You walk into your studio and what do you paint? A self-portrait? It is the ultimate challenge, confrontation.
Over the years I have done that several times. I limit myself to the years after the academy. Before that I had never ventured into a self-portrait (as far as I remember). I belong to the generation that mainly had to free its creative mind.
I often think we are a somewhat lost generation. Blessed with praising parents and teachers, I thought my drawings were quite something. Fortunately they no longer exist. I'm talking about the drawings...
I still think it's a miracle that I was accepted at the evening course drawing teacher. There I was taught portrait drawing and still life -. It opened my eyes. There was a wonderful world next to that of my creative fuss. At that evening course and later the academy I immersed myself into interpreting what I saw around me. I wanted to learn a trade more than lay myself on the couch to see what traumas I had suffered or divine visions in my young life. That was always possible in the future, first learn the alphabet.
Those who have read more of my writings will know my opinion about all creative junk, my apologies…

After the academy I ended up in Florence. There were many beautiful girls, but they didn't want to pose for me for free. Being pennyless I had to abuse myself.
I looked at myself from below; like a doubting but haughty bohemian. After all, I had an art book about Munch to draw inspiration from and would conquer the world… yet I remained quite close to the 'dreamy Werther' shown to me. In the sketch I show more my emotions…

In 1982 I had an exhibition at Sesto Fiorentino: the first where I confronted the Italian public. Especially for this I painted a self-portrait in overalls. I had a habit of walking in overalls most of the time. Then it was fashionable, now I do it because it's convenient and a stain here or there doesn't matter.
It was the period of 'The Police' and I was a prophet in Italy. I spoke English in a country where even people behind the tourist desk did not speak English. I could sing the Beatles' 'Help!' and that brought me benefits and respect.

The canvas has remained in the gallery 'La Soffitta'. To exhibit there for free I had to leave a work behind and who ever sells their own head? Above whose fireplace does this portrait now hang blazing black?
I found the gallery on Facebook, I'm going to write them!

This portrait stayed close to a realistic display. With time I slowly detached myself from a realistic depiction of things and those first steps were often shaky. Let's be honest: mostly a lot of junk. Most of these self-portraits were either destroyed or I painted over them. 

I moved to Amsterdam and in good spirits I continued my way. Very busy finding a stronger and more personal handwriting. I thought I was skilled enough.
In Italy there is still a self-portrait in a more expressionistic style. I then leaned towards Expressionist German, towards Kirchner, Nolde and others. That was because of a beautiful book about that movement I owned and because the atmosphere appealed to my no longer very young but still tormented 'Werther-heart'. At that time, David Bowie sang "Baal". I often listened to music by Brecht and Weill. Berlin, with its still crazy wall, was also fascinating. I mirrored myself to 'Die Neue Wilde' who mirrored themselves to the expressionists...
Anna bought the (disappeared?) panel. And Anna is no longer with us.
I don't have a picture and how to get it… Hardly anyone of the Roman group of friends around her is still alive.
In 1987 I venture to that head of mine again. In my studio in the Fagelstraat I made a series of paintings, starting with acrylic paint and on some I continued with oil paint.
I slapped my still-wet mouth with a rag, probably for three reasons. To get dynamism, to make a different structure than the brushstroke and maybe to portray myself less pretentiously. I doubt whether the latter succeeded.

I sold this panel to Teresa Scassellati. And she also died way too young. Yes, she belonged to Anna's group of friends. In which attic does this self-portrait stare out of the skylight?
Gianni Cecchini was part of the group. Indeed, he is no longer alive either... He restored a Da Vinci. The panel (the penitent Jerome) served for a time as the lid of a coffin and the seat of a stool. Who knows what my head can be used for one day. The friends feature in one of my stories about Rome.

We continue in another foreign country. I had become very close friends with Phil and Flo. They live in the center of France. I made myself a welcome guest at their divine chateau. Phil had three jobs: fixing up trees by climbing and tidying them up. In addition, they had a bed and breakfast and also a restaurant. You wonder where he got the energy from.
Phil wanted a painting for the restaurant. I found excuses for quite a long time until he said that if I didn't immediately come up with a proposal, I would never be allowed to stay there again. During our game of petenque, which I lost hopelessly as usual, I had a vision; I would paint a triptych!

This became it. Phil and Flo in the center panel, the dog 'Luna' on the left representing the site itself and me on the right leaning back in commentary. God had found his place in France and I made it clear where… The year: 1988.

In the same year a friend constantly squinted at me with good advice: I should make nicer paintings (perhaps flower arrangements?), I should listen more to others, I should live more responsibly and so on. I think she meant well but was actually jealous of my kamikaze behavior. She was already worried about her old age…
After a tiring night I produced this sketch.

In 1990 I was invited to a group exhibition in Turin by Martina Corganti. To bring: a free work, a series of sketches and a self-portrait. As a self-portrait I painted my head while yawning. Something different…

The sketches were left behind in Turin, the horny gallery couple thought they deserved them… the self-portrait is also in Italy: sold. So I earned something!
But so godforsaken a lot has stuck behind here and there. I have so many people to thank for all the 'favors' bestowed on me. And yet (perhaps due to too much ingratitude on my part) the sun has never really shone on my barren fields…
An advantage is that I don't own a lot of old unsold work. This makes traveling through life easier. And I can still pass for bohemian.

I left for New York. One of my great loves I met in a fragile period and I was wonderfully dazzled; I went after my HEART! It wasn't supposed to end happily, but I have no regrets. I have very fond memories of this incredible woman, a rock, a nuclear bomb resistant AMAZONE.

Back home in the Netherlands licking my wounds I became quite ill. Three months in hospital. What are you doing over there? Sketches without getting the sheets dirty… this is one. Year: 1994.

A few operations later and back home.
In 1998, dear friends and I celebrated my 25th anniversary as an artist. One of my most successful exhibitions ever. The exhibition lasted 3 hours and I earned for a year. When entering the exhibition space, each visitor received a glass of champagne, the price list with accompanying text and a small self-portrait in black ink on paper. I made 150: a series of assembly-line-berts.
This is number one.

I never learn, by now I was head over heels in love again. This time on a Spanish beauty. What is that called? We gentlemen trot after our cock, getting dizzy...
In 1999 I made a futuristic self-portrait: FUTURBERT! Love does this to you.

In Barcelona I found a beautiful studio in a former textile factory. We were there with at least fifty artists. One more serious than the other. There was no proper heating. It can also be cold in Barcelona at times! Friends gave me a hand warmer. Hence this sketch (the model is Esmeralda, a fantastic woman).

It was an exciting time. My sketchbooks bear witness to those first turbulent years, full of hope, also full of cheerful madness.
Here are three with myself as the subject. It's more the thoughts about me and life than with the mirror in hand. The years: 2001-2003-2006.

I was head over heels in love. I decided to testify to that. This is a self-portrait together with Rosa. Title: “THE HOLY SPIRIT.” The little angel pisses on both our hearts.

The painting no longer exists. It was almost sold, but when it stayed at home I painted something else over it a few years later. A psychotherapist will see it as an indication of the breakdown of our relationship, but I am a painter. I was tired of the unsaleable canvas.
In 2003 I practiced on my own head again. In black ink and white posca marker.

2006! Gala is born!!! What to do? Show this in my sketchbooks? Too big for my imagination, I'm speechless.

Was the shock or the joy of having a beautiful daughter so great that I lost my own head? In any case, it took me until 2013 before I went for a self-portrait again and this time in oil. I lived in my studio. My marriage was on the rocks. I'm sorry, I feel like a failure, but there was no other way.

When I look at this portrait I think that I have shown myself quite a bit younger. Young and silly or lost? Does this perhaps show my hope of meeting a lady who will rescue me? An inverted portrait of Dorian Gray may have been the case, unfortunately.

In 2015, Gala made my portrait on request. I am the proud owner of this gem.

I also ventured on myself twice. Once in black and white with posca markers.
I gave the sketch to Jan, the best bartender in Barcelona. He worked close to the Palau de la Musica.

I need to talk about someone else for a second. Who was John?
The tapas bar actually was JAN with some stools and tables around him. I could never pass the bar when he stood behind the tap. I just had to pop in to say hello. This shows why:
Once, I wanted to cut down on the alcohol again, I said I could only drink two glasses. The inevitable happened, the bottle emptied and when I paid he asked for only two glasses. I had ordered two glasses didn’t I?
When Gala came along, he didn't treat her like an appendage to me. She, too, loved him.
Unfortunately, he died much, much too young. I went by afterwards, but the bar was not the same anymore, even though there were such splashes of hot ladies serving.
I don't know where the portrait ended.
I also made self-portrait in oil paint. It was on display at the Max en Sim gallery around the corner from me. See a photo of a proud daughter, the exhibition and myself.

In August 2016, I went on a canvas in one session: an exercise. In technical terms it is called that I painted this portrait wet in wet. The tour is not to let things turn into a slab of mud . If all goes well, the tones are close together, which means that the canvas has a strong unity.

In 2018 again with the posca markers… and especially chiaro-scuro. Those pens are a wonderful material. Because you can't really mix, you often have to improvise, simplify things, make decisions. In black and white and sometimes with black ink I often manage to find a good balance between loose smears and accurate reproduction.

In 2019 there was the exhibition in the Rijksmuseum commemorating the death of Rembrandt three hundred and fifty years ago. Artists could submit a work inspired by his oeuvre. I could not not participate and just before the announcement I happened to have made a self-portrait that was in the same realm of the self-portraits (doubt and compassion) and technique (light-dark and showing the brushstrokes) of Rembrandt's late work.
It was accepted. That summer I went on holiday to the Netherlands with Gala and we saw it hanging in the museum.

A proud Gala next to the sketch.

2020 was a year that everything collapsed for me besides painting and occasional sales. The lease of the apartment ended and my extra income disappeared like snow in the sun. Corona…
I decided to return to the Netherlands. Initially I wanted to wait until Gala's eighteenth birthday, but the stretch was out of my life in Barcelona. It didn't work anymore.
I left with a bleeding heart.
This is the last portrait painted there. A closing document of my twenty-year stay in Spain.

It's been more than two years now. I'm having a good time in Utrecht. I see Gala occasionally, even if it's too little in my opinion. She is sixteen years old, so her life revolves more around other things. It is fine.
Recently I realized I've been wearing glasses since about 2010. Why not try looking at myself in the mirror without that thing on my nose?
This is the result. What is the conclusion?

Piet Zimmerman taught art history at the academy in Amsterdam. His comments still echo in my reasonings, opinions.
He once argued that what had happened from, say, the Renaissance to Malevich's black square was an increasing distance from the object. From looking almost microscopically to looking at a distant idea about that object. Can we say that by taking off my glasses I have distanced myself more from that stubborn head of mine?

Back to I ME MINE and the making process.
Lately I mainly paint irises. Why is that? Why not predominantly canvases like FIESTA 1? I have something to say, want to tell something. Painting is communication. Instead of addressing someone directly, I do so through my paintings.
And lately I've been wondering if I shouldn't take some distance from my ego. The ego that expresses itself in works like FIESTA 1. There I tell about my own self and/in the world; I twist reality into my vision.
In the floral canvases I testify more to just beauty, light and color. Gone ego, gone story, maybe not so bad... (There is no way out to paint myself as a flower child. I was born too late for that. And I was and have never had much interest in hippies and flower power).

The conditions for a portrait is that it must be recognizable. You must be able to see who the victim is. After years of trying to distance myself from reality, I now believe that many of those steps are forced or out of incompitence. Making it difficult for the sake of making it difficult, being the 'artist'.
I am changing the canvas 'FIESTA 02' for the umpteenth time and notice that by conjuring up your subconscious in a sensible way, it is a feat of witchcraft. And also to deviate from the realistic representation in a sensible way is a hassle.
Then grabbing your own head is a good test. I do hope that something of that subconscious, the soul, emerges. That it doesn't turn out to be a bloodless exact representation. And what do I want to bring out in myself?
In London I always go see Rembrandt's self-portrait in the National Gallery. The doubt, the compassion, what an unparalleled canvas. Does he bring out those emotions in himself? Is that it? That unnamable? And not a gimmick?
I do not think so. I think he couldn't help but portray himself like that. And I hope that I, too, show something beyond the exactness of myself in my self-portraits.

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February 2023, Utrecht.