Bart Lodewijks - Meibloemstraat Drawings

E nglis h

B ar t Lodew ijk s

M e ib loe m s traat Draw ing s

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Poetic A dv ic e for A AC A rc hitec ture

If you remodel De K oer, you have to remodel the entire neighbourhood

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A pril 20 20 : F rom A ugus t 20 19 to A pril 20 20 I have b e en ac ting as a ‘poetic adv is er’ on the renovation of D e K oer, a c ultural arts c entre in B rugs e P oort, a work ing -c las s neighb ourhood on the outs k irts of G hent. Under the mot to ‘If y ou remodel D e K oer, y ou have to remodel the entire neighb ourhood ’, I s tarte d draw ing on M eibloems traat, the s tre et D e K oer is loc ate d on. T here I enc ountere d many of its re s idents , s uc h as a druid, lonely K oz emieke and the nuns of the religious order the K leine Z us ters van N az aret (Lit tle S is ters of N az areth). I unveile d s torie s that would have remaine d inv is ible w ithout the draw ing , and the remodel got under way w ithout mov ing a s ingle bric k .

B art Lodew ijk s

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I draw two plane s on the wall fac ing the D e K oer c afĂŠ .

T hey look like flags wav ing in oppos ite dire c tions . E ac h time the draw ing fade s in the rain, I re -do it, s o that it is in a c ons tant s tate of repair and never finis he d .

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I walk along M adeliefje s s traat/ Daisy S tre et and the name s ounds as s we et in my ears as M eibloems traat/M ay flower S tre et. T he realit y is not as ros e -c oloure d as the s tre et name s might imply, though.

G eits traat/G oat S tre et has no hay in s ight and lac k s all s ign of animal life . K as tanje s traat/ C he s tnut S tre et has abs olutely no c he s tnuts , and C e ders traat/ C e dar S tre et and A ppels traat/ A pple S tre et s imilarly lac k any ev idenc e of c e darwood or apple s . Ins tead, the road s urfac e is s trew n w ith a torn garbage bag , a pink c omb w ith angel hair, trample d bis c uit pac k aging and run-over C ara b e er c ans . A ny one look ing for gre enery is b et ter off reading the s tre et nameplate s , w ith their neat let tering: M ay flower, C e dar, A pple and Daisy S tre ets .

T he neighb ourhood ’s gre en s pac e ex is ts s olely in language .

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T he pe ople of D e K oer, w hic h means ‘ the c ourt y ard ’ but is pronounc e d ‘k ur’, c all thems elve s the ‘c ourt y ard folk ’.

W hen I firs t heard ab out them, I thought pe ople were s ay ing ‘ur-folk ’.

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T he c ourt y ard folk s e e to various s oc ial and c ultural ne e ds in the neighb ourhood, prov iding c onc erts , readings , artis t s tudios , a rehears al s pac e for mus ic ians , a herb garden and a bric k oven for bak ing bread . A lmos t the entire propert y is fre ely ac c e s s ible: neighb ourhood re s idents c ome and go at w ill; a s mall army of c hic kens s c avenge s ab out and pe c k s s e e ds out of the herb garden; doors are unloc ke d and there is fre e timb er available .

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I draw a c halk re c tangle on the s lats of the wood fenc ing around the herb garden.

D e K oer is now b eing update d w ith new s anitary fac ilitie s and a modern c ommunit y k itc hen; the off ic e s , too, are re c eiv ing a make over. It ’s b eing made more ‘c urrent ’; le s s ‘ur’. T he doors w ill b e furnis he d w ith loc k s; the entranc e gate, w hic h now c ons is ts of a rudimentary fenc e loc ke d w ith a bike loc k , and then only at night, is b eing trans forme d into a proper entranc e, w ith an entry c ode and may b e even a fingerprint reader or iris s c an.

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T he hole s , c rac k s , openings and gaps w ill dis appear, b e c aus e the building is b eing made c limate -neutral, w hic h w ill c ons iderably bring dow n the energy bills . Its us ers w ill no longer ne e d to b e as inventive as they have b e en until now; they w ill not have to s pend their time repairing leak y fauc ets or bat tling the pernic ious dry rot that has plague d the building s inc e time immemorial.

D e s pite the peac efulne s s emanating from the herb garden, s ome one did try to break through the wooden fenc e and s teal s ome of the plants . T he garden’s ow ner, Jan, jus t s ay s c almly, ‘ T he touris t mus t have ne e de d it.’ H e alway s c alls pe ople he dis approve s of ‘ touris ts ’.

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I s pell out the words in my head: ‘ p o e t i c ’ and ‘a d v i s e r ’ . T he two c onc epts are not imme diately re c onc ilable in terms of meaning , but they s till tolerate one another. A dv ic e pertains to a re c ommendation to do or not to do s omething; poetry, on the other hand, is w ide open, an almos t b oundle s s world .

P oetry is ab out s urplus value; it is out of s tep, dis rupts , dis turbs or amaz e s .

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P e ople are, of c ours e, fre e to ignore adv ic e at their w him . T he s ame is true of poetry : poems ex pand our horiz ons; they re quire nothing of us ‌ it ’s jus t ab out b eing able to s ay w hat is s aid .

P oetry or adv ic e: eac h is ab out as binding as c halk .

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It ’s not only on the s tre et that I s e e bis c uit pac k aging and trample d b e er c ans , D e K oer’s c ourt y ard is als o dot te d w ith lit ter. I c an s e e how the w ind would blow the bis c uit w raps this way, but the b e er c ans mus t have b e en delib erately lef t b ehind . T he rubbis h prove s that D e K oer and the s tre et are inex tric ably linke d .

‘A re y ou from Telenet? ’ as k s ome c hildren ex c ite dly as I s tart draw ing on the s tre et. ‘ To ins tall the broadband telev is ion,’ they ex plain. ‘N o, no,’ I s ay. ‘ T he line s are there as part of an art proje c t.’ D is appointe d, they s link off .

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T he w hite c halk s tripe s are s et off nic ely by the grey, b eige, brow n and blac k bloc k s of c olour on the hous e s .

It re quire s s ome alertne s s on my part not to trample the we e ds s proute d amongs t the pavers w hile I’m draw ing .

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T he draw ing has turne d out s o well I have diff ic ult y leav ing it b ehind .

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A s I am draw ing on the hous e, the pers on liv ing there play s his guitar and s ings pop s ongs .

‘I don’ t really live here,’ the mus ic ian c onfide s in me . ‘It ’s my girlfriend ’s hous e .’

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T he neighb our doe s not want a draw ing on his blue hous e .

‘A draw ing nex t door is enough,’ he s ay s , as if there is only s o muc h of my c halk ing he c an take . A t the end of the af ternoon, as I s tart pac k ing up to leave, he s we eps the c halk powder that lande d on the pavement in front of his door away w ith a broom .

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T he Turk is h neighb ours pay me prac tic ally no mind as I draw there, as if it were the mos t natural thing in the world .

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‘ T here was already a draw ing done here – not by y ou, but by the iv y,’ s ay s the y ounge s t memb er of the family, a neatly dre s s e d b oy of ab out s even.

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I draw a diagonal line s traight ac ros s the faç ade of the c orner hous e that look s out onto D e  K oer.

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T he c alc ium depos its on the bric k s were an ex tra motivation for draw ing on the faรง ade .

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T he pers on w ho live s there is a rotund G hanaian, w ho work s in a fac tory at night and s le eps during the day.

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D e s pite liv ing dire c tly ac ros s from it, the G hanaian s ay s he ’s never heard of D e K oer. A bit later in the c onvers ation, it b e c ome s c lear that he is aware there ’s a c ultural c entre on his s tre et but doe s n’ t k now w hat it ’s c alle d . I ex plain to him that ‘de koer’ is the word for an open c ourt y ard and all he has to do is c ros s the s tre et to s e e for hims elf.

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T he G hanaian’s neighb our live s in a w hite hous e . S he is a y oung mother, w ho was c row ne d M is s G hent two y ears ago.

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B e c aus e y ou c an’ t s e e w hite c halk on a w hite hous e, I pic k up the draw ing on the re d bric k of numb er 8 7.

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T he draw ing c onne c ts the four hous e s together, inc luding M is s G hent ’s w hite hous e .

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A t the end of the af ternoon, the G hanaian and I have a c up of c off e e together. H e wants to k now w hat the c halk line s are for. I tell him ab out the remodel planne d for D e K oer and that I was appointe d to prov ide poetic adv ic e to the arc hite c t. ‘C halk and c ement are ac tually made of the s ame material. T he c halk line s prefigure the renovation.

T hey w ill run through the entire s tre et and there ’ll b e diff erent draw ings on diff erent hous e s ,’ I ex plain.

T he G hanaian lis tens at tentively but ke eps c huc k ling at w hat I’m s ay ing . It mus t s trike him as a bit prepos terous .

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T he Turk is h family are totally fine w ith hav ing their hous e ‘brightene d up’ w ith a c halk draw ing .

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D e s pite all the ac tiv it y in and around the hous e (the ele c tric it y is b eing rew ire d), I do not los e my c onc entration.

T he s tray diagonal line s break open the draw ing ’s tight s truc ture .

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O verlapping s urfac e s are at y pic al for my draw ings .

P oetry is a lay ering of thoughts .

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T he draw ings are a guide through a s tre et full of anomalie s .

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A n elderly c ouple tells me that b efore the end of the S e c ond W orld W ar, the s tatue s tood on the old K oning A lb ertbrug (K ing A lb ert B ridge).

‘ W hen the G ermans s tarte d their w ithdrawal, they blew up the K oning A lb ertbrug . T he pe ople of G hent fis he d the parts of the bridge out of the water and brought them to B rugs e P oort. T hat ’s how the s tatue ende d up here,’ the old man s ay s , w ith a b oy is h grin.

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‘A lmos t no one k nows that the s tatue is a remnant of the old K oning A lb ertbrug . P e ople in the neighb ourhood at tribute it to a s tonemas on w ho s et tle d in B rugs e P oort s hortly af ter the war. A great b ear of a man.

H e had a s tudio in the park and ac te d as if the bus t was his ,’ the man s ay s . ‘H e had that s ame k ind of rounde d head and bloc k y s houlders; we were all a bit s c are d of him,’ his w ife adds .

I draw a k ind of s as h on the s tatue . ‘In honour of the K oning A lb ertburg ,’ I s ay to the c ouple .

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T he blind rear faรง ade of D e K oer b orders on the garden b elonging to the K leine Z us ters van N az aret, an order of s evente en nuns c ommit te d to helping the neighb ourhood and the pe ople liv ing there . A lmos t the only ornamentation on their hous e is a c ruc ifix ab out the s iz e of a hand hanging nex t to the doorb ell. T he s is terhood abjure s ex c e s s ive religious sy mb olis m; it ex ude s mode s t y.

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S is ter A nnie had already s e en me work ing along the s tre et, s o my que s tion ab out w hether I c an draw in their garden doe s not c ome entirely unex pe c te d .

A nnie look s at the draw ing and s ay s , ‘N othing ex is ts on its ow n, and every thing we c are ab out is temporary.’

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S he goe s on to s ay, ‘ T he pe ople at D e K oer as ke d us w hether they c ould ins tall ins ulation panels on our s ide of the wall.

A pparently, their new off ic e w ill b e on the other s ide of the wall. B ut b e c aus e the ins ulation materials would mar the look of the garden, we didn’ t agre e to it.’

‘ You are draw ing on the dry s ide of the building; the rain doe s n’ t fall on that wall. T he c halk line s c ould b e ble s s e d w ith a long life,’ pre dic ts P oli.

A t 9 1, s he is the olde s t s is ter of the order.

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I c ons ider flat, bas ic draw ings w ithout any s ugge s tion of s pac e or pers pe c tive to b e the c ore of my work .

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‘It look s jus t like two w indows , but we don’ t fe el s pie d on,’ A nnie s ay s .

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F rom the garden, y ou have a good v iew of the draw ing and the s is ters ’ hous e .

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W hen I ring the doorb ell at numb er 72 to as k if I c an draw on their faç ade, the door is opene d by a y oung man in a dre s s ing gow n. I as k if I c an make a draw ing , but he is not really lis tening to me . ‘ T hat ’s fine, go ahead,’ he interrupts , more to get rid of me than out of any intere s t. T hen he dis appears bac k ins ide . T he rolling s hut ters remain c los e d the entire time I’m draw ing , and I hear an oc c as ional thump in the hous e .

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A c ouple of hours later, a woman opens the front door and s teals outs ide . S he has elab orately c oiff e d blac k hair and is wearing a big re d s c arf.

I c an’ t s e e any more than that b e c aus e I’m s tanding up high on a ladder.

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‘B onjour,’ I c all out in F renc h, s inc e the woman reminds me of a flamb oy ant F renc h mademois elle . ‘G ood af ternoon,’ a male voic e replie s in F lemis h.

O nly now do I s e e that the y oung man w ho opene d the door in his dre s s ing gow n is now dre s s e d as a woman.

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B etwe en the terrac e d hous e s on M eibloems traat are als o a few tow nhous e s w ith de ep bac k gardens , as if this neighb ourhood had nothing but s pac e . I think ab out the Z us ters van N az aret, w ho re c eive d me s o hos pitably in their garden.

M ight s ome of the s e gardens have goats graz ing and c e dar, apple and c he s tnut tre e s grow ing – that aff irmational gre enery from w hic h the s tre ets derive their name s?

dark-gre en plas tic tarp that has b e en rudimentarily at tac he d to a fenc e at the end of the drive .

It ’s w indy in the pas s ageway and it s tink s , an animal s mell I c an’ t quite plac e . I c an’ t imagine any one live s in the plac e, let alone that s ome one would obje c t to me draw ing c halk s tripe s on the ironwork .

I s tand in front of a large, lat tic e d gate b elonging to a derelic t hous e . T he ironwork , w hic h mus t have onc e b e en blac k , is c overe d in rus t.

T he hous e is mint gre en, the w indow frame s rot ten and the pane s s o dirt y y ou c an barely s e e ins ide . B ehind the gate is a pas s ageway meas uring ab out ten metre s de ep and four metre s high that runs under the hous e and s er ve s as the driveway to s ome unk now n hinterland . T he garden its elf is s hielde d from v iew by a c heap, 56

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T he day light barely penetrate s into the pas s ageway, and it ’s not until my ey e s b e c ome ac c us tome d to the dark that I s e e that the wall has a mural.

It ’s of a hors e galloping through a k its c hy lands c ape, ridden by a half-nake d woman w ith wav ing blonde hair. R e gret tably, I’m bloc ke d by the gate; otherw is e, I c ould add s ome c halk line s to the mural… prov ide s ome ‘painterly ’ adv ic e . I s mile at my hare -braine d notion; poetic adv ic e really is a s lippery s lope .

I s tipple together a horiz ontal frame on the bars w ith my c halk , meas uring two metre s by four-and -a-half metre s .

T hen, I draw a c halk s tripe on every rail loc ate d w ithin the frame . A s tripe d re c tangle emerge s , even though the bars are s pac e d too far apart to s ugge s t a real plane . O nly onc e the entire frame has b e en fille d in w ith c halk line s are my eff orts rewarde d: the draw ing pops out from its s ubs trate ex ac tly as I had hope d . It look s

like the bars have b e en s awe d through, c reating an opening to the dreary pas s ageway. It may b e a delus ion to think I c an s tep into the garden through the draw ing , but the thought that no barric ade c an obs truc t my poetic gaz e is a definite break through for me .

S uddenly, a c urle d tongue reac he s through the rails; a wet muz z le blows warm air at me . T here ’s a my thic al c reature gaz ing at me, w ith long , s traight hair, s hiny ey e s and long , c urly ey elas he s that flut ter s ubmis s ively s hut. T he b eas t is not alone; b ehind it s tands a frail, nearly inv is ible man in turquois e py jamas that matc h the c olour of the hous e . A man? H e ’s almos t too feminine for a man: s light build and no hint of a b eard . H e ’s wearing s he eps k in s lippers and look s as if he has s teppe d out of another era . A druid, perhaps? ‘ You mus t b e the man of the hous e? ’ I blurt out. ‘ T hat ’s right. C hris is my name and s he ’s c alle d 59

K oz emieke . S he ’s an alpac a, a s mall mountain llama from the highlands of P eru. S he has b e en liv ing here thre e months .’

H e artic ulate s his words the way refine d, s ophis tic ate d indiv iduals do.

I s e e s imilaritie s b etwe en his fac e and that of the rider in the mural, w ho als o s e ems to c ome from another era but obv ious ly repre s ents a woman… O r doe s he look more like the alpac a? I glimps e the s ame ins c rutable gaz e in his ey e s . ‘I s aw y ou look ing at the mural. T he rider look s a lit tle like me, but I am not the s ubje c t. A s for y our fac e, y ou don’ t look familiar to me .

H ave I forgot ten s omething?

D o y ou perhaps rent a garage from me? ’ H e leads the alpac a c arefully into the pas s ageway and, talk ing the w hole time, pre s s e s a but ton c onc eale d in the mural. T he gate s w ings open automatic ally, almos t as I imagine d the draw ing ‘work ing ’.

Is that poetry or not, I think to

my s elf as I s tep ins ide .

M ore than any thing , C hris s e ems like a figure from a dream, but then in fle s h and blood: he jus t appeare d out of my draw ing; I c ould have c reate d him my s elf. ‘I drew on the rails of the gate in c halk w ithout as k ing permis s ion,’ I apologiz e . ‘D oe s n’ t mat ter. T he gate de s perately ne e ds new paint,’ is his re s pons e . T he c halk line s don’ t even re c eive a s e c ond glanc e . F rom ins ide the pas s ageway, the mural is c learly v is ible, and it s uddenly fe els threatening . ‘ W hat a b eautiful alpac a,’ I remark , for the s ake of s omething pos itive to s ay. T he gate c los e s b ehind me w ith a c ris p c lic k in the loc k .

I’m on his territory now, c los e d off from the re s t of the world .

H ave I b e en taken pris oner?

I s troke K oz emieke ’s s houlders w ith my hands and notic e that her s of t fur dis pels my uneas e s omew hat. ‘ T hrough her, I ke ep in c ontac t w ith love d one s 60

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w ho have b e en taken from me,’ C hris s tarts out. ‘I haven’ t s e en my 12-y ear-old daughter in thre e y ears . I am hoping this animal w ill help get her here, s o s he c an c uddle w ith it.’ T he s mile that play s at the e dge s of his mouth is that of s ome one w ho has had muc h to endure but doe s not hold grudge s .

‘K oz emieke is partic ularly s hy, but s he s e ems to b e abiding y our pre s enc e .’ K oz emieke look s at me quiz z ic ally, but ts agains t my s ide and purs e s her lips . ‘S he is going to lead me to the philos ophers ’ s tone, I’m an alc hemis t; y ou mus t s urely have heard of it.’ H e points to the mural and c ontinue s , ‘ T his is a lands c ape of T hule, the los t c iv iliz ation of A tlantis , inhabite d by a w hite rac e of s uper humans .’ A w hite rac e of s uper humans? C hills run dow n my s pine .

‘I us e d to hold a c hair at G hent Univers it y, but thos e day s are b ehind me . I s tumble d ac ros s a rac ial the ory that is not

re c ogniz e d by the univers it y,’ he s ay s , glanc ing tenderly at the blonde woman on the wall. ‘In their que s t to find the origins of the A ry an rac e, the N az i arc hae ologis ts de eme d the my thic land of T hule to b e the N ordic e quivalent of A tlantis .’ N ot k now ing how to reac t, I s imply s tare at him .

‘I’m intere s te d in re s earc h into s uperiorit y,’ he s ay s , interc e ding on my s ilenc e . I look at the painting onc e more, s uddenly frightene d by the bux om Teuton on her hors e . If I had draw n on it, then I would have now b e en enme s he d in this man’s s hady world . ‘ W e are taught a very one -s ide d vers ion of E uropean his tory at univers it y …,’ he c ontinue s in the s ame breath, w ithout mov ing a mus c le . T here ’s not muc h time to let his words s ink in, though, b e c aus e K oz emieke is giv ing me a fright ful look … a gob of s pit c ould b e heading my dire c tion any time now. S he s niff s at my jac ket and emits pathetic gut tural s ounds , as if s he is 63

try ing to c learly c ommunic ate s omething w ith her pout y mouth – but w hat? I ne e d to get out of here . Away from the s e dark thoughts . B ut turning my bac k on C hris would b e tak ing things too far, not to mention that the gate ’s loc ke d . D oe s he als o hear that K oz emieke is s of tly c ry ing?

is s till in the garage,’ he s ay s unc eremonious ly, then walk s oafis hly toward C hris , w ho c owers s lightly in the fac e of this large approac hing mus c le mas s .

Jus t like that, I fe el s orry for C hris . H e is c aught up in c ons piracy the orie s and too s c raw ny and ethereal, may b e even too worn dow n, to off er T hen he s ay s s adly, ‘It b orders phy s ic al re s is tanc e . It ’s c lear on the inhuman that pe ople in any event that he was never want to take K oz emieke away c ut out to b e a garage lord . from me . T he neighb ours T he broad -s houldere d man are c ons piring agains t me, draws hims elf up s hort w hen he and they ’re b eing bac ke d by notic e s me . ‘Hmmm,’ he s ay s , the s is ters . A lpac as are herd tak ing a s tep bac k . ‘H e has n’ t animals and K oz emieke is all paid rent in thre e months!’ alone, s o ac c ording to the C hris w hine s . ‘I’d have to c halk s is ters , s he ’s pining away from this one up to him,’ I s ay to the loneline s s . B ut I don’ t have the money for a s e c ond K oz emieke .’ man, as if I’m fully abreas t of the s ituation. It ’s ab out all I c an think of to s ay.

S ome one rat tle s the gate .

‘O ne of my c lients ,’ s ay s C hris , I take C hris ’s s ide b e c aus e he s pringing up and pus hing the is the weaker of the two. ‘I c an well-hidden releas e but ton again. A broad -s houldere d man open y our garage for y ou, but s teps into the pas s ageway. ‘ You if y ou want to ke ep us ing it, y ou have to firs t pay the thre e c hange d the loc k , but my c ar 64

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months ’ overdue rent,’ C hris s ay s . Jus t at that moment, K oz emieke ’s hind le gs s ag a bit and, w ith an unb elievable s ens e of timing and poetry, s he aims a s tream of roc k-hard droppings onto the ground . ‘ T here ’s filthy c rap all over this plac e,’ mut ters the man, more than happy he c an get out of there w ithout pay ing . ‘I’m not c oming here any more; my s hoe s are alway s c overe d in that muc k .’ T he thre e of us walk into the hinterland . K oz emieke traips e s b ehind us wearing a dreamy look , as if w hat jus t happene d was nothing more than a s atis f y ing b owel movement. ‘S ome of the other renters c omplain ab out the c rap, too,’ grumble s C hris , as he pulls bac k the plas tic tarp, ‘w hereas her droppings ac tually prov ide very fertile s oil humus , abs olutely not filthy at all.’

grounds of the hous e are enc irc le d by garage units , one of w hic h has b e en c onverte d into a s tall. A nd there amongs t the hay are the c he s tnuts and apple s for w hic h ‘C he s tnut S tre et ’ and ‘A pple S tre et ’ are name d . N aturally, I s tep right in the s hit. C hris give s me a good -nature d s mile; the broad s houldere d man c an’ t s uppre s s his laughter; and K oz emieke look s dow n her nos e at me haughtily. I take a de ep w hiff of the s mell of fruit and animal life and every thing s uddenly falls into plac e .

T hus I arrive at the gras s meadow w here the dais ie s of ‘Daisy S tre et ’ grow. T he 67

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S inc e the s is ters wante d to pre s er ve the lovely v iew of their garden, the ins ulation panels w ill not b e mounte d on the outs ide of the new off ic e but on the ins ide ins tead . It is a c old c omfort that the only interior draw ing I make w ill als o b e the only one to s tand the te s t of time, alb eit hidden from v iew, c overe d by a thic k lay er of ins ulation material.

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I think of the dis appointe d look s on the neighb ourhood k ids ’ fac e s w hen I told them I was n’ t there to ins tall the broadband T V, of Jan’s herb garden b eing pluc ke d bare by ‘ touris ts ’, of the w is t ful elderly c ouple w ho brought the s tory of the old K oning A lb ertbrug bac k to life, of the G hanaian w ho had never heard of D e K oer, of the druid and his c ontrovers ial sy mpathie s , of poor, lonely K oz emieke, of the s hit and the dais ie s . It ’s not all peac e and

tranquillit y in the plac e s w here I’ve b e en draw ing , but the neighb ourhood has s how n its true s elf to me .

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W hat ex ac tly had S is ter A nnie meant by ‘N othing ex is ts on its ow n and every thing we c are ab out is temporary ’ ? It is in fac t the realiz ation that our life is finite, and that every thing we c are ab out is v ulnerable and temporary, that forc e s us to take re s pons ibilit y for ours elve s and our s oc iet y. I c ould go on draw ing on M eibloems traat forever, but I have to draw the line s omew here . E ven if it ’s only to hand the baton to s ome one els e .

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B art Lodew ijk s M eibloems traat Draw ings

T his proje c t is c ommis s ione d by A AC A rc hite c ture .

W ith s pe c ial thank s to D e K oer, Jan L aute and M artha M eijer

Draw ings , tex t, photographs : B art Lodew ijk s E diting: Danielle van Z uijlen Trans lation: Nina W oods on Image proc e s s ing: Huig B artels D e s ign: R oger W illems , R oma P ublic ations , A ms terdam

Š B art Lodew ijk s , 20 20

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