Tilburg continued to rain and to rewrite its streets, but Youri and Stefan discovered a steadiness not opposed to change but made of it. Their decisions—about departures and returns, about art and the labor that sustained it—remained provisional. They learned to be provisional together. That provisionality felt, in the end, less like indecision than like an ongoing conversation with the city and with themselves.
It was an emblematic comment: Tilburg as organism, resilient and sometimes stubborn. Their conversation curved from municipal projects into deeper terrain—childhood memory, failed projects, the lives they’d almost chosen. Youri confessed, with a candor he surprised himself by adopting, that he’d been thinking about leaving the city. “Not permanently,” he said, “but enough to press reset. I keep thinking about Amsterdam, maybe a small place near the water. Different rhythm.”
Their conversation pivoted when Stefan brought up an old mutual acquaintance—an art curator from Eindhoven who’d once promised them both doors into a European festival circuit but had quietly retreated. “I bumped into her at a conference,” Stefan said. “She mentioned a residency in southern France. Thought of you.” youri van willigen stefan emmerik uit tilburg
Youri looked up at the warm blur of the street lights and said, “I will.”
Stefan considered this, looking at the tramlines with an intent that made Youri uneasy. “You never liked Amsterdam when we used to go for shows,” he said. “Too polished. Tilburg has… teeth.” Tilburg continued to rain and to rewrite its
Their conversation turned toward more urgent matters when Stefan, after a few minutes of watching a late tram disappear into the damp night, said, “There’s something I need to show you. Not for anyone else. Just—come.”
“You heard about the redevelopment on the Oude Warande?” Stefan asked, breaking the easy silence. That provisionality felt, in the end, less like
They spent the next hour assembling fragments—polaroids arranged like constellations; snippets of interviews with city workers; the distant murmur of market vendors. The result was not an explanation but an invitation. The project asked for attention rather than judgment. “We can curate a small exhibition,” Stefan said, eyes alight. “A night where the city comes in to listen.”