The Art of Letter Writing

I was recently talking with someone about pen pals. I have very fond memories of the ones I had in my early teen years, some from around the States and some from across the ocean. Letter-writing is a very beautiful and personal art form. I love to write letters and send them by mail. There's something exquisite about it that is utterly lost in emails and text messages. In one respect it's similar: in thinking one's words through ahead of the actual writing, choosing them with care, and nurturing a thought or a story until it has taken on a life of its own. But the physical act just isn't the same when the words are sent electronically. And taking the time- that precious and rare commodity that it is- to write to someone is a wonderful gesture.

I love the paper, the decision of which stationery to use. I love the sheets of paper held between my fingers, the thicker homemade papers, the crisp modern papers and on down to the thinnest onion skin of traditional airmail stationery. I love the smell of ink of any kind and the little dent I get in my right middle finger from holding the pen too long, pressed between my itchy fingers. Sometimes instead of a regular pen I like to use a delicate nib and a bottle of india ink in shades from deepest black to midnight blue and even the occasional sepia. I love to carefully fold my letter, with all its many pages sharing my life and soul with its recipient, into its envelope and then put on all the lovely stamps. One stamp with the proper postage isn't nearly as beautiful as many smaller priced stamps in different colors, sizes and designs filling the upper corner. For years, when I was more ambitious and had loads more free time, I would paint or color the outsides of the envelopes turning them into small, intense works of art in their own right. But now it's hard enough to find the time to write even a simple letter, let alone design a one of a kind envelope.

And receiving a letter is an equally fulfilling experience. To go to the mailbox and find something inside it that is meant just for your eyes, to share in another's life stories written in their own hand, to smell the ink and paper now a bit crunched from its journey, and even get a hint of the smell of the sender in it, now that's lovely. I'm not talking about the contrived letters of Nick Bantock's "Griffin and Sabine" trilogy here, but true art that is sent privately and from the heart.

As an artist I love having a real letter in my hand, one that is leaving me on its trip to someone I care about, or one that has just arrived from elsewhere for me to enjoy. It's a very visceral thing for me: to hold the thoughts and feelings of another in my hands, written in their own hand, inviting me into their life. There is nothing more personal and intimate than this. Letter writing: an ancient art form that is rapidly disappearing. How sad because there is nothing its equal to replace it.