Brief aan Andries Bonger before 1917

This is a letter written by Emile Bernard. Look at how the letters form such dense lines; it's almost like the words are a flock of birds taking flight across the page. The ink is a deep, mesmerizing blue. Imagine the hand holding the pen, how the pressure varies, creating this pulsating rhythm. Certain words seem to leap forward, as if Bernard wants to make sure his friend really *sees* them. I see this letter as a kind of drawing—the words like marks that build up a feeling as much as a message. It reminds me of Cy Twombly's scribbled paintings, where language becomes texture, feeling, and a whole world of its own. Art is like that, an ongoing conversation across time and space. It's less about fixed meanings and more about opening up possibilities.