Of Valaisan origin, I was born in the 1980s in the French-speaking part of the canton. I grew up while the ski resorts around me were expanding, spreading out, swallowing up the mountain pastures, meadows and barns, transforming the mountains into an infinite winter playground and an unprecedented economic windfall.
I'd never set foot or skis in Zermatt before, and there was no particular reason why I shouldn't have. They are transhumance journeys, or pilgrimages, that take time. So close yet so far.
Zermatt, then. The first syllable has the sharpness of a ridge line, the second the softness of thick, bushy grass. An iconic place if any, home to a large piece of Swiss imagery: the mountain that represents mountains, endlessly reproduced in plastic, paper and chocolate.
Opening my eyes every morning, sliding the French door, saluting the Mountain on the balcony. I was ready to consider it overrated, but I never tire of seeing it : a magnetic pile of rocks one can't quite understand how it holds together, triangular-shaped like the dresses of the Saints in the surrounding chapels, its kind and threatening shadow embracing the village.
During my stay, the sun bathed the silent valley at length, erasing the month of November and stretching out the Indian summer until the first snowfall. I witnessed a strange choreography: the summer facilities closed for maintenance, repairs and upgrades, then the winter ones opened, in an alternating ballet that left no one stranded.
Some of the restaurants and hotels are on standby. I walk through the village as if visiting the backstage area of a play, the set dormant, the actors and actresses warming up their voices.
It's a deep, delicious tranquillity, infused with the promise of the momentum to come. It rains larch needles, the carpets of thorns become mattresses. The invisible full moon cuts out the snow and rock. I write.
I write to circumscribe, or understand, or explore, what forms my relationship with the mountains, what I have inherited, what I have accepted or rejected, what I have invented, discovered and reflected upon.
That's the project I'm privileged to be developing at CERVO: delving into the history of the canton and focusing on the alpine landscape, researching the different aspects in which we relate to it, as mountain dwellers and mountain communities, and how it in turn fashions some parts of our identities. I believe this relationship informs how we take care of the landscape in the face of current environmental issues.
Heritage and tradition are often considered elements of the past, frozen in ancient times, irrelevant to our everyday modern life. Through my writing, I endeavour to bring heritage and contemporary together in order to explore how we can connect to our history and how much of it is constituent of how we perceive the world today.
Working between past and present with honesty, not for the sake of folklore, is, I think, one of the parallels between what I’m pursuing and CERVO’s philosophy.
We share the deep belief that we need the past to address the future, and that this is the way forward. Only when aligned with traditional values can a contemporary mindset be truly sustainable.
This is difficult to grasp as those notions are often seen as contrary. Making the best of our heritage while acknowledging climate change means walking a fine line that requires innovation, vision and humility.
CERVO demonstrates that we can honour our traditions, blend them with others, be open, curious and caring, while fully rooted in our corner of the world. This is an inspiration.
www.cervo.swissBEYOND EXPLORING