Townscape Lakenverwersbrug-Choorstraat

In this panoramic drawing, I combine moments and perspectives. I move through the space, looking up and down, capturing an environment in constant flux.

My townscapes are not photorealistic representations, but experiences. You move, think, associate, and remember. Everything is in motion; the city dances.

QUALITY

This is a high-quality print that meets the ‘Certified Art Giclée’ quality standard.
Each print is signed and numbered by me and embossed with my signature. Each print comes with its own Certificate of Authenticity.

LOOKING FOR TATTOOS BY JAN VAN DER MAST

It’s a sunny Saturday morning. Mark is putting the finishing touches to his panorama of the Lakenverwersbrug (Cloth Dyers’ Bridge). He has spent 82 hours on it. His eyes scan the drawing. A roof along the Verwersdijk (Dyers’ Dyke) requires more detailing. He tells me he is on the lookout for tattoos. In spite of showing many bare arms and legs, none of the passers-by in the drawing sports a tattoo. This is out of sync with the real world. Mark’s panoramas always hint at some kind of trend: selfie sticks (already a thing of the past), a traffic warden riding a Segway, people hoarding loo paper during Covid… Mark shows how people walk by talking into their mobiles, holding out the devices in front of them. A new trend! Meanwhile a couple pass with much of their visible skin covered in ink. It reminds me of the story I was told by the tattoo artist of ‘015 Tattoo’ in the Ezelsveldlaan. A father entered his studio accompanied by his 16-year old son. The idea was to give the son a ram, his star sign, on his back. The tattooist showed them a design for a ram measuring 20 × 10 cm. “No! Bigger, much bigger!” the father exclaimed. And so the tattooist set about his work. Half an hour into the job a woman stormed into the tattoo parlour, hopping mad and in tears! She turned out to be the boy’s mother. The father had come up with the scheme without consulting her. They were divorcees, and managed to stir up quite a ruckus in the shop.
Mark recalls the time he took his two young children into a tattoo parlour for a laugh, saying: 

“They would each like a Miffy on their arm.” The shopkeeper was flabbergasted and stammered: “But, but, you can’t! They must be at least 16. It’s the law.” “Oh dear,” Mark responded, “is that so? Right, then I’ll be back in ten years’ time.”
I’m enjoying the panorama unfolding on Mark’s drawing board and discover some wonderful and amusing details. There is also the drama of a wheelie bin[1]  that has ended up in the canal, with a man standing in the water and attempting to get the unwieldy object back onto dry land. It has become a busy drawing. The problem is that Mark keeps noticing new things. “Yes, but it’s all about making the right choices. Where do I stop? Will I include the reflections in the canal or the windows? No, I think I’d run the risk of overdoing it.”
On the corner of the Choorstraat there is the well-known facade of herbalist Papillon. Its owner Ruud Ronteltap is also featured in the drawing, unpacking boxes outside his shop. Mark knows Ruud. The man knows a lot about the location, because Papillon has been there since 1972. Before that, the premises were occupied by a tobacconist. Ruud himself has worked there with his wife Imelda since 1978: ”We used to sell all kinds of separate herbs which were used to concoct medicinal mixtures. At the time there were still a few doctors who used them and they would write prescriptions for herbal remedies. We kept a store of up to 150 herbs in the attic, and we used to mix them by hand. We no longer do that, and those doctors are no longer around,” he says. “We now sell standardised extracts, the quality of which is under much stricter control. The composition of the old herbal mixtures could vary considerably, depending on the harvest.” The cough syrup sold by Papillon used to be very popular.

Ruud made it himself, and it took him two days to make each batch. “The first day we would boil up a cauldron containing 15 kilos of sliced onions and some herbs. Then the solids were removed and we would add about 20 kilos of sugar to preserve the mixture. The second day we would spend filling bottles. It was a very good cough syrup, and it worked wonders against all different kinds of cough.”
Another of Ruud’s anecdotes is about a special encounter he had in his shop: “One day two elderly gentlemen, in their eighties, came into the shop. They told me that they had lived there when they were children. They asked permission to go upstairs in order to settle a wager. I said of course they could. The wager came about like this: one of them had said that he used to be able to see the Old Church clock tower from the window in his bedroom and so could tell the time. The other man had his doubts, and so the wager was laid. “As it turned out, you could see the clock tower from the window in question.”
By now it is noon. The bell of the Old Church strikes. I pull up the sleeve of my T-shirt and show my tattoo to Mark. It’s Lucky Luke, the Lonesome Cowboy. When I was young I used to devour the cartoon stories, and Luke became my hero: after all, he was the man who could outshoot his own shadow.
Mark chuckles, selects a thin fineliner and draws the same image of Lucky Luke on the left arm of the blonde lady on the bridge.

Jan van der Mast, 13 July 2025