Designer, Writer, Editor
Simulacrum Magazine - June 2022 - 100 pages
Designed in Collaboration with Anne Schenkels
To commemorate the 30 year anniversary of Simulacrum Magazine, we asked contemporary Art Historians, Professors, Writers and Curators to reflect on the writings that they submitted to Simulacrum as students. We took a deep dive into the Simulacrum archives looking articles that caught our attention; articles that were pressing, bold, or typical for a certain period of time. Have opinions changed? Has their vision of the future held up? Does the article need a follow up? Reflecting is an exercise in looking to the future; it is a moment of stillness; how things were, how they are, and how they could be. This bundle of reflections encapsulates the entire existence of Simulacrum, from the very first issue (1992) until the present (2020).
Simulacrum is a magazine for arts and culture that serves as an accessible and high-quality publication platform for students and experts from the field. Four issues are published each year, each time with a specific theme. The subjects are always approached from different disciplines within the arts and cultural sciences, and placed in both historical and contemporary perspective.
Contributions by me, Laura van Grinsven, Jeroen Boomgaard, Vladimir Stissi, Madelon Simons, Sandra Kisters, Joost de Bloois, Lex Bosman, Jitske Jasperse, Jacob Lekkerkerker, Alina Lupu, & Hendrik Folkerts.
Designer, Writer, Editor
Simulacrum Magazine - June 2022 - 100 pages
Designed in Collaboration with Anne Schenkels
To commemorate the 30 year anniversary of Simulacrum Magazine, we asked contemporary Art Historians, Professors, Writers and Curators to reflect on the writings that they submitted to Simulacrum as students. We took a deep dive into the Simulacrum archives looking articles that caught our attention; articles that were pressing, bold, or typical for a certain period of time. Have opinions changed? Has their vision of the future held up? Does the article need a follow up? Reflecting is an exercise in looking to the future; it is a moment of stillness; how things were, how they are, and how they could be. This bundle of reflections encapsulates the entire existence of Simulacrum, from the very first issue (1992) until the present (2020).
Simulacrum is a magazine for arts and culture that serves as an accessible and high-quality publication platform for students and experts from the field. Four issues are published each year, each time with a specific theme. The subjects are always approached from different disciplines within the arts and cultural sciences, and placed in both historical and contemporary perspective.
Contributions by me, Laura van Grinsven, Jeroen Boomgaard, Vladimir Stissi, Madelon Simons, Sandra Kisters, Joost de Bloois, Lex Bosman, Jitske Jasperse, Jacob Lekkerkerker, Alina Lupu, & Hendrik Folkerts.
yada yada lorum ipsum
Following precedent for such occasions, neither Stuyvesant nor Nicolls was present for the meeting that then took place, but each had chosen a slate of commissioners to negotiate the transfer of the colony. Stuyvesant's included four Dutchmen, one Englishman, and one Frenchman; Nicolls's representatives were two of his aides and four New Englanders, including John Winthrop.
Then, as all attention shifted to the waterfront, where Nicolls and his main body of troops was coming ashore, a small party of English soldiers entered the deserted fort. Outside, the harbor winds were swirling around the interested throng of mixed nationalities who watched as an English flag went up the flagpole and listened as Nicolls declared the place renamed for his patron, the Duke of York and Albany. Inside the fort, meanwhile, a few soldiers climbed to the office of the colonial secretary, above the gate. In any Change of government, gaining possession of the records is among the first steps, for to control a society's vital documents is to control its past and fu-ture. The soldiers found what they were looking for: rows of bulky leather-bound volumes, forty-eight in all, numbered consecutively on their spines, A to Z and then AA through PP. Wills, deeds, minutes, correspondence, complaints, petitions, confrontations, agreements- it was all here, meticulously maintained, year by year, day by day, the story of America's first mixed society.
Then, as all attention shifted to the waterfront, where Nicolls and his main body of troops was coming ashore, a small party of English soldiers entered the deserted fort. Outside, the harbor winds were swirling around the interested throng of mixed nationalities who watched as an English flag went up the flagpole and listened as Nicolls declared the place renamed for his patron, the Duke of York and Albany. Inside the fort, meanwhile, a few soldiers climbed to the office of the colonial secretary, above the gate. In any Change of government, gaining possession of the records is among the first steps, for to control a society's vital documents is to control its past and fu-ture. The soldiers found what they were looking for: rows of bulky leather-bound volumes, forty-eight in all, numbered consecutively on their spines, A to Z and then AA through PP. Wills, deeds, minutes, correspondence, complaints, petitions, confrontations, agreements- it was all here, meticulously maintained, year by year, day by day, the story of America's first mixed society.
Then, as all attention shifted to the waterfront, where Nicolls and his main body of troops was coming ashore, a small party of English soldiers entered the deserted fort. Outside, the harbor winds were swirling around the interested throng of mixed nationalities who watched as an English flag went up the flagpole and listened as Nicolls declared the place renamed for his patron, the Duke of York and Albany. Inside the fort, meanwhile, a few soldiers climbed to the office of the colonial secretary, above the gate. In any Change of government, gaining possession of the records is among the first steps, for to control a society's vital documents is to control its past and fu-ture. The soldiers found what they were looking for: rows of bulky leather-bound volumes, forty-eight in all, numbered consecutively on their spines, A to Z and then AA through PP. Wills, deeds, minutes, correspondence, complaints, petitions, confrontations, agreements- it was all here, meticulously maintained, year by year, day by day, the story of America's first mixed society.
And so they did. The fifteen hundred residents of New Amsterdam, the ten thousand inhabitants of the colony of New Netherland, turned their backs on the company that had long ignored them. Griet Reyniers, onetime Amsterdam barmaid who became Manhattan's first prostitute, abandoned it. So did her husband, Anthony "the Turk" van Salee, the half-Morroccan former pirate. They were now wealthy landowners on Long Island, and their four daughters were married to some of New Amsterdam's up-and-coming businessmen. Joris Rapalje, who with his bride Catalina Trico com-pised the Adam and Eve of the colony had reemdy died, but Catalina ma shitery nuch alive as werehergrown dild ren and ten families and g so, preferred to acquiesce rather than die. The same went for Aser lon, the Polish, Jew who had batled Suvesant over the rights of Jews, and noy, owned Manhattan's first kosher butcher shop, and for Manuel "the Giane Gerrit, the African who had escaped hanging in 1641 and who for the par five years had been living as a free landowner on a small farm near Stuyvesant's bouverie. For all of these people, living peaceably under an English prince who promised to continue the way of life they had fashioned was patently better than fighting and dying.
And so he relented. "I would much rather be carried out dead," he said, and surely everyone believed him, but instead he named six men to meet with their English counterparts and negotiate terms. They met at Stuyvesant's farm. And the next Monday, at eight in the morning, Stuyvesant, fifty-four-years-old, thick of build, with his cuirass and his limp and his small, bold eyes, led a military procession out of the fort, with drummers drumming and flags waving.
And so they did. The fifteen hundred residents of New Amsterdam, the ten thousand inhabitants of the colony of New Netherland, turned their backs on the company that had long ignored them. Griet Reyniers, onetime Amsterdam barmaid who became Manhattan's first prostitute, abandoned it. So did her husband, Anthony "the Turk" van Salee, the half-Morroccan former pirate. They were now wealthy landowners on Long Island, and their four daughters were married to some of New Amsterdam's up-and-coming businessmen. Joris Rapalje, who with his bride Catalina Trico com-pised the Adam and Eve of the colony had reemdy died, but Catalina ma shitery nuch alive as werehergrown dild ren and ten families and g so, preferred to acquiesce rather than die. The same went for Aser lon, the Polish, Jew who had batled Suvesant over the rights of Jews, and noy, owned Manhattan's first kosher butcher shop, and for Manuel "the Giane Gerrit, the African who had escaped hanging in 1641 and who for the par five years had been living as a free landowner on a small farm near Stuyvesant's bouverie. For all of these people, living peaceably under an English prince who promised to continue the way of life they had fashioned was patently better than fighting and dying.
And so he relented. "I would much rather be carried out dead," he said, and surely everyone believed him, but instead he named six men to meet with their English counterparts and negotiate terms. They met at Stuyvesant's farm. And the next Monday, at eight in the morning, Stuyvesant, fifty-four-years-old, thick of build, with his cuirass and his limp and his small, bold eyes, led a military procession out of the fort, with drummers drumming and flags waving.
And so they did. The fifteen hundred residents of New Amsterdam, the ten thousand inhabitants of the colony of New Netherland, turned their backs on the company that had long ignored them. Griet Reyniers, onetime Amsterdam barmaid who became Manhattan's first prostitute, abandoned it. So did her husband, Anthony "the Turk" van Salee, the half-Morroccan former pirate. They were now wealthy landowners on Long Island, and their four daughters were married to some of New Amsterdam's up-and-coming businessmen. Joris Rapalje, who with his bride Catalina Trico com-pised the Adam and Eve of the colony had reemdy died, but Catalina ma shitery nuch alive as werehergrown dild ren and ten families and g so, preferred to acquiesce rather than die. The same went for Aser lon, the Polish, Jew who had batled Suvesant over the rights of Jews, and noy, owned Manhattan's first kosher butcher shop, and for Manuel "the Giane Gerrit, the African who had escaped hanging in 1641 and who for the par five years had been living as a free landowner on a small farm near Stuyvesant's bouverie. For all of these people, living peaceably under an English prince who promised to continue the way of life they had fashioned was patently better than fighting and dying.
And so he relented. "I would much rather be carried out dead," he said, and surely everyone believed him, but instead he named six men to meet with their English counterparts and negotiate terms. They met at Stuyvesant's farm. And the next Monday, at eight in the morning, Stuyvesant, fifty-four-years-old, thick of build, with his cuirass and his limp and his small, bold eyes, led a military procession out of the fort, with drummers drumming and flags waving.
And so they did. The fifteen hundred residents of New Amsterdam, the ten thousand inhabitants of the colony of New Netherland, turned their backs on the company that had long ignored them. Griet Reyniers, onetime Amsterdam barmaid who became Manhattan's first prostitute, abandoned it. So did her husband, Anthony "the Turk" van Salee, the half-Morroccan former pirate. They were now wealthy landowners on Long Island, and their four daughters were married to some of New Amsterdam's up-and-coming businessmen. Joris Rapalje, who with his bride Catalina Trico com-pised the Adam and Eve of the colony had reemdy died, but Catalina ma shitery nuch alive as werehergrown dild ren and ten families and g so, preferred to acquiesce rather than die. The same went for Aser lon, the Polish, Jew who had batled Suvesant over the rights of Jews, and noy, owned Manhattan's first kosher butcher shop, and for Manuel "the Giane Gerrit, the African who had escaped hanging in 1641 and who for the par five years had been living as a free landowner on a small farm near Stuyvesant's bouverie. For all of these people, living peaceably under an English prince who promised to continue the way of life they had fashioned was patently better than fighting and dying.
And so he relented. "I would much rather be carried out dead," he said, and surely everyone believed him, but instead he named six men to meet with their English counterparts and negotiate terms. They met at Stuyvesant's farm. And the next Monday, at eight in the morning, Stuyvesant, fifty-four-years-old, thick of build, with his cuirass and his limp and his small, bold eyes, led a military procession out of the fort, with drummers drumming and flags waving.
And so they did. The fifteen hundred residents of New Amsterdam, the ten thousand inhabitants of the colony of New Netherland, turned their backs on the company that had long ignored them. Griet Reyniers, onetime Amsterdam barmaid who became Manhattan's first prostitute, abandoned it. So did her husband, Anthony "the Turk" van Salee, the half-Morroccan former pirate. They were now wealthy landowners on Long Island, and their four daughters were married to some of New Amsterdam's up-and-coming businessmen. Joris Rapalje, who with his bride Catalina Trico com-pised the Adam and Eve of the colony had reemdy died, but Catalina ma shitery nuch alive as werehergrown dild ren and ten families and g so, preferred to acquiesce rather than die. The same went for Aser lon, the Polish, Jew who had batled Suvesant over the rights of Jews, and noy, owned Manhattan's first kosher butcher shop, and for Manuel "the Giane Gerrit, the African who had escaped hanging in 1641 and who for the par five years had been living as a free landowner on a small farm near Stuyvesant's bouverie. For all of these people, living peaceably under an English prince who promised to continue the way of life they had fashioned was patently better than fighting and dying.
And so he relented. "I would much rather be carried out dead," he said, and surely everyone believed him, but instead he named six men to meet with their English counterparts and negotiate terms. They met at Stuyvesant's farm. And the next Monday, at eight in the morning, Stuyvesant, fifty-four-years-old, thick of build, with his cuirass and his limp and his small, bold eyes, led a military procession out of the fort, with drummers drumming and flags waving.
yada yada lorum ipsum
Following precedent for such occasions, neither Stuyvesant nor Nicolls was present for the meeting that then took place, but each had chosen a slate of commissioners to negotiate the transfer of the colony. Stuyvesant's included four Dutchmen, one Englishman, and one Frenchman; Nicolls's representatives were two of his aides and four New Englanders, including John Winthrop.
Then, as all attention shifted to the waterfront, where Nicolls and his main body of troops was coming ashore, a small party of English soldiers entered the deserted fort. Outside, the harbor winds were swirling around the interested throng of mixed nationalities who watched as an English flag went up the flagpole and listened as Nicolls declared the place renamed for his patron, the Duke of York and Albany. Inside the fort, meanwhile, a few soldiers climbed to the office of the colonial secretary, above the gate. In any Change of government, gaining possession of the records is among the first steps, for to control a society's vital documents is to control its past and fu-ture. The soldiers found what they were looking for: rows of bulky leather-bound volumes, forty-eight in all, numbered consecutively on their spines, A to Z and then AA through PP. Wills, deeds, minutes, correspondence, complaints, petitions, confrontations, agreements- it was all here, meticulously maintained, year by year, day by day, the story of America's first mixed society.
Then, as all attention shifted to the waterfront, where Nicolls and his main body of troops was coming ashore, a small party of English soldiers entered the deserted fort. Outside, the harbor winds were swirling around the interested throng of mixed nationalities who watched as an English flag went up the flagpole and listened as Nicolls declared the place renamed for his patron, the Duke of York and Albany. Inside the fort, meanwhile, a few soldiers climbed to the office of the colonial secretary, above the gate. In any Change of government, gaining possession of the records is among the first steps, for to control a society's vital documents is to control its past and fu-ture. The soldiers found what they were looking for: rows of bulky leather-bound volumes, forty-eight in all, numbered consecutively on their spines, A to Z and then AA through PP. Wills, deeds, minutes, correspondence, complaints, petitions, confrontations, agreements- it was all here, meticulously maintained, year by year, day by day, the story of America's first mixed society.
Then, as all attention shifted to the waterfront, where Nicolls and his main body of troops was coming ashore, a small party of English soldiers entered the deserted fort. Outside, the harbor winds were swirling around the interested throng of mixed nationalities who watched as an English flag went up the flagpole and listened as Nicolls declared the place renamed for his patron, the Duke of York and Albany. Inside the fort, meanwhile, a few soldiers climbed to the office of the colonial secretary, above the gate. In any Change of government, gaining possession of the records is among the first steps, for to control a society's vital documents is to control its past and fu-ture. The soldiers found what they were looking for: rows of bulky leather-bound volumes, forty-eight in all, numbered consecutively on their spines, A to Z and then AA through PP. Wills, deeds, minutes, correspondence, complaints, petitions, confrontations, agreements- it was all here, meticulously maintained, year by year, day by day, the story of America's first mixed society.
And so they did. The fifteen hundred residents of New Amsterdam, the ten thousand inhabitants of the colony of New Netherland, turned their backs on the company that had long ignored them. Griet Reyniers, onetime Amsterdam barmaid who became Manhattan's first prostitute, abandoned it. So did her husband, Anthony "the Turk" van Salee, the half-Morroccan former pirate. They were now wealthy landowners on Long Island, and their four daughters were married to some of New Amsterdam's up-and-coming businessmen. Joris Rapalje, who with his bride Catalina Trico com-pised the Adam and Eve of the colony had reemdy died, but Catalina ma shitery nuch alive as werehergrown dild ren and ten families and g so, preferred to acquiesce rather than die. The same went for Aser lon, the Polish, Jew who had batled Suvesant over the rights of Jews, and noy, owned Manhattan's first kosher butcher shop, and for Manuel "the Giane Gerrit, the African who had escaped hanging in 1641 and who for the par five years had been living as a free landowner on a small farm near Stuyvesant's bouverie. For all of these people, living peaceably under an English prince who promised to continue the way of life they had fashioned was patently better than fighting and dying.
And so he relented. "I would much rather be carried out dead," he said, and surely everyone believed him, but instead he named six men to meet with their English counterparts and negotiate terms. They met at Stuyvesant's farm. And the next Monday, at eight in the morning, Stuyvesant, fifty-four-years-old, thick of build, with his cuirass and his limp and his small, bold eyes, led a military procession out of the fort, with drummers drumming and flags waving.
And so they did. The fifteen hundred residents of New Amsterdam, the ten thousand inhabitants of the colony of New Netherland, turned their backs on the company that had long ignored them. Griet Reyniers, onetime Amsterdam barmaid who became Manhattan's first prostitute, abandoned it. So did her husband, Anthony "the Turk" van Salee, the half-Morroccan former pirate. They were now wealthy landowners on Long Island, and their four daughters were married to some of New Amsterdam's up-and-coming businessmen. Joris Rapalje, who with his bride Catalina Trico com-pised the Adam and Eve of the colony had reemdy died, but Catalina ma shitery nuch alive as werehergrown dild ren and ten families and g so, preferred to acquiesce rather than die. The same went for Aser lon, the Polish, Jew who had batled Suvesant over the rights of Jews, and noy, owned Manhattan's first kosher butcher shop, and for Manuel "the Giane Gerrit, the African who had escaped hanging in 1641 and who for the par five years had been living as a free landowner on a small farm near Stuyvesant's bouverie. For all of these people, living peaceably under an English prince who promised to continue the way of life they had fashioned was patently better than fighting and dying.
And so he relented. "I would much rather be carried out dead," he said, and surely everyone believed him, but instead he named six men to meet with their English counterparts and negotiate terms. They met at Stuyvesant's farm. And the next Monday, at eight in the morning, Stuyvesant, fifty-four-years-old, thick of build, with his cuirass and his limp and his small, bold eyes, led a military procession out of the fort, with drummers drumming and flags waving.
And so they did. The fifteen hundred residents of New Amsterdam, the ten thousand inhabitants of the colony of New Netherland, turned their backs on the company that had long ignored them. Griet Reyniers, onetime Amsterdam barmaid who became Manhattan's first prostitute, abandoned it. So did her husband, Anthony "the Turk" van Salee, the half-Morroccan former pirate. They were now wealthy landowners on Long Island, and their four daughters were married to some of New Amsterdam's up-and-coming businessmen. Joris Rapalje, who with his bride Catalina Trico com-pised the Adam and Eve of the colony had reemdy died, but Catalina ma shitery nuch alive as werehergrown dild ren and ten families and g so, preferred to acquiesce rather than die. The same went for Aser lon, the Polish, Jew who had batled Suvesant over the rights of Jews, and noy, owned Manhattan's first kosher butcher shop, and for Manuel "the Giane Gerrit, the African who had escaped hanging in 1641 and who for the par five years had been living as a free landowner on a small farm near Stuyvesant's bouverie. For all of these people, living peaceably under an English prince who promised to continue the way of life they had fashioned was patently better than fighting and dying.
And so he relented. "I would much rather be carried out dead," he said, and surely everyone believed him, but instead he named six men to meet with their English counterparts and negotiate terms. They met at Stuyvesant's farm. And the next Monday, at eight in the morning, Stuyvesant, fifty-four-years-old, thick of build, with his cuirass and his limp and his small, bold eyes, led a military procession out of the fort, with drummers drumming and flags waving.
And so they did. The fifteen hundred residents of New Amsterdam, the ten thousand inhabitants of the colony of New Netherland, turned their backs on the company that had long ignored them. Griet Reyniers, onetime Amsterdam barmaid who became Manhattan's first prostitute, abandoned it. So did her husband, Anthony "the Turk" van Salee, the half-Morroccan former pirate. They were now wealthy landowners on Long Island, and their four daughters were married to some of New Amsterdam's up-and-coming businessmen. Joris Rapalje, who with his bride Catalina Trico com-pised the Adam and Eve of the colony had reemdy died, but Catalina ma shitery nuch alive as werehergrown dild ren and ten families and g so, preferred to acquiesce rather than die. The same went for Aser lon, the Polish, Jew who had batled Suvesant over the rights of Jews, and noy, owned Manhattan's first kosher butcher shop, and for Manuel "the Giane Gerrit, the African who had escaped hanging in 1641 and who for the par five years had been living as a free landowner on a small farm near Stuyvesant's bouverie. For all of these people, living peaceably under an English prince who promised to continue the way of life they had fashioned was patently better than fighting and dying.
And so he relented. "I would much rather be carried out dead," he said, and surely everyone believed him, but instead he named six men to meet with their English counterparts and negotiate terms. They met at Stuyvesant's farm. And the next Monday, at eight in the morning, Stuyvesant, fifty-four-years-old, thick of build, with his cuirass and his limp and his small, bold eyes, led a military procession out of the fort, with drummers drumming and flags waving.
And so they did. The fifteen hundred residents of New Amsterdam, the ten thousand inhabitants of the colony of New Netherland, turned their backs on the company that had long ignored them. Griet Reyniers, onetime Amsterdam barmaid who became Manhattan's first prostitute, abandoned it. So did her husband, Anthony "the Turk" van Salee, the half-Morroccan former pirate. They were now wealthy landowners on Long Island, and their four daughters were married to some of New Amsterdam's up-and-coming businessmen. Joris Rapalje, who with his bride Catalina Trico com-pised the Adam and Eve of the colony had reemdy died, but Catalina ma shitery nuch alive as werehergrown dild ren and ten families and g so, preferred to acquiesce rather than die. The same went for Aser lon, the Polish, Jew who had batled Suvesant over the rights of Jews, and noy, owned Manhattan's first kosher butcher shop, and for Manuel "the Giane Gerrit, the African who had escaped hanging in 1641 and who for the par five years had been living as a free landowner on a small farm near Stuyvesant's bouverie. For all of these people, living peaceably under an English prince who promised to continue the way of life they had fashioned was patently better than fighting and dying.
And so he relented. "I would much rather be carried out dead," he said, and surely everyone believed him, but instead he named six men to meet with their English counterparts and negotiate terms. They met at Stuyvesant's farm. And the next Monday, at eight in the morning, Stuyvesant, fifty-four-years-old, thick of build, with his cuirass and his limp and his small, bold eyes, led a military procession out of the fort, with drummers drumming and flags waving.