She is still here
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Lieve Vrouwestraat 13
3811 BP Amersfoort Plan your route to She is still there
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My mother was Jellie Brouwer. Professional questioner. She asked the right questions to everyone. To the pet store employee who sold seeds for the birds in the garden, to the neighbor who made jam, to all the artists she talked to on the radio program Kunststof. They came in, they sat down, diagonally across from each other, the jingle sounded, she began. Her opening line, where she had been brooding on all that week.
I stayed home. With my sisters and my father. He cooked and the radio was on the little bar near the kitchen. As a child, I talked to the radio and thought she was talking back. Since she died, it's been quiet.
I miss chatting, I miss thu...
My mother was Jellie Brouwer. Professional questioner. She asked the right questions to everyone. To the pet store employee who sold seeds for the birds in the garden, to the neighbor who made jam, to all the artists she talked to on the radio program Kunststof. They came in, they sat down, diagonally across from each other, the jingle sounded, she began. Her opening line, where she had been brooding on all that week.
I stayed home. With my sisters and my father. He cooked and the radio was on the little bar near the kitchen. As a child, I talked to the radio and thought she was talking back. Since she died, it's been quiet.
I miss chatting, I miss coming home and her: "yeeeee!", I miss our gossiping about famous Dutch people, I miss being able to call her when things weren't going well, or very well. So I want to talk to her. And the further I get away from our last conversation, the different the questions become. When do you know if you want children? How do you know if love is real love? How do you stay cheerful while the world perishes?
In She is still there, I will be talking to her again. I will ask her all those questions, knowing that she will always answer with a counter-question. My mother is no longer here, but all those interviews are still there. Where others only have someone's voicemail left, I have 2,300 hours of conversations. I can hear my mother say "Hm" forever.
When
- Sunday, April 4, 2027 4 p.m.-5:30 p.m. Buy tickets