Just like us emene old fairy tale book the tie houses at the creek
bar brun red black
and d’amsel sings so beautifully dr brunne rushes
in front of every houus es car
s’last huus with plaster trains us past zyt
i dam harrow hey si bachet
d’begge vo allschwil
the scent of fresh fruit is gone everywhere
mysterious idyll e gmisch us old and new from and local
genuine and false
e gueti mixig to läbe
Comme sorti d’un livre de contes de fées ces maisons à colombage brun rouge noir au bord de la rivière
le merle qui chante si beau
la fontaine qui murmure
devant chaque maison and car
c’est ici also que se tient fièrement la dernière maison à crépi
temoin des temps passés
dans ce coin ils ont petri leur pain
les boulangers d’Allschwil
l’odeur de brioche fraîche occupe tout l’espace
idylle énigmatique mélange d’ancien et de neuf venu d’ailleurs et du cru
vrai et faux
un bon mélange pour vivre
pour se révolter de manière constructive.
idyll in concrete
neither front nor hindde
In Allschwil, a secluded place with a rippling fountain. One might think that time would have stood still here if the cars didn’t reveal that we are in the 21st century.
To be precise, today is April 13, 2022. The pandemic had us in a stranglehold for 2 years, it’s not over yet. It might start again in the fall. But right now spring is setting the tone.
It’s war in Ukraine. We are all threatened by nuclear weapons, natural disasters, humanitarian disasters. The future. Dark. Feelings are captured, bundled and become tools of power – for some, against others. The rest falls under the table.
Being in this place now reminds me of the time when I
the world began to take in me. Just the aircraft noise
didn’t exist then. Not here and nowhere else either.
It takes strength not to wear yourself out by giving priority to this atmosphere instead. A mixture of sounds: the hoo-hoo of the pair of Turkish doves scurrying back and forth on a roof ridge, the clattering of sparrows in the bushes, the splashing of the fountain
and of visual contradictions: the garden next to the fountain – a world full of rays of sunshine breaking through the young leaves of the Japanese maple –; these beautiful old houses – half-timbered, irregular, each beam structure asymmetrical, lovingly renovated -; the forecourt with the cars – a car, white, very clean, parked close in front of the house, with a chain tightly stretched in front of it as a barrier, next to it a box in a plastic flower pot, trimmed to a cone, terracotta-colored marking the entrance area of the house -; opposite the knee-high concrete wall with a wooden fence behind it
a brown PVC privacy mat camouflages the garden behind, from which a Swiss flag, already somewhat torn by the wind, is sticking out; and, back by the fountain, a small sign, alarmingly red and white, warning of the gently rippling water.
Familiar fields of tension through which we move. Things that are taken for granted in everyday life.
Everyday life in which breaks take place, areas of tension shift, the world changes gradually, sometimes abruptly.
(Mimi von Moss)