Seeking the Subtle

Amsterdam has a kind of subtle beauty. That’s the only way to put it—there’s cobbled lanes and hundred-year-old buildings and a palace, but there’s nothing that jumps out, in-your-face style. No Big Ben or Eiffel Tower or Statue of Liberty, just a really nice spot for wandering. Once you get over the fact that September is a rainy month, that is, and ensure that every foray in the outside world includes an umbrella.

The closest thing to in-your-face grandeur might be the Rijksmuseum, sitting at the head of Museumplein and holding treasures of Dutch art and culture. The building, spread out over four floors and two expansive wings encircled in a garden, was opened in 1885, and hearkens to a lost period of history.

This place sees a couple million visitors per year, and was busy but manageable on Friday when we visited. To see the whole collection, spanning some 8,000 pieces and 800 years, would be a big undertaking for one afternoon, and so we decided to concentrate on some of the things that we really wanted to see. Bypassing some of the Renaissance paintings, we started in the Waterloo display.

Before the Belgan Revolution in 1830, the United Kingdom of the Netherlands included that country—notably, the plains where Napoleon was defeated in 1815. This lavish room, in a special 200-year-commemoration, recalled that era of history through art, but also through portraits of eyewitnesses to the conflict—including the unique addition of Wexy, the actual horse of the Prince of Orange that was injured in the battle and earned an early retirement.

A flock of people crowded around a limited number of Van Gogh works—the main collection is just down the green lawn of Museumplein, at the Van Gogh museum, but a few of his swirly, colourful works adorn the walls of the Rijksmuseum. He was one of the original purveyors of the selfie (there are quite a few), so it would have been borderline disrespectful to not edge our way through the crowd and indulge him a bit more.

On the third floor, a large foyer pays particular tribute to Dutch artists. That includes Vermeer, who brought middle-class life in the 1600s to a kind of elevated position. “The Milkmaid” is an excellent example of that.

For some of the more well-known works, laminated pamphlets lend a little bit of historical context and closer scrutiny. As in the case of Jan Asselijn’s painting “The Threatened Swam” (the swan was interpreted to be an allegory for assassinated Dutch statesman Johan de Witt, protecting the country from its enemies, maybe leading to it being the first acquisition for the forerunner to the Rijksmuseum), sometimes that scrutiny gets really intense.

At the end of the gallery of prominent Dutch artists are some of Rembrandt’s larger works, including “The Night Watch.” This work is considered to be one of the best paintings from the Dutch Golden Age, and is the pride and joy of the Rijksmuseum. It wasn’t until the 1940s that some dark varnish was removed from the painting to give it the proper lighting—by that time, people assumed that the company was a night watch, and the name stuck. Positioned at the front of the long hall, it’s an imposing work of history, light and shadow, and the height of Dutch prosperity that has endured for 400 years.

"Is dat you, Remy?" Apparently it just might be, poking his head out . . .

After a coffee and snack, we wandered through the special collections on the ground floor of the museum, through a vast collection of arms, from pistols and rifles to crossbows. I’m about the last person who would stroll into an NRA meeting or kill an elephant, but seeing some of these elaborated carved ivory pistols and the simple yet intricate way they functioned really just makes you want to get into a duel.

That display, a history of violence, segues into the gentler history of fashion and delftware collection—jewelry and blue pottery as far as the eye can see.

Call it catching divine inspiration or something, but before heading home we picked up some acrylic paints and decided to unleash our tortured artistic souls on some of the byproducts on our apparent Dutch alcoholism—you can’t turn down two euro wine, but the bottles are piling up faster than I’m proud of. At least now they lend some culture to the room—the only thing missing is some fresh flowers.

Sunday was another one of these days foreboding rain, but I decided to catch the tram into the city and wander. Get lost for a few hours—and what better than an actual maze?

A raised pavilion midway down Museumplein looked out over a field of yellow—which, upon closer inspection, was a labyrinth of sunflowers. About 125,000 of them, to be exact. It’s a fitting tribute, on the doorstep of the Van Gogh museum, to the dude whose notable works certainly include his interpretation of bright yellow flowers.

I get the sense that there are plenty of nooks and crannies to Amsterdam, each lending something to the city. It goes from both ends of the spectrum—book vendors beneath half-hidden archways and sex workers behind windows down the narrow laneways of the Red Light District. I thumbed through some second-hand books and shot through the latter like a scalded cat (more on that part of the city later in this adventure), ending up at Dam Square and the Royal Palace of Amsterdam, just as the pecking rain started.

If the Rijksmuseum is one of the in-your-face spots of Amsterdam, this is the other one. As we figured out from the Amsterdam Museum, the soggy soil of Amsterdam makes it necessary for buildings to be supported by poles, dug deep into the earth. This place is no exception, with 13,659 wooden piles keeping it erect. Originally a seventeenth-century city hall and deemed the eighth wonder of the world at the time, it became the royal palace of Louis Napoleon—Bonaparte’s brother—then King of Holland, for a few years before he abdicated the throne in 1810. It’s now used by King Willem-Alexander for entertaining, official functions during state visits, and other official receptions.

It kind of makes sense—despite some of the rooms having a history of having death sentences announced and carried out, the place has an impressive majesty as soon as you stroll into the echoey Citizens’ Hall and stand beneath Atlas, holding the earth on his shoulders. Recall that during the Dutch Golden Age, when this building came into realization, there was little doubt amongst the people of Amsterdam that this city stood at the centre of the world.

A self-guided tour passed through the various decorated rooms that had a host of roles, from administrative to judicial.

One of the few lasting legacies of Louis Napoleon in the mighty building is the balcony that he had fitted, looking out on the square and witnessing a scattered royal visit and wedding smooch.

The Tribunal is the somber ending to the tour, a place where marble skeletons and scenes of punishment and judgment looking out onto the spot where criminals were sentenced to death. On that bright note, the rain had stopped and it was time to head home.

Waiting for the tram at the foot of Museumplein, I thought it too much of a coincidence that everyone and their dog had a bundle of sunflowers. I know this place is magical, but there’s no way everyone spends their Sunday afternoon biking and buying fresh flowers. Turns out the Van Gogh labyrinth was being dismantled, and most of Amsterdam was converging on the mucky lawn to take a few.

Fortunately for us, we had the perfect vase waiting for us back at the apartment.

Sometimes, the simple things—the smell of flowers and supper combining—are better than in-your-face anyway. That’s the kind of stuff that’s harder to capture in a postcard, but leaves the real, subtle impression.

Cheers,
rb