June 2025 - Marineterrein
This years graduation show for the Sandberg Institutes Master program Studio for Immediate Spaces is taking place partly on the Marineterrein and partly at Mediamatic. My work zooms in on the Marineterrein and my positionality on this site as a participant of this years graduation exhibition and as a sensing body in space.
Graduating from the Studio for Immediate Spaces a course in Interior Architecture majorly concerned with what we call critical spatial practice, the focal point of our engagement lies with space as both a medium and a site of (in)active engagement. Engagement with the space as well as with other living beings and thus the structures we construct around these by definition meaningful interactions. The linguistic attention on space here feels slightly misguided, as space, very bluntly put, is the overarching frame for place. What interests me as ‘the spatial practitioner’ then is the actively alive locus of making and unmaking place. How can one engage immediately with the spaces made places that surround us?
Departing from the map as both metaphor and object central to the history of the Marineterrein, the following text is an attempt to sense what a map could mean in context of its use as a device for positioning and locating. I here offer my personal reflections on my positionally in this space, the Marineterrein, as inherently spatial observations with reverberations in my immediate surrounding. Considering the history of maps and other navigation devices in the locality of the Netherlands, it is clear how they generated and furthered a cultural and economic system built on notions of ‘progress’ and ‘conquest’. Where maps normally strive for accuracy and all engulfing representation, I would like to rather strive for an opaque encounter of affect. Traversing different temporalities, (neo-)geological layers of extraction as well as more specific localities, the following text can be read as an alternative cartography of layers of meaning which seeks to invite and include rather than stratify and exclude. Simultaneously I must acknowledge how my very positionality at an art school (graduation exhibition) as well as my choice of language is inherently exclusive.
The following text is a personal exploration of the built and unbuilt environment of the current Marineterrein, the loose ends of threads left unattended and those already carefully twisted into yarn to be worked with. It is as such an explorative attempt to unravel and loosely re-knit the very strands the current urban fabric is made of. The text can be read as converging cartographies, all zooming in on certain encounters of meaning which served as the orientation points in an urban scape layered in multiple centuries of meaning and use. In this context it will try to conceptualise and actively engage with the layers of positionality my own body occupies in this space made place, working towards what I would like to call ‘an anthropology of a space’.
What is so obviously given in the name of the place didn’t strike me as particular until a few months ago. After almost five years in Amsterdam and countless visits to this space in the summer, the Marineterrein was suddenly revealed to me in its historic meaning of the word. The ‘terrein’ of the ‘Marine', the Dutch navy. “Es fiel mir wie Schuppen von den Augen”, I would say in German, a saying that doesn’t make sense but would roughly translate to ‘It fell like fish scales from my eyes’. It is written in the German translation of the Bible and has made its use into spoken language. However mundane a revelation like this I find myself shocked for weeks afterwards by what I just discovered. As if I was blind to that which was right in front of my eyes. Just like the biblical character seeing again after his eyesight had been on the brink of disappearance. These moments of banal revelation, where meanings to words which are blatantly obvious have cloaked themselves into normalcy via a certain dissonance of the word and its meaning, have always struck me as magical. As if I am all of a sudden closer to a more original and arcane knowledge, as if I just have excavated the remains of some linguistic archaeology undiscovered for millennia. First built for the Admiralty of Amsterdam in 1665 to construct warfare ships it was originally a harbour basin. In the beginning of the 20th century however, the Marineterrein was taken over and made into its current spatial manifestation by the Royal Netherlands Navy.
Noticing the yellow beams under the wooden stairs, I focus on the built structure they enclose under their seemingly neat design. The Schietbaan. Building 022. The shooting range. I imagine the bullets erupted and fired from a weapon, probably a Glock 17 if I follow what I read on the Wikipedia page listing all the equipment of the Royal Netherlands Army. The long tube still echoes with shots if you listen closely. All buildings here on the Marineterrein have been marked by numerical codes of three digits. The aforementioned one enclosed by the newly built yellow beam structure is labelled with the numerical code of 022. Building 022. The shooting range. Easy and simple. Numbers simplify and fulfil the dreams of organisation and order. Numbers replace names and orientation becomes like a maze of coordinates to orient by. Creating its own cartographic logic, the Dutch navy built its own self referential architecture now to be translated into a newly designed urban city quarter. However, the remnants of this once fourteen hectare spanning terrain are still to be found on the edges of this space: the naval base of the Royal Netherlands Navy still remains, in a significantly smaller space, approximately one hundred meters north east from here. The Dutch navy to this day is called the Royal Netherlands Navy as part of the Royal Netherlands Army. Although in the Netherlands the monarchy is not officially a governmentally constituent part of the country anymore, its power and also glorification remains graspable in countless Dutch traditions and gestures. Their glorious riches built on the countless voyages of extractive maritime routes, which perpetuated a hierarchy of being to be reified in tales of twisted pervert fantasies of domination.
Standing here, with a suddenly newly sharpened vision, I walk towards the edge of this paved path and gaze across the waters letting let my eyes rest on the three masts in the close southern western distance. Appearing on horizons, they must have peaked into the heavens only to emerge bigger and bigger the closer they moved to their destination(s). Upon closer look, if I squint my eyes just right (I am wearing contact lenses) I can make out the pattern of the flag: abstract geometrical shapes in different colours, signifiers of communities imagined. The manifestation of invisible boundaries about to be transgressed. The shadow this ship casts looms more metaphorically than anything else. As much as it is obviously in the space, it somehow disappears onto the Dutch backdrop: What is now on a sunny day a space by the water dotted by people in swimwear, used to be a site of colonial and military, or what the Dutch condescendingly call naval, relevance. Its original layout as the Amsterdam harbour back in the 17th century still designates its shape to this day resembling something between a triangle and rectangle when viewed from above. I always wondered about the certain weird layout and other irregularities in the space but just wrote them off as occurrences contingent in a weird artificial landscape. Or maybe I just did not care or was not confident enough to make bold assumptions. The Dutch landscape still strikes me as extraordinary in its artificiality and natural inclination to forget certain histories, a selective amnesia present in most European former colonial countries, even though the word former is to be debated. The shadows loom and creep up on me on this sunny day. Shadows are only cast when its sunny after all anyways.
I was told that it is hard to penetrate the ground here because there are big boulders of rock underneath the pavements. The earth here is not what it seems and I don’t know what I imagined in the first place if I’m being honest. Where do these big boulders of rock come from? Probably not the Netherlands. However, nobody seems to remember where these in the Dutch landscape almost extraterrestrial seeming lithic giants have their origin. I don’t yet know what to make of the obviously conflicted history that is this ground. The ground I am standing on is almost 400 years old. Back then the Amsterdam harbour is the biggest harbour in the world. However, the word harbour brings with it the weight of the routes the ships departing and arriving here travelled. The trading port, the harbour, as an architectural design of not only trade but destruction. Is there trade without destruction? Certainly. But the trade routes of the Dutch naval ships 400 years ago were certainly not a good example of such an equal trade. And to say it bluntly, quite the opposite. That which departed here and arrived there offset consequences ungraspable in neither words nor numbers. Amongst the intriguing and invigorating smells of tea, sandalwood, pepper and camphor from Southeast Asia, cinnamon and cloves from Ceylon, sugar and tobacco from the Caribbean, the traded goods included not only porcelain and silk but also slaves. Desirable territories on five different continents being brought under Dutch rule to provide a steady supply of those newly demanded goods. Quantifiable territories to be outsourced for their resources, human as well as material, all under the guise of trade, expansion and civilisation. The riches enmassed in these operations are hardly to be expressed with words. But what appears somewhere must first disappear elsewhere. The Dutch expansion to oversea territories as they later came to be called made explicit the power of this seemingly small swamp of a country by outsourcing its material monopoly via violent acts of theft and fraud. The ground I stand on now both offset as well as received those carrier messages, those bear-bringers and forefathers of what is now an economic system built on histories of inequality.
At the Rokin metro station, around 1,5km west west south from here, when you take the excitingly long escalator of the South entrance or exit, depending on where your journey leads you further, you can look at what was unearthed during the excavations for the construction of the relatively new Noord Zuid metro line number 52. The closer you go to that what we now call the city surface, the more recent, close in time, the artefacts become: ranging from prehistoric fossils to simple clay pots, from ancient coins to parts of long gone buildings facades, from both animal and human bones to old keys, from nails to jewellery of all kinds, from pomade jars to tobacco pipes, from oil lamps to horseshoes, from chandelier parts to 7up bottles, from golf balls to car rear lights, from American Express credit cards to a Sensodyne toothpaste. Geological foldings of history, processing in a, like the word geo-logical already gives away, logical linearity. One atop the other, progress building upon that what once was, what we now have superseded. Histories to be overwritten and replaced by newer items of productivity. The same evolutionist logic was employed on these oversea voyages undertaken hundreds of years ago. Under the guise of progress and process current politics of trade were employed to ‘civilise’ those others, those ‘without a history’. Exploiting the material riches of one locality to erase its ability to equally participate in these very tradings can be summarised as intentional inequality. The following slow implementation of our current economic system turned into an all engulfing thicket of financial relations built on these very systems of inequality.
Returning to the seemingly glorious ship, a reconstruction the internet assures me even though I am unsure if that makes it any better, it of course belonged to the fleet of the Vereenidge Oost-Indische Compagnie, short VOC (translated, the United East India Company). Often considered to be the first ever model of the multinational corporation, in its modern sense of the word, its power was comparable to those of governments, foreshadowing the current reality of a globally spanning economic system of financial capitalism in which multinational cooperations have replaced and superseded governmental structures. Back then, the VOC’s reach and impact in terms of maritime ‘exploration’ (as it is still sometimes called to this day) can hardly be overstated. Their fleet was the maritime extension of the state and therefore the predecessor of the now Royal Netherlands Navy as it later came to be called. Almost ironically, the street I now reside in is called Bataviastraat. Batavia is the Dutch name for modern day Jakarta, where in 1619 the VOC established a first capital in the port city to profit from the Maluku spice ‘trade’. Trade here implies however not an equal transaction but rather a colonial relationship of extraction. Words twisted and turned on its head. The simple act of naming signified so much more than just a few letters stitched together in innocence. Rather they were a direct extension of a globally spanning extraction project materialised in cartographic imaginaries.
Again and again I return to this contested territory. In my mind but also with my body. Deeper and deeper I sink into contemplation of the space my body currently occupies. I feel my body descending, as if suddenly submerged by a the slowly gulping force of quick sand. Don’t move, don’t make yourself suffer more. All I can do now is go deeper and deeper. With each layer I descend further into the layers of the earth, the layers of that history, that excavating hollowness of remains swallowing that which remains unsaid, those words overwritten. The traces remain invisible and I remain confused. Without a clear sense of direction where to go I seem to lose myself in the endless directions my mind pulls me. My body becomes what immerses my mind, and currently I’m not only standing here. The terrain is like a voyage undertaken hundreds of years ago. Dizzyingly unclear yet strikingly obvious in its implications. I orient myself along unstable coordinates, markers of a route to be undertaken.
To write as neither a Dutch citizen nor a Dutch speaker about this country and its history accumulated in a hyper specific locality which automatically extends to borders beyond ones own, feels somewhat estranging and simultaneously unsettling. I am overwhelmed. Maybe I am also trying to come to terms with and finally understand this country I have called my home for almost five years now. Because in a lot of ways this place still mystifies and escapes me. I still feel the same distance towards its culture and people since I arrived. Apart from a few Dutch people who have a special place in my heart (thinking of you, Stella), I managed to stay within those circles of comfort, those ‘expats’ (I despise this word) that orbit this place at a safe distance, always ready to move on, never fully settling. And that is not to say that I haven’t found a home in this city. I have. In a lot of different places. In a lot of different people. In a lot of different moments. But there remains this distance, unspeakable and inexplicable to anyone who doesn’t know what I mean and hasn’t felt this sense of estrangement from a home far from home. I don’t know. And maybe I will never know. Maybe this text is also an attempt to finally position myself in a locality that has in some way always eluded and escaped me and never allowed me to position myself fully. By locating myself, I also try to finalise what I started. Because to know one’s location means to take space. Because to occupy a body means to either take or make space.
As I find the green grass with a view on the little water nook where people are swimming, I lay down with a sigh and try to forget, a privilege that escapes me. Looking up at the blue sky, these views fail to take my mind off of what is underneath my stiff back. However, like the layers of the ground, words themselves also bear the markings of times past. I must confess my love for language, as if it wasn’t obvious already. As I am thinking about David Abrams ‘Spell of the Sensuous’ (my first extracurricular love at university), words always reveal themselves as more than what they seem and sometimes that is hidden in plain sight. The romantic in me, encouraged to roam free lately, feels words as spells. Just like the true names in the Earthsea books by Ursula K. LeGuin, expressing the true nature of a being or thing, which in turn grants immense power over it to those who know it. And words are those magical devices. However much less romantic than I would like them to be. Words have meanings. The spells they cast however remain invisible more often than openly perceptible. We build empires and work like well-oiled machines, we kill it (succeed) and occupy ourselves. We capture (moments, footage) and strive to execute (work) and be executives (leading positions), we kill to birds with one stone and meet deadlines. We shoot for the stars and defend our positions, we track bodycounts and are good to go. All of these terminologies have more or less militant and violent associations. The brutality of everyday language obfuscates the values these words encapsulate. Their reverberations resonating more strongly than anything else. The weaponisation of these words however transforms the spells spoken into curses cast. Bewitched and betwixt, between letters stitched together in words made to charm some while others bear the weight of the syllables uttered. Weighing down, some get dragged under, the wretched of the earth, where others fly higher and ever higher, like Icarus, getting too close to the sun.
However when I think of the militarisation of language, I not only mean its active use of militant vocabulary but rather also the way in which language itself is increasingly being used as a weapon, a thing to shoot with in ever less obvious ways. What happens when language and how we express ourselves ceases to be a sensor and sensing entity of our surroundings and instead locates itself as an ideological weapon of power? I am thinking about the very rhetorics that make up current discourses. Just like an abundance of other European countries, the Netherlands is currently witnessing a resurgence of right wing populism taking a hold of the masses by storm. However, witnessing doesn’t quite encapsulate the unconscious complicity in this slow transformation of language. And simultaneously this isn’t new. Language has never been neutral to begin with. Narratives of progress immediately link with the currently dominant economic system. Neoliberal rhetoric posits accelerations towards the future as investments that will pay off. Techno-fix after techno-fix, creating future after future, we are creating the dystopian visions of the future in the here and now, while failing to pay attention to the horrifying present and its potential for disruption in the now. According to this narrative, we all must prepare and arm up for the future that is dangerous and volatile. And in some ways I genuinely share the same horrid visions. But that is not because of some mysterious threat in the future, but because of the present and what is happening now. The same way language mythicises, also temporality does. The constant focus on that which is not yet written but soon to be etched into the contemporary completely and complexly takes the attention off the current and its actors of power.
Similar to what the economy underwent in the last decades to finally become the free market (a dream turned dystopia), current debates around language also increasingly revolve around the narrative of (individual) freedom. The logical consequence of this narrative, free and unregulated expression, continues to infect and politically charge discourses bathed in feverish neoliberal dreams, which often expose governmental apparatuses as parasitical and dangerous to the freedom from regulation. Here, the individual freedom is always posited as the central theme around which politics and regulatory acts should revolve. However, who is the free individual we are talking about? Most often it is the euro-centric idea of what the ideal citizen turned consumer should look like.
However now, what we are witnessing is, once again, a shifting framework of who is supposedly allowed to say what. Turning victim and aggressor roles up its head, the alt right is abusing the claim to inclusivity in their fight for unregulated ‘freedom of speech’. Simultaneously, ethically valid questions are being positioned as hindrances to bigger questions needed to solve our political struggles. By this, right-wing populism is actively reframing and thus shifting the socially acceptable frame of what is ok to express. With an intentional desensitisation to language, and thereby obfuscating its mechanism to hold and reify certain power structures, they at the same time create the over sensitive antagonist of woke-ism; those too sensitive, those wanting to censor their freedom of speech. Hence language and rhetorics in political populist discourse, is often specifically aimed at this reframing, this re-interpretation of original linguistic meanings. As such the creativity with which words are being used to form politically biased ‘opinions’, is to be admired. However, the ‘opinion’ those very rhetorics cloak are themselves racist and xenophobic ideologies disguised in often casual language. So, when Geert Wilders in 2007 says “Take a walk down the street and see where this is going. You no longer feel like you are living in your own country. There is a battle going on and we have to defend ourselves. Before you know it there will be more mosques than churches!”, he takes us on a stroll through a Dutch landscape that is in dire need of military protection. Freedom of speech in the context of right wing populism can be seen rather as a metaphor for an overall trope of freedom contingent with the dream of a truly neoliberal economy. However, what is here implied as freedom in truth remains only free for a selected few.
As I ruminate on the obvious meanings cloaked in rhetoric, the murky Dutch water next to me seems to clearly demonstrate the impenetrability of Dutch culture: cloaking what is underneath, always ebbing back and forth between newly surfaced shameful history and a glorious techno-financial future ahead. While on the one hand making efforts in addressing its violent colonial history and the wordings associated with this, on the other hand, Geert Wilders and his anti-migrant Freedom party (PVV) won the 2023 Dutch elections. The party under his lead can be summed up as right-wing, populist, nationalist, euro-scepitc, anti-immigration and anti-environment. They now share the governmental position with three other parties and thus created the most right wing government so far. However, as of the third of June 2025, the government has collapsed as the PVV under Geert Wilders withdrew from the ruling coalition due to serious disagreements over immigration politics. His extremely xenophobic ideals hadn’t been met and he thus couldn’t further imagine a collaboration. New elections are set for the coming autumn of this year. Zooming back twelve years years prior to this governmental collapse, Mark Rutte’s government is introducing unprecedented liberal policies to navigate the economic crisis. In the same year, 2013, the Ministry of Defence decides to sell the Marineterrein, its previous naval base. However, because the municipality of Amsterdam couldn’t afford to buy the terrain at the time, it opened way for a collaboration between the Gemeente Amsterdam and the national government. A newly founded both publicly and privately funded cooperative, the ‘Bureau Marineterrein’, was and still is tasked with the administration and organisation of the whole open area until the Marineterrein is to be sold. Since 2015 the Marineterrein has been opened to the general public, as they first ‘opted for a slow transformation of the site, led by the historical value of the area, with the aim to create long-term value for the city and country.’ What is described as the historic value of the area however is first and foremost a historic building brick in the current economic experience of exploitation: the former colonial harbour of the VOC, the first multinational corporation. Financial system have completely engulfed all other forms of difference and ennui us with not surprising repetition. I must acknowledge and admit how the militarisation and capitalisation of language seems to be the logical consequence of a world built on currents of financialisation and commodification built on systematic flows of exploitation.
Maybe I’m ready to let go. Maybe I’m ready to leave. In a few weeks I am bidding this country farewell to plant my seeds elsewhere. The contaminated soil of the Netherlands (the Netherlands has the worst ground water in the entirety of Europe because of its liberal politics regarding plant fertilisers one of my best friends told me back in 2023) has served me long enough. I crave to set up new roots. And simultaneously it pains my heart to say this. Maybe this is also why I have been struggling to finalise this text. It is a last goodbye. So many layers of myself have I excavated and similarly integrated into my current being. So many positionalities have I explored within myself. As much as it pains me to leave that behind which I have built here I know that that which has blessed me here will not disappear. Rather the opposite. That which I love and that which loves me will continue to share and shape my experience of the world long afterwards. That which I tend to shall tend to me in return. These efforts will bear the regenerative yield of my care.
I look towards the north east of this site. Beyond the fences that still separate the leftovers of the Dutch military base from the rest of the opened side of the Marineterrein. Somewhere there, between the horizon and the sky above I imagine the new view that will be erected here in a few years probably. Imaginaries made from steel and concrete: new smaller barracks will be built on the part that is still behind the fences of Defense. This creates space for approximately 800 homes, more knowledge institutions, innovative companies and the expansion of the city park. This slowly creates a new city quarter.’ The ultimate goal seems to be another plot of land for development sold and capitalised upon. Amsterdam has been turning into one of Europe’s financial capitals and its housing market as well as real estate sector have transformed in a similarly liberal manner. As free living space is as scarce as ever, the Netherlands is scrambling to house its inhabitants. So the plan to build housing onto the Marineterrein does not come as a surprise and most certainly seems logical to begin with. However it is the above mentioned selective amnesia of Dutch remembrance culture which allows this site of historical bias and ideological meaning in the context of financial capitalism to easily shape shift into a new plot of land for interesting developments and thus materialise into a extremely contested site that leaves a weird aftertaste in my mouth and entire body if I am being honest.
Simultaneously there are a few officially recognised and protected public monuments on this site: the, now, Maritime museum and former Land’s Zeemagazijn as well as the original defence walls which encircle the entire terrain. Both of these date back to the middle of the 17th century. The current Maritime museum was designed in 1656 by Daniel Stalpaert, the first city architect of Amsterdam appointed in 1648, who also supervised the construction of the new town hall of Amsterdam, now the Royal Palace on Dam square. Most notably however, he designed the fourth city expansion of Amsterdam, which transformed Amsterdam from a small harbour city into a major European trade and industrial hub by extending the now characteristic and infamous three Grachten in the city center, namely the Heren-, Keizers- and Prinsengracht. This transformation was prompted and made possible by the establishment of the country’s oversea colonial relationships and transformed Amsterdam into the city we know to this day. The southern part of the defence wall, also noted as building number 003, dates back to similar times and is protected ‘to preserve maritime history’ as the Marineterrein used to be a highly restricted territory for multiple centuries. Its northern part dates to the late 20th century. Two other buildings, namely number 024, built in 1860, and number 031, built in the early 20th century, are protected under cityscape measures and must therefore also be kept intact. Most other building date from the 1960s. The heritage central to this space therefore remains most importantly of military and maritime importance. The for 2018 set departure of the Royal Netherlands Army ultimately did not happen due to strategic reconsideration and continues to be an important part of this site.
The markers of memory focus on one side of history, and so this place remains a space of military relevance both in historical and contemporary terms. Although I find some historic context on the website of the Marineterrein, a lot of stories remain untold and a lot of my questions remain unanswered. So, what happens when memory for some is different than others? When somebody’s monuments mark the pain and exploitation of others? The very monuments we chose tell a history and often perpetuate normative orientations. It is then obvious how the creation of value, both culturally and in terms of real estate, is supported or contested by the wordings we use and the stories we tell. Historically dense places are being translated into assets to be speculated with. However, current developmental plans for the Marineterrein remain nebulous and there is is no concrete end goal to this experimental piece of land. Nevertheless it for sure will not be able to escape the financial flows of value creation and subsumption for long.
The development plans however predated the strategic reconsideration of the Marine and its remaining occupation of almost half the current Marineterrein. In these plans, the area is separated into three major parts. The most western part by the water is to become a mix of educational institutions, horeca’s and open space. Next to that are the above mentioned housing structures supposedly for inhabitants of all socio-economic backgrounds. And lastly, considerably smaller, the Navy should remain in the northern east most corner of the terrain. The first two areas should be openly available to the public whereas the latter remains closed for the general public. However a planned running track with a helicopter pad in the middle is supposed to provide some cross section of convergence. It is as of now a green space by the water, with a lot of paved paths and roads in between reminiscent of its former usage as a military base. Currently a lot of companies and educational facilities reside here on short term contracts due to these nebulous plans for real-estate developments potentially soon to be realised. The old buildings of the navy are being used by these creative companies as well as educational facilities. Also a hotel as well as multiple restaurants and cafes are to be located on the former military yard. Moreover, there is increasingly space for artists and other creative projects to contextualise and re-naturalise the surroundings in an environmentally conscious approach. It is a self-labeled creative and innovative hub for experiments in and for the city.
Once again and one last time, I localise myself at this site, but this time as something else. Not as a visitor, not as an experiencing body, but as an object and a commodity adding cultural capital and thus economic value to this area. The commodification of life itself is like the logical consequence of rising prices in a scarcity economy. What role does my body as a contributing ‘artist’ (I am not an artist) play? How do I contribute to this creation and circulation of value by adding ‘art’ as a culturally prestigious commodity to a site of soon to be sold soil? How many euros, hundreds or probably thousands of? However, I cannot refuse, thus I partake. When the all engulfing thicket of financial relations pertains all life under capitalism, how can we find new scripts ‘to rewrite urban relationships previously controlled by financial networks’? I do not have the answer to this question and if I would, I probably would not be sitting here and writing this text as part of an institutional graduation exhibition. It feels almost impossible to find these small pockets of hope in which life doesn’t feel inherently intertwined with the financial flows of value which surround me, us, in almost all moments of the everyday. I would like to end this on a hopeful note but I cannot lie to myself. Maybe my sensitivity to and care for language and the (built) environment are my small pillars of hope which I try to keep up. Tracing meaning and intention, I try to find different readings and wordings, slowly tending and caring for different ways to word and thus to world.
References/Reading List
(01) https://criticalspatialpractice.co.uk/
(02) https://www.amsterdam.nl/projecten/marineterrein/#PagCls_17364081
(03) https://marineterrein.nl/
(04) https://atlas.hubin-project.eu/case/marineterrein/
(05) https://openheritage.eu/wp-content/uploads/2018/11/15_Open-Heritage_Amsterdam_Observatory-Case.pdf
(07) https://arcam.nl/en/tours/diy-walk-from-arcam-to-kop-van-java-island/
(08) https://belowthesurface.amsterdam/en/vondsten
(09) https://www.azquotes.com/author/22351-Geert_Wilders
(10) Critical Spatial Practice 4: Substraction, Keller Easterling, 2014