'Meeloper' fragments
“I want to research work!“, I exclaim exitedly at the pub. My friend and I come
here regularly, with her I talk through all the projects or ideas I’m working on,
or those that don’t seem to be getting off the ground. Her reaction reveals to me
whether something works or will remain a thought experiment.
Laughing, she asks, “What do you want to find out, how come you’re running
around with an idea to research work?“
“Because I want to know why we work, what work means to everyone. Because
I want to know why it is that people give me advise about what to do, now that I
have graduated. All that unsolicited advice I keep hearing, now that I'm a
student-done. Then I think, if you know so well what I can or cannot do after
graduation, what is it you’re doing? How do you fill your working existence,
how do you know what you're talking about? The only way to understand this is
to tag along with other people.“
-----
Why I am fascinated by the concept of work does not have just one clear reason.
Perhaps it originated when I was still living at home, when I began to notice
how my parents talked about work. Always with a tired undertone.
-----
At home - as soon as it was about work - there were monotonous conversations
with words I neither understood nor became curious about as a child. They are
the same kind of conversations as my friends and other adults talking about
politics. No matter how you look at it, these are never nicely flowing,
meandering, enriching conversations that give me a sense of accomplishment -
like when I spent a day repotting my plants, for example.
Conversations about politics or about work are like riding a bike with a flat tire.
You still want to get there on time, so you cycle on. And as you cycle, you feel
every sort and shape of tile thumping and pounding through your body.
-----
From home, I compose several emails introducing myself and outlining what my
research about work entails. I end with a question asking if I can tag along with
them for a day.
-----
What I noticed as I got older is that I saw more and more similarities between
my parents and the average adult.
Because wherever I go, as soon as work is mentioned there is a mocking smile, a
shrug, something is pushed away.
This is one of the reasons why work fascinates me so much, I don't know what it
is but I love rooting around in unspoken feelings, especially when people hide
behind repetitive statements like, 'But I really like my job' or when they say
they have 'Nothing to complain about.' But I undeniably feel something else.
As if during these repetitive statements they are pushing away a red ball. A ball
that could easily pass as a deep longing, a wet dream, an unspoken expectation
in which bones and muscles feel deliciously warm like those of dogs and cats
that lie down in the sunniest spot in the living room in early spring.
-----
Once I've gotten started, I also strike in the wild. I stand in line for the checkout at
my neighbourhood supermarket; my favourite cashier is working. During checkout,
I make extra-long eye contact, smile excessively, and look for an opening to
strike in this brief mutual moment of contact: “Do you want the receipt?“, she asks.
“No, not that, though I do have another question: a somewhat unusual question
perhaps, but I am researching work. Because of that, I am tagging-along with as
many different professions as possible. I start with the occupations I come into
contact with on a daily basis. Now it so happens that you just helped me, would
you like me to tag along with you for a day?“
“Oh, haha, how nice, haha, I have to, haha, ask my manager, haha. If you have a
moment, haha.“ She walks to the back, for a brief moment letting go of her
working posture.
The line behind me grows longer.
I continue to smile excessively, because yes: I have a mission. In such moments
I possess a cheerfulness, spontaneity and a sense of purpose that could have an
onlooker believe I am always this way. Everything a company looks for in a new
employee.
“If you want to wait, the manager will be here soon“, my favourite cashier says, as
if we are like-minded, and takes her seat behind the counter again. When she says good morning to the customer behind me, something changes in her body and her voice.
After I've explained to the manager at the back of the warehouse what I'm doing,
or rather what I suspect I'm doing, he says jovially: “Come by next Tuesday, you
can rotate in for a day.“
-----
Every time I open my mail, a row of emails pops up from companies and people
I contacted and then forgotten I emailed them. Little did I know that such a
simple question requires so many people to get involved. Because what it comes
down to, at least that's how I see it: I arrive, tag along and am gone again.
But the other party overwhelmingly sees this differently.
I also didn't know that emailing and calling can quickly get me sidelined, and
that the faster the other party answers, the more likely I am to be rejected.
At the moment the rejections don't bother me, but since I don't know if they'll
come in handy later on I move all of them to the newly created Rejections
folder. I mean, you never know.
-----
I have to hurry up, pack my bag, check in the mirror to make sure my face still
has the right proportions, all the night’s wrinkles have disappeared from my
skin, and massage away my puffiness from all that thinking. In other words, I'm
about to go to the handyman store where I work three days a week.
My side job.
That is the word I came up with for De Dikke van Dale. The side job is a
combination of a full-time job as many of the generation before me have it AND
a part-time job that readily implies that you're studying alongside it.
A side job is different, the side job is for the adults of today who do something
else besides their job. People who like that other thing just as much or find it
more important than that job, but because for some reason it doesn't - yet - pay
enough, so in addition to that other thing, they really have to take a job.
A side job is not age-related, it is possible to discover later in life that you don't
consider your work to be the main reference point of your life. It is also important that what you do on the side is free from interpretation and can be anything.
Another important rule: there should be absolutely no status attached.
What should not be left unsaid either is that what you do on the side is as
important - or perhaps even more important - than the paid work of your side
job. The idea is not to fall into the old principle of, 'Oh, you're an artist, that doesn't
support you financially, so what are you really?' As if that's all you are, so you should only introduce yourself with that which makes you money. Money is not the only priority in the side job generation, in the side job generation, things revolve around having fun and feeling satisfied.
-----
“I'm on the road more than I actually work“, the plumber says. I sit in the car with
my plumber for the umpteenth time today. His thick hands clasped around the
steering wheel, I sit in the passenger seat pressed against the window.
When I tagged along with my landlord, he paired me with this plumber.
I knew who he was, I sometimes see him opening and closing meter box doors
in the building where I live.
We stop at a traffic light in downtown Amsterdam. It is almost lunch time. With
every woman walking or cycling by, the plumber hangs himself out the window:
“So, that will be a beautiful woman later, you know!“, as an adolescent girl
cycles by. Or, “Did you know that women with headscarves wear sexy underwear?“, when two veiled women walk by.
The plumber doesn't exactly care what I say, or that I say nothing, he keeps
spitting out words: “I don't get this, then! Look at this! You're a woman and you
let yourself get so fat. Yes, just shove another hamburger in there! She wants
to curl up in bed with someone at night, but nobody wants her, nobody wants her
like this. Look at her!?“
I had believed that such men hardly existed anymore, and if they lived at all in this time
then in my experience it was in the countryside. Secretly, I hoped such characters
were extinct. I also thought I would be able to cope with such men, but every
time I almost want to say something about his remarks, a doomsday scenario
pops up in my head that causes me to remain silent: his huge hands around my throat, first tenderly, then more and more firmly until my airways are pinched shut.
The smaller I make myself, the more space he takes up. He even takes up space with his aggressive way of chewing gum, the volume of his voice, how he breathes - sniffs - and how he looks around recklessly. Once again he repeats the question: “You don't have to be mysterious with me, I'll pierce right through, not literally of course haha, although when I see you sitting like that. Haha, just kidding, take it as a compliment haha! But, just say
why you call your own work so-called. I mean I don't know much about art, but
what I do know is that you have to take yourself seriously. No matter what you do.“
-----
Perhaps every kind of work includes stepping into your own bubble every day, a
commune in disguise, a fraternity, a club you join because your views on life
overlap with those of others from that field.
-----
Perhaps my fascination with work also stems from the number of jobs I have
had and still practice side-by-side, and which thus all make up part of myself. At
least, if I may assume that when I introduce myself I should first name my name
and profession.
-----
I begin to notice that as soon as I tag along, I don't call people by name, but by their profession. As if you become your profession once I have seen that all the stereotypes are true - this man is small, has a loud voice, talks a lot, chews gum non-stop, and keeps looking around himself skittishly. Before I realise it, I consider him not as an individual, but as a group. The plumber's group. This - pigeonholing a person - happens faster than I would like.
-----
I used to work to finance my studies, rent and groceries. In recent years I have
been working for the same reasons, among others, but my studies have been
replaced by my own work.
In order to keep making screen prints. This costs more money than it brings in.
The canvases I print on are high quality fabrics: linen, silk and so on. To reserve
part of a screen printing workshop requires a daily fee. Since my canvases are at
least four by four meters, I reserve several whole days if I want to get everything
done at once. In addition, I also have to pay for all the supplies, such as the
frames, chemicals, paint, a transparent layer or an opaque layer, cleaning
supplies, as well as the squeegees and whatnot.
For a series of screen prints I spend at least six hundred euros, a fine plane ticket
to a country for self-development or to feed your fomo. But next to being an artist, I am not only an artist, I’m also a teacher, a guest speaker, transformed into a coach, same as three-quarters of the country. One can almost wonder if the country is not divided into two parts. One part coaches and the other is being coached by those coaches who don't really know what they are doing, either.
-----
I’m becoming more and more aware of the every-day quality of work. That
everyone works for everyone and therefore people work for me, too.
What professions do I come into direct or indirect contact with every day, who
are the people behind this?
Who collects my garbage, who makes my bread? Where does my water come
from, where does the design of my shower head begin, who is behind garbage
bags, plants, carpets.
But also: who is the security person who walks through my neighbourhood
supermarket at night? - Where do all the food products come from? Who made
my desk, my chairs, plates, glasses, cups, bowls, flower pots? Where do books
come from? My shower gel, my hand soap, dish soap and what about my dish
brush? What about my cutlery? And what about my bed things? My mattress,
my blanket, pillows, could this have been thought of by one person? And does
that person even know where their results end up? Does such a figure know that
there are people - me - who prefer sleeping on bamboo pillows to all the other
kinds of pillows out there? How does such a person view any possible
competition?
Then, I wear clothes: sweaters, pants, shirts, jackets, shoes, my underwear,
socks. I could tag along with a designer, but that’s a little bit different from
finding myself in a factory where women - or other people whose actual work
cannot always be seen - are putting together the same clothes on the assembly
line.
And that cotton, polyester or other synthetic garbage, where in God's name is it
made and most importantly by whom, who are these people, how do they fill
their lives in addition to their work, what are the understandings in the
workplace?
I rent my house: who is my landlord, where does my money go each month? My
debit card, how does an ATM or managing finances online even work? Another
wonderful thing that’s out there, but no one - at least not me - knows exactly
what and especially who makes it work.
And to think that this is only part of my home that I come into contact with on a
weekly, if not daily, basis. Because what about everything that takes place
outside the house? A traffic light, for example, fantastic!
The street - the design of the streets, all that stone, that cement, the use of color,
or rather, hardly any use of color - not to mention the supermarkets, all those
stores most people walk in without thinking, all those buildings have doors,
some you have to push open yourself - the door handle, where did such a thing
come from? - yet other doors slide open - also interesting!
A doormat...Everything I touch, I look at, smell and feel: I want to know who is
behind it and how people interacted with each other before I met the products
and things. Through this realisation, I get caught up in a web of how everything
is connected to everything.
-----
What strikes me so far is how people communicate with each other, or rather do not. How people relate to the work they do and how this seeps into their character. For example, how those garbage collectors walked up the stairs to the cafeteria during the break. How they didn't turn to look at the cleaner mopping the hall. How everyone silently looked at the floor. But didn't look at the floor in the hall that had just been mopped. How they made jokes about women while I and the canteen lady sat there with them. How they didn't wash
their hands before starting their lunch, how greedily they ate, how surprised they
looked when the break was over again….
How the bus driver tried to chat with every new passenger but stopped at the end of the morning, far from all passengers were expecting it. How he changed from an enthusiastic man into a silent man with a worried face.
Wouldn't you say that all this has an impact on how you plop down on the couch at home? How you act towards to your friends, your lover or someone you bump into in the supermarket?
In that respect, you could say that the work you choose also influences your character, although it could also be the other way around, or just the other way around: that who you are, your character, consciously or unconsciously has a large influence on the career choice you make.
Whatever it is, it doesn't exactly make unraveling work any easier.
-----
I ask three women artists I admire about what they do and what they make. But although I assume that none of these three artists wants to give up her free time to someone who is still searching - me -, who has no name - me -, and who has no important friends - me -, I compose an e-mail anyway and send it from my bed to the three women in the hope that one will take the bait.
-----
When the first coach enters the café where we have agreed to meet, I notice how
small she is. Or rather not small — short. Blond, short hair, short forehead, short fingers and short - bitten off - nails. She reminds me of one of those short dogs, light gray with a folded-up head, panting with every breath. “I stand for simplicity and purity, I like clear communication, no woolly language“, she says after giving me a short handshake.
This is the thrust of how she introduces herself, no name and profession. In response, I begin to smile sheepishly, it doesn't occur to me to thank her for her time. Or to say anything at all, such as “Evidently, good of you to point this out.“
Instead, in addition to my sheepish smile, I look at her sheepishly. During this mere second I wonder what woolly communication means, what, on the other hand, is clear communication, and whether two people can agree on this. Also, the following thoughts shoot through me: that she is much smaller in real life and does not come across as I have read about her. That it’s ridiculous for me to draw these conclusions in such a short time. And as I catch my brain spinning - and judging - the short coach already has her coat off and is waving to the serving staff.
To not stare at her blankly, I glance through the window of the large cafe. Why
is it that so many people and businesses advocate for clarity?
“Let's stick to your proposal, those three questions you sent along with your email, read them to me?“ She takes out two sheets of paper and places them in front of me. Does she
seriously want me to do this...she nods again. I take a deep breath, wonder in one second what I'm doing and especially what I've gotten myself into, and read my own mail aloud. When I finish she nods encouragingly, oh yes, the attachment, of course:
“1. Can I unravel the working system? 2: What does work mean? 3: Why has work become so natural?“ Even before I look up, the short coach responds with two letters, repeats those two letters and creates a sort of air which escapes from her body, “Haha.“
Not a long laugh out of pleasure or about a good joke, but sec, almost staccato: “Yeah, no, I can't say anything except that this triggers my laughing muscles.“
I look at her rather out of sorts. Fortunately, she keeps talking: “Now, you
need to focus on one question. On one profession. Concentrate on that.
Stay focused. Stay clear.“
“I'm not sure that's such a good idea“, I say faster than I would like. She frowns, gets up, puts on her coat and says, before leaving: “Good luck!“
If this is the definition of being a coach, I can imitate it just fine. First, laugh at your client, or whatever I am to her, then say nothing and top it off with “good luck!“. On the table lies my proposal, I conclude that she is right: I want too much, want to meet the people behind too many things - my whole life. I grab my papers and only now see that something is written at the bottom in pencil in neat handwriting: Make a list.
-----
During all the tagging along with different professions, I realise that works
connects us more than I had initially thought. But how can I show this in one artwork?
That if I were to overlook the accountant of my favourite pub, for instance, I would no longer get beer, and this would have significant implications for the current climate crisis. And this is a joke, but then again, it isn't. What I would most like to see are the details, like who is behind the size of a drinking glass, isn't it remarkable that almost every glass fits in every palm? It would be fantastic to meet that person, and if they've already passed away – I suspect glasses have existed for a long time, just like human hands – I'd love to hear the stories from a distant cousin of the inventor of the drinking glass. She would tell me about the origin of the idea of the size of a drinking glass and how a village celebrated because everyone, in this sense, is equal.
“Look, look! We all have an average palm size!
You are me and I am you!
This is genius!
No more division!
No more envy.
No racism.
No sexism.
No ageism.
No homophobia.
No exploitation.
No discrimination.
No more war.
World peace for all because we all have one palm size!“
And they danced and drank until late into the night, kinship was made. That distant cousin tells me how a competitor designed other glasses that made the camaraderie between the very first glass brand in the world tremble. But then quickly brought it to a good end: because of those tensions, we now have more glasses! This is how I imagine leaving this meeting with a sense of satisfaction. A certain calm descends, I find a focus in life and remain clear as the short coach urged me to. Instead of fluttering around within this infinite project that stands for something much larger than I had envisioned.
-----
I've been sitting at my dentist's office, irritated, all afternoon.
“Do you see your clients as individuals or just walking mouths?“, I ask her.
The dentist takes a deep breath, smiles insincerely – as she has been doing all afternoon – and says, “Every client is an individual, that's what makes my work so incredibly special.“
“How do you actually view work, what does it mean to you?“, I ask her right
away. The dentist smiles ridiculously again, and I feel like smashing everything here to
pieces. Throwing all those instruments in the air, that chair her clients sit in can
be broken, I want to tear apart her white clothing, her hairstyle – that hair should
be yanked out. The dentist takes a deep breath and says, “Work is an enrichment of my life, it's important to me to feel satisfied at the end of a day like today. That I've made a
difference.“
“Do you feel this every day? Do you never think, Jesus, what am I actually doing? Can I still get away? Where's the exit around here?“ I say the last part laughing. I mean, how on earth do you cycle home feeling fulfilled every day? “No, never“, she says firmly, with that same grin on her face.
Perhaps work is also and especially about accepting a certain repetition and within this repetition, choosing what suits you. As far as you have a choice, of course. But also: to what extent can you know in advance that there is so much repetition in work. Perhaps that repetition can be linked to the past, to the craft. A craft is essentially nothing more than a routine, doing a task over and over again. Craftsmanship originated in the Middle Ages, long before the French Revolution, when the first tasks were performed in newly built cities. A craft is not just an action. It revolved – and still does – around how the product is made
and delivered and ultimately presented. If you extrapolate further, a craft was not only used as supply and demand, but also as a way of gaining control over the inhabitants. In that sense, that's how work can also be viewed. Work is also about gaining control, as work for the dentist gives a clear structure to her weekly schedule, the residents know there's a dentist nearby – also a way of gaining control. The municipality, the government knows this practice exists – also a way of gaining control – the country knows that this woman spends her days here day in and day out. More control is not possible, if you ask me.
-----
Perhaps the essential difference is that a freelancer ultimately serves a larger entity, there's a client waiting for her task to be done and the work already existed – for example, repairing a tram rail. Here, there's a clear expectation from the other, a time limit, and there's a concrete amount of money involved. Whereas the artist earns nothing by creating something from nothing, because nobody knew about it. So, perhaps that's the essential difference: if you strip the artist bare, she'll continue to create but won't have a penny to her name. If you peel away the layers of a freelancer, the work she does is essentially interchangeable with another freelancer's work, but her bank account – provided she has a good client – will be nicely replenished at the end of the month. But because I refuse to accept that life revolves around money – and work is inherently about making money – my work, my art is primarily about what arises from within me that cannot just as easily arise from others. My work is personal, which is not the case for much of the work done by freelancers. And because it's personal, there are many, sometimes a bit too many – often unnecessary – emotions involved. When I spend days working on my own work, I feel not only fulfilled but also guilty. A rotting pear in the middle of my stomach which nobody sees and which is starting to stink more and more. Stench from those I put off meeting up with, but strangely enough also towards the working system because I'm not doing something of importance.
-----
Coach one and coach two and my friend all asked me: what does work mean to me? I've been thinking about this question more often lately, circling around it as if it were a large building. Perhaps the answer for me is: making things, my screen prints for example,
stands above friendships, above love, above paid work, above family. Because that's the only thing that will be there for me as long as I live. A rock in the surf. Maybe it's the same thing religious people can experience with their faith. Something bigger, to which you can attach and question everything without feeling stupid or naive, that you can come back to without having to justify yourself. Where all my ugly character traits such as judging and putting people in boxes without asking, can just be. My work as a refuge. If I'm not on the same wavelength with a friend? Fortunately, I can read about my work subject. Has a love timidly blossomed again, only to crash down after a few dates? Luckily, I can think about color combinations, make sketches. Is there trouble with my side job? Whatever, I'll search for shapes and compositions for my next screen print. Are family members seeking
unnecessary attention? If you're looking for me, I'm making test prints. This trust and support is something I don't have in friendships, never in family, not in lovers, and certainly not in a side job or in colleagues. Without my own work, everything feels insignificant, small, I quickly find it not enough — then I'm a walking bottomless pit. Perhaps that's what work means to me – to return to the question – something that turns the all-encompassing loneliness and hopelessness of existence into a desire to alleviate that feeling. Making things feeds me, charges me up, so that I can connect with others. Add to that, there's nothing more beautiful, nothing that gives me such a fulfilled feeling as something I've created.
All sorts of theories can be hung on this – narcissistic, autistic, fear of abandonment, fear of commitment, difficult childhood, unresolved traumas, ADD, ADHD, slow thyroid, you're wearing the neighbour's nose prosthesis instead of your own nose, a disrupted relationship with money, with an emotion, or with one of your ancestors –, but who cares, I just want to make something and not have to deal with the always dominant other.
-----
I wanted to capture what work stands for, that larger whole – for which a complete system has been devised — in one image. A company that would map out the system, yes, I would have to start a fictional company. This company would – if you look at the bigger picture – represent the working human in general, and then you quickly end up with the system, which can then nicely pass as the world. Because everyone works for somebody, right? But to keep it small – as coach three advised me – I wanted to start with a city: not the
capital of the Netherlands, because that would be too obvious. A city that exists
but is quickly forgotten by the average Dutch person, and that's how I ended up
with Leeuwarden.
I wanted the main office of my fictional company to be located in Friesland, on the Wilhelminaplein: a cold square near the station that has become colder, emptier, and more soulless over the years, but that's beside the point. It should come to stand where the Fries Museum is now. The headquarters of how the world works – because don't forget: my fictional company is the world – rule from Friesland. Personally, I find this very amusing.
I wanted this company to make work possible, but in order to make work possible, you have to live, and to live, you have to breathe, and through all that breathing, you blink your eyes, you can move your body: sit, stand, walk, make a cup of coffee, but also drink other beverages besides coffee, swallow, pee, listen, look, talk, pick up something – everything a person does in a day, which is necessary to be able to work.
It had to be a company that creates the taken-for-granted, because the taken-for-granted are the first things you need when a person works. What I find amusing is that many people take work for granted, so why not have a company that sells the taken-for-granted?
Before starting my company, I wanted to crystallise what is taken for granted. Something you take for granted is logical, is what is expected, something that doesn't need to be explicitly mentioned and usually goes unnoticed because there is a form of repetition in something taken for granted, and therefore it doesn't stand out. But because there is a routine in everything taken-for-granted and I am starting a company that sells the taken-for-granted, I would have to dissect everything taken for granted that we carry with us daily and classify it into manuals. I wanted to write these manuals of taken-for-granted-ness myself and I started out — if I may say so myself — immediately enthusiastic. The first manual was about breathing: what is it, actually? How does it work, what does it look like? Is it really as obvious as we treat it? Who is breathing for, how do you maintain something like this? How do you install it and when do you start? And hey! What are the warnings and possible side effects of breathing?
I had a lot of fun thinking about something that is taken for granted, or better said: I find it a godsend to be able to take everything out of context. Not accepting answers like 'It is what it is' – as my father and mother repeatedly said in the past. Taking something out of context gives me space in my mind to observe, further dissect, zoom in, and investigate.
I felt like I could immerse myself in all thing taken for granted without shame or embarrassment, that I had a license to lose myself in it without having to justify myself or care about what others would say. Simply because no one saw this – this hyperfocus – from the outside. No one knew that when I drank coffee with my friend, I observed her and myself until I could describe every action by the second. No one saw that when I stood in line at the supermarket, I broke down the standing into the smallest details. During dates, the other person didn't know that when we were in conversation, I observed her mouth to the point where I could hardly dare to look at her. I wanted to approach it professionally right away. That every manual of a taken-for-granted-ness could really be presented as a manual, so I came up with the following headings, such as:
What is it? Who is it for? How do you do it? How do you install it? How do you maintain it? When to use it? Any warnings Possible side effects Also, check out… If necessary, contact…
This way, I could successfully pull every taken-for-granted-ness out of context, because where do you turn when your breathing falters or when it doesn't seem right to you? Is there a phone number for this, if not, where can you go? Under the heading 'Also, check out…' you are referred to the next manual, so I connected each manual with the next. Like an underground drug network or like – to name those big concepts for once – the capitalist system, which is a big interplay of supply and demand.
What I hadn't calculated was that I became ridiculously aware of my own functioning body. I noticed how often I blinked – sixteen times per minute –, how my swallowing process worked – just as hard as elderly people can swallow –, how I talked – I often say 'uhh' before starting a sentence, but also use this 'uhh' as a filler within a conversation that isn't going smoothly –, how I sit – with a slightly rounded back – how I stand – with a slightly arched back – and so on and so forth.
I hadn't expected this to have such a long-lasting effect. Since writing out those
manuals, I can hardly relax anymore.
I wanted a catchy name for my company. Something with official naturalness, I discovered during all that tagging along with those professions and companies that professionalism and a vague sense of naturalness are what work – for many people – stands for. Or at least, an official naturalness is expected in the current zeitgeist of the working system of the employee: what you do should naturally align with you, it should fit you, it shouldn't force you, it should allow you to continuously develop, you should grow, innovate. Your work shouldn't become an obstacle, and there should be progress in it every day. And out of all these things you must do it would be nice if these musts came naturally, but in such a
way that you come across as professional and not, never get too personal. Which in my eyes is contradictory, because the only thing that’s your own, that comes naturally, is your personality, but if you aren’t allowed to show your whole personality during work hours — and thus during most of the week — what is natural about this?
I wanted to name the fictional company The Official Naturalness. I found – and still find – this to be a catchy name that you could see on billboards:
The Official Naturalness: Innovative Twenty-four seven!
Or:
The Official Naturalness is here for you, too!
Or:
The Official Naturalness: You too can live in perfection!
Or:
Always wanted to live efficiently?
Download an ON-struction now!
The Official Naturalness gets the most out of every day for you!
I didn't want to have myself listed as the founder or owner of the company – too much responsibility, and I wanted to keep it fun. That's why I came up with someone else, a middle-aged man with an average body and an average face, his name is Loft, which means air in the Frisian language. I wanted Loft to set up multiple branches of The Official Naturalness in the Netherlands due to its success – so it says: through air’s success. In every capital city where there is a museum, there should be a branch of The Official
Naturalness. Like in Leeuwarden, where the branch is located where the Fries Museum used to be. There should also be a branch where the Stedelijk Museum is in Amsterdam. In Rotterdam where the Boijmans van Beuningen is located, in Zwolle where the Fundatie is located, and so on and so forth. I wanted each branch of my fictional company to be a gigantic square, transparent building with four floors. Every branch would be made of glass,
every wall, every door, table, chairs, every pipe glass glass glass glass, everything would be made of glass. Even the art on the walls would be reproductions made of glass. So that everyone could keep an eye on each other twenty-four seven from both inside and outside The Official Naturalness. Because within The Official Naturalness, everything revolves around transparency and honesty.
In the center of this square block, there would be a large tower made up of six floors. There would be a clear distinction between the central tower and the block around it. The tower would not be for work, but rather for relaxation, think: sleeping, showering, relaxing, meditating, exercising, eating, and so on. This would happen within a measured timeframe, as long as it’s in the service of work.
I wanted that when you choose The Official Naturalness as your employer, you're obliged to give up everything. A sort of home office version three point zero squared, and then adding it all up until you get an extremely large number that makes you naturally start to believe that this is the ideal situation: working and sleeping on location.
I wanted The Official Naturalness to be run by men, executed by men, and seen by men. I didn't want a single woman to work within the company. I also didn't want any woman to be visible outside of work. Within the heteronormative norm, women cause distraction and pain – whether it's from excitement or sadness – and distraction is not allowed within The Official Naturalness. I didn't want any emotion or feeling to be shown within The Official Naturalness – and feelings for someone of one's own gender? Stop it, that wouldn't even
exist. Anyway: love and feelings should be left for the time after The Official Naturalness. If you have space to feel then. I wanted a new art movement to emerge called Positive Art. These would be stories of people who have experienced something universally intense and
turned it into something positive. In addition to their art, they would give lectures explaining how they navigated through these difficult situations, how grateful they are, and how important positivity was and still is to them. How they see each day as a gift. I wanted there to always be people lingering around The Official Naturalness. Because the building is transparent and the company represents the world, this is all people have to look at. These lingerers are – of course – men, and they are called 'sjoggers', which could be a Frisian word for commenters. I wanted the whole world to eventually be split in two: the low-educated —sjoggers and external employees — and the highly-educated — the Kings and
internal employees.
I wanted The Official Naturalness to be one big interdependency about who is watching whom, a panopticon applicable to each individual, where it's not clear who is controlling whom. But the fact remains that everyone works and everyone keeps everyone else moving. I wanted both the employees and the Kings to wake up at the same time – this
happens simultaneously, and by simultaneously, I mean really simultaneously, every action you take when you wake up must be synchronised with others – from the right side position. Simultaneous showering, hair washing, soaping up, drying off –, breakfasting, going to work, taking breaks, and relaxing or exercising in the evening. Because this is – if you take everything out of context and strip away every layer of every action – what a human basically does within the working system day in and day out: wake up, get ready for work, work, come home, and with a bit of luck, there's time for some relaxation. I wanted working for The Official Naturalness to signify a guarantee for a carefree and happy and perfect life after you turn 35. I wanted working at The Official Naturalness or buying their products to go hand in hand with striving for ultimate freedom. I didn't want to explain why a man would want to work at The Official Naturalness. The same as many norms exist without any questioning or criticism, let alone short-sighted argumentation. Within this company, working and living within one company is the norm, and everything is considered one big taken-for-granted-ness. I wanted, like any proper company, a website: www.the-on.com. When you go from this world to the website, you would see all the branches in the country, find out about the company's origins, read about the employees, and also see
what an average branch of The Official Naturalness would look like. I wanted that when you visit this website, you catch a glimpse of this immense, successful company and experience absolute fomo that you are not among the chosen few who will have an even happier and more carefree future after turning thirty-five.
But because you would be aware of the offline and online worlds, you would just smile. Something like: amusing but not laugh-out-loud funny, and yet you would click through, as the internet works. You would read some manuals, become aware, for example, of sitting…
You would most likely smile at this or perhaps feel irritated and scroll back and forth. It seemed beautiful to me that when someone from this world visits the website, they would be drawn into The Official Naturalness. Just as when you visit the website of your local bookstore, you can almost believe for a split second that it's the only good bookstore in the entire area and that they are also the best. But as soon as you close your laptop, you realise that there are several good ones, or you forget it the moment you close your laptop.
Another thing I thought would be fun was to create a the-on.com toolbar where you can register yourself, so that from that moment on, several times a day, you would see a positive slogan on your wall, phone, or wherever, and for a second you would think that every day, every hour, no, what?!, every minute, life becomes phenomenal again.