Briefkaart aan Philip Zilcken before 1915

This postcard addressed to Philip Zilcken by F.M. Melchers feels like a small, intimate gesture frozen in time. Look at the handwriting, how it flows and loops across the page, like a dance. You can almost feel the pen pressing into the paper, the weight of each stroke. The ink itself is a delicate, almost translucent brown, like faded memories. It reminds me of Cy Twombly's scribbled paintings, where the act of writing becomes a kind of drawing, a direct expression of thought and feeling. There's a beauty in the imperfection, in the way the lines waver and the letters lean. It speaks to the vulnerability of communication, the way our words are never quite able to capture the fullness of what we feel. In the same way, the act of painting is one of discovery, a constant negotiation between intention and accident. Just like life, right?