Brief aan Philip Zilcken Possibly 1923

This letter was written by Rose Imel in Guimauche in 1923. It's a page saturated with the intimate gesture of handwriting. Can you imagine Imel hunched over a desk, the nib of her pen scratching against the paper as she poured out her thoughts? I feel like I’m looking at a landscape of language; the loops and lines of each letter forming hills and valleys. The words lean into each other, creating a texture that feels almost tactile. It reminds me of Cy Twombly's scribbled paintings—a kind of controlled chaos where meaning emerges from the accumulation of marks. The dark ink creates a rhythm that feels almost musical, like a score waiting to be played. The slant of the handwriting seems so personal and impassioned; a quiet intensity, like Agnes Martin’s muted color palettes. Artists, writers—we're all participating in this ongoing conversation, riffing off each other’s energies and finding our own voices in the process. Each mark, each word, is a testament to the enduring power of human expression.