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I must sadly confess that I have a hard life behind me. I have past the half-a-century line and I am past fifty years old now. But I can’t say I have had a nice life.
I come from a simple working-class family. My father was a hard working man but my mother was a quite different story . When I was 7 years old she took me to a pedofile man who abused me. These things happened to me till I started to get breasts and I wasn’t interesting for these animals anymore. It left some bad scars in my soul. Did I ever got over that? No, I didn’t. I carried it with me as a heavy burden inside of me. The grief never left me.
The pain really never leaves you.
When I was 16 years old I quickly got myself into a relationship with some young man just to get out of my elderly house. What started as a nice relationship soon changed into a violent experience. I got beaten up badly by this guy. Nevertheless we did get a child together: a daughter.
The relationship ended when he abused our little daughter. He was arrested but released from prison after some months because Dutch law says that a 2 year old daughter can not testify against her father. It’s really true. It left me with a real bad taste in my mouth. I left him with my daughter and got into the next bad relationship. Somehow I seemed to attract bad men into my life. I guess I wasn’t very lucky as for that was concerned. This new man I lived with for several years. We even got a child together. My second daughter. However it was a very painful ( literally) relationship. I got even worse beatings from this guy. He broke my jaw and a lot more bones in my body. I tried to leave him several times and searched for help at a shelter home for abused women. I took my children with me. But after a while my daughters convinced me to go back home again. So I did. Sometimes you can live in a sort of cocoon. A oneway tunnel wich seems to be hard to get out of. In those years my life was a downward spiral. And as if fate seemed to put some bad omen upon me this guy also abused my daughter. Again I went to the police and they did arrest this guy too. They told me he was bound to go to prison for years but in the end he got away with some 4 months prison . I was baffeld. I lost my fate in the police and the judicial system.
I got into a relation with a younger guy. Though he was younger than me I did marry him. Life when downwards real fast after that. This guy lived on the dark side of life.
I got into some really bad things. It all exploded when one evening my eldest daughter told me shivering and crying that she was raped by a housefriend of my husband. Something in my mind snapped at that moment and I could only think of one thing: kill him. This was one time too many and nobody should ever touch my daughter again.
I killed this man who raped my daughter. As murder is not allowed I was sentenced to 12 years imprisonment. My two daughters where taken away from me and were brought to childcare . I went to prison and lost my daughters. Life was real dark in those years .
The years in prison were really hard for me. But I managed to keep my head straight up .
That attitude of me caused some real bad collisions with prison authorities and I must say that it made prisonlife to a real hell for me.
Inside the pen my physical condition deteriorated too untill it came to a point when I lost the ability to walk and ended up in a wheelchair.
When I got out of prison I married a man I met and I am still married to him.
He is an artist and musician.
I got into contact with my daughters again who were by that time grown-up women.
Sadly to say that the loss of their mother hadn’t done them very much good.
My youngest daughter had gotten herself into some very bad affairs and she had two litlle childeren. One day she brought them to me and asked me if I could take care of them.
So my husband and I did. And that was back in 2003 and they still live with us. We have been taken care of them with all our love. In 2006 the judge gave me custody over the children.
So now I am a grandmother who takes care of her two grandchildren.
In 2010 I was approached by a documentary-maker, a woman who asked me if I wanted to become a subject in one of her documentaries. Her name was Jessica Villerius. She told me she wanted to make a series of documentaries about women who were sentenced for murder but in such a way that the woman’s own story would be the focus of the documentary. I tought about that for awhile because to bring it all into the open was a very serious matter. Not many people knew about my lifestory. On the other hand one cannot changed or erase one’s own past. What happened in my life just happened. And perhaps if I told my story maybe other women, who would live in the same circumstances as I did way back at that time, could perhaps learn from my mistake and just pick up their stuff and leave and not do what I did. I just isn’t worth it. You get revenge but lose everything in your life.
I mean, if I only could open the eyes of a few women it would serve it’s purpose I guess.
So I decided to cooperate with the documentary-maker.
On May 9th 2011 it was broadcasted nationwide on NET5 television channel.
That’s in the Netherlands.
(foto invoegen van De Wereld draait door)
Meanwhile my lawyer asked me to consider to write a book about my life as he told me he had a publisher who was interested in my life’s story.
And I did that too. I wrote a manuscript and gave it to him and perhaps this year in 2011 it will be published.
I just really want to make it very clear that I never intentionally had the desire to contact some filmmaker and it never occured to me to write a book about my life.
I was asked to cooperate with the filmmaker and was asked to write a book.
Let that be very clear.
And moreover, it really took me some time to come to the decision to cooperate.
It was my past and my burdens and I carried it already with me for so many long years.
Why bother other people with my misery?
But I also must confess that somehow in a strange and peculiar way getting it into the open brought me some inner peace.
Telling my story in the documentary and writing it down in a manuscript released me somehow of this heavy burden.
I feel more at rest now.
I have peace with it now.
My life was hard sometimes and into the paintings I make I always release some of my intense emotions.
Painting also helps me to translate my sometimes hefty emotions into forms and shapes and colors and composition on a canvas.
I always leave something of myself in a painting.
What can I say: this is who I am.
Life itself shaped me into the woman I am today: a mother and grandmother who raises her two grandchildren and tries to make the best out of life.
This book describes the life of an ordinary woman with an extraordinary life. Willeke Meijer was born in 1959 in Rotterdam and as a 7 year old girl she was rented to pedophiles by her own mother. As a teenager girl of 16 years old she entered into a relationship, that resulted into a marriage. At the age of 18 her first daughter was born. The relationship culminated into the arrest of the father on account of sexual abuse of his own daughter. After divorcing this man she entered into a relationship, that did her end up in a horror story of extremely serious and gross physical and sexual abuse. During this relationship her second daughter was born. But this relationship also ended with the arrest of this man after alleged sexual abuse of his stepdaughter. After this she entered into a relationship with a younger man, with whom she also married, and who pulled her along in a negative spiral of drug use. During this relationship she got to know a friend of her husband’s family. This elderly man set himself up as a compassionate listener, who seemed to be open for all her life suffering, what she had experienced from her early childhood years on. But he appeared to act out of self-interest and misused the trust she had giving him by pulling her into a violent SM relationship. After the man also raped her daughter, that was to her the last straw that broke the camel’s back. She entered a sort of daze and killed the man with help of a friend of her then-husband. After her arrest she was sentenced to twelve years of imprisonment. The book describes subsequently the years of detention, in which after a while she became the victim of the tunnel vision of prison personnel and prison directors and wardens. It became a nightmare whereby at a given moment she was saved by the intervention and interference of the at the time Group chairman of the Socialist Party in the Second Chamber of the Dutch House of Parliament, Jan Marijnissen, and the well known publicist and journalist Bert Voskuil. The book also describes the relationship between her and her two daughters of which she says herself, that “ because of her act and her conviction she not only lost her freedom but also her two daughters”. The book also describes some current affairs, which occurred after her detention. Among which the upbringing of her two grandchildren, her art and the request of Dutch documentary filmmaker Jessica Villerius to act as the main character in an episode of a documentary series called “Murderous women”. This was broadcasted on May 9, 2011 by the Dutch television channel Net5 in the Netherlands. After this she appeared several times in publicity in the media. Thus an interview with her appeared in the annex called “Woman” of the Dutch daily newspaper the Telegraaf ( The Telegraph) on September 10, 2011 and she was asked by the Dutch television channel NTR to appear in the television broadcasts on October 5, 2011 and March 21, 2012 of the then television program “5on2”. Worth mentioning is also, that already in 1999 a television documentary was made about the experiences of Willeke Meijer during her period of detention, named “Met voorbedachte rade” ( With premeditation) . This documentary was at the time made by Christine van der Aar and Remco van Westerloo and which was broadcasted by the Dutch television channels SBS6 and Net5. The book “My youth murdered” is a gripping story about a woman whose life path wasn’t always a bed of roses. Her motivation to put this all on paper is, that by doing so she hopes to open people’s eyes for the suffering that can be done to children and women. And to motivate people, who witness this, to actually intervene or to indicate offenders to the police. So victims do not make the mistake, that unfortunately she herself did make at a low point in her life. The book is packed with photos and fragments from original documents. A book well worth reading!
Table of contents
Mirror image ………………………………………………..
On colors and nuns ……………………………………….
Sold for 900 guilders………………………………………
The entire roof flew off …………………………………..
Meubelstreet 9 ……………………………………………..
The death of granny Truus ………………………………..
An unintended movie star …………………………………
X + Y + …..? ………………………………………………
A summer fair disappointment …………………………….
Big granny and the whip of grandpa Van der Burght……
The Austrian mountains……………………………………
Married to Bertus Broer……………………………………
The birth of Brenda………………………………………..
Divorced from Bertus………………………………………
My acquaintance with Vincent…………………………….
The true face of Vincent…………………………………..
The first miscarriage………………………………………..
Moved to the Pieter Langendijkstreet at Spangen…………
Brenda’s epilepsy ………………………………………….
The birth of Wendy…………………………………………
By trial and error……………………………………………
With Idi Amin in the White village…………………………
Away from Idi Amin ……………………………………….
The hatred germinated ………………………………………
And then came the darkness………………………………..
The last drop that made my bucket spill……………………
The downfall ……………………………………………
Penitentiary Institution for Women (PIW) Overmaze …
Court cases ………………………………………………
Prison life in PIW Overmaze at Maastricht …………….
Cervical cancer ………………………………………….
The PIW at Breda ……………………………………….
The PIW at Zwolle ………………………………………
Also the nice things ……………………………………..
If your body no longer wants …………………………..
The PIW Amerswiel at Heerhugowaard ………………..
The FOBA (Forensic Observational Counseling Ward)..
The State Investigation Department (Rijksrecherche)….
The Carousel towards the end of detention…………….
My children ……………………………………………..
This is my story. As I write this, in the year 2012, I now am a woman of fifty-two years old. Something more than half a century I am standing in this life. What I have become mainly comes from what I have lived through as a child and what has been done to me as a child by adults. When, as a child, you are raped and sexually abused it causes such a pain, such a rending pain. But greater still than the physical pain is the pain, when you realize, that your life doesn’t cease. That you don’t die of it. But that your life goes on. Not to die, but to keep on living, that aches most. That realization only comes full as you grow older. Because the pain, that inner pain, you carry that along a lifetime. Day in and day out. That pain in your soul will never disappear. It’s like a pain against which physicians have no remedy, no medications, no pills. Sometimes you tuck it away, far away in a little dark room inside your soul. But then suddenly something very small and unreal happens through which you suddenly feel it again. Through which the pounding memories come up again. Spirits, ghosts from the distant past. Until you have become fifty-two years old.
To murder someone is bad. That I was surely taught. That I nevertheless did it was because of the last straw. The last straw that breaks the camel’s back. Like the last drop that made my bucket spill. That hatred in my heart, that burning desire for revenge at that one moment of pent up ache, which I carried along inside of me for so many years, exploded in the fuddle of “feeling nothing anymore”; and yet still also so much again! If you get away with murder depends of who you are. If you kill in the name of the law or in defense of your country, then it can be justified or rewarded with a medal. When you kill out of revenge it is premeditated murder. I didn’t want to get away with it. On the contrary, I waited for three weeks for my arrest. I waited for it. I knew it was going to happen. I have been punished, for what I have done, with twelve years imprisonment. And my two daughters were punished along with me. I served my sentence. My debt to society, I have redeemed. Only society doesn’t realize that!
LaReina is the name south American women gave me in prison. They gave me that name, because they felt, that I was like a mother to them and because they saw me as their queen in a kingdom of misery. Ever since, I wear that name with pride. I also use that name as my artist name. I sign my paintings with the initials LRW: LaReinaWilleke.
This is my story. It is not a nice story. If you don’t want to read it, then close this book, put it down and walk away!
For reasons of privacy the names of persons involved have been changed. Of some only the initials are mentioned.
A part from my manuscript.
A part from my manuscript
My parents had started a guesthouse for Spanish migrant workers in the house.
On the first floor and in the attic lived the migrant workers.
Often my father cooked for everyone.
But they all also had their own cooking set with a butane gas bottle available.
At the time of the explosion and the fire there were 17 butane gas bottle in the attic.
My parents actually wanted to stop with the guesthouse and were also busy with moving to the Meubelstreet number 9 in Rotterdam.
But that house wasn’t prepared yet.
One of the Spanish migrant workers, Juan, then had smashed the head of a butane gas bottle in the attic, after which the entire attic exploded.
Thereby the roof was lifted from the house.
The roof flew past the living room window downwards.
At the time of the fire me and my eldest sister Els were at home .
My sister Jo was locked in for punishment in the rearmost attic room.
And there was also yet a babysitter in the room..
That was the girl next door named Connie.
I lay on the couch and my eldest sister was watching television.
The sitter stood in front of the window.
I lay on my belly with my head in my hands.
I stared outside and suddenly heard a terrible bang, and subsequently saw a large part of our roof falling burning past the window downwards.
Immediately there was panic and Els started screaming.
The sitter, who also stood in front of the window, also started screaming.
I ran to the window to see what was going on.
Els also ran to the window.
When we realized, that there was an explosion and a fire, we ran to the stairs to go downstairs.
Connie grabbed my youngest little sister who stood in the cot.
The fire was burning above our heads.
I was last on the stairs.
We were on the second floor, so the flames were just above us.
I was halfway the staircase, when I thought of my sister Jo.
I ran upstairs again and I pulled open the door of the attic and the heat approached me.
I went up and have taken my sister from the rearmost attic room.
The other side of the attic was ablaze and everything was boiling hot.
There all the butane gas bottles were stored,
When we ran downstairs a beam from the attic fell down right past us.
My hair was partly singed off, but that of my sister fortunately not so much.
We arrived downstairs and there we were helped further by the firemen.
In the ambulance we sat watching at our house what burned down.
At the moment of the fire my parents sat in the café Jalink at the North square in Rotterdam.
That wasn’t far away from the Rottestreet.
That day they had worked in our new house at the Meubelstreet and like every day they went to have a beer.
When they heard an enormous bang some guests of the café walked outside.
Somebody said to my father: “Hey, according to me your house is in flames”.
To which my father said: “Ah take your mother for a fool”.
But he still walked outside to take a look and then he yelled at Bep: “That is our house….”
When they arrived at our house they couldn’t do nothing else but watch how all their possessions burned.
The house and furniture were not insured.
That was the first time, that I saw Bep crying in the arms of a policeman.
After that I have never more seen her cry .
I remember that the whole street was filled with people.
I remember the fire trucks and firemen and the Spanish migrant worker, who had caused the gas-explosion and fire.
He was horribly burnt in his face and hands but was still alive.
The pieces of skin hung from his face.
All our stuff, except for some small things, lay there burning.
Geinterviewd door Lydia Zittenma.
Vacantie weekje in Donwton Wiltshire bij mijn zusje Jojo en haar man Ross, en Rita, en de hond Munskin.
Vertrek vanuit schiphol met vliegtuig naar Southampton.
Departure from Schiphol Airport near Amsterdam by plane to Southampton.
We sliepen eerst in de Peartree in Salisbury. (zie link)
We first slept in thePeartree in Salisbury.
Een keuken zitkamer en aparte slaapkamer en badkamer. Een rustig en mooi appartement. Op de begane grond i.v.m. mijn rolstoel. Daar bleven we tot zondag.
A kitchen sitting room and separate bedroom and bathroom. A quiet and beautiful apartment. On the ground floor due to my wheelchair. We stayed there until Sunday.
Daarna zijn we naar The King’s Head Inn in Salisbury gegaan. Helaas was dat geen goede B&B Hotel! Want met m’n rolstoel in lift naar boven ( waar de kamers zijn) voor 24.00 uur s’nachts want dan zet men om de één of andere vreemde reden de lift uit! En om 6.30 uur in de ochtend gaat die pas weer aan. Een bed vol met grote ijzeren veren die je echt voelde over je hele lichaam. Dus niet geslapen. En de volgende dag gelijk uit gecheckt.
Then we went to The King's Head Inn in Salisbury. Unfortunately that was not a good B&B Hotel! Because I had to go up to the first floor ( where the rooms are) with my wheelchair in the elevator before midnight because for some strange reason they switch off the elevator at midnight ! And at 6.30 AM in the morning it will be turned on again. A bed full of big iron springs that you really felt all over your body. So I didn't sleep. We checked out the next day.
Op naar The Kings Head B & B in White Parish. Een dorp met 1 postkantoor die gelijk de functie had als klein winkeltje. Busstop voor de deur. Hier zaten we perfect. Een kamer waar ik met mijn rolstoel in kon. Alles keurig schoon. En de eigenaren Darel en Jimmy zijn zeer vriendelijk en gastvrij. Er zijn honden toegestaan. Het ontbijt en lunch en diner zijn geweldig.
Off to The Kings Head B & B in White Parish. A village with 1 post office that also served as a small grocery shop. Bus stop in front of the door. We were perfect here. A room that I could enter with my wheelchair. Everything neatly clean. And the owners Darrel and Jimmy are very friendly and welcoming. Dogs are allowed. The breakfast, lunch and diner was great.
Ik herkende Darrel van een pub. Nadat we spraken bleek dat hij ook eigenaar was van The Goat at Downton. Waar ik vaker was met mijn zusje Jojo en Ross en Rita. Heerlijk eten, fijne omgeving om te zitten.Ook hier zijn honden welkom.
I recognized Darrel from a pub. After we talked it turned out that he also owned The Goat at Downton. Where I was often before with my sister Jojo and her husband Ross and Rita. Delicious food, nice environment to sit. Dogs are also welcome here.
Deze vogels kochten we,en de douane op Heathrow Airport liet ze vallen. Wat een rommeltje is het daar zeg. Daar wil ik niet meer heen.
We bought these birds, and customs at Heathrow Airport dropped them. What a mess it is there. I don't want to go there anymore.
Ron heeft ze kunnen maken.
Ron was able to fix them.
Hier onder wat foto’s.
Ron met Munchkin.
Samen met Rita. Ze wordt 2 juli 92 jaar. We waren bij The Goat.
The art of LaReina Willeke
( Voor Nederlands scrol naar beneden.)
I make non-figurative art.
I use elements from real live though as motives in my paintings.
Could be human or animal figures, flowers, buildings, mountains or whatever comes in my mind when I start my first sketch on the canvas.
I try to create a balance in my painting using forms, colours and composition.
I use primary colours but also mixed colours and also bronze and gold.
Everything I do when I make a painting springs from my inner emotions, from my inner awareness, from my heart and soul.
I feel a painting and I don’t stop till I feel it’s okay.
I stop when I feel that the painting is in balance.
I can’t exactly explain.
It just happens.
I mostly already have some vague idea about what I have in mind when I start a painting.
That’s just a basic idea.
Sometimes I get an idea about a person I met or saw.
Or sometimes I get an idea about something human or human interaction.
Like human violence, child abuse, solitude, war, etc.
I look for things I can use as motives in my painting.
I can’t just simply copy a vase with flowers or a cow or dog or person.
That doesn’t give me any inspiration at all.
Inspiration for me mostly comes from human interactions, what human beings do to each other.
That yields me emotions and my emotions mostly trigger my inspiration.
The inspiration shows itself while I work on my painting in the way I use my materials and colours and I compose the motives in to a composition on the canvas I like.
I can get my best ideas out of the blue.
Not necessarily when I’m depressed or feeling bad.
Sometimes I walk around with an idea and then it might take a while before it’s actually so far developed in my mind that I start doing it, I mean start making the painting.
I don’t think anyone can say when best ideas come to mind.
Personally feelings play a great part when I get my ideas.
I don’t actually evaluate whether an idea is good or bad.
An idea is just an idea to start painting.
Once I’ve started the painting I go on till I feel it’s finished.
And then I can get a bad feeling about it and start changing it.
Ideas can be important as to motivate yourself to start painting.
When you paint figurative and have something, an idea, in your mind which you have to draw in details it must be different.
In the way I paint and create my paintings that’s less the case.
But I guess that you can only evaluate your idea when the painting is finished.
If it’s bad maybe it’s because the idea was lousy.
If it turned out beautiful then maybe your idea was good, ha,ha,ha!
I don’t have a specific message.
Or maybe a message could be in some paintings I make when I am inspired by what humans do to each other.
Violence, war, greed, exploitation, etc.
But then I can only hope that the viewer can see that “message” hidden in the painting.
Or maybe not.
I do hope that the viewer gets feelings while watching my paintings and hopefully that they like my paintings.
Behind my work often hides a feeling.
A feeling about someone I saw, or a situation.
These feelings give me thoughts, ideas, contemplations and above all emotions.
I use form, colour and composition to express my emotions into my paintings.
Besides that, I make paintings in wich I try to create a colourful and positive atmosphere.
In such a way that a painting by LaReinaWilleke can be a nice addition to decorating your home or company.
Maybe that’s a message?
All my paintings are unique.
They’re painted on canvas.
I use acrylic paint and modellingpaste.
Characteristic for all of my paintings are high-relief style because of the modellingpaste I use and the bronze and goldpaint used.
I started painting some decades ago and had to learn to develop myself.
And I mean artistically and that’s mostly an inner and intuitive process.
In doing so I found that I slowly began to see myself as an artist when I noticed that what I was doing, what I was creating on the canvas, became better.
I noticed that because people, strangers, began to like my paintings.
That was an eye-opener.
But hey, you can see yourself as an artist, but you must always work on becoming a better artist than you are at the moment you see yourself as an artist.
So actually you can not really see yourself as an artist.
Other people see you as an artist.
I see myself as creator of my personal paintings in my personal style.
When other people tell me I’m artist I feel flattered.
Making art is an emotional thing.
It involves your emotions.
The creative process is the opposite of the cold analytical thinking process.
If you’re really deep into making, creating art, then you become emotional.
It influences your personality.
As an artist and painter I am sometimes really caught or driven by my emotions while I am painting.
But when I don’t do that I can easily think in an analytical way.
But as an artist I might be a little more impulsive than other people perhaps.
If you look up the definition of “postmodern” in Wikipedia you get three different definitions and descriptions in the English, German and French version.
That’s to illustrate that it’s not even possible to define uniformly such a period, direction or style in art history.
That’s only important if you yourself wish to be placed into such a box.
If that matters to you as an artist.
It doesn’t matter to me personally.
I’m not busy rationalizing my artwork.
When Van Gogh was alive all art-scholars thought him to be a lunatic and bad painter.
Even the Dutch who maybe a century later built a special museum to honour him and now call him an icon in art history.
So I don’t bother to get into the type or sort of “school”, “direction” or “style” I belong or don’t belong.
I make my own art in my own way.
How should art be evaluated?
You must first define what art is and that might be more complicated than at a first thought.
Art is something subjective.
It is subject to the personal taste of the one who observes a work of art.
One might like the paintings of Leonardo Da Vinci, another might like the work of August Renoir, another Pablo Picasso, another Karel Appel, and so on.
And those artists all painted in a different fashion.
In the old days there were strict rules for composition and perspective.
Figures had to be positioned in a specific way on the canvas and that would be the correct way and the same counts for the rules of perspective.
Nowadays it doesn’t matter if you wish to paint half a head on the left side of the canvas and a leg on the right side of the canvas and a yellow square in the middle and since Pablo Picasso started his Cubism the rules of perspective didn’t really matter anymore.
You can do it right or do it wrong and when you do it wrong it might be intentionally done so by the artist.
So how to judge whether a work of art is good or bad?
Maybe it’s just the “click” you get when you watch an artwork.
Something that gives you this “wow-feeling”.
Think of a soccer match and imagine how 22 players run across the field after a ball.
And among them one player attracts attention, because of the way he moves, the way he plays the ball, so graciously.
He doesn’t even run fast, doesn’t score much.
But when you see him play there’s something that makes him rise high above the other players.
It’s the “click” you get when you watch him play.
You don’t even need to like soccer.
It’s an indefinable quality that makes it a pleasure to watch him.
That’s how you perhaps can evaluate the work of an artist.
Look for the “click” or the “wow-feeling” or that “undefined quality”.
I hope that among my paintings there will be works that will give people such “wow-feelings”!
Wow, Art is so subjective. What is art to one person maybe junk to another.
It depends on what style and direction in art you are.
There are dozens of totally different art-style and directions in art.
Figurative, non-figurative, renaissance, baroque, rococo, expressionism, impressionism, cubism, fauvism, Der Blaue Reiter, Bauhaus, action-painting, Cobra, surrealism, meta-realism, pop-art, digital art, etc, etc, etc.
People who like only figurative art may not like non-figurative modern art.
People who like pastel colours may like the impressionists but may dislike the work of Paul Klee or Jackson Pollock. It’s all about the personal taste of people.
There is no precise definition of what “art” is.
Art can trigger emotions in the hearts of people.
Or people can just try by cold mental reasoning to find an explanation for themselves when they watch a modern artwork they don’t understand.
For one person art can be emotions and for another person the philosophy behind the artwork is more important than the artwork itself.
Art could well be emotions!
To me it is .
To me art is emotions.
As an artist I try to develop myself and evolve.
You can’t stand still, you have to move on.
Your ideas, your techniques, the way you work, your artistic instincts, intuition, everything.
If you stand still you’ll deteriorate or at least your artistic abilities will I think.
Is art necessary?
If you create art it must be a definite “yes”.
Though strictly taken art isn’t a primary necessity to stay alive.
I mean, food, water, clothes, a roof above your head are basic necessities.
If you’re an art lover you might also say “yes”.
Art and culture are necessary.
I’m an artist and I know there are people who really don’t care at all about art.
They consider an illustration from a children’s book to be “cute”.
They have no notion of and no interest in art.
Just to keep things in balance art is necessary.
De kunst van LaReinaWilleke
Ik maak non-figuratieve kunst. Alhoewel ik ook elementen uit het echte leven gebruik als motieven in mijn schilderijen. Dat kunnen menselijke of dierlijke figuren zijn, bloemen, gebouwen, bergen of wat dan ook wat in mijn geest opkomt als ik aan de eerste schets op het canvas begin. Ik probeer een balans te scheppen in mijn schilderijen waarbij ik vormen, kleuren en compositie gebruik.
Ik gebruik primaire kleuren maar ook gemengde kleuren en ook metallic kleuren zoals brons en goud.
Al mijn schilderijen zijn uniek en hebben iets “eigens”. Ik gebruik acrylverf en modelling pasta op schilderslinnen. Karakteristiek voor al mijn schilderijen is de reliëf stijl vanwege de modelling pasta die ik gebruik en ook het gebruik van metallic kleuren zoals brons en goud zijn karakteristiek.
Alles wat ik doe als ik schilder ontspruit vanuit mijn innerlijke emoties, vanuit mijn innerlijke bewustzijn, vanuit mijn hart en ziel. Ik voel een schilderij stop niet tot ik het gevoel heb dat het goed is. Ik stop als ik voel dat het schilderij in balans is. Ik kan het niet precies uitleggen. Het gebeurt gewoon.
Soms krijgt ik een idee over een persoon die ik heb ontmoet gezien. Of soms krijgt ik een idee over iets menselijks of een menselijke interactie. Zoals geweld, kindermishandeling en misbruik, eenzaamheid, oorlog, enz. Ik zoek dingen die ik kan gebruiken als motieven in mijn schilderijen.
Ik kan niet gewoon een vaas met bloemen kopiëren of een koe of hond of persoon. Dat geeft mij geen enkele inspiratie. Voor mij komt inspiratie vanuit menselijke interacties, wat mensen elkaar aandoen. Dat geeft mij emoties en emoties zijn de bron van mijn inspiratie. De inspiratie laat zich zien en komt naar voren terwijl ik aan mijn schilderij werk. Bijvoorbeeld in de wijze waarop ik materialen en kleuren gebruik en in de manier waarop ik de motieven in een compositie op het canvas verwerk.
Ik kan mijn beste ideeën vanuit het niets krijgen. Niet noodzakelijkerwijs als ik depressief ben of me slecht voel. Soms loopt ik met een idee rond en dan kan het een tijd duren voordat het echt zover in mijn geest is ontwikkeld dat ik het ga uitvoeren.
Ik geloof niet dat iemand kan zeggen wanneer de beste ideeën ontstaan. Bij mij persoonlijk spelen gevoelens een belangrijke rol wanneer ze ik inspirerende ideeën krijg.
Ik evalueer niet echt of een idee goed of slecht is. Een idee is slechts een idee als ik begin te schilderen. Als ik eenmaal aan het schilderij ben begonnen ga ik door tot ik voel dat het af is. En dan kan ik er een slecht gevoel over krijgen en begin ik het te veranderen. Of niet. Ideeën kunnen belangrijk zijn om jezelf te motiveren te beginnen met schilderen. Als je figuratief schildert en iets hebt, een idee, in je geest en gedachten wat je in details moet tekenen moet het anders zijn. In de manier waarop ik schilder en mijn schilderijen schep is dat minder van belang. Maar ik geloof dat je een idee pas echt kan evalueren als het schilderij af is. Als het slecht is dan komt dat misschien omdat het idee slecht was. Als het goed is geworden dan was je idee misschien goed.
Ik heb geen specifieke boodschap. Of misschien zit er een boodschap in sommige schilderijen die ik maakt, wanneer ik word geïnspireerd door wat mensen elkaar aandoen. Geweld, oorlog, hebzucht, exploitatie, enz. Maar dan kan ik alleen hopen, dat de kijker de “boodschap” kan zien, die verborgen is in mijn schilderijen. Ik hoot wel dat de kijker gevoelens krijgt terwijl hij of zij mijn schilderijen bekijkt en ik hoop dat ze mijn schilderijen mooi zullen vinden.
Achter mijn werk schuilt vaak een gevoel. Een gevoel over iemand die ik zag, of over een situatie. Deze gevoelens geven mij gedachten, ideeën, overdenkingen en boven alles emoties. Ik gebruik vorm, kleur en compositie om mijn emoties in mijn schilderijen te uiten en te verwerken en te laten zien.
Behalve dat maak ik schilderijen waarin ik een kleurrijke en positieve atmosfeer probeer te scheppen. Op zo’n wijze dat een schilderij van LaReinaWilleke een mooie toevoeging bij het decoreren van je huis of bedrijf kan zijn. Misschien is dat een boodschap?
Ik begon enige tientallen jaren geleden met schilderen en moest leren om mezelf te ontwikkelen. En ik bedoel kunstzinnig ofwel artistiek en dat is meestal een innerlijk en intuïtief proces. Door dat te doen begon ik mezelf langzaam aan als kunstenares te zien als ik zag wat ik aan het doen was en waar ik mee bezig was en dat wat ik aan het creëren was op het canvas, het schilderdoek, beter werd. Ik merkte dat ook omdat mensen, vreemden, mijn schilderijen mooi begonnen te vinden. Dat was een eye-opener. Maar ja, je kunt jezelf zien als een kunstenares, maar je moet er altijd aan werken om een betere kunstenares te worden dan op het moment dat je jezelf als een kunstenares ziet. Dus eigenlijk kun je jezelf niet zien als kunstenares. Andere mensen zien je als kunstenares. Ik zie mezelf als schepper van mijn persoonlijke schilderijen in mijn persoonlijke stijl. Wanneer andere mensen mij zeggen dat ik een kunstenares ben voel ik me gevleid.
Kunst maken is een emotioneel iets. Het omvat en impliceert en behelst je emoties. Het creatieve proces is het tegenovergestelde van het koele analytische denkproces. Als je echt diep gaat in het maken, scheppen van kunst, dan word je emotioneel. Het beïnvloedt je persoonlijkheid. Als een kunstenares en schilderes ben ik soms echt bevangen en gevangen of gedreven door mijn emoties terwijl ik aan het schilderen ben. Maar als ik dat niet doe dan kan ik makkelijk op een analytische manier denken. Maar als een kunstenares kan ik misschien een beetje impulsiever zijn dan andere mensen.
Ik ben niet bezig met het verstandelijk beredeneren van mijn kunstwerken. Ik maak mijn eigen kunst op mijn eigen manier.
Kunst is iets subjectief. Het is onderhevig aan de persoonlijke smaak van degene die het kunstwerk bekijkt. Het is een ondefinieerbare kwaliteit dat het een plezier maakt om naar een kunstwerk te kijken. Dat is misschien hoe je het werk van een kunstenaar kunt evalueren. Zoek de “klik” of het “Wow-gevoel” of die “ongedefinieerde kwaliteit”. Ik hoop dat er tussen mijn schilderijen werken zijn die mensen zulke “Wow-gevoelens” zullen geven!
Kunst is zo subjectief. Wat kunst is voor de ene is rotzooi voor de ander. Het hangt af van in welke stijl en richting in de kunst je zit. Het gaat allemaal om de persoonlijke smaak van mensen. Er is geen precieze definitie van wat “kunst” is. Kunst kan emoties veroorzaken en doen ontstaan in de harten van mensen. Of mensen kunnen enkel proberen door middel van kille verstandelijke beredenering om voor zichzelf een verklaring te vinden als ze een modern kunstwerk bekijken wat ze niet begrijpen. Voor de ene persoon kan kunst emoties zijn en voor de andere persoon is de filosofie achter het kunstwerk belangrijker dan het kunstwerk zelf. Kunst kan zeer goed emoties zijn. Voor mij is dat het geval. Voor mij is kunst emoties.
Als een kunstenares probeer ik mezelf te ontwikkelen en ontplooien. Je kunt niet stilstaan, je moet doorgaan. Je ideeën, je technieken, de manier waarop je werkt, je artistieke instincten, intuïtie, alles. Als je stil staat ga je achteruit of tenminste je artistieke capaciteiten zullen verslechteren denk ik.