Oh dear Lord

On the morning of the same day that we took the train back to London, we went to Ons Lieve Heer op Solder (Our Dear Lord in the Attic), which I’m sure I’ve blogged about on the old blog, as me and Z have been there before. D is a bit of a church fan, not in a religious way, but in an old buildings way, so it made sense to take her and A to see what is my favourite random and less well known museum in Amsterdam. The Netherlands became a mainly Calvinist (protestant) country in the 1600’s, but still allowed Catholics to practice their form of Christianity, as long as they did so in secret. As a workaround lots of houses where converted into churches, and Ons Lieve was built in the attic of the wealthy merchant Jan Hartman in 1663. The rest of the house has also been turned into a museum, with historically correct decoration and furnishings.

And you guys know how much places like this excite me, don’t you? Places were I can drool at colour combinations and beautiful details.

Initially me and Z were not sure whether we wanted to go back to this place as it felt a bit ‘been there, done that’, but we were both so glad that we did. We could take it in in a completely different way, and it was actually really nice to not use the audio guide this time round, as it gave us the chance to look at everything again, without being steered of where to look.

I think I’m starting to have a thing for rooms with the walls covered in fabric. It just feels so cosy, and deadens sound perfectly. I’m not sure how practical it would be in real life, as the fabric must surely get very dusty, and will probably have to be professionally cleaned, because good luck with fitting the fabric in your washing machine and ironing it.

See what I mean? COSY. And I’m not sure why the Dutch use actual rugs as table cloths, but they used to, a lot. In fact on the last trip to Amsterdam we had lunch in a really quiet but cool café, where all the tables had rugs on them. Doesn’t strike me as very hygienic, but best not to think about it too much.

‘Know yourself’. How apt for a mirror.

And another thing I’m crushing on? Box beds. Same thing - super cosy. I think cosy is my most important feeling I want from an interior.

Our dear Z in the attic. Hallelujah.

As you climb the narrow stairs you finally arrive in the church part itself. Here’s D taking a picture of the altar, standing in the nave. Listen to me with all my church knowledge! Well, I’m about to finish a 10-week long online course on architectural history, which has been just awesome, but as hardly any secular buildings have survived that past couple of millennia, the course has mainly been about churches. So if you want to know about narthexes, apses, ambulatories, and clerestories, then I’m here yeah?

I eavesdropped on this guide showing a group of teenage girls around. She was so enthusiastic and engaging, she really had them paying attention. I also felt very proud of myself for understanding everything she said - in Dutch. I guess I’m blowing my own trumpet in this post, huh?.

Some sculptures near the part where the church organist would sit and play.

There were also some items of clothing dotted around the place.

I really dig the mustard colour of this priest’s robe.

Not sure the meaning of this (so I guess it’s time to put that trumpet away), but I’m sure it means something, seeing as a dove symbolises the holy spirit? Maybe it’s just trapped in the attic.

Z checking out the linen curtains; she’s actually ended up choosing very similar for her house.

Two angles of where the priest would sit in the confessional.

And Z on the side of the confessor.

D, matching the warmth of this room.

These Delft (Delft! Somewhere I really want to go one day) tiles are so nice, aren’t they?

And this one, shaped like a newel post (it was right next to a staircase). I know I say it a lot about places I’ve blogged about, but seriously, if you’re ever in Amsterdam, you HAVE TO check this place out. I’ve never seen anything like it, and my pictures don’t do it justice. I also find the juxtaposition of what it is and where it is - the Red Light District - quite amusing. I’m sure Jan Hartman would be turning in his grave if he knew.