Dutch streets have numbers and facades the way plants have seed pods and leaves; they grow out, extend and terminate according to a quasi-mathematical framework that nevertheless admits the full reality of bricks, soil, stone, sun and wind. A Utopia for the anti-Platonist; rationalism weathered by the shift and hustle of the restless sea.
Away from the throngs of passersby, the real Netherlands blooms : a Jasper Johns feast of the imagination where rounded portholes, wild plants, stylized digits, grit and neon extravagence blur together, floating, like ghostly lilypads dangling octopus-like tendrils in the gardens of the mind.
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