Vie" Sep

i
t

Ty 2

"IN TULIP LAND"
(Concluded from Last Issue)

oo we

Amsterdam seems tome to be many
cities in one, It has a wealth of old
buildings and a profligacy of newones

large and small, end it indulgesin the
most modern music in Europe.

I was sorry I did not have time to
visit the old fishing village of Volendam
a favorite spot of artists, and also
Hilversum with its new architecture,
Hilversum,I believe,is the cradle of the
new architecture in Holland and has the
biggest broadcasting station inthe Neth
erlands, Volendam is a village inwhich
the inhabitants vear native dress with~
out self-consciousness because they have
never worn any other. I have been told
Church Parade on Sunday is the time to
visit Volendam endto walk by the harbor
full of brightly painted,neatly arranged
fishing boats withtheir redsails furled
taking their Sabbath rest,The women pass
wearing their white caps and fischus,
their billowing skirts outspread. The
rolling gait of the men is a fitting ad
junct to their baggy black trousers,
Presumably one hes to be born to these
clothes,

One place I am determined to visit on
my next trip to Holland is Friesland.
Literally Friesland is not Holland. To
an ignorant wanderer like myself it may
be news,although for the p&rpose of for
signers the difference is in the nature
of a distinction without a difference.
The scenery of this country and its vil
lages were the background for an exquis
ite Continental film, "The Rider on the
White Horse" which was shownin London a
short time ago and I was fired by the
beauty of the setting. The villages
looked as thoughthey belonged toa fairy
tale world,so queint, so old and beauti
ful they were.

windmills,

It was with great reluctance I
quitted this land of charm -- with its
conals, and its fields of
glowing flowers which turn the country
side into one of sheer delight in the
Springtime, But it is a country whose
acquaintance I have made and I hopethat
my acquaintanceship will,when I visit
it again, blossom into friendship.

»esbdith Tweedie.

LOCAL COLOUR (Continued)

Turps: Don't move, Lizzie! You're spoil
ing my composition!

Alizarin: Pardon me while I remove a
bee from the sticky depths of my chrome
yellow. (Raucous sounds are heard from
the other end of the beach. Just sounds
of art students hard at work ~- snatches
of popular songs, roars of laughter.
"Hey, Alice! Where did you put the
milk?")

mame 2s.

(The same ... Three hours later. A
wildeeyed student clutching o grisly
canvas is waving sticky brushes frantic
ally in the air, The second is peace~
fully dozing on a nearby log.)

Turps?
L think

Alizarin: (triumphantly) Hey,
My masterpiece is finished!
Ttl1l call it "Writhing Agony".
Turps: Hold it up. H=mmi Nice
phere and rhythm, but what is it?
Alizarin. (disgusted) What do you ex-
pect? That's the mystery in it. Heven't
you heard Mrs, Reid say you must get
mystery into your paintings?

Turps: Here comes Mr, Amess. Wetll let
him have a look at it.

(The comfortable figure of the well-
known art teacher Mr, A. momentarily
blots out the view of the sun as he em~
erges (with loud scraping of rocks) over
the ton of a log.)

Mr, A. (descending gracefully fromlog)
Well, fair students,how goes the strug-
gle?
Alizarin: The struggle goes on and on,
and look what results. (holding up mas-
terpiece)

Mr, A. (mightily pleased) Ah! At least
one of you has the canvas covered,Where
is yours, Turpentina?

atmos~=

(Continued on Page 14)

13