Almost immediately after I rang the doorbell the door of the studio building in the Lambertusstraat swings open and there he is at the top of the pavement: the little big man who already intrigued me as a young academy student by his unbridled energy and enthusiasm. For a moment I look into the darkness of the dark hall, but immediately to the right is the open door to his studio where he precedes me. Woody van Amen looks around satisfied in his space, strolling ahead of me through a corridor to the next room that is full of canvases. Behind it another door, just for a moment into that dark corridor to turn right immediately to the outside, into a courtyard, full of sun and pots with plants.
He shows it all, the plants (bonsai trees) and the pots, the bamboo and the stones. "All potted and planted and laid with Cocky himself" [his now deceased wife, AR]. "She's always been busy here. Nobody else comes here, yeah maybe when I'm not here, okay! All right! Beautiful place, isn't it? I came back from America with Cocky, I lived and worked there for 2,5 years without a scholarship or whatever, we just got on a boat in 1961 and came back full of impressions. I was bubbling of course to get right back to work. But I didn't have a studio here, so I got on my bike every day to the Art Department and there I stood in front of the counter of Gerrit Luchtenburg. And every day I said to Gerrit: "I need a studio" and every day Gerrit said: "there is no studio". But after a few months I got the key to this studio! Fifty-six years ago!"
He has the corner studio and also the studio next to it, both on the ground floor. A side window overlooks that courtyard. There, by that window we drink tea. "Next door sat Pete Rovers. That connecting door was closed and I was young and had the radio on all day. Just like those road workers. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. He's smiling. "Loud music all day long. And Pete never complained, you know. But I think Pete got a bit bothered by the noise I made and one day he said: 'I'm getting out of here' and then I thought... that's fantastic! I immediately went to Gerrit; I was standing in front of that counter again: can I rent that other studio there? Yes of course, Woody! Could I rent it there? Well, they'll never do that again. When I'm dead, it'll be empty here, they'll close that wall and they'll have two studios to rent again!".
"Look, everybody works, one goes to his boss in the morning, but as an artist, you don't have a boss, do you? Then you're your own boss and if you're a writer, you don't need a studio, you work at home, on a computer. But the things I make here I can't make in a room at home. So you need a room, one calls it a studio, the other a studio, ok! It doesn't matter, but you need a space and then you can go ahead. Then you can follow your passion, right? Being an artist is in a way a vocation, that's what I call it. I couldn't put it any other way."
"I'm here a lot, every day, but I don't have much contact with the other artists. In the beginning I invited a newcomer once in a while, to introduce myself, over a cup of tea. Then you think: maybe you get some sort of cross-pollination. Yeah, I don't know, maybe something happens! But nothing's happening at all, no! Everyone does their own thing here and then goes home. It's all right, isn't it? Every year there's an open day here, but I never take part in it, nobody used to, and I don't have time for that at all! But here are a few who love to show their work and studio, all right? As long as I don't have to participate. I don't feel like it at all... leaving a stranger in my studio, no, you don't, do you? No, I don't! Sometimes there's some sales on an open day like this, well, you've got to keep doing it. I don't mind, there's no atmosphere of hate and envy here except for those little trivialities. But you know, it's like this everywhere! They're all people."
"On Saturdays, I sit here working. I receive my customers here. I work with a few galleries that also do their best and that's what I do it with. You have to maintain your contacts, that's all part of it, nothing goes by itself. It's my business here anyway, everything costs money, every pencil and piece of paper. I've just bought two canvases: 125 euros, yes nice hobby, well ... right? I have a higher energy bill here than at home. Look...", he points out the cracks in the side window, "in the winter I put toilet paper in here because the draught and the stove are always on. SKAR has offered to insulate the floor, but I don't need to, they do that when I'm out of here..."
"But I'm glad I'm here, right? Fantastic! I'll show you something... let's see..." He walks and searches and messes around in stacks. Then he shows an old lease from 1963 "Here", he taps his finger on the letters and I read: Rent: 6 guilders over a period of three months. I look up and we laugh.
"Well Anna... have you had enough?"