Did you ever meet someone and know, somewhere way down
inside, that you were meeting a truly singular person? Seriously, there is
something about people like Steve. There’s energy surrounded by serenity. Stephen York is one such person. There’s something indescribable about Steve. Steve’s
art captures Dutch culture. Steve’s art expresses Amsterdam.
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| Steve York |
In Amsterdam art is prevalent. The shops, the markets, the
galleries, the sidewalks—art seems to be everywhere. Heck, in Amsterdam there’s
plenty of inspiration. The canals, the bridges, the buildings…no kidding, every
street is scenic. The place drips culture. But living here is a series of
trade-offs. It’s gloomy most of the time but when its not the sunshine is
brilliant. No one even looks your way on the street until they think you are
obstructing them but that’s not always bad. Vice is a part of the tourist trade
but no one forces it on you. See? Trade-offs. Here’s the most prevalent one of
all: for all the crap you deal with here, you still get to live in one of the
most exciting cities in the world, and the foremost exciting part is the
culture of art.
For the last six months I have been immersed in Dutch
culture. Living here is different than living in little ole Wake Forest. The
differences are significant, most of which involve weather, transportation,
social behaviors, food, beer, and heritage and history. I am on record
regarding all of them: better have a decent umbrella and bicycle, don’t expect
people to look you in the eye or even be nice, the cuisine and the suds are
darn tasty, and the sense of history is a thousand years in the making.
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| Rembrandt's stool at easel |
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| Omaha Beach |
Ronan once asked me a simple question with an impossibly
complex answer. He asked: What will you take away (from Holland when you leave)? I can’t remember what I answered, but I haven’t stopped thinking about
the question. In my life I have stood on the very same spot where years before
(at different times) Abraham Lincoln and Jefferson Davis stood. I have been in
the exact space once occupied by Generals Lee and Grant. I have stood on the
sand where thousands of young men were slaughtered in June 1944. Now I can say
I stood at the easel of Rembrandt Harmenszoon van Rijn. At the Mauritshuis in
Den Haag, I stood gazing at Vermeer’s A View of Delft in the same place where
Vincent Van Gogh once stood doing the same thing. As silly as these things
might sound, they mean a lot to me. In Holland I can go, and I have gone to see
the art of Rembrandt,
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| Rembrandt van Rijn |
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| A View of Delft |
Vermeer, Fabritius, Van Gogh, Hals, Reubens, and van Dyck
and many, many more—a list too numerous to include here. Europe, namely
Holland, particularly Amsterdam, is a metaphorical candy shop—it is virtually
impossible to get enough, no matter how many times you visit or how long you
stay.
Some time ago I was contacted by a parent of one of my
students who (thankfully) alerted me that my kids wanted some class time to
show me something they made for me and some parents wanted permission to attend
so they could see it also. I’m thick but I aine dull; so I knew what that
meant. Sure enough, the whole affair was quite emotional. I hung on; and hung
on; and hung on. Then several parents spoke. Man…yeah…OK so much for hanging
on.
They gave me some bubbly…and then they gave me this:
Not long ago I went on record claiming that since I’ve been
in Holland I had met two Dutch artists, and I owned originals by both. Steve, please
forgive me. I should have said “three.”
Months ago I realized that the amazing paintings I saw in
various places throughout the school were done by Stephen York. The more I
learned about Steve as an artist, the more I admired the man. He’ll be
incredulous at the implication and possibly quite dismissive, but how can I not
make the connection? In this place, this very special place, I have met yet
another Dutch master. No words can describe how I feel knowing I own a York
original.
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