On November 24, 1994 there was a explosion on the corner of Eerste Laurierdwarsstraat and the Laurierstraat in the heart of Amsterdam. At that time 36 years old artist Rob Scholte was severe wounded when a projectile in or under his darkblue BMW exploded. By the force of it he was thrown out of his car.

He was taken to the hospital for immediate surgery. From the knee both legs were amputated. His wife Mickey Hoogendijk, 24 years old, who was also in the car, was lightly wounded.

"People said it was my artwork but it was not my artwork.....it was the artwork of that fucker who did not want to reveal himself."

1999, the case is probably solved. The bomb was meant for a lawyer living in the same street and riding a blue BMW as well.
A private investigator, hired by Scholte, found out a drugs-syndicate wanted to prevent the lawyer to investigate about them. Scholte admits the mistake, but says he doesn't believe the switch is a coincidence.

A year after the event (1995), the attack on artist Rob Scholte remains unsolved. A strange phenomenon is occurring: increasingly, resentment is focusing on the victim instead of the offender.
[Note: Rob Scholte was invited to appear on Dutch television but they withdrew the offer at the last moment] This circumstance is quite characteristic of the strange relationship between Scholte and his homeland which has developed since the attack. It is as if the nation wants to collectively repress the events which took place a year last November, rejecting the figure of Scholte in the process. The same Amsterdam political-cultural vanguard, who almost weekly organise a solidarity meeting for Salman Rushdie, has reservations about his fellow-sufferer from Amsterdam. Instead of speculating on who did it, one rather talks about the ‘paranoid streak’ or ‘megalomania’ of Rob Scholte.

The victim is up for discussion, not the case; as if an extreme act of terror in the heart of the Jordaan never happened. It is the most peculiar swing, this trading of places between the offender and victim is the most bizarre shift that has been seen for a long time in the Netherlands. But what’s paranoid in the behaviour of a man who has been severely mutilated for life by a bomb attack, doesn’t know the identity of the perpetrator and who remains in fear of his life ? In such a situation, paranoia is the only adequate response. What has come up so far about the 'question of guilt' is not at all reassuring. This case shines a sinister light on the art-business in Amsterdam these days, and not only there. It’s an indication of the moral bankruptcy of a scene and an illustration of what can happen when the upper and underworlds of a city mix. The message of the Scholte case is that there’s something rotten in the kingdom of the Netherlands. The sense of discomfort and insecurity are growing with the length of the ineffectual inquiry.

The Scholte Affair is a British documentary from Nicam Digital Stereo.

This programme profiles the life of Rob Scholte, darling of the decadent 1980s Amsterdam art scene, who lost both his legs in a car bomb attack in 1994. Commercially successful and critically acclaimed, Scholte was envied by many of his contemporaries, but who could have hated the artist so much as to carry out this horrific attack?

"He is a man who loves talking about himself but he's also very cagey about how he's seen and put across. I told him we can't just have his side of the story."  (Ian Macmillan, producer of TX on how he stipulated to Scholte that he would be interviewing all those implicated in the incident for the film.)   TIME OUT April 8-15 1998.

"Scholte became an artwork himself........Everybody wanted to video the artist without legs [at Documenta, Kassel]. Somebody must think art is very important if an artist is worth blowing up."  (Desmond Christy, THE GUARDIAN, April 15  1998)

"Scholte had it all. A wonderful talent, paintings that sold for huge amounts of money, fame, a series of very beautiful and highly intelligent women......and by some accounts, he didn't care how rude he was to his friends. The Salieri in your soul could see why someone could wish him dead." (Desmond Christy, as above.)