Basel, the city of alchemy and humanism, in February 2020. Photos by Antti Filppu. I visited there shortly before the world changed and went under lockdown. For years I had not been anywhere, and even this little journey had been cancelled many times already. I wanted to have some of that good old perspective of a real tourist again. For various and quite obvious reasons, actually. Northern Switzerland has become familiar to me during the last decade and a half. I have been a few times to Dornach since 2008, but never had the chance to really see Basel itself. Was I destroying whatever little remains of my reputation there may have been left, with this ever-flowing talk of one and the same thing (I will not mention it now). Something else was needed here, for my old f(r)iends and all strangers, too. And if I was annoying, please just let it go by. I have been honest and searching for the truth, like most of you?
Anyway, now I have learned that love and grandmothers indeed make the world go around. And I saw "pictures of naked ladies" hanging on the wall, though not quite like Blackie Lawless himself. I went to Fondation Beyeler to see Claude Monet's water lilies, but the line was too long and winding. So I took a walk in the garden and found a free exhibition at the Kunst Raum Riehen. I decided to give it a try. There were Jenny Rova's beautiful features all over the place. I was moved when I came out of there. In the age of hard porn a few nude pictures don't really mean anything at all. But there was love and romance in those photos, and the surroundings were somehow resembling the ones I have come to know. I was really touched by the exhibition.
About the grandmothers, I accidentally met a few older ladies during the weekend. We had conversations (in a tram and the hallway of an auditorium) that were meaningful and gave me a sense of purpose. I have always loved and believed in the grand mothers, for their human and warm-hearted wisdom. Somehow there is an endless wiseguy talk (of hate and despise) in this world. And it has been growing everywhere for years. The care of our elders has been questioned, and it works in both ways. We take care of them, and there is a kind of hidden flow of "something higher" given to us in return. This is how it has always been, although the ways differ. The ideal is the same. We need their thoughts and prayers more than we know.
Encouraged by this lady in a tram, I met Nietzsche once more. And following my own lines of work, I found Paracelsus in his old home, known as the Pharmaceutical museum. Not to mention Hermann Hesse, I stayed two nights in Hotel Krafft, where The Steppenwolf was written. For various and quite obvious reasons, to repeat myself again. There were many others, too. I had raclette and bought a few books. Even this poor little journey would not have been made without my beloved grandmother.
