Carried over my right shoulder, I took this chair home from an antique shop (which was like a warehouse) in Amsterdam. It was as carefree as picking up a new tote bag. It has a sturdy make. The structure is so simple, there is no breaking it. The seat is low, so when I sit, I feel small and perched. It is a nameless chair, used as a place to plop my bag and things. Slightly aloof, there is no tension around the chair.
The deciding factor was the orange color of its legs. It represents the memories of the various orange colors I saw in the Netherlands. The color of kroketten, which are slightly spicy version of crispy fried croquettes (and now these are surprisingly reddish-orange—highly saturated). The construction site trucks in mandarin-orange color (that were placed along with prefab structures in green like the lawn in this photo, owed to the admirable Dutch taste.) The logo for OBA, which made me grit my teeth in jealousy because it was not fair that a public library could be so amazing, is… oh, red (but a kind of red that could pass off as being orange). Nijhof & Lee, a bookstore that is no longer around, had a shop business card with a backside that was orange.
I googled this just now — the Duke of Oranier, or the Duke of Orange, was in command when the Netherlands was liberated, and therefore the color orange came to be fiercely loved in this country as a symbol for freedom and independence. This brings to mind the heavy beer that I had in Amsterdam with a friend who talks about things like this when drunk (or even when not drunk), and how the sun hit and made the translucent orange shine so bright that it still lingers on my eyelids. As I look forward to the day I go back, the legs of this dear chair remain so dazzlingly bright.
Written & Photographed by Natsuko Yoneyama