The Word Pit

The pit is well filled. Almost to overflowing, all these early words look up at me. Those combinations of letters that push open the little door at five in the morning and call out: "Hello, here I am.

These past few days, these wonder-fidgets have been sorely disappointed. Their hope, after all, was to set the alarm, just to wish my synapses a good morning as the first order of business. Each one of these morning-words showed up right on time, gave a friendly nod, and got shunted onto the siding. Not a single one of these inwardly marvellous words made it into a story. And I feel guilty about that. Sorry, guys.

These past few days have been a bit hectic. And partly touched with chaos. Then again, I have just dared the great move from Switzerland to Canada for a second time. How so? Well, my professional ties to Switzerland and Germany go back over twenty years. Though “ties” feels like a rather thin word for it. What began as a straightforward exchange of services and invoices has become something more. Trust grew, and so did the appreciation for the people working there. And all those shared stories don’t simply rub themselves out. That would be something.

But times change us. And so do the situations we sometimes find ourselves in. Voluntarily, one hopes.

Since I joined Team Canada — with everything that comes with it — the situation has redefined itself more than once. And I could not, or did not want to, close myself off from the dance of the life cycle. I live, breathe, and think more and more in the Canadian way of life every day. Oh yes, that is something. After all, I spent over sixty years shaped by Basel and Switzerland. Which today amounts to an enormous advantage. Because Basel and its spatial constraints — squeezed in between Germany, France, and the canton of Baselland — gave imagination more room to roam. But what influenced me most was the ignoring of borders. As a young person I would regularly cross into France or Germany to spend a Saturday evening or an entire weekend “abroad.” Borders were more of a symbolic quantity than a political one.

Here in the second-largest country on the planet, there are few neighbours who can offer up a border. We do, however, have three coastlines — enormous ones — to show off with. To the west and to the east and even to the north, we are islanders. In a manner of speaking.

But back to the border-adjacent neighbour. We really only have two direct neighbours. With the southern country of the USA, we share less and less — but still the longest open border in the world. And our second neighbour has its border on Hans Island. That is where we meet Denmark. Which makes the border-hopping of my Basel youth rather more sprawling and complicated here.

And here is the reason I ignored my morning-splintered word-friends. I have moved my internet-driven infrastructure out of Europe and definitively into Canada, into the province of Québec. Not out of whim and fancy, but purely from knowing that Canada is where I am at home. Where I work and live. And where I want my data and deeds to live as well.

What’s more, my current and so far biggest project launches at the end of the year: CANARTA. This art and artist project is exclusively about Canada. Yes, with love and passion too.

Well, at some point I will become a border-crosser again, and on account of CANARTA. Yes, in more than one sense. Though here I will become more of a province-hopper, setting out to discover the land and people of Canada. And to understand them. After all, the northern hemisphere offers me four time zones that are well worth visiting.

Right then. Let me come to a close. I want to officially and earnestly apologise to all the ignored words of these past few days. Sorry, guys. I promise you that one day, some of you — or perhaps all of you — will become a story. Word of honour.