There is a particular sort of envelope that never quite makes it to the recycling bin.
It gets tucked into a book, propped on a mantel, or set aside with the vague intention of putting it somewhere safe. Sometimes it stays there for years. The message may be only a few lines. The handwriting is the part you recognize immediately.
We've been thinking about the pleasures of correspondence. Both sides of it, really. The person who sits down to write and the person who comes home to find their name written by someone they know.
Getting started can be surprisingly difficult.
You remember an old friend while you're buying groceries. You think of your aunt while you're making dinner. Something reminds you of the people you spent a summer with twenty years ago. You make a mental note to get in touch.
And then, as happens with mental notes, you forget.
Bien à Vous was conceived with these small, unfinished intentions in mind.
Each month, we choose a shade of fountain pen ink and give it a name and a number. We paint a swatch by hand, write a letter about the inspiration behind the colour, and include a blank postcard.
What you do with that postcard is entirely up to you.
Perhaps you'll send it to someone you see every week. Perhaps you'll finally write to the friend whose Christmas card has been sitting on your desk since December. You might even keep it and write a few lines about the day you've had.
We're rather fond of the idea that something as modest as a postcard can become an occasion.
This journal is called The Letters. Here, we'll tell the stories behind our shades. There will be old French churches, peculiar words, familiar objects, flowers, places, and the occasional detour into history.
We hope you'll find something interesting to read here, whether or not you've picked up a fountain pen in years.
And perhaps, one evening, you'll think of someone you haven't heard from in a while, find a piece of paper, and write.
They'll be pleased to hear from you.
Bien à Vous