From Zurich to Saint Moritz
Zurich to the Mountains — April 17 till 23
I arrived in Zurich and eased into the rhythm of the city: quiet walks through winding streets, a visit to the Kunsthaus, and a stop at Galerie Calabro, where I exhibited my work last year. I finally met Paulina in person — until now, we had only known each other through emails. It felt good to connect face to face.
Zurich, though beautiful, didn’t quite settle in me. Nijinsky once wrote about how much he disliked it — too cold, too businesslike. I understood what he meant. Still, I visited the clinic where Dr. Bleuler examined him. It’s now part of a university, closed and quiet when I arrived. That same day, I received an email from Klaus, the professor who had given a lecture on Nijinsky (you can find the details in the previous newsletter.) He mentioned he would’ve liked to meet, but of course, I was already on the move again. He also recommended a book I haven’t read yet, the one he had used in his lecture in Münsterlingen.
By April 20, I had traveled down by train to Saint Moritz, where Nijinsky wrote his diaries before going to Zurich for an examination by Dr. Bleuler.
It’s here that the landscape — and my state of mind — began to shift.
I hiked alone through forests and over alpine trails, constantly aware, breath shallow, fear close. I tried to tell myself it was just the altitude, but the tension ran deeper. I barely took photos — something I only realized back at the hotel, transferring files to my drive. And yet, I kept going. Two days in a row I faced it, and now there’s a strange pride in that. Not because I wasn’t afraid, but because I moved through the fear of being harmed or facing a violent encounter.
There were moments of hyper-awareness, of near-panic. But also moments of wonder — the landscape revealing itself again and again, cliché and stunning. I often didn’t take the picture. It felt like it would only flatten the experience.
This whole project — In Search of Nijinsky — has been a journey through history, landscape, and emotion. Around the lakes where he once wandered in anguish, I walked too. And yesterday, standing before the Morteratsch Glacier, I felt it: maybe the most beautiful moment of all. Nature at its most immense. where you feel small, where everything falls away, blissful, all-encompassing. A moment of surrender to it all.
