There's an interesting theory that the more acclaimed you are as an artist or a writer, the easier it is for you to get away with calling something "art."
Case in point: we visited the Huis Marseilles (the museum of photography) in Amsterdam and I had no idea what one of the exhibits was.
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| "Sure." |
The exhibit supposedly centered around Brazilian favelas being composited on top of picture of the Amazon forest. That was it. Boom, find it at your local art gallery, pass go, collect your 200 dollars.
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| I mean I guess. |
Seriously, it looks like an assignment I had to do in kindergarten where I had to cut and paste pictures to describe my personality that my teacher told me to redo because I taped a picture of Kate Upton on it.
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| Where's my art gallery, huh? |
They had another installation that I really liked though. They were old pictures from newspapers that has anonymous photographers because back in the early days of journalism, giving credit to photographers wasn't commonplace. So even though some of these pictures were fantastic, we'll never know who took them. Take a look at some of my favorites.
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| Me and Samantha, circa 1929. |
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| A lawyer covering his face to protect his identity when defending an infamous client. |
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| Hitler wearing lederhosen. |
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| What do I rate it? Nein out of ten! HAAAAAAH! |
Joby found one of his ancestors too.
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| Godspeed, little guy. |
This one actually had a very interesting story, so I took a picture of the plaque.
Here's a picture of two explorers who managed to capture two natives and a gorilla on a trip. For some strange reason, when I see that gorilla's face, I am reminded of our very own shirtless Mikey.
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| "I regret nothing!" |
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| "NOTHING!" |
And lastly, here are African women and their lip plates.
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| Looks like my mom when she yells at me. |
Today was a pretty chill day though. Our last day in Amsterdam, and we didn't really have anywhere to go, so we just walked aimlessly until we stumbled onto something, kind of like blind wingless seagulls.
We tried bitterballs though. They're apparently a Dutch traditional treat, and no, despite their name, they aren't just an occupational hazard for prostitutes in the red light district.
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| Although they certainly look like they are. |
They're fried veal balls filled with gravy. And they taste... Okay. I didn't particularly like them, and I certainly wouldn't try them again, but I didn't hate them either. Ehh.
RFotD: In hindsight, I actually would eat those bitterballs again, they have a very interesting taste.
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