at first

René Maagdenberg

zo ongeveer de eerste 10 jaar schilderen & dichten

in 1 handige verpdf-ting

about the first decade of painting and poetry in just one useful pdf

”splinters of an athmosphere”

while forgotten music holds the grass,just above its’ roots

& stops it from moving with the winds,sure of itself

as only a child or a cat can be,I start to like the darkness,

‘cause her thoughts are of her ownyes, she is female

& I draw the lines between images& feel the splinters of an athmosphere

1989oil on linen (40 x 50)

“curl up and hide”

senseless in a way of speakingI close my eyes & feel

the inside of my eggshellperfect round, a million familiar spots

no reason to get out herebut curiosity & a strong urge to

-finally- stretch my legs

senseless in a way of speakingI open my eyes & feel

the sharves of my eggshelldivided, broken, a million now strange spots

no possibility to get back in therejust a little fear & the strong urge to

-again- curl up & hide

let’s all grow up to be wise children

1988oil on plywood

(45 x 65)

“will I sleep on a mirror tonightand break it with my dreams?”

1988oil on linen(65 x 80)

”her silence”

the water did her flowingturning, twirling to the left

she watchedher feet embraced

the surface of a flat stoneher fingers watched her

from strange positions in the waterstopped watching

when she felt her thoughts dragged outthe stream was grinning

ruthless sun burninginvisible voices stopped for a moment

& her silence held it all between two fingers

1988oil on canvas

(40 x 50)

”I’ve got three voicesto talk to thin airnot one of them

needs to be heard”

1988oil on canvas

(65 x 80)

”the end of winter”

it’s cold and whiteand the horizon dances around

in a wide, wide circleand doesn’t seize to teasefrom the dark, grey sky

come the white, white flakesand my chill reaches the ground,simultaneously and just as silent

if spring’s gonna start hereI swore I’d take it like a man

or like a flowerand drink the melting snow

and what I imagine to bean arm around my shoulder

will begently falling rain

1991oil on canvas

(40x50)

”absurd rain”

whispered sentences through the parkthought them making sense

in absurd rainsmall sounds suggesting silence

the grey grassland is wrinkling its’ skinhumoured by the noisy speed of youth

1990oil on projection-screen

(42 x 74)

”why compliment her with the beauty of her skin”

freedom is in naked shoulderssometimes in just bare feet

what I want to do lies behind tomorrowa night, a barrier to overcome,

smooth and easy and like a dream

nothing interests me morethan the mood that’ll hold my hands& I hope I can put them on my belly

and make them smile to what’s in there

1990various techniques on chipboard

(40 x 50)

”at times I sniff reality”

at times I sniff realityat times, when you’re discribing

this world to me,I long to see it

at times I fantasise a two steps further,turn my back

& whisper words of soothing to the pastdeaf as it looks through me in future

I twirl in presentfind no grip

in has been or will be

1990oil on plywood

(80 x 120)

”so be it, coffee spilled over broken wishes”

well both in the fleshneeded abstract utilities

invisible in the hugh, high hallwas the man with the lampI walked right through him

as I once did before

so be it, coffee spilled over broken wishesmy island floats,

I feel securebetween this winters’ pearls

I take my humble bow

1990oil on plywood

(75 x 88)

”to all of your commands I obey,who made your worldand created your life

to all of my commands you obey,who wander through my world

and live all of my lives”

1990various techniques on chipwood

(80 x125)

”I touch, I stroke, I feel”

the deafening silence thunders,has her wings spread over my wings and

singsshe sings between my fingers,

her thoughts hang on my shoulders for nowI touch her brieflystroke her kindly

I feel her warmth from within

the darkness on a horse is in hereit shouts no words

it screams no soundsinvisible for the eye in daylight

not to be mentioned in a motionless nightI touch her brieflystroke her kindly

I feel her warmth from within

1991oil on plywood

(67 x 67

”the thought”

one day one of the dices will explodeon a round table, making music disappear

I captured a thought in a bell below the ceilingcould do nothing more than open a window

& hope it was all & would be foreverI know the feeling was mutual

the thought loved to leave me behindand independently fill another sky

1991oil on something

(20 x 35)

”I’m sorry we lost touch”

my difficult worldhow do you do?

I’m sorry we lost touchyou know how it is in these hasty days

remembrance takes half the speed out of livingthere’s always something

behind my thoughtsasking to be forgiven

or –at least- be reconsidered

1992oil on plywood

(61 x 152)

”let’s see…”

I push a cloud into freedomthrough the hole in my head

in a soft whispering voicedreaming words I fed with liquid emotions

this time I quit in timeonly half an houre too late

let’s meet in heaven afterwards& see who lived in happiness

to the fullest, to the brim& see who lived the lowest

the coldest & most dark& see which one of us has learned the most

& let us shake hands afterwardswhen we see that nothing mattersequally to anything, anything at all

1992oil on canvas

(40 x 60)

”nicht zum sterben zeit gehabt”

If the bottle had a triggermy third eye would soon be real

tumbling downI’d meet the colourfull waves

I wouldn’t even have time to flashbackIs death time, holding pace?

or is deathwhen time stops

without letting me know?

1992various techniques on chipboard

(56 x 119.5)

”one day meditation”

the whole operation took only five minutesone did the shoutingone did the running

and I did the jumping and waved my armshighly astonished the sun coloured the beach

when she tried to climb the horizon

wish I could meditatefor only one day

would live my lifein twenty-four houres

1992oil on something

(17 x 35)

”noone alive is innocent”

there was a child at the doorand it knew how to knock with a questionmark

noone alive is innocent“am I guilty for laughing?”the child asked the priest

and he thought a ball of firewould come from his mouth

then I saw my finger pointed in the airmy hand closed, needles formed a crown of thorns

through & through & yet, no bloodsometimes I’m alive & I see

the world only moves out of habit& I try to slow down its’ speed

sometimes I wonderhow women put miracles together

I watch & I wonderI enjoy & I fear

1993oil on panel

(24 x 44, 24 x 44)

”nothing stops right at the skin”

my thoughts were on my her shouldertalking nonsense with conviction

with half an eye on the days behind us& the ones

that were hanging from my belt-that evening-

were far beyond preoccupationtheir reactions pure, rough, still uncut

from the outside I feel my insidenothing stops right at the skin

1993oil on plywood

(70 x 117)

”miracles & visions do uccur”

miracles and visions do occuras the morning suns’ beams

draw architectural structures

1993various techniques on chipboard

(56.5 x 57)

”hiding in the corner of an eye”

I found magic in a forrest-silent fingers-

found mysteries in the sea-liquid skin-

unable to comprehend a yeardidn’t understand a decade

always felt the strange connectionwarmth between mathematic coldness

aging we singwires in wind

forgotten connectionsforgotten what parted

I’m surprised at what I take for granted;hear sounds fall from great height

hit the ground & spread in different anglesI’m very, very small now

curled up, hiding in the corner of an eye

1994oil on chipboard

(37 x 46)

”aquamarin they called this day”

& suddenly I rememberwe never went to a pool together

I was holding my breathin a room in the cellar

aquamarin they called this day

1994oil on chipboard

(67 x 78)

”an implosion”

did we speak in slowmotion,when houres flew by?

somehow, by trading our illusions,we got lost in them

the evening before me grew cold,the hundreds around me froze to slow-motion

this morning I watched coffeeno old habit ever died,

as if anything between the eyesdiffers in any way from the stars in motion

it’s all there; the speed of light& the absolute temperature

of zero degreesratio tumbles in holes of fantasy

& it is not nightjust because the day is not present

1994oil on projectionshield

(188 x 146)

”there is no other victimthan of circumstances”

we never tread on solid groundfew words control us, living

circle in grasstakes different positionssmall veins run memorydown episodes and erasthat’s where I found it,

three days & a yearmade skin wrinkle & breath go faster

1994oil on chipboard

(35 x 45, 35 x 45)

”the eagle has stranded”

1994oil on canvas

(180 x 90)

”I wanted to go search nothing”

no solution we askedno solution we got

on this mountain which was a hillon this hill which was aflat road to anywhere

I wanted to go search nothing

1995oil on plywood

(102x143)

”breaking the cristal dew”

I put the morning in a nutshelltook it home, enjoyed to watch

I wanted it to stay foreverI desired to live in it

we, friends, came to a solutionwe left it in the grass

It hid for the nightthen played with the afternoon

got impressed by a solemn eveningEvery day now

I get chills up and down my spinebreaking the cristal dew

1996oil on panel(30 x 95)

”my garden is colourfull, my truth is today”

am I me surprising meunbound still unbrokenone moment I’m here

the next I’m over thereboth places, both times

I am another manI love to like to try to hatebut never finish feelings

every abillity’s there to grabI just carefull taste & grow experiences

my garden is colourfullmy truth is today

1996oil on carton

(12 x 15)

”wish I could”

I wish I had life in my hand& could twist it,

turn it, squeeze it,push it, pull it,

roll it between my fingers& mold it, mold it

I wish I had life in my hand & could colour it, enlighten it,

feel it, fit in it,just hold it between my fingers

& mold it, mold it& there would be all kinds of ways to end it

after a lifetime of stretch & bend it

1996oil on linen(50 x 70)

”anyway it comes”

take the fire through my mouthbreathe it out noseways

this is lifetake it anyway it comes

the tide of water flows through megrows moss on my northside

this is lifetake it anyway it comes

1997 (87x52)

oil on panel

”rendez-vous”

fallen backwarts I liebetween the leaves of a large, large treewe outsmart eachother; the tree and me

while he took the liberty to do some thinkingI took the oppurtunity to just ignore

now we always meet at the same placewhere he whispers majesticly loud

into the ears of one who listensthere’s something peacefull

going up his branches,something vital going down his roots

I’d like to say something to add to the feelingonly nothing excists that would do just that

1998 (87x52)

oil on panel

”stories of the spring”

when my tongue has timeto talk to me

stories of the spring burst outthe agony for it hasn’t been yet

the joy for it once will comewatching truth leave moments

It so strangely surprises meeverything comes so early

the sun always sets in the middle

1996oil on panel

”the morning of creation”

we painted ourselveson the morning of creationin the colours we liked best

with naked eyesa childrens’ sight

& then we admired the clouds in the sky

1994oil on plywood

(69 x 29)

”wooden waves”

couldn’t find fingers enoughto plug my ears

had a square pattern of moving-puppet on a curtain-rail-

held on to solid waterup to my knees in three days’ ashes

could only glance in eyes approachingheld a firm grip on the wooden waves

1994oil on chipboard

(37 x 46, 37 x 46)

”the here & now”

& I can almost seeinfinity & eternity in darkness

won't wait for a crack between years no morewill only be waiting for now

searched from the inside out into the opengazing for the proper place

found it just lookingfrom the outside within

1995oil on plywood

(40 x 50)

”today”

1997oil on panel(100x120)

“pauze”

na wortelen ontwortelende blote voeten uit de gronddauwtrappend de heuvel op

de roze dageraad & neveldruppel voor druppel tot me nemen

liggend voelen dat de wereld leeftde zon as wordt

een argeloze pauzein het midden van het zijn

1997

pastelkrijt & olieverf op karton(20 x 25)

”les beaux temps,ils sont arrivée”

& the clouds seemed to havea concrete structureif I raised my hand

I was sure to touch themcould not bring myselfto breaking the spell

I walked under a clear blue skybetween moist amorf monuments

1997oil on panel

(45,5 x 65,5)

”never ever pour me rain”

euforia,I balanced it on a spoon in my mouth

& had to choose one out of care & speedtrying to fight the stormwith bare hands & teeth

black flag moving oppositeto the raging shades of grey above

I, myself can’t hear my laughter

never ever pour me rain

1997oil on board

(79 x 97)

”fresh smell of forbidden fruit”

and more, much more’s to comeas I slice a melon

from the inside outas to escape I penetrate the walls

I thread on the seeds& cut my way to the fresh smell

of forbidden fruit

1996oil on blackboard

(90 x 170)

gaat worden vervolgd in een groeiend aantal series van varia-

bele datering. en dan heeft u de cartoons, de illustraties, de

muurschilderingen en het toegepaste grafische werk nog niet

eens gezien, de muiek gehoord of de verhalen en overige poëzie

gelezen. ..

over wie gaat het eigenlijk?

ooit begonnen als toon-, woord- en beeldkunstenaar ging rené

maagdenberg niets uit de weg als er maar creativiteit bij aan te

pas kwam. tijdgebrek en de beschikking over slechts één lichaam

noopten hem tot beperkingen. maar als immer is hij bezig met

woord en beeld, en, als mensen het heel vriendelijk vragen, zo af

en toe een cursus of workshop.

is to be continued in a growing number of series of variable work.

and you haven’t even seen the cartoons, the illustrations,

the murals, the grafic work. Or read the stories and

poems, quite difficult because mostly in dutch, or heard his music...

who are we talking about?

in a far and distant past artist rené maagdenberg started to use

sound, words and all the material he could manage, to shape his

creativity. lack of time and the availabillity of just one body lim-

ited him. a bit. none the less he’s putting together all his ideas and

anything in his direct surroundings to new work. and, if people ask

him very polite, he incidentely tends to do a project or workshop.