Love Wim’s masterful sensual use of light and colour.
Twenty years ago, when flying in to Manhattan from Vancouver to be with then lover, Mahattan cabaret singer, Frans Bloem, I would meet Wim. As all I ever do is sense energy and think of anyone encountered as a Michael Overleaves puzzle – is this a warrior or just a cynic? – I knew without a doubt that he was an old soul. Like every other old soul encountered whose overleaves I have done, I felt a sense of home, acceptance and harmony for being in his presence.
At the time, Wim was sick in bed with the flu and so I went out shopping and got him some Campbell’s soup – what do I know about making homemade soup? – and spent part of an evening hanging with him. The interlude was truly memorable; it was like being in a dream which, incidentally, is also another hallmark for me of being in the presence of an old soul.