Not only is it the largest organized flea market in Europe, it's also a place to get inspired and enjoy the unique atmosphere. The IJ-Halls are part of the identity of the NDSM shipyard, a good reason to look back and forward during this special week in these corona times.

I remember it like it was yesterday, the first time I set foot in Amsterdam-Noord. With a friend, I traveled north from the Betuwe for two hours to visit the IJ-Hallen. For two girls from a farming village, it was an incredibly impressive experience. It was also the moment when I fell in love with Amsterdam, a few from which I never really escaped. In addition to the impressive structure of the market on the NDSM site outside and inside the warehouse, there was also a typical “IJ-hallen atmosphere”: welcoming, warm and curious. Something you don't experience like that anywhere else and is almost impossible to describe in words. After that first time, the monthly trip to Amsterdam-Noord had become a regular occurrence. Weekend after weekend, I strolled through the stalls, finding out over and over again that I could really use a new sweater, pants or pair of shoes.

I'm not the only one who looks back on long afternoons by the stalls with a certain sense of nostalgia. If you venture into the IJ-Hallen review page, you'll be overwhelmed by unique stories from visitors, from Amsterdam and beyond. About how they found their new showpiece for the living room or their new solid wood dining table they've been looking for so long. In addition to being a place to buy or sell new acquisitions, the IJ-Hallen are also a meeting place. There's nothing like taking a seat on the Y-slope with fries, next to you is a bag filled with new additions while you chat with a fellow visitor who has also settled down.

It's really fun to find people's extraordinary stories at the IJ-Hallen

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Undoubtedly, many connections, friendships and most likely also loves have arisen on the sacred ground of the IJ-Hallen. As a visitor, you also get a fascinating glimpse into the lives of sellers at the IJ-Hallen, who, by displaying their contents or wardrobe, give a glimpse into their style and what they once loved but have now decided to say goodbye to. Hiring for a fine-knit sweater, you'll find out how much you have in common with the salesman at the other end of the stall.

Besides the fact that the IJ-Hallen have an enormous emotional value, buying second-hand textiles and other items is also good for the world. Indeed, the textile industry is a huge one. polluter and responsible for 10% of total global CO2 emissions. Just to be clear, this is more than all international flights and all commercial sea transport combined. The production and processing of clothing, footwear and home textiles also cause water pollution and landfills: landfills of waste in the ground that then sinks into the soil. And we haven't even talked about the human rights violation from some clothing companies in developing countries. In short: buying a little more second-hand can have a huge impact on the world and with a place like the IJ-Hallen, it can also make a fantastic impression on yourself.

As a visitor, you also get a fascinating glimpse into the lives of sellers at the IJ-Hallen

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Unfortunately, we weren't able to enjoy the stalls very often last year and it all had to be in a much smaller form.. This had everything to do with the situation surrounding corona and the measures taken to prevent the rising infections. “I hope we can open safely again soon,” says Nichon Glerum, the photographer of the IJ-Hallen for 6 years, when I ask her how she feels about the market in a phone conversation. “It's really a great event. Every time, the stories are there for grabs; together with the photogenic warehouse and NDSM site, this really creates a unique atmosphere. It's really fun to find out people's extraordinary stories and the reasons why they buy or sell things. It's really fun playing a shop.” Nichon's enthusiasm can be felt over the phone. When I ask her about the future, she lets out a sigh. “I really miss the IJ-Hallen,” she says, “as soon as the government gets the green light, we want to go full throttle again. We have a lot of great plans to make the market even more special.”

Don't miss out on the IJ-Hallen and the potential next market when we are allowed again? Watch here the website or click here to stay up to date via social media.

If you approach the NDSM by ferry, you will already see the unpretentious building beckon. A wooden cabin tempts us with a light sculpture on the roof. The disco letters write “SEXYLAND”; sometimes glorious in rainbow colors, sometimes flickering or with a broken “e”, but the lights are never completely off. Sexyland is always on. Zippora Elders, curator and Amsterdammer, speaks to founders Aukje Dekker and Arthur van Beek about the NDSM pearl that everyone wants to fulfill everyone's dreams.

It started in 2012. Aukje Dekker and Arthur van Beek, artists and co-founders of the Open Coop and the Eddie the Eagle Museum, were eating somewhere and the service was rude. No unknown phenomenon in the capital. At the time, they thought: if there was a different owner every day, the service would always be nice. With the Open Coop, they developed a plan for an artists' club in the old Sexyland video store, but that building went to the Ton Ton Club. Four years later, when they were approached by the NDSM-werf Foundation about the empty association building, they immediately knew: this must be the new Sexyland. Sexyland will open its doors on January 13, 2017.

The concept is as simple as it is brilliant: a different owner every day. Goal: Connect 365 owners. Sexyland as a club, club, cafe, living room. A new member gets a gold-colored Sexyland key pendant. The wooden shop, which still looks most like a scouting building, is transformed every day into a fellow human being's dream night. Noise concerts, wrestling competitions, vogue performances, school parties, skate tracks, poetry nights, bird shows, book launches: everything comes by.

As early as 2018, Sexyland had a branch at Lowlands: the wooden cabin rebuilt with light sculpture and all, a rotating stage and a different owner every hour. It is the hit of the festival, the tent with the longest row. “Very strange things happen in Sexyland,” headlines de Volkskrant on August 19 that year. In the same article, the editor continues: “You have to love that. But to be honest: once you get used to the crazy stuff of Sexyland, it's hard to leave the tent again. ' But Sexy's aim goes beyond that of a “crazy new entertainment concept”. It's an ode to the free port, to quirky Amsterdam and the old NDSM, to everything we can't think of ourselves. Freedom and inclusiveness, that's what the Sexies are ultimately about.

Aukje:”The Best of Sexyland early 2018 was the highlight. After a year, everything came together. Day by day, different colors, ages and categories had usurped Sexyland, but this evening, they stood side by side, mixed together. The bike mechanic around the corner, the rappers and punks, girls with moustaches and old grandpas, an opera serenade, jazz and karaoke, nature lectures and speed chess competitions.”

Arthur: “That's when we understood what the next step should be: not programming side by side but bringing it together immediately, which the best of-always let the evening happen.” Sexyland does not want to be an instrumentalized breeding ground that has to color within the lines. Anything can happen in the wooden cabin. The team is crucial for that. And that team was born organically. The people behind the bar came by. Some of them also took a breath of fresh air. For example, we now also know bar head Victor, with his bright blue eyes, from the BNN-VARA program First Dates. Producers Renske, Sara Liz, Floor are still there day and night. Aukje: “Important aspects include trust, enthusiasm, openness and judgement. People have to be good at being themselves.” Sexyland is not only a platform for organizers and members, but also for work experience. Murditio, who was hired because he told the bar that he was broke, is now hosting the Colorful parties in the heart of Amsterdam. Sound boy Zeger went to practice on the Sexyland equipment during the day and is now a Thrillboy DJ. The equality and fluidity meant a great deal to him. He even got a Sexyland tattoo. And that was allowed, of course.

‍Listen to the episode of NDSM X where we talk to Aukje Dekker and the business director of the new Sexyland World, Samira Ben Messaoud.

But is it really possible, 'everything'? Aukje: “We think proper! For our new plans, we are also choosing an altruistic system in which involved parties live just like trees in a forest: interconnected and, when one is weak, it is fed by others.” This quest for inclusiveness is a current theme. Sexyland gives it an idiosyncratic approach. Does the cisgender, the 'white' neighbor, the hobby painter also feel safe here? “Of course, it sometimes happens that adolescents don't feel at home on Popie Jopie's night. We also really like the sanding surface between comfortable and uncomfortable. Breaking free from fixed form or group: that's where creation and inspiration come from.” What is really possible will also have to tell time. Sexyland has been robbed several times, including two times with unprecedented schade.Dat broke hearts. And maybe that's the risk you're running by offering space. “If you are hospitable and open your 'home', and a bottle of vodka is stolen or something is broken, that stings. You don't want to change, but that's only possible if people realize how vulnerable you are. When our horizontal starting point appears to work from trust and is shortly damaged by theft and destruction, it is very sad.”

There seems to be little room for vulnerability in Amsterdam. The process of gentrification is almost saturated. Amsterdam-Noord is being overtaken by the privileged start-ups; hotels fill the center. For decades, the shipyard was a place where you got space: views over the IJ, cold sea breeze, barren industry. Squatters and artists were able to go about their business unseen. But here, too, developers rolled out their plans. Arthur: “They've given away almost all property, especially safe and stable things. They did not dare to take risks. But there is still land! And the will is also there. At the moment, the NDSM is still the only free port in Amsterdam.”

It happened quickly. In the 80s, Amsterdam was full of squatters, in the 90s it was for ravers. In the nineties, the artists. Aorta, W139, Roxy, Odin, Paradiso, Rietveld, Sandberg, the African Countries, Service Garage, Krux. There was space, literally and figuratively. Arthur: “Everything has been taken over, has become too expensive, capitalized. Only wealthy people are facilitated. This is not only the municipality's policy, but survival of the fittest in the most neoliberal interpretation.”

“Everything has been seized, overpriced, capitalized. Only wealthy people are facilitated. That is not just the municipality's policy, but survival of the fittest in the most neoliberal interpretation.”

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Will that free port be all right?

Aukje: “Oh, we're so hard at work on the future. We are designing a kind of huge container where there should be room for everyone, including the organizations that are expressed North. The one place that is still open for meadow shirt, for frayed edges. We hope we become the core of that whole damn vision. That we become the drain where people are sucked up very nicely.” The latest plan is a Sexyland XL that should become a community center for a wide range of groups and types, side by side and at the same time. There, no expectations are confirmed, no homes are upgraded, no “failures” are punished. Averse to a capitalist, competitive structure, everyone sustains each other in that dream container.

Sparkling disco letters laugh at us.

We dream along.

This article previously appeared in the magazine NDSM x mister Motley. A physical copy can be ordered via reserve [at] ndsm.nl.

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Text: Willem Dieleman
Are you ready? I'm counting to three. One. Two. Three... four? Five. Six?! Seven! Seven months and seven opening announcements, it took us with the Museum of Unintentional Art (MOK) were allowed to open. Seven is a symbolic number that the MOK would normally go very well with. Three days later or forty hours of delay had also had symbolism that we could rely on. In any case, we can count ourselves lucky that it has not been canceled six times. How should I have told this story then.

Storytelling is what we love to do at the Museum of Unintentional Art, preferably with objects that everyone just walks by. Because of these stories, people stand still and look at their surroundings differently. The NDSM-werf Foundation also thought it was a good idea to curate unintended art in addition to all “regular” art. We won the NDSM Open Call 2020, which required the entry to be corona-proof. November 7 (there's that number again) was our official opening. We had chilled the champagne, flew in speakers, decorated the room with fringes and balloons. We were ready to start. However, the Tuesday before, the “press conference of death” came. Wouldn't corona have blown over on December 20? No, not anyway. When things seemed to be getting better, everyone went out, but we weren't allowed to encourage anyone to actually do that. When the sports clubs were allowed to engage in self-flagellation en masse and people were allowed to queue for hours before Primark, we decided to start the race ourselves.

I sent a festive announcement that we nought would organize and that, if you were in the area, you were definitely not supposed to be present at the NDSM Square at 3 p.m. I just emphasized: “stay inside, we won't organize anything!” It was a watertight plan if I hadn't had to self-quarantine the day before.

April 28, 2021: terraces open We open. Really now. However, there are other factors to take into account, such as the weather. You would almost forget that that was once a topic of conversation even when you had nothing to say. The weather. Someone should make it a good drama series with the title May 2021. Our work was corona-proof, which means, among other things: outside. And in probably the wettest May since 1983, “outside” was a suboptimal place to take an accidental art tour.

It must have been good for something. That's what people tell victims to comfort them, that all that suffering was not for nothing. For us, it was indeed a year that taught us a lot, especially cancellation. I've also become incredibly good at writing off-the-shelf emails, dealing with disappointment, patience, and acceptance. And, of course, not to walk in seven locks at the same time. Some people stay in Tibet for seven years before that. We were just trying to open a modest, coronaproof, unintended art exhibition.

Despite all the previous suffering, we have done a number of wonderful tours (I even think 7, but now that point has been made, someone will add another conspiracy theory to it). There were beautiful works among them, they are still there by the way: the tour can still be run independently and you can also take a live tour with our director Gilad Bino Jr. Walvic books. He takes you through the collection and after the tour, you will never look at the surroundings the same way again. A participant said after the tour: I thought it was very beautiful and incredibly funny, but I didn't know if I could laugh. She had a good point there. Art is not meant to be laughed about and certainly not accidental art. The more seriously you take it, the funnier it gets. If you want to laugh, go to the Stedelijk. At least they have signs that say: you can laugh at this work.

The MOK can be visited at the NDSM wharf until the last weekend of June. Click the button below for more information about how to do your museum tour by yourself, or how to book a guided tour

The exhibition series (Un) monumenting is about the concept of monuments today and what they should be, and who decides that. In this context, tries Rosa with Not Forever to make the versatile soul of the NDSM shipyard tangible with a large ambiguous object. The object will roam the NDSM shipyard for the next two months, each time under the care of a different shipyard user, while laden with that person's conviction about what the soul of the NDSM shipyard is.

On a sunny day, I meet Rosa in her workshop in East Amsterdam. This is an incubator in a former school building where several artists house their studio or studio. We take a seat on the building's sunny roof terrace and start talking about her work.

Rosa, when Stichting NDSM-werf asked you to make a work for (Un) monumenting, what went through your head and how did the idea of this work come about? How did NDSM end up in your work?

“I think the question from Stichting NDSM-werf came partly because I was involved in organizing a demonstration in Hoorn, where I grew up, against a monument by Jan Pieterszoon Coen that is in public space. I find it scandalous that that statue is still there and that it takes so long to remove it, if it is ever removed at all. So I've been working on the concept of monuments and who should be represented in public spaces for a while now. In addition, I have made work in public spaces in the past, for example my work Demo and Things you know, which makes me think I've ended up on the radar of the NDSM-werf Foundation. Then the Foundation asked if I could do something with the idea of a monument at the NDSM shipyard. Not so much to make a monument but to respond to the idea of monuments. At first, I found that very difficult for various reasons. First, De NDSM wharf is so big and expansive that everything you put in it has a great chance of disappearing. Secondly, the NDSM shipyard has been inhabited by artists for quite some time and so much has been done there. Each spot has been used to show something so many times that I also found it difficult to relate to it at first.”

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“That's when I started thinking about what form this work should have,” Rosa continues, “I like to leave my work in the middle of the world. I sometimes find it easier to show something at a construction site than in a museum, while in a museum, something gets a lot of attention. But on a construction site, there is much more of a context that you can use and respond to, making your work even more meaningful. It is this interaction that I often find interesting; I even like it to have a bit of a clash or to reveal the weirdness of art: the contradiction between a very practical, functional, direct reality and what art is.

Want to give firm shape to something that is elusive, that could represent the soul of the NDSM shipyard.

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But art itself is also something very basic at the same time. Even in a museum, it's still a lot of weight that needs to be brought to that place. It's those aspects that I often really like about art because they're actually all just things. We sometimes have that tendency to forget the “thingness of art” with ourselves. We often only see ourselves as a subject, as something that has symbolic value and not as something that only takes up space, as an object or a thing. That idea fascinates me; if you were to completely disassemble a painting in a museum, you wouldn't find one piece that had the value of the work. Just like if you were to completely dissect a person, you won't find one piece that contains the soul or identity, it's in your whole being.”

So how did you end up with this object?

“What I love about monuments is that they make something you cherish together into something material and tangible. So the idea for this work is also about wanting to give permanent shape to something that is elusive, which could represent the soul of the NDSM shipyard. Which you can also easily make a topic of conversation with it. When there is a discussion about a statue in Hoorn, it is not only about that statue, of course, but also about what that statue represents, it makes the subject concrete. If you were to ask me what topic makes this work concrete? Then that's what the NDSM shipyard is at the moment, and if we continue in the same way, there won't be any more very soon.

It's about caring, and that you have to do that together, caring for a place

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I am talking about climate change, among other things, but also about the fact that gentrification is knocking at the door and that the NDSM shipyard may be further commercialized and there will be less and less space for art. That's why I have the job Not Forever mentioned, also in response to a nice quote by Sasha Pevak (curator and artist ed.): 'The monument becomes visible only when it is removed'.

“What I also wanted in it,” Rosa continues, “is that it's about caring, and that you have to do that together, caring for a place. So because the object is so big and you can't move it alone, care providers always need several people to move it in and out or to a new place. Exactly those stupid practical consequences, I think that's what the artwork will be in. I think that's where the moment I'm looking for comes in. Provoking interaction, dialogue and stumbling. The intention is that each caretaker of the object gives their own interpretation, giving the object value. The work will be launched on June 25, but I think in a way it's not there yet. The object is there, but just over the next two months, all the experiences it experiences will gather in the object, which is what together becomes what I want it to be.”

You also included the aspect of transience in your choice of materials, can you tell us more about that?

“Certainly, in addition to the fact that it fits the concept of this work, I also think that, as artists, we should take responsibility for what materials we choose for our works of art. Especially for a temporary work like this, I think it's important to focus on what kind of materials I might be able to reuse from other works and what materials have the least impact on the environment. Definitely a job like Not Forever, which, of course, is also partly about climate change, I would find it hypocritical to throw a whole mountain of plastic on the table myself. That is why I chose to use materials from the recently demolished building of Sexyland. I do like the fact that there is also literally a part of the NDSM shipyard in it. Of course, that's not just because of Sexyland, but also because of what that building used to be.”

“What I'm not sure yet is what to do with the boulder after the two months that the work has been active. What reassures me is that all the material I used for it, including the screws, are all things that were already waste before it became this object. That soothes my conscience somewhat. I'm also curious what it is then, what it has become in meaning. I think the final destination also depends on what the collective idea makes of the object.”

Rosa, how do you see art in public spaces, what makes it different from art in a museum or “inside”?

“The main difference is that you didn't ask to see art in public spaces, that's something you're confronted with whether you like it or not. That's what I really like about art in the public space, it also integrates more into daily life than much other art. There is a certain piece of art that I see on my way home every day, and every day I look at it differently depending on my own state of life and state of mind at that moment. It changes shape because my mind changes and time goes by. This can also happen with monuments, just look at Jan Pieterszoon Coen, public opinion is changing (although there have always been protests against the statue), while the thing itself still looks exactly the same. When something is in a museum, it is also viewed differently. That's what I find interesting, how space and time influence the way we look at something.”

“By the way, it's not just that art is subject to the influence of public space,” Rosa continues, “but it can also be the catalyst that starts or starts a conversation. In the ideal situation, work is not only subject to external circumstances, but can also influence those conditions.”

Do you want to know more about Sijben Rosa and her work? Then check here her website. (Un) monumenting continues! In addition to the already visible work Breathing the City by artist collective Frerara on the NDSM Billboards, is also the third edition of this exhibition series in the making. Don't miss anything? Follow the NDSM-werf Foundation on our socials!

Tinka and Zenzi are both fresh out of high school and initially ended up at the NDSM shipyard with their face mask company. Meanwhile, they moved to the east wing in the NDSM Loods where they came into contact with NDSM Fuse and the artists from the City of Art, among others. “That's when we actually thought, why don't we do something creative?” says Tinka, “there is Fireplay hatched. It's the first major project for both of us, and I also call myself a starting cultural entrepreneur.”

“We've both always been into theater,” Zenzi adds, “for me, there has gradually been an increasing interest in the production side. I really directed a play for the first time two years ago, I really liked that. Unfortunately, that production had to be cut off due to corona.”

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“We work really well together, we're really a collaborative idea machine,” Zenzi continues, “we call that a “hivemind”. Then we came to the idea that we wanted to make a dialogue, i.e. a play with two people. Precisely because that way, we were also able to keep it small if necessary due to the pandemic. Actually, it's only been a few weeks that we've been handing things over. Suddenly, we have actors and a production assistant, etc. It's like watching your baby grow up.” Tinka nods in agreement. “Indeed, it has suddenly become bigger than us alone,” she says, “it's also a great way to get to know people at the NDSM shipyard and see how everyone thinks along with you and wants to help you where possible. For example, we initially wanted to play the piece in public spaces, but then ended up with Treehouse as they have more facilities and experience in this area. They were immediately enthusiastic as they also played a bit of a role on site by helping young, beginning makers. That's how the ball started rolling”

Next, the two young theater makers tell us a bit more about where Fireplay is about content. “The idea originates from the concept of cyclicity,” Zenzi begins, “the idea that everything in nature is not just progress but a cycle of phenomena that recur all the time. If you are in that cycle, you may not fully realize that the moment you are sitting in is a repetition of what once happened in a certain way. For example, the end of a relationship is often seen as a tragic end to a good time, while it can also be the beginning of something new.”

“From this concept, we started with the idea of dialogue,” Tinka continues, “we wanted to fully build two people in the play and explore how their personalities, experiences and habits interrelated. In it, we try to make a story that does not have a beginning and an end, but is a cycle.”

“The characters in the play are named Daan and Doris,” Zenzi continues, “these are two girls who have been in a relationship for a few years and are both very present people in different ways. In their dealings with each other, a lot has gone under the rug over the years and it all comes up in one evening.” “That then inflames a heated conversation,” Tinka adds, “the play shows how the history of both characters influences their behavior and how that can sometimes be a bit awkward between two people. In the play, these interactions are juxtaposed with natural cyclicality (think behavioral patterns that you adopted from your parents), shedding light on the relationship between two people that the audience has hopefully not seen before.”

In our conversation, I notice Zenzi and Tinka's passion and energy as they're about Fireplay talk. They have used and expanded their entire network to make this production and there is a great sense of professionalism. “The proverb”no you have and yes you can get ' is very true,” says Tinka when I ask what the biggest lesson they take away from this adventure is. “With so many aspects of this production, it has been a matter of daring to ask.”
“We were on top of it all,” says Zenzi, “which really makes it a personal production, we were there for the fun and not so fun jobs, but that's also the great thing about such a project, I think.”

It promises to be a spectacular show series full of intrigue and plot twists you didn't see coming. In combination with Treehouse's artistic atmosphere, Fireplay one to put on your agenda. Bring plenty of water, because we can't guarantee that it won't get a little hot underfoot! It's also a great opportunity to get to know the creativity of young makers at NDSM and support them after a bummer when it comes to stage art.

I meet Anne-Jan at his studio in Make Community Hope in Zaandam. As we walk around inside, I can't help but draw a comparison with the city of art: the studios are at multiple height levels and are all unique. Since it is a remarkably hot afternoon, we decide to have our conversation outside. As we sit under two large oaks on the water behind the breeding ground, we start talking.

Anne-Jan, you won the Open Call 2021 by Stichting NDSM-werf. Can you tell us a bit more about how the idea of Public Air Filters came about and why you decided to submit it to the Open Call?

“Yes, of course, Public Air Filters is linked to an exhibition that I'm going to do in New Dakota later this year called Asbestos The Magic Mineral. The exhibition uses Asbestos as a catalyst or case study to tell a story about dangers that we cannot see with the naked eye. When I was designing the exhibition in collaboration with New Dakota, we thought it would be nice to draw a line outwards, since the subject is about air. So we sent Public Air Filters in for the Open Call, to add another layer to the exhibition, a layer that takes place outdoors on the shipyard.”

We have the idea that we should be able to exert a certain influence on certain conditions of nature.

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“Almost all my work has been about risk and anxiety for years, especially about the difference between real fear and unreal fear. When I started thinking about this work, I thought Asbestos was a sensational topic, and it originated at a time when we were even more hysterical about it than we are now. At one point, for example, there was an evacuation of a residential neighborhood in Utrecht, because a small amount of asbestos may have been released somewhere. My tendency back then was to think that was a severely exaggerated reaction, but I did find that hysteria fascinating. We walk among cars tearing by day in and day out, but when a tiny amount of asbestos is released, all alarm bells go off. Not that that is unjustified per se, but of course there is a kind of selection mechanism, which intrigues me. That's how the idea to make a work about an 'invisible enemy' started developing.”

“What I find interesting about things that we can't see is, because you can't see it and you can't measure it yourself, interesting social structures automatically arise. The danger must be framed and flagged by an authority. This is usually done by the government on the advice of science. As a citizen, this immediately puts you in front of the question: to what extent do I trust science and in the authority that transmits the message or result of science? I find that trust issue that then arises interesting, it is often also conflictual and wonderful to poke in.”

The location of the NDSM is certainly an interesting one because you can imagine that there is a kind of special sky there.

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“This also includes a comparison with what we have experienced with an invisible enemy over the past year; in that sense, current events have overtaken this project. When that news developed last year, I found it, in addition to being very worrying, partly also a bit of a treat. I find these kinds of very intense socially charged issues about dangers and risks, especially so involved in daily life, the most interesting. What I'm mainly working on with my work and soon with the exhibition in New Dakota is framing that invisible enemy, but in the context of air quality. With my work, I put a frame and a mark on pieces of air so that a value can then be attached to those pieces of air: is the filtered air better than the unfiltered air, and can the unfiltered air still be trusted?”

Can you tell us a bit more about the message behind framing air in public spaces and the visitor's assessment of air quality at NDSM?

“Absolutely, let one thing be clear, it's not my goal to scare the visitors to NDSM about the quality of the air they breathe on site. When you talk about framing air, I think the powerful gesture of my work is that I offer filtered air to people. As a result, all other air is framed as unfiltered air at once. What does that do to people's perceptions of where they walk and what they breathe there? So basically, the work lies in the perception of the environment of people that you generate by offering filtered air. However, it is and remains a work of art, which essentially says nothing concrete about the actual air quality that ends up in the lungs of people walking by.”

Breathing in all at once becomes a kind of extravagant adventure

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“The more underlying meaning of the work has to do with what place people occupy in the nature around us. I think that, as humans, we are very inclined to think that we are separate from nature and our environment. In our opinion, it is our body vs. what happens outside our body. While that, of course, is not entirely correct with how our body actually functions, because there are many organisms that are needed to keep our body running, that come from the world around us. I hope that people will become more aware of the interaction with us and nature when they look at my work. In addition to invisible enemies, there are also invisible necessities that are found in nature around us.”

“In addition to the conceptual part of my work, there is also an aspect of experience. It balances on and over the edges of fiction and non-fiction; visitors cannot find out for themselves whether air is really being filtered or not. In addition, a system is at work that exploits and manipulates the idea of a visible residue created by invisible particles in the air. By working with that residue, it is pulled over the top so much that breathing in at once becomes a kind of extravagant adventure where you see and take in all the pink, yellow and shiny growing fabrics. Something that is very normal in daily life, namely breathing in and out, suddenly becomes an experience. It takes on a kind of fictitious adventurous quality all at once. That game that occurs between what really happens and what the installation insinuates, what happens is an important part of this work.”

When I read your plan and started thinking about air quality in that context, I made a link to industrialization, does the industrial past of the NDSM shipyard play a role in the work?

“The location of the NDSM is certainly an interesting one because you can imagine that there is a kind of special sky there. The image of the former industry is still fresh in the collective memory, but must now also make way for the image of a residential area. That's what I want with Public air filters hang out a bit in between. Because more and more homes are being built at the NDSM shipyard, that also means that the sky is changing. Or is the air of the industrialization that existed then still to be found? And now we're still talking about the 'outside' of NDSM. I can imagine that the air quality in the NDSM Loods is even more influenced by the former industry at the moment. In a hall like that, on a floor where a lot of work has been done with heavy metals and toxic substances, you can't get rid of that with a vacuum cleaner. Of course, the question is whether these are quantities that you should worry about, but it is important to be aware of. That's actually the same contrast as what I'm trying to clarify in my work: we call the NDSM shipyard both inside the warehouse and outside the warehouse, but there is a difference in air quality. The same difference when it comes to my work with the unfiltered air and the filtered air in the outdoor area.”

“I do think it would be healthy if we looked for an alternative to the zero-risk image that is being raised in Western democracies, because that image is an illusion. We got the idea that we, as humans, have the right to have no risk, and nowadays many promises are being made and systems are being built around that. We're constantly looking for control over something we can't actually control. We have the idea that we should be able to exert a certain influence on certain conditions of nature while there is a very clear limit to how far that is possible.”

“A lot of unhealthy substances that are better not to breathe in function of a probability that you may only be able to partially influence. Just look at Asbestos, you can be unlucky and get sick from coming into contact with that substance once. But there are also people who have worked with it all their lives and never get bothered by anything. That means that, in theory, you don't have to breathe in much from an invisible enemy and you can still get sick. They are almost like anonymous statistics of invisible dangers and that idea generates a certain tension or awe. Actually, the whole life is also like that, a collection of anonymous statistics that determine the course. That awareness, that we are part of a larger nature and all its influences and opportunities, is what my work is most about.”

I met Luca in his studio in the Art City in the NDSM Loods. After making my way through the labyrinth of studios and workspaces, I came to a spacious room decorated with various Luca toys. This creates a very colorful and playful environment that lifts the mood the moment you step in. After catching up, we had met before for some photos, sat down at a big table in the studio and started the interview.

So, Luca, can you tell me a little bit more about yourself and your art?

“Of course! I'm originally from a very small town in northern Italy. That's where I decided to study architecture in Venice. After graduating, however, I realized that, as much as I love architecture, I wasn't able to incorporate anything from Luca into the designs of buildings, parks, or other large-scale things. I couldn't express myself in designing on such a large scale. That's why I decided to do a master's degree in graphic design, in an attempt to reduce the scale in which I design. The interesting thing is that for everything related to design, the process is the same, but the outcome will be different. I was able to use the same skills I had learned in architecture and apply them to graphic design.”

I realized that a lot of animals came out of my pencil

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“Although I really enjoyed graphic design and playing with colors and graphics, I felt that my heart wasn't really beating for work. That was when I decided to move to Amsterdam. When I arrived, I came across a beautiful studio where designs were made for children's toys. As soon as I saw it, I was mesmerized. There are people who actually do this work, it's not just a hobby but a real profession! So I delved into it and got completely caught up in it. I love this work, it's an exceptionally beautiful thing. So my art started with architecture, but let's just say I found a way to best express myself in toy design. I learned the hard skills of design by studying architecture and graphic design and discovered how to put love into my work by making toys.”

“The toys that I design are not objects that you just look at, they are all objects that you can play with. For me, playing means learning, and learning is discovering something you don't know yet. That's also what I do with my toys, I don't give the user, the kids, a ready-made toy, they need the action of playing to finish the toy. That's why architecture was really important because it gave me a lot of rules and a grid that I can use when making these kinds of toys. A strong design makes toys free and easy to play with. With all my toys, I try it out at workshops with children. It is wonderful to see how children play with your toys and that they actually work. Children are also incredibly honest, so they will ask you very direct questions if something is unclear to them.”

“The idea started with the concept of simplicity, like almost everything I make. I bought oil-based pasta crayons, which are made from a type of paste that can be used for a very rough way of drawing, with thick lines that you can't erase. With these colored pencils, I did an exercise to draw things that consist of just one line. I tried to work and play in the same way that kids would work and play. In doing so, you will discover the most important characteristics of animals, the long neck makes it a giraffe and a few stripes make it a zebra. In that context, I started designing on a piece of paper and realized that a lot of animals came out of my pencil.”

“Somehow, I was also fascinated to go big and wild with this project. So for this design, I just tried to imagine it on a larger scale, something to play on instead of something to play with alone. Then I had the thought: what if they could be in the proportions of the real animals they represent? Imagine cycling through the city and out of nowhere you find a crocodile in the park, or a giraffe around the corner of a building. At the time I was playing with this idea, we were back in lockdown and you heard on the news how wild animals were spotted in the city streets because it was so quiet there at night. This gave an extra layer to this idea of wildlife in the city.”

Animal Factory goes beyond just being toys

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Can you also tell us a bit more about why you chose to submit Animal Factory for the NDSM Open Call?

”Animal Factory goes beyond just being a toy. In terms of design and use of materials, it is certainly a challenge for me. I feel like I'm also playing while I'm designing and making it. In addition, I think that NDSM is a perfect place for these kinds of projects. Fortunately, there is still a bit of nice chaos and clutter here. There is room to improvise and be surprised. That's why I think meeting a giraffe at the NDSM shipyard is crazy, but also quite normal somewhere. It's a beautiful place full of energy and creativity where lots of great ideas are born. Imagining that the animals will actually roam the streets of NDSM and that children and other people will actually play and interact with them is a wonderful idea. Because of the simple design, I think the family of four animals that we have now can easily grow in the future. They may also be able to migrate to other parts of the city, or to other cities in general. The animals here in this studio just started on a piece of paper. Now we are building them in a steel workshop and they will be at NDSM in the coming months. But I'm sure they're going to other places too. One way or another, they live and go their separate ways.”

The animals of Animal Factory will be on display at the NDSM wharf from August 19 and everyone is welcome to play, chill, exercise or just hang out! I highly recommend visiting Luca's studio or website because viewing his designs is a real mood booster! Check out his website below

“The simplicity of designing the lines on paper is linked to the design process and the way the animals were built. They are made of steel tubes, handled by a steelsmith at NDSM, just as simple as the lines are drawn on paper, nothing more and nothing less. I always think that when you get to a point in your design where you can't take anything else away without the product losing its functionality, you're close to a good product. Bee Animal Factory every line counts, because each line defines a part of the animal and each line also counts for the animal's stability. There is a certain beauty in that simplicity. Due to their simple design, the animals offer the freedom to have multiple ways of use or interpretation. For example, I can imagine kids playing with them, but I also see a group of teenagers just hanging around them or someone else using them while exercising. We all want and need to use our creativity, play and occasionally think of something fantastic and crazy. That's what we need in our lives, I think.”

Can you tell us more about the collaboration with Iwan Snel, the steelsmith who made the animals?

“Yes, that's actually quite an interesting story. One of the great things about the NDSM shipyard is that you can find many different types of people. That's part of the privilege of working here. One day, I just knocked on Iwan's door and asked if he wanted to be part of this project. He loved the idea of the animals and decided to jump in. It's really nice how sometimes a great idea or project connects very different people.”

“I love the contrast between us. I'm a little Italian, really chaotic and noisy, while he's a quieter, big Dutch Nordic guy who works in this workshop full of steel, iron and tools. But even though we seem very different, we were a great match from the start. What is really nice to see is that, as a designer, I am free in my ignorance to draw what I want without knowing what is actually, materially possible. In turn, he knows the machines and tools, their capacity and limits, and the technology needed to build the structures. This provides a nice balance, because I can go wild in my design, unlimited by practicality, and he can then show me the limits of what is possible, creating a kind of golden mean. That's why I think a project is strong when it's nurtured by different people with different areas of expertise. Because there are so many different people with so many different talents here at NDSM, it will be a perfect playground for great projects.”

When I think of the Tower of Babel, I think of language, of Breughel's tower lying like a cake in the landscape, of God and the tarot card with figures tumbling off a burning tower. I'm thinking of confusion of speech, the risk of collapse and the human desire to understand the divine.

The Tower of Babel at the NDSM shipyard is an idea by artist Guido van der Werve. The goal is to create an architectural installation where polyphony is central. By inviting Amsterdammers to bake bricks, edit textiles and have street art created under the direction of artists such as Fouad Lakbir, Tina Lenz, Mick La Rock and Bengin Dawod, we are working on the one hand to build an installation and, on the other hand, to facilitate a place to exchange stories and deepen everyone's perspective on the city.

In the Bible story, all people speak one language, they decide to build a city with a tower that reaches to the sky because they want to “make a name for themselves” and avoid being scattered all over the Earth. Where, on the one hand, this story reads as a historical explanation for why people speak countless languages, but on the other hand, I read an illustration of thinking ahead. The tower is the crowning glory of the city that has just been built, as a symbol of what people are capable of when they join forces.

If the tower in the Bible story symbolises what people are capable of, perhaps the question underlying God's intervention is as follows: What are people prevented from when they focus on building the tower?

Imagine the Earth without cities. Can you see into the distance? Do you hear an animal calling? Are there open fields, dense forests, tall mountains, and winding rivers that expand as far as the power of the water reaches? A group of people form clay blocks with their bare hands and bake them in the fire, coat the blocks with potato starch and stack them on top of each other. I imagine a rhythm, buzz, stories shared as the city unfolds in a nature reserve and then moves slowly upward. Was the goal to achieve a certain prestige or is a connection with the divine being sought in the construction of this tower? Each stone as a prelude to heaven, a staircase to the house of God. In the Bible story, God comes down to intervene. While observing people and listening to the rhythmic stacking of stones, he says in Genesis: “This is just the beginning.” Was that a prophetic note with a look at the present?

The tower in the tarot deck is on the table in front of me. In the distance, I hear piles, a highway, sirens, a truck rushing by. With my finger, I follow the contours of the tower on the map. I wonder why God intervened. Why did He descend and confuse people with speech? In the tarot, the tower refers to the crumbling of a strong conviction, putting everything on loose sand. It is an insurmountable thing, so that there is room for something new. This tower can be a lonely place, where old ideas and mummified feelings prevail. On the tarot card, I see a green door in the tower where three steps lead. The steps refer to acceptance and integration of a new form of knowledge, such as a new worldview or a new narrative about the self. Only then can the tower door open and the
reveal the inside. Only then does the construction of a narrative that no longer serves you collapse. The tower is also compared to an oven where the philosopher's stone unfolds.

If the tower in the Bible story symbolises what people are capable of, perhaps the question underlying God's intervention is as follows: What are people prevented from when they focus on building the tower? What story is being created and does it actually help people? According to God, all strength, knowledge and energy are combined and used to gain outer strength, in the desire for fame. Cultivating the earth is forgotten, caring for each other is on the back burner. In the tarot, God's intervention is therefore explained as a solution instead of punishment. Because of the confusion of speech, people are returning to the question of what it means to be human. Like the tarot card refers to deconstructing a story you've told yourself. The tumble of the tower offers space to start again, to reconnect with the Earth, with yourself, with each other.

In this light, the art project at the NDSM shipyard is an interesting sequel. God is not sought in the air, but within interaction with fellow Amsterdammers. The construction of the installation is not the goal, but the means to facilitate a space where meetings can take place. The word “building” takes on a new meaning in the workshops that are organized at the NDSM shipyard, where polyphony (or confusion of speech) is approached as something positive. Not one building block is the same, each person brings something unique and building is about creating and participating from that individuality. The workshops thus form spaces for connection and the exchange of stories. Something that may have become rare in the city and something that the tarot card with the tower provides insight into. Which wall should you let go of, what can you let go of to experience (again) connection?

Anyone who has ever lived in a multilingual country will recognize it: the small differences between placeholders in the different national languages — almost the same, but just not entirely. In Brussels, for example, you can just go to the Uphill street living in one language, and, in the Rue de l'Ascension in the other; fun fact and interesting for the local culture. But there is certainly also an effect on how you move through this street. Because a better literal translation of this street from French is ascent street; an almost heroic fact — with the victory of the heights in sight. While uphill it still feels like gravity will keep pulling at you and the top will be out of the picture for a long time. Almost the same but not quite; technically, they are part of the same family. In terms of content, they have a completely different approach — and therefore a completely different perspective when you start your way up at the beginning of this street. An innocent Babylonian confusion from the reality of the city.

At NDSM, polyphony is the core of the so-called Cultural Wharf — the name for this period of temporality and transformation. But you could also just call it a Tower of Babel.

It is less noticeable in this country, but here too, we have a psychologizing effect of placeholders with a deeper effect of how we use them. And perhaps that is most noticeable in our designations for the places where we can move freely: sometimes it is called public space, the other time it is called public space. Offentliche Raum, public space, public space... maybe we have the only language that has two terms for the same thing. Or not entirely. Because technically, public space is wider than public space: the term is used for all places where — given the character of the space — the public should be able to move freely; from public roads and squares, to the entrances to public buildings — such as libraries, post offices and banks, and even virtual spaces. While public space is reserved for public roads, squares, streets, etc.

But with this specification of public space and demarcation to public space, a lot of meaning also seems to be lost. We mainly know public space as a space that is protected by rules, commandments and prohibitions. Uproar in public spaces is quickly seen as a nuisance, making your voice heard is mainly done when you are upset about something and is often accompanied by other noises, drowning out and having to ask for permission in advance. Public space, on the other hand, is about the right to move and express yourself freely. So space for public values and polyphony; and we should cherish them because it is increasingly oppressed between the public (regulated) and the private.

The NDSM shipyard is perhaps one of the last places in Amsterdam where public space really is public space. And that has everything to do with her temporality. As a public space, it is unfurnished in accordance with the rules and undeveloped — a piece of city that is unfinished. And that's why many rules don't apply. It went from an abandoned industrial relic to a sanctuary without much interference. And now, for almost 15 years, it has had a temporary status as a transformation area — but also as a cultural site. Waiting for its final status as part of an expanding city, a strange mix has emerged between the informal and the formal. With as many elements of public space — which can be filled in by individual voices — as of public space with evolving rules and commandments — to make as many simultaneous uses as possible. That chafes, but in a pleasant way. It results in conversations, sometimes discussions, but almost always great new meetings and collaborations between parties that would be less likely to meet in other places. And especially new polyphonic meanings that are being added to the many histories that this place already has. At NDSM, this is the core of the so-called Cultural Wharf — the name for this period of temporality and transformation. But you could also just call it a Tower of Babel — especially in the sense of Guido van der Werve's art project that is now on display and can be experienced at NDSM.

The NDSM wharf is perhaps one of the last places in Amsterdam where public space really is public space.

Now that the transformation is starting to get more hands and feet, however, there is also a run on the last free space. On the one hand, temporary initiatives are fighting to preserve space and new parties are emerging to use the seemingly indefinite space for all the things that the city of today and tomorrow needs. And that's how the first real Babylonian speech confusions arise. The consequences can be significant. Just like in the Biblical story, they could just lead to the decline of this beautiful fusion of public and public space that can give meaning to the city of today and tomorrow.

Let this Tower of Babel be the first of many to be built on this site now and in the future as polyphonic living expressions of our public values.

Text: Liza Folkertsma

I've loved coming to the NDSM for festivals and days out on the IJ, so when hotelship Botel was looking for people to temporarily occupy their rooms, I didn't hesitate for a moment. A week later, I was living at (or at) the NDSM!

When I was running around the Feralda crane at the beginning of the year, I saw the bucket and a strong cauliflower from last year even grew! One of the sculptors advised me to email the foundation so that I could get a yard garden. Once I had done that, they quickly turned out to be full... Fortunately, it all worked out and I even got 2 gardens appointed after a while.

I had no experience with vegetable gardening yet. A few hundred meters away, I started planting seeds in my hotel room and waiting for them to blossom. I dragged two gigantic bags of soil there with a friend — lovely afternoon, what a fun — and planted the little ones from the windowsill in the yard gardens.

There is no way to describe what this “small” project did to me. I watched insects, watched plants grow up, harvested, frustrated with the slowness of pumpkin growth and the speed of poppy leaves blowing. It was an active meditation and I came there a few times a week. I stood in the sun and begged for rain because the wind was drying things out.

“I realized that every moment with plants teaches me a lot of things and makes me wiser”

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When the sunflowers opened, when the dill suddenly gained strength, when the chilli plant found its place after thinning and on the last day I saw how long the root of the apple tree (yes, really!) had become — that's when I realized that every moment with plants teaches me everything and makes me wiser.

I love that there is room for so many different things at the NDSM. From IJ Hallen to ADE, cafes and theater festivals, crossfit and massage therapy, sculptors and garden gardens. Botel is behind me, but luckily I still live nearby. I go there every week with a smile on my face, despite the wind or rain or bright sun. Beautiful place!

NDSM-werf Foundation and TAAK Foundation invited eight artists to provide workshops for city residents from their own disciplines. The result: an extraordinary collection of works of art that symbolize the city's countless voices. Unlike in the Biblical story, where polyphony actually led to the decline of construction, polyphony was precisely the strength of the work here. In this article, we look back one by one at the different artists of this project, which was based on an idea by Guido van der Werve, and how the works shaped the tower.

Watch here the video interviews that Anna Sidorchik made with all artists.

1. Perrine Philomeen (fashion stylist and creative director)

‍“Like many people, I see fashion and fashion as an extension of your identity. I always like to explore the boundaries of that in my workshops.”

In the ideal city of Perrine Philomene (1992) people no longer say dress to impress, but dress to empower! The collective's youngest artist allowed young people to experiment with textiles as a form of self-expression. Together, they worked on flags — a unique textile symbol for each participant — that still proudly flutter in the installation, including photographic images of participants showing their own flags as fashion items.

2. Mick La Rock (graffiti artist)

“In a graffiti workshop, you give people a bit of freedom that they normally don't experience.”

Going wild with spray cans was part of most participants in these workshops, provided by a famous graffiti artist Mick La Rock (1970), maybe not in everyday life. This made it all the more special to let their writing run wild and their ideal image of the city to pieces to translate. In collaboration with Jeffrey Kroese from Vinger.nl, Mick processed the results into two collages on banners, which can be seen at the top of the tower.

3. Rianne van Duin (graphic designer)

“Children get a bigger voice through these kinds of projects. Then they're suddenly in the newspaper and they have all kinds of things to say that we could take a little more to heart.”

The little people among us also have a big voice and this is for Rianne van Duin (1978) — graphic and 3D designer working at NDSM — an inexhaustible source of inspiration. Together with students from Klein Amsterdam primary school, she created a newspaper for Tower of Babel in which the children themselves make their wishes, dreams and ideas for the city visible in text and images. These newspapers are in a special cabinet in the tower and are free for everyone to take along.

4. Fouad Lakbir (photographer and storyteller)

“The moment you tell a story, you not only create space for your story, but also space where another story can be told. By doing that, you make way for dissenters, for people who live their lives differently.”

An individual story doesn't have to be individualistic at all. That became clear during the storyteller and photographer workshops. Fouad Lakbir (1990). What is your best memory of a city? Based on this question, he started talking to several Amsterdammers, after which they interviewed each other about their ideal city. The special conversations he recorded during the workshops came together in a soundscape that can be heard in Tower of Babel.

5. Olfa Ben Ali (visual artist and director)

“In my view, art has more impact on society when it is created in collaboration with others.”

As part of her larger project 'REFUTEA', French-Tunisian visual artist investigated Olfa Ben Ali (1974) during her workshops with refugees and undocumented people from the AZC, the ritual value of tea. The results of the tea workshop were translated into a poem, an advertising image on a banner and a video projection that bring together the participants' diverse stories about tea and “home” memories. The iced tea was actually served to visitors during the opening of the Tower of Babel.

6. Brendan Jan Walsh (cellist, composer, conductor)

“We need to realize that we can achieve great things as humans, but in how we implement this, and why, there must be room for everyone.”

Working together on the city of the future means for Brendan Jan Walsh that the result contains a lot of individual expressions. He therefore prefers to see a modern Tower of Babel not as a big building made of glass, steel and concrete, but as a living work, where someone can say, for example: “Hey, do you see that flower there? That was my idea!” For Tower of Babel, he gave a literal expression to “polyphony”. At the opening of the project, a choir and a chamber orchestra performed a special piece under his direction, composed by Guido van der Werve.

7. Bengin Dawod (architect and urban planner)

“A city must be developed by the people themselves. This must be able to take place in an organic and spontaneous way.”

Letting people help build their city themselves, both literally and figuratively, brings social commitment. Architect and urban planner helped Tower of Babel Bengin Dawod (1982) participants in creating bricks from natural materials, such as clay and hay, that now lay the foundation for the Tower of Babel as a wall. According to Bengin, these types of low-threshold yet collective activities give people a sense of ownership in their city.

8. Tina Lenz (design anthropologist)

“What I really like about this project is that I've been to more places inside.”

By stepping into various worlds yourself, design anthropologist offers Tina Lenz (1972), together with the participants of her workshops, a gateway to the Tower of Babel. For this project, she worked with Surinamese women, men from the El Moutaquine mosque at the NDSM shipyard, visitors to the Taalcafé near Huis van de Wijk de Evenaar and her friends at the Chinese bookstore Ming Ya. They transform personal stories and symbols with paper into colorful banners that are positioned as four gates in the tower.

What does your ideal city look like? Which voices are included in this? And how can we have a lasting conversation about this with art, culture, games and meetings? These are the questions that came up at Tower of Babel, and will hopefully continue to be answered in a fascinating way not only at the NDSM shipyard, but throughout Amsterdam.

Come and have a quick look at Tower of Babel in the fall of 2021 and be inspired! The tower (decorated with most of the works) will remain on display until the end of 2021.