Tuesday, July 20, 2010


Rick and I headed out the door at 9:30 this morning; our destination was the Red Light District.  It’s in the oldest part of town and at 9:30 in the morning most of the employed ladies there are fast asleep.  It was quiet with hardly a soul in sight.  We were hoping to find a nice narrow canal scene, where some of the buildings come right down to the water.  We finally did at the very end, there the canal constricted to half its width.  We set up on the only side offering a narrow walkway, right against the railing covered in bikes.  There we both worked for maybe two hours in the shade.  Rick finished first and went off to look for more subject matter for the afternoon painting. 

I continued to work a little bit more on mine and did lunch there.  The crowds were picking up farther down the canal in the red light district and I wanted some piece and quiet to eat my smashed sandwich that I pulled out from the bottom of the pack.

Soon I was on my way looking for something new to paint, Mike had talked about the oldest church being in this area and how the café’s out front might offer a good theme for a painting.  I walked off in that direction along the main canal and took a smaller alleyway around the back of the church.  On my left was the holiest off walls, built by the faithful over the centuries.  On my right there were two half naked middle age Spanish women, with surgically enhanced breasts to rival Dolly Parton.  They were yelling out catcalls at me.  This was the wall of sin and debauchery on the right side.  One of the girls wanted to see my painting I was holding.  I held it up. Then she wanted me to come in a see some of her art !

I continued on around the backside of the church.  The right side lined with open windows and women in thongs.  The left side ordained by God, the contrast was quite comical.  The crowds were too much to set up the easel at the café and besides the scene looked a little too seedy to paint.  Most of the patrons had black muscle shirts and heavily tattooed arms, with something resembling a cigarette dangling from their mouths.  Not the right candidates for a cheery sunny café painting.  I headed back to the outer ring canals and decided on the church where Rembrandt is buried in.  The prostitutes wouldn’t let me paint them, so I settled on something more holy and a lot less crowded. 

The weather is supposed to change over to rain again tomorrow.  We will see.

Richard Boyer

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