Write, Fold, and Seal a Letter: Reflections
Reflection by Jane Nederlof
Buying a dip pen may have been the best decision of my life. In anticipating this little project, I looked forward to my dip pen initiation with a bit of trepidation. I had never actually used one, and so didn’t have very much faith in the pen’s capabilities. I was pleasantly surprised, though, by how smoothly it writes, and just how far one dip in the ink can go. If it wouldn’t garner too much attention, I would be tempted to switch over entirely. Opening up a bottle of ink in the middle of a psychology class in order to take notes may not be the wisest move, however.
Writing this letter was both a comfortable and exciting experience. As a person who both writes letters, and actively employs cursive, those aspects came naturally. The new dimensions, such as lone ink and the adventure of wax seals integrated themselves into my practice with ease. Everything about letter writing in this way is satisfying. The scratching sound of a metal nib, the security of a well folded and tucked sheet of paper, the ink residue on fingers, and the rich colours and images contained in wax seals.
This satisfaction has got to come from the deeper level of tangibility that comes with something decidedly non-digital. The time, creativity, and hands-on contact make it a very intimate form of communication. Even writing simple things to people felt meaningful. Thinking of a generation of people who used it as a daily form of communication further develops my affection for the practice.
If Victorians didn’t bat an eye at regular letter-writing as part of their day, would it really be so hard for me to sit down and spend 20 minutes writing, sealing, and addressing a letter to someone I love instead of getting lost in my phone? I know of a woman who writes a letter to someone every day. She has an impressive list of correspondents. Having the materials to craft letters in a way that celebrates the Victorian legacy prompts me to see if I can take up a similar practice. I learned a few things from writing a letter once. What would I learn from writing one daily?
Reflection by Lucie von Schilling
I value purpose, and letter writing is inherently purposeful. The Digital Age has provided a new pace for love and communication. People fall in and out of love while swiping through dating apps, and love letters are now written in ephemeral pixels and binary code. Long gone are the days of waiting for the mailperson to deliver your love’s latest correspondence or collecting your own thoughts into an envelope to be mailed away. I yearn for this purposeful correspondence back. I want my children to have a box of love letters to sift through, like children have had since the advent of paper. Great love stories have always been recorded in letters, and I fear my love story will fade into the digital clouds without permanent pen and paper evidence.
I wrote a series of folded love letters addressed to my partner, Eric, as a gift for his upcoming birthday. I followed Rebekah’s well-thought-out and detailed tutorial to construct my letters. The most difficult part of letter writing is the actual words. Once my words were written, folding and sealing the letter became meditative fulfillment. I decided to attach a ribbon to my letter with a little bit of sealing wax to elevate the letter's aesthetic. When Eric decides to open his letter, he can pull on the ribbon tab to break the wax seal. I appreciate that Rebekah’s tutorial includes a way of folding the letter into itself so there is no need for an envelope. This makes the final product extremely neat and efficient. I used my pottery logo stamp to seal my baby pink sealing wax. Using sealing wax is also very satisfying. It makes a pleasing crackling noise as the metal stamp is removed from the dried wax. I didn’t use a post stamp, as her tutorial suggests. I plan to incorporate the letters into a scrapbook, so there is no need to mail them.
After following Rebekah’s tutorial, I was extremely happy with my letters. I feel like I have gained a skill that I will continue to use: slowing down and recording life and love in a more permanent form. I cannot wait to give them to my partner.
Reflection by Kalea Raposo
The “Write, fold, and seal a Victorian Letter” tutorial was not only comprehensive and fun but also satisfying in allowing me to dip into my nerd collection of nineteenth-century stationary. I chose to transcribe a letter from Charlotte Bronte’s Villette (1853). Near the end of the novel, the protagonist, Lucy Snowe, receives a letter from her frenemy Ginevra Fanshawe informing Lucy that Ginevra eloped with a suitor.
The process of rewriting this letter in its original state immediately made its length more apparent. When reading the letter in the book, the pages fly—but, when writing out each word, comma, and em-dash, the page looms before you. At this point, I was having flashbacks to the two-pages-front-and-back-plus-the-envelope letter that Mr. Darcy writes in Pride and Prejudice. In my experience, when you have a physical product in front of you, your words become much more “real” and the decision to actually send this message to another is much more impactful.
Crafting this letter taught me about the commitment and consideration that communication demanded of the Victorians. Without the ability to delete a word or go back and add something that I forgot, the rambling nature of the letter I transcribed began to make sense. I ended up filling two sheets of paper with my out-of-practise handwriting. In true nineteenth-century fashion, I should have filled the back of the first sheet to save paper, but I wanted a clean surface for the seal and address. As a result, I had two chances to get the folding and sealing right. The sealing step was extremely satisfying, and I wish I could seal and stamp every email!
