SIMONE DE BEAUVOIR, AN EXISTENTIALIST FEMINIST 

I was 15 when I discovered Simone de Beauvoir, who was already a well-known writer and avant-garde philosopher. An article about her life story in the daily newspaper triggered a tremendous curiosity in me. When I finished reading I literally went straight to my local library – along with the bookshop this was my favourite place to spend time – hoping I was able to find some of her books on the dusty shelves.

Before I continue, allow me to make a brief introduction. Simone Lucie Ernestine Marie Bertrand de Beauvoir (1908-1986) was a French writer, intellectual, political activist, feminist, social theorist, existentialist and philosopher. Imagine the mid-twentieth century, a woman and intellectual making a living as a writer. And although she never thought of herself being a philosopher, her work made a significant impact on the further development of both feminist existentialism and feminist theory.

THE DISCOVERY OF HER AUTOBIOGRAPHY

The first book I read was “ Memoirs of a Dutiful Daughter”.  I was intrigued, hooked to this story about a Bourgeois girl, pushed into isolation after a long but successful struggle freeing herself from a strict catholic upbringing. Simone wrote this first autobiography in 1958. It describes her rebellion against the narrow mindedness of the world around her.  She dedicated herself to intellectual labour and so managed to escape what was otherwise predestined. 

INTELLECTUALLY ATTRACTED TO SIMONE

Although I was raised in a liberal Jewish family so my situation was very different from hers, I took Simone as inspiration and dedicated myself to studying and literature. I decided I would become the new Simone, would go and live in Paris, become a philosopher and polyglot going from one cafe to another where I would meet interesting young writers, artists and poets. Talking all night about art, music, philosophy and most importantly literature.

Here I went to university to study literature which later on also allowed me to continue my research abroad. At some point, I ended up living in Paris for a while. But I, did not meet the interesting people Simone so vividly describes in her books. Then again as a poor student studies and work always had to take precedence over leisure. It was OK, the limited-time I had left I certainly enjoyed myself. 

ESCAPE INTO SIMONE’S WORLD

Nowadays on rare occasions, whenever I feel the need to escape daily reality Simone’s novels are still there for me. That is when I go back for a moment in time, being that 15-year-old girl again, even if just so briefly; full of innocence and big dreams, believing that I am free to do whatever I want, as a woman and as a valued member of society.

MY GRATITUDE 

I thank you, Simone de Beauvoir, for keeping me company all these years.

Monique Lucy Weberink

Las Palmas, 4th of May 2020

Simone de Beauvoir

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A confinement in body …not in soul.

What started 5 weeks ago as a horrible time for me due to the Coronavirus and being in confinement turned out to be a useful period I really needed without even knowing it. 

Of course the reason for this lockdown is awful and I feel really sad thinking about all the victims who lost their lives, in solitude even.   I feel scared about the economical consequences as well.

However personally, this period of solitude has given me the opportunity to step back and think about the meaning of my own life. Who am I really, what do I want and what is important to me?  

Unquestionably I love to eat in restaurants but now I cook wonderful meals and sit for hours at the table with my husband and son, having interesting conversations.  Really listening to each other.

I like to travel, but actually I was a bit tired of all the traveling lately. Now I sit on the sofa with masterpieces by Tolstoy, Dostojevsky and Proust and I travel to all these places I have never been with them as my guides. I am not just traveling geographically but as well in time. How wonderful this is! 

Now I have the time to play with my cats (and with my husband!) I do not forget to water all my plants, I sit on my balcony and I really enjoy the rays of sunshine. I look through photo albums and I relive my youth.

Actually I start to feel more relaxed and when the lockdown is over, I am not going to shop or dine outside, I will go to the beach with my husband and son, to see the sun fall into the sea.

Just the three of us. 

Las Palmas, April 21th 2020

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Silent Whisper
Photo by Monique Lucy Weberink
2016

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FREEDOM

I am a privileged person, yes I realize this now more then ever.
I am happy most of the times, sometimes not.
I live in a place I have chosen to live, surrounded by people I love and they love me back.
I am able to pay for my every day needs and passions.
I can speak out loud, give my opinion about daily issues or politics in freedom.
I can write whatever I want without being punished.
I am a woman but to me this has always been an advantage. Luckily I was born in a free country where women and men are treated equally.
Unfortunately I am one of the few lucky ones.
Many peoply are not so fortunate…
because of hunger, discrimination, poverty, religion or war.
Yes, I am privileged, my small world is beautiful  but the big world is not.

But now everything is changing…
some people think they have the right to decide what I have to think or feel. If I am saying things they do not approve of they feel they have a duty to kill me just to keep my mouth shut.
What is happening?

But I do not want to be silent, I want to scream NO, STOP, We do not tolerate your extremism and violence. We ignore you and keep on talking, shouting and screaming as much as we like, in Freedom.

January 2015
Monique Lucy Weberink

Mikhail Vrubel. Six winged Seraph (after Pushkin’s poem Prophet), 1905

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Seldom I live in this imaginary world
Surrounded by ghostly energy, I can feel it
Nothing else is present in my dream today
All that is there is this huge dark space

I feel haunted now all the time
What scares me most is being alone here
All alone. Without any good soul to accompany me
Just the screams of demons and evil spirits

Joyous feeling, why did you leave me?
You deserted me and left me here all alone
Wandering around in a delirium that is not mine
It takes over my unconsciousness
Going around in circles until I lose direction
Now I can surrender, let myself fall into the deep

Nothing more of me is left other then a black hole
My spirit lost and my body absorbed due gravity

Knowing that I am going to die.

Monique Lucy Weberink

Painting is Angel in Chains by Odilon Redon

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My daily walk home…

There is a river on my right
fast flowing deep and dark water
these leaves being dragged along
twirling, what a curious sight

High up a blackness of one cloud
when I am starting to talk to you
and even though you are not here
mist forms a cover like a shroud

A few strange birds glide in the sky
the variation of trees just in front
suddently a squirrel running across
and the grass covered by a grey dye

Now there it is again, this massive weight
pressing hard on both of my shoulders
I need to find a way to break free from this
free myself from carrying this freight

These thoughts of us are crossing my mind
just because and despite of what happened
they intertwine, merging into the distant
for what is next to happen is not aligned

Do you think it just happens like this
do you think it just falls out of the sky
if so I can’t be bothered to pick it up
It’s definately not something I shall miss

Walking, step by step, slow but steady
always avoiding the mud and the puddles
still going through the drissling rain
I am clearing my mind, am getting ready

To fight this poison without a remedy
like a powerful flame that burns me up
I must wake up out of this bad dream
to finally reenter the realm of reality

You are hardly worth my while
but the curious world around me
pulls me out to another place
its only for a short mile

A sound distracts me
pulls me back here
someone walking past
that is not all I see

This is the brand new me
exactly how it was dreamt
this is the end of the road
There exists no more we

I used to think I was strong
but now I know where I belong

…its just another daily walk home

Monique Lucy Weberink,  2014

James Abbott McNeill Whistler (1834-1903)
Nocturne in blue and green

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A Female Genius…

“You’re wrong to think it’s about you. You’re a sculptor, Rodin, not a sculpture. You ought to know. I am that old woman with nothing on her bones. And the aging young girl… that’s also me. And the man is me too. Not you. I gave him my toughness. He gave me his emptiness in return. There you are… three times me. The Holy Trinity, trinity of emptiness.”

Among the female artists I admire is Camille Claudel a French sculptor and graphic artist who lived from 1864 till 1943.  I truly admire her strong determination for being accepted as an artist, which was definitely not easy in her time at the end of the 19^th century. Her life is a story about having to go through a live long struggle in both her private and in her professional life.

Since she was a child Camile was fascinated with earthly materials, in particular stone and soil. With the support of her father she was able to attend the Academie Colarossi where she eventually met Alfred Boucher who was already a established sculptor. He become her mentor for several years and also introduced her to August Rodin that later on took over the role as being her mentor and it became the beginning of their passionate and tumultuous relationship. She started to work in Rodin’s workshop and after some time Claudel became a great source of inspiration for Rodin, she was his model, confidante and lover.  After an unhappy relationship that continued for over 15 years, Claudel finally left Rodin.  Her private life was left to bits and pieces her professional success then started to take off. But it would be a mistake to assume that Claudel’s reputation had been established and then survived the years simply because of her ‘notorious’ association with Rodin. To illustrate her reputation: the novelist and art critic Octave Mirbeau described her as “A revolt against nature: a woman genius”. Her early work is similar to Rodin’s in spirit, but shows an imagination and lyricism quite her own, particularly in the famous Bronze Waltz (1893).

In the period after 1905 Claudel appeared to be mentally ill. She not only disappeared for long periods of time but also destroyed many of her statues. She exhibited signs of paranoia and eventually was diagnosed as having schizophrenia. Her condition deteriorated up to a point where she started accusing Rodin of stealing ‘her’ ideas and of even leading a conspiracy to kill her.

Apart from her father her family did not support her decision to become a sculptor at all. But her father kept supporting her financially but after he died in 1913 her brother had Camille admitted to a psychiatric institution right away. The word went out she had volunteered to be committed. But it was her brother who had signed the admission forms. The hospital records that have been preserved clearly show that even though she did have many mental outbursts, she was very clear headed while working on her art. It was the will of her brother, and her mother as well, that she was not released from the institution.

It is really sad to see that a brilliant artist like Claudel literally got locked away simply because she did not conform to the norms of society of that time. Where there male artists were admired, the artistic behavior of Claudel was considered as strange and even schizophrenic. It is my opinion that her insanity might have been largely due to the social constraints and pressure forced on her up to a point that even her own family and Rodin who she so dearly loved and abandoned her had viciously betrayed her. She felt rejected and suffered a lonely and sad life. We are fortunate that a large part of her artworks have survived leaving us with her beautiful and inspirational legacy.

Monique Lucy Weberink

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“How wrong is it for a woman to expect the man to build the world she wants, rather than to create it herself?” ~Anais Nin.

When I was asked to write a column for an American cultural magazine, my first thought was if I would be able to do this, first of all being European and second – strangely enough – being a woman.  Would I be able to write something interesting that can capture the mind of the American reader? Then I realized this behavior is perhaps just typical for  a woman. Am I able to, can I do this at all, how will other people perceive me?  Stop whining! Just go and do it?

Let me properly introduce myself. Having studied Italian literature with a strong focus on Magical Realism I am a digital artist and poet and spent most of my time working on my art and writing my blogs. Born in the Netherlands, but as I have never felt typical Dutch I traveled a lot, lived in several European countries and so ended up today living in Gran Canaria, a paradise island located near Africa but officially part of Spain. I am passionate about art, literature, music and anything that enriches our life, things that make it beautiful and worthwhile.

My first article for this column I actually had planned to write about successful women in visual arts. But after having started I ran into my first big dilemma: “Was I able to think of enough important female artists?” While I had no troubles whatsoever to think of female writers and musicians I was only able to name a few women painters from the top of my head, and that made me think.

If I would have decided to write about male artists I could have named hundreds of them and there would have been enough information to write a library full of books – which other people actually have already done – but why is it that there are so few female artists. Had I just forgotten about them? One artist that most of you probably would have thought of right away is Frida Kahlo. She is an inspirational character, a truly great female Mexican artist. But when you think of it, her art was partly inspired on her suffering that was caused by her husband Diego Rivera.  He treated her very bad and had many affairs which she turned into inspiration for her art.  Many works are self portraits in which she presents herself to the world how she saw herself, suffering from physical and emotional pain, a tortured soul. The question is would we have remembered her if her husband wasn’t one of the most famous artists of his time?

When I try hard enough other artists come to mind like Dorothea Tanning, Remedios Varo, Berthe Morisot, Mary Cassatt, Sophie Anderson and Tracey Emin.

Why is it that there is such a big difference in the level of success between women and men in visual art. I believe an artist needs some form of inner freedom to be able to create, but isn’t it so that women have a greater need for admiration and approval of others in order to perform? Woman are perhaps more likely to be judged on their behaviour and what they express while men can create whatever inspires them. Perhaps there is a correlation between these two.

It wasn’t up till the late sixties that things began to change largely due to the feminist movement and ‘woman in art movements ‘that Art galleries were almost forced to start taking female art serious, they demanded attention.  The motto was “Art creating identities” where Art becomes personal and persons became art.

Happily most things have changed a great deal and I do believe we – meaning the artistic women – have broken free of many chains of society being free to develop, create and express. The question remains is it just our inner self that sets boundaries and creates our own obstacles in the creation of art and promoting ourselves. As a ‘typical’ woman, of course I am not sure either… am I right, am I wrong.

This article has been published earlier in Sweet Henry Magazine, April 2012

Portrait is by Frida Kahlo

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“How wrong is it for a woman to expect the man to build the world she wants, rather than to create it herself?” ~Anais Nin.

When I was asked to write a column for an American cultural magazine, my first thought was if I would be able to do this, first of all being European and second – strangely enough – being a woman.  Would I be able to write something interesting that can capture the mind of the American reader? Then I realized this behavior is perhaps just typical for  a woman. Am I able to, can I do this at all, how will other people perceive me?  Stop whining! Just go and do it?

Let me properly introduce myself. Having studied Italian literature with a strong focus on Magical Realism I am a digital artist and poet and spent most of my time working on my art and writing my blogs. Born in the Netherlands, but as I have never felt typical Dutch I traveled a lot, lived in several European countries and so ended up today living in Gran Canaria, a paradise island located near Africa but officially part of Spain. I am passionate about art, literature, music and anything that enriches our life, things that make it beautiful and worthwhile.

My first article for this column I actually had planned to write about successful women in visual arts. But after having started I ran into my first big dilemma: “Was I able to think of enough important female artists?” While I had no troubles whatsoever to think of female writers and musicians I was only able to name a few women painters from the top of my head, and that made me think.

If I would have decided to write about male artists I could have named hundreds of them and there would have been enough information to write a library full of books – which other people actually have already done – but why is it that there are so few female artists. Had I just forgotten about them? One artist that most of you probably would have thought of right away is Frida Kahlo. She is an inspirational character, a truly great female Mexican artist. But when you think of it, her art was partly inspired on her suffering that was caused by her husband Diego Rivera.  He treated her very bad and had many affairs which she turned into inspiration for her art.  Many works are self portraits in which she presents herself to the world how she saw herself, suffering from physical and emotional pain, a tortured soul. The question is would we have remembered her if her husband wasn’t one of the most famous artists of his time?

When I try hard enough other artists come to mind like Dorothea Tanning, Remedios Varo, Berthe Morisot, Mary Cassatt, Sophie Anderson and Tracey Emin.

Why is it that there is such a big difference in the level of success between women and men in visual art. I believe an artist needs some form of inner freedom to be able to create, but isn’t it so that women have a greater need for admiration and approval of others in order to perform? Woman are perhaps more likely to be judged on their behaviour and what they express while men can create whatever inspires them. Perhaps there is a correlation between these two.

It wasn’t up till the late sixties that things began to change largely due to the feminist movement and ‘woman in art movements ‘that Art galleries were almost forced to start taking female art serious, they demanded attention.  The motto was “Art creating identities” where Art becomes personal and persons became art.

Happily most things have changed a great deal and I do believe we – meaning the artistic women – have broken free of many chains of society being free to develop, create and express. The question remains is it just our inner self that sets boundaries and creates our own obstacles in the creation of art and promoting ourselves. As a ‘typical’ woman, of course I am not sure either… am I right, am I wrong.

This article has been published earlier in Sweet Henry Magazine, April 2012

Portrait is by Frida Kahlo

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But things are not as they always seem
Fragile are the walls that you keep up
And if I could peak through the cracks
Its all just compromises into extreme

Why don’t you show your true face now
For once lower the wooden painted mask
I beg you to show me your teardrops
All I get is a lonely sounding sough

I admit when you do I might run scared
Your face forward straight and open wide
With eyes as window holes without the glass
It happened right after you no longer cared

Shadows growing on the walls and floors
The room gets dark and a struggle starts
Its following me and freaking me inside out
Paranoid trying to escape via narrow doors

Personal private sufferings took control
You committed suicide of your inner self
I know noble thoughts are fighting inside
just figure out whats wrong with your soul

I want to run away from you for good
To be the one who ditches you hard
Make you feel the same pain and anger
Being the girl who did what she could

Taken your passion and your freedom restrained
Trying to break your soul free from its cage
Bittersweet deep down up till its solid core
but the key to unlock is all that maintained

I am forced to lie, but do whatever it takes
Shorty said, exactly that and not a bit more
Every wise man should know himself to be a foul
To save you even when it takes till day breaks

Its made from paper so there is nothing to destroy
Only delineate it to get it back to the surface
Writing memories down with different colors of ink
Red curves for our love and black words to deploy

Watching the ink lines getting sucked dry
I just elegantly reclaimed my true soul mate
You are not going to take me down again
If erasing is the only option, I wonder why

Then that is what I will do.

Monique Lucy Weberink

February 2012

Odilon Redon

Silence

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