The V1 struck the house of God in a devastating and ear blowing crash. The walls crumbled, the cross fell on the altar breaking into pieces, flyblown stones tore the air. Joost felt a sting in his head, cutting the soft structure of his left eye. Then all went dark. When he gained consciousness, he was at the hospital. His left eye was gone forever, his friend as well. The boy, with whom Joost traded places, was found dead underneath the debris.
Since that day, 2 February 1945, he saw things different from most of us. Joost grew up without depth, in a flattened world, perspective being something invisible. Yet he learned to draw it. His father taught him to understand space.
Seeing what others cannot and being blind for what is common to most, has an impact on the thinking.
‘A painting,’ Joost claimed when in his forties, ‘is by nature a flat surface. I, as a painter, have to respect that quality.’
‘You are not being consistent,’ I accused him, pointing at ‘Museum’, a mixed media on board with a very eye-catching, three dimensional head drawn in a blue circle. ‘There is also a stair, which is definitely not flat.’
He didn’t flinch. ‘Each painting dictates its own laws,’ he said. ‘I follow the necessity of the work. If it asks for depth, I give it depth. If it demands simplicity, I obey. Consistency is a poor substitute for truth.’
Then I noticed he did not only draw or paint the third dimension in this work, he actually attached another piece of board on it, casting a physical depth. ‘And that? What is that?’ I asked, nineteen years old and keen on outsmarting dad.
‘That’s for real,’ he simply answered.
Eleven years later, 1993, the monograph of Joost was presented in Galerie Hüsstege combined with an exhibition. Werner Moonen, fellow painter and friend, closely watched ‘Museum’. ‘What a painting! He defies every rule, yet it all adds up to the strength and power of the work.’
More on Joost? see www.sicking.nl
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