all worked out fine. / There are now four of us left. Gerda and her daughter, in The Hague. / My father and I, in Sydney. / That front yard, in the picture to the left, was outside the old house where the two families first settled after leaving the migrant hostels and had a rally lively, fun, good time. / Yes. There were arguments. Yes. Sometimes some were not talking with others. But is was an exciting, good time. (The two sets of parents, were upset a few times when, we, the chilren had had an argumet and had long ago settled it, but it then took the parents a little longer.) / / This picture was taken when we first explored the neighbourhood, around the last migrant hostel that we stayed in, in Matraville. / Please check out my stories, here. / . / In the house in Flint Street, Matraville, each couple had a front room, used as bed-sitting room. A place to be independent sometimes. / In my parents’ room, once again, I was getting my mother to tell our relatives, back in the Netherlands, via the reel-to-reel tape recorder, all about our lives here. / / In the other front room, Gerard was sitting and contemplating our lives here. / / But there was a common living room where we all spent most of our time to gether, like settling down once a week to sit and watch: I Love Lucy! / / This little visitor was the daughter of Dutch friends. / ....... / As my mother’s Alzheimers became worse, she tore up this picture of us all dining, on a special occasion, when the ship’s captain was present. / / . / Flint Street, Matraville. Late 50s. Early 60s. / / . / / . / / . / / . / / .
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Whenever other students walked past my pallette, they’d say: / ” You should frame it! ” / . / (There is a Simpsons episode in which Homer attends a car show. / In it a model, sitting with a car pretends to be amused, every time a man says to her, something like: Do you come with the car? and every time she laughs: Oh, you! / . / Only means something if you’ve seen the episode. :) /
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Yep. Up the pole. / . /
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Having recently shifted my addiction from Redbubble to YouTube. (Wish my camera wasn’t broken down!), I have been surfing the channels a bit and have shifted my feelings about the piano accordion a bit. / . / I’ve always felt a bit embarrassed about that being my main instrument. (I can also play a mean tune, using my nose, and the recorder.) / . / But, in the last few days I’ve warmed to some videos of mainly kids but also adults using the instrument with extra talent and skill. / . / Mrs Else Brandman said to me one day: ” That’s it. I cannot teach you any more. I forget the wording but it meant: That was as good as I was going to get. / . / And it served me so well! / I don’t know what I would have done about having my pupils sing, those 37 years, without the piano accordion. / . / It was also so very useful for helping to create a very positive atmosphere, in the classroom, helping all of us to let off steam. / . / O.K.. Sometimes the novelty wore thin. But, now retired and getting some feed-back via the internet, it was a good thing! / . / I’ve linked to a couple of videos on YouTube that I really, really enjoyed. / . / Meanwhile, picking up the accordion and playing through all my sheet music for about an hour-and-a-half, every so often, is like opening up a photo album in my head. / . / I associate different tunes with different times, schools, situations, people and relive the good times. / . / Just like through the pictures and paintings, here.
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Remi and Mattia buy a cow. As explained so often…... ....homage to George van Raemdonck, who illustrated the 1940 edition of Alleen Op De Wereld, translated from Hector Malot’s Sans Famille. At this stage, in the book, Vitalis is in gaol and the boys look after themselves and their troupe. They buy a cow with the money they have at that stage. The vet supports their purchase. / . / . / For me it’s Van Raemdonck’s version of Remi and Mattia that I’ve grown up with and that’s who they are, for me. / I own a more recent edition now, with different illustrations and there is also a cartoon version, / . / I try to avoid looking at those. / . / Alleen op de Wereld was read to me at least twice over, as a bedtime story, when I was far too young, to start with.
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It must have been still 1956, judging by her size. We’d just moved into the migrant hostel, in Matraville and a treat was going for a drive, on a Sunday, in the two VERY old, second-hand cars, to go and look at the planes, at Kingsford Smith, Sydney’s international airport. / They weren’t admitting it, at that stage, but the parents were, no doubt, dreaming of catching one of these, back to the Netherlands! / / This was us less than a year earlier, still in Gouda.
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Your looking out my window, here, beside my computer. / / . / It’s the back yard. I’ve been urged to have it restored to its former glory, as an open space, where my parents and their friends, would sit and chat about life in Australia. / . / What was believed to become a small tree to sit under, turned out to be a mighty climber that ate the back yard . / . / / The advantage: A back garden FULL of green and no direct view into the kitchen window of the villa home that replaced the horse that used to graze behind the back fence, / in what was an empty yard, where four such buildings now fill the “quarter acre block”. / . / / . / I am planning a trip to the Netherlands, in December. I suspect I may return to, once more a typical back yard, with lawn to mow.
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