Brief aan Philip Zilcken Possibly 1912 - 1918

Curator: Gazing at this, I almost feel like I’m intruding on a private thought. Editor: And you’re not far off. What we have here is a drawing by Arend Hijner, aptly titled "Brief aan Philip Zilcken"—a letter, most likely dating between 1912 and 1918. It's pen on paper, a rather intimate medium, really. Curator: Intimate is definitely the word! There's such delicacy and directness in the looping ink. I imagine the nib scratching gently across the page as Hijner set down his thoughts… Almost feels like eavesdropping. Editor: Look at the composition, how the words cascade down the page in neat, organized columns—an order in his regret, you might say. Semiotically, we can see how the hand-written form collapses the distance between writer and reader, even a century later. Curator: Absolutely. There’s an urgency that printing would kill, right? It whispers of genuine connection, the imperfections in his cursive rendering him that much more present and vulnerable. Editor: Notice, too, the texture the ink creates. Light catches some areas, giving the script dimension and shadow. See how Hijner uses darker pressure in strokes, providing emphasis but not necessarily clarity. You almost have to struggle with his message as he struggled with communicating. Curator: Maybe the ‘enverwachts garten gehreren’ he wrote—"something unexpected happened yesterday." The penmanship trembles with the news that something may interfere. This raw emotion feels tangible even after all this time. He sounds desperate! Editor: Perhaps that's part of the drawing’s beauty; it exposes process, uncertainty, intimacy. This wasn't composed as art, per se; it’s a quick—what to call it—artifact that invites curiosity. Curator: Indeed. Imagine, if the letter wasn't delivered and stored as we see today. I'm glad we're experiencing the thoughts between Hijner and Zilcken after all. Editor: A fortunate thing indeed. It enriches the dialogue.