Basel, Switzerland.

When I look back on this time period of my life a huge dark gloomy cloud overtakes me as it had then. I am no stranger to depressive states or moody melancholic blues, I am an artist, that is part of this life for me. But even now having had so much time to process this place, I feel I am still met with such a deep profound sadness, albeit paired with a compassionate quiet nod of acceptance. Like the feeling I imagine of a massive old growth tree falling in the forest where no one is present to hear it’s cracking crash. A moment for something that seemingly would last the test of time yet molded, rotten in the roots, finally giving way to nature’s call.

I was not myself coming to this place, I was not myself in it, and I was not myself leaving it. I ached deeply for a feeling I used to come by so easily in foreign lands, the thrill of exploration and endless possibilities. But all I saw was gloom no matter which way I angled the camera, or my mind. I felt like someone had placed dark shaded sunglasses over my face without my consent and like a feral cat I manically tried to rip them off. There was an under current of anger inside of me, an overcooked soup of withholding for the words I could not find the courage to speak. My heart like a web of loose tendons sheepishly hung like a hammock in my chest cavity beckoning me to come and lay down forever. I wandered, walked, journaled like a mad woman to document it as best I could. I’d re read my entries for months after, trying to relive my days here, some of which I’m still unsure if I had ever uttered a single word. I’m not sure what I was hoping or digging for, a logical understanding? A specific moment or epiphany where I could make sense of it all? Debates of free will, destiny, karma, fate, self prophecy echoed in my mind for far too long. And still after all this time I dream of returning to this land to revisit the paths I walked, to stand in front of our apartment door, to walk the hill with the cows, to buy overpriced cheese and vegetables, to stare into the water of the Rhine and reach for you in a place where I never really had you anyway.