Hello everyone! I just want to share some stationery sets from Japan and scrapbook decor and stickers from Korea that I received in the mail today. It has been a while since the last time I collected artsy-craftsy materials like these, so it was really a breath of fresh air to open up my package and to find these pretty things inside. They’re so cute for words!
Lately, I have been wandering on a road to rediscovering the lost art of writing letters. I have almost forgotten what it feels like to hold an actual paper and to write actual words—all through my own hands and fingers: not by merely typing them on a digital device but by actually allowing your fingers to glide smoothly onto the smooth surface of papers and to translate your message and call it your own.
The truth is, I am no stranger to writing on an actual paper and writing with an actual pen. I have my writing sessions with my journal on a weekly basis and every once in a while I do scrapbooking and collaging (for which I came up with a name: trash art). Writing is my blood and bones, and I cannot imagine a time when I am without words. But when it comes to communicating with other people, writing with pen and paper almost feel like a thing of the past. But aside from the all-too-obvious justifications as to why writing letters has dropped to an all-time low (They say it is all because of the rise of computers and the advancement in telecommunications), I would also like to think that there is something much more than the average analysis that the Digital Age is left to blame. I think there is something crucial that is left unnoticed and unaccounted for in the declining activity of writing letters.
The crucial aspect is this: the passive acceptance of loss which remains unchallenged within every individual becomes the perfect recipe for the collapse of the art and culture of writing. Most people disregard the idea that the art of writing is dying—I say art emphasis on art and not merely the dry execution of it—and dismiss the activity as inessential or unnecessary. But this simple disregard is dangerous, for it preconditions the mind for the absence of the subject and ultimately, for its total loss.
I wish I could state my ideas into words as clearly as I conceive them in my mind. But somehow, I reach this deep limbo where I get stuck with my thoughts and everything becomes ineffable, wordless. But despite all barriers and interference in language, I would still like to believe in words as much as I did when I was young, when words were all I had against the cold silent world.
Perhaps what I am trying to say is this: maybe if only people would return to their belief in words, in writing, and if only they would stop using language as a means to an empty end (or one could say exploitative, alienating) then maybe the lost art of writing could once again be regained, restored to its original place in the lives of humans. Maybe it sounds ideal, or imaginative. But to think that all one must do is to open up to words, to allow art and language to fuse into a union and to merge with his or her own, then no more does it not sound too dreamy or whimsical at all.