This is a letter, written by Emile Bernard to Andries Bonger, but when exactly, we don’t know. It's written in French, in a cursive hand, flowing and elegant. Look at how the letters connect, each word a little dance across the page. I imagine Bernard, pen in hand, leaning over the paper, the nib scratching softly as he pours out his thoughts. It feels intimate, like eavesdropping on a private conversation. I wonder about his state of mind as he wrote. Was he troubled, reflective, or simply sharing a moment of connection with a friend? The act of handwriting itself is so different from typing, isn't it? It slows you down, makes you consider each word, each stroke. Maybe, in that slowing down, Bernard found a deeper understanding of what he wanted to say. And maybe, in looking at this letter, we can find a deeper understanding too.
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