2.2.1861 2009

This letter, dated January 20, 1861, is by Danh Vō. It's a copy of a letter written in French, by Saint Théophane Vénard shortly before his execution. The blue ink sits delicately on the page, a stark contrast to the heavy subject matter. What strikes me is the act of copying. Each word, each stroke, is a deliberate act of tracing, both physically and emotionally. The words form a kind of ready made, but Vō's labor invests them with a new, contemporary significance. This isn’t just about replicating information; it’s about embodied knowledge. Look at the way the ink pools slightly in certain areas, creating subtle variations in tone. It's almost as if the act of writing becomes a form of drawing, and the letter itself becomes a palimpsest of past and present. It reminds me of the work of Cy Twombly, who often used writing and text in his paintings, blurring the line between language and gesture. What is it to copy, to repeat, to find a moment of connection across time?