Het Scheepvaartmuseum (the National Maritime Museum),
offered a comprehensive overview of the people, things, & places that
relate to Dutch maritime history. The building was built on an artificial
island in the Amsterdam harbor in 1656. Though originally a port building for
the Dutch East India Company, it has since been transformed into the largest
collection of Dutch maritime artifacts in the world. Museum exhibits aimed to
engage audiences of all age groups and backgrounds: cartoons and plush toy
displays for the youngsters, a history of Dutch maritime paintings for the older
but still imaginative crowd, collections of porcelain, globes, and a replica of
a Dutch sailing vessel for the sailors, amongst many other exhibits.
The
open pleyn (ground floor) of the
museum consisted of a vast open space and staircases for accessing the north,
east, and west wings of the building. This compass-like floor plan emphasized
the importance of navigation as a maritime tool, but also served to engage the
visitor by making him think like a sailor. Directly above the open pleyn was an intricately
interwebbed structure of metal beams and glass panels. The seemingly stochastic
palimpsest of lines contrasted with, but also emphasized the importance of
trajectories for maritime ventures; each line resembled the path of a sailing
vessel, and the innumerability of lines emphasized the wealth of technical and
cultural knowledge gathered by the Dutch sailors throughout history. Still in
the sunlight, the metal beams casted shadows on the building walls and the
visitors below. Throughout the day, these shadows changed their positions, and
transformed the open pleyn into a
sundial (albeit one with multiple versions of time, perhaps representing the
different time zones that had seen Dutch influence). Paradoxically, the
restrooms/coat-check area on the -1 floor (below the open pleyn) closely resembled a dungeon, with a repetitive array of
archways and rectangular pillars made of mottled-gray bricks. Though visually
appealing, this design was an awkward transition from the expansiveness of the
ground floor, and made me lose a sense of place.
On
the second floor of the West wing was a multimedia exhibit called Maije & Roosje En Circus Zee (Sal
& Lori and Circus at Sea) which aimed at conveying the wonders of the sea
to children. The sound of slushing waves reached me before I passed through the
high wooden doors; this sensory introduction was followed by a rather immersive
space. I walked through a maze of mirrors that distorted reflections, and
diminished the sense of confinement imposed by what was in fact a rather small
room. Standing between mirrors, sound crackling through oversized oyster shells
amid plush toys of otherworldly jellyfish and fish, I felt both lost and a
welcoming sense of abandonment.
While
the main exhibit encouraged almost reckless exploration, the film that followed
instilled a sense of intimacy and surrealistic wonder. Characters were projected
onto a large glass panel situated in front of a small sailing vessel perhaps 1-2
meters in length. A screen was installed on the wall opposite the viewer (and
behind the ship), an expansive width that was reminiscent of an endless horizon
on a cloudy day. Moreover, the ship was sailing with an impossible configuration
of sails; there is no sail on the fore mast. This subtlety would have likely
escaped many youngsters; however, to the sailing crowd, this small inaccuracy served
to highlight the magical quality that was enforced by the dim blue-green
lighting, the width of the performance stage, and the movement of light over a
textured surface to create a sense of motion. While the characters do at times
make eye contact with the viewer, the experience felt rather voyeuristic. In
one of the longer scenes, a young sailor boy stood with his back to the viewer,
and in absolute silence, gazed at the stars. As a viewer, I felt a conflict between
my desire to see his gaze and my appreciation of the tranquility of the scene.
All
the characters conversed in Dutch, with no alternative translation. The lack of
a clear understanding was rather welcoming because the transformation of sound
from a perceptual to a cognitive experience gave the viewer the power to decide
what the take away point was. Moreover, the hugely whimsical quality of the
space helped in removing all preconceived notions about how a story can be told.
The juxtaposition of the sound of waves with those of seagulls, footsteps, and
the Dutch tongue was effective because it created the tempo with which the
story proceeded. The story itself became a ripple moving across water, being carried
at different speeds. Moreover, the experience invited the viewer to be playful
and imaginative. While all the human characters looked undeniably human, the
sea creatures that visited the sailors were all surrealistic in appearance. For
instance, when the gray jellyfish began to talk, his mouth moved liked a clapping
cymbal. Moreover, a blue whale only twice the size of the jellyfish appeared
and disappeared quite abruptly, waking up the viewer from his sensory
complacency (because after all, the film was quite long).
Maije & Roosje En Circus Zee was a successful experiment in
the recreation of childhood playfulness and surprise. One would not think of
turtle plush toys or an animated jellyfish when thinking of the Het Scheepvaartmuseum. The exhibit
succeeded because it broadened the meaning of child play. Reflections, and
strategic moments of sound and silence made the exhibit into a complete
experience. I left the exhibit reminiscing about my own childhood, and curious
to go back once again, to visit another one of the dozen exhibits.
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