In Good Company: The Lost Art of the Handwritten Note
Over these last pandemic years, we’ve become familiar with loneliness as conditions forced many of us to reckon with unchosen solitude. While technology does allow many adaptations to communicate virtually, these mediums often lack the depth of soulful energy we seek out in human connection. In this inspiring and powerful essay, writer and photographer Craig F. Barth shares how he discovered that art could forge a sense of shared presence with distant loved ones during a challenging time of forced isolation when he combined his creative passions of photography and writing.
As we age, we remember our lives more as a series of moments, and less as one uninterrupted continuum. At the time we originally experienced those moments; however, we usually had no clue as to their potential impact on our life! One such moment happened to me in fourth grade when Miss Case asked which of us would be interested in adopting a "pen pal" from England. Reflexively, my hand shot up. I've been handwriting letters ever since!
During my years as a student, over the course of my twenty-year marriage, and throughout my career in publishing, letters have played an essential role in my personal, social, and professional life. To this day, I rely upon handwritten letters to sustain my social life.
“Poised to Write, Craig's blotter and accoutrements.” ©️2023 Victoria Bell. Notecard image: “Peekaboo.” ©️2006 Craig Barth.
As we've been told, handwriting draws on a different side of the brain than does keyboarding. As Editor-in-Chief of a higher-education publisher, all my professional correspondence was typewritten. Appropriate, considering keyboarding draws on the left side of the brain, the side dominated by logic and language. My business letters, addressed as they were to authors or to business associates, were mostly in the form of exegesis and persuasion.
My personal letters, on the other hand, have been, and still are, nearly all handwritten. Appropriate, in this case, since handwriting draws on the right side of the brain, the creative, imaginative, and emotional side; the side most instrumental in the process of telling a story, something at the core of sharing our experiences.
In 1977, my employer relocated me from Lansing, Michigan, to California's glorious Monterey Peninsula. Once there, however, my career and family life completely swallowed me up. And then, wham! In the summer of 1999, I fell into a coma triggered by an endocrine system collapse. Imagine waking up one morning in the Intensive Care unit, dizzy and disoriented, head exploding in pain, and finding yourself suddenly allergic to nearly all man-made chemicals! Released from the hospital, I struggled to stay alive. Within the next month, I was placed under the care of a team of endocrinologists, one an expert in treating patients with extreme chemical sensitivities.
Over the next few years, my doctors struggled to put Humpty Dumpty back together, one endocrine gland at a time.
Completely incapacitated and highly sensitized to man-made chemicals, I had no choice but to walk away from my work life, my family life, and any semblance of a normal social life. Presented with this new reality, I spent the next several years flat on my back, energy-less and isolated. My letter-writing suffered, although I learned that Mom was immensely relieved when she received one of my infrequent handwritten notes.
After several years I had the strength to emerge from my cocoon - at which time I discovered I remained highly sensitive to chemicals. This necessitated avoiding most indoor environments due to the ubiquitous presence of ambient chemicals. Even the slightest exposure could send me into a seizure.
It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that if I were to have any kind of life, I'd have to find it outdoors. The Monterey Peninsula offers miles of rocky shoreline and scores of winding trails with breathtaking vistas. Best of all, the salty sea air coming off the Pacific is not only invigorating, but it's fresh and pure. Just what the doctor ordered!
As a part of my recuperation - and in response to my doctors' orders to get some exercise - I ventured out to explore the Peninsula's many wonders. On any given day, I could choose to: stroll Monterey's inner harbor with an eye out for Sea Otters lolling on their backs in the kelp beds; stroll down Steinbeck's famed Cannery Row; hike the trail from Cannery Row to Lover's Point in Pacific Grove; watch the sunset from atop the bluff overlooking Carmel Beach; hike around Carmel Point; explore the many trails of Point Lobos State Park; stroll along the beach at Stewart Cove; or walk along the steeply sloped sands of Monastery Beach (these but a fraction of outdoor adventures available to me).
I often sat in my car along the peninsula's rocky shores, reading a book as I listened to the ceaseless rhythm of the breakers. With nowhere else to go but home to my lonely "prison cell," I chose instead to partake in the amazing totality of it all: pounding seas, howling winds, shifting sands, tidal pools within rocky coves- morphing with the tides, the vast expanse of Monterey Bay framed by jagged, distant peaks, by cormorants sweeping low above the crashing waves, and by whales breaching farther offshore.
Although I had the energy to use a telephone, I found that writing personal letters, and receiving correspondence in reply, was better suited to helping me overcome the loneliness brought on by my predicament. Eager to write about the natural beauty I was experiencing, I began taking pen and stationery with me as I hung out in my car alongside the coast.
I'm one of those individuals who's never been able to enjoy a beautiful sunset - or beauty of any kind, for that matter - by myself. For me, life is not only meant to be lived to the fullest; it's also meant to be shared to the fullest! Unfortunately, for the first time in my life, I found words inadequate to the task at hand. Imagine attempting to describe the scene below with words alone:
“The View South from Carmel to Point Lobos,” photograph by Craig F. Barth, provided courtesy of and copyright Craig F. Barth
Only a photograph can do this panorama justice! As you might expect, I placed my trusty Olympus OM-1, with tripod, in my Volvo, making it accessible for use whenever a photograph "presented itself." Within months I began using my photographs to create my very own Photo Cards. After all, a picture's worth a thousand words!
Photo Cards have two major components of course: the photo, and the handwritten words that accompany it. A well-chosen photo enhances my written message by evoking an appropriate, complementary, emotional backdrop.
Here are several of my photos from my years in Monterey - with the story behind them and the feelings they evoke in me as I sit down to handwrite the card:
Photo #1) Carmel's Iconic Bell Tower
“Carmel Reflections,” photograph by Craig F. Barth, provided courtesy of and copyright Craig F. Barth
The Story: In the effort to reclaim a glimmer of companionship, even if only in passing, I haunted the sidewalks of Carmel. Carmel's famous bell tower is located smack in the middle of the intersection of Ocean and San Carlos Avenues. With my back to the west (and to the Pacific Ocean), I managed to catch the sunset's reflection on the bell tower's stone face.
How it makes me feel: This image draws upon several archetypes deep within us, starting with John Donne's "and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee." (By the way, this passage begins with his even more famous "No man is an island, entire to itself.")
The photo also draws heavily on our love of classical Rome and of the contemporary romance cultures in the western Mediterranean. The arch's symmetry and the weight of its stones convey balance and strength.
I call this image either "Carmel Sunset," or "Carmel Reflections." I use this photo when I wish to wax philosophical.
Photo #2) Gnarly Cypress
“Stairway to Heaven,” photograph by Craig F. Barth, provided courtesy of and copyright Craig F. Barth
The Story: The Point Lobos peninsula lies due south of Carmel. When approaching "the point" from the Cypress Grove Trail, the trail ascends a winding granite staircase. Emerging atop the stairs beneath the gnarled, windswept Cypress, one sets foot atop "the point," a rocky promontory high above the wind-swept waves of the Pacific. I spent many days lingering here, whether photographing the red lichen-encrusted Cypress Grove, or sunning atop the point, enthralled by the crashing seas below and the stunning vistas above.
How it makes me feel: Photography is "all about the light." Although I've photographed this stairway in many light conditions, in this instance, I managed to catch it in a rare moment of highly diffuse light, giving it an evanescent, enchanting feel.
This image draws upon the symbolism inherent in our archetype of the staircase. As we ascend, we lift ourselves up. Once we reach the apex, we expect to either be enlightened, that is, fulfilled by a loftier perspective, or unburdened from our earthly woes. In this case, our experience once atop the point does not disappoint!
I call this image "Stairway to Heaven," and as you might expect, I use it when I'm feeling poetic and wish to be metaphorical in my accompanying letter.
Photo #3: Big Sur Coastline Looking North
“Wings,” photograph by Craig F. Barth, provided courtesy of and copyright Craig F. Barth
The Story: This image is the only one in this article that was taken while I was in someone else's company- in this case, my son. Reveling in each other's company, we spent the day exploring the Big Sur coastline south of Carmel. We pulled over atop Hurricane Point since it offers such a magnificent view of the rugged Big Sur coastline, looking north towards the Monterey Peninsula. My tripod dampened the effects of the gusts blowing in from the ocean. To give you an idea of the scale involved here, you'll notice the massive Bixby Creek Bridge in the upper, central part of the photo. It stands 300 feet above the sands below it. Our perch upon Hurricane Point stands at least 700 feet above the waves. It's a precipitous drop off our ledge.
Interestingly, when the ex-patriot novelist, Henry Miller, returned to America in 1944, he settled along this coastline, just south of Nepenthe, making it his permanent home. "Nepenthe" is Greek for an ancient elixir used to induce forgetfulness of one's sorrows and grief. In the early 1950s, poet Dylan Thomas made the pilgrimage to Big Sur to visit kindred spirit Miller.
How it makes me feel: This bird's eye view evokes the mystique of the gods of ancient Greece and their view of the mortals below, perched as they were, high upon Mount Olympus. This invigorating perspective must surely have been shared by Icarus, just before he flew too close to the sun, and plunged head-first into the ocean: the price he paid for his hubris!
I call this image "Wings," and use it when I'm emboldened and wish to soar.
Of course, the second component in a photo card is the letter itself. As you've seen, although the photo can enhance the overall message in the accompanying letter, the written part of a photo card conforms to all the characteristics of written correspondence in general with this exception: in the case of a photo card especially, the message must be handwritten, since it's not possible to type directly onto a photo card.
These days, there's something quite special about handwritten communication. When someone writes me a handwritten letter, I've been given more than a digital representation of their thought; I've been given something deeply personal - the expression of their hand, a tangible manifestation of their being. Something as unique as a fingerprint. Something artful. And that is the gift I intend to give my correspondents when I reply using handwritten messages on photo cards.
For me, the process of writing a personal letter has evolved into an elaborate ritual. Once I get settled, pen and photo card in hand, I can't begin writing the letter until I've first prepared the envelope by addressing it; then applying a stamp to the upper right-hand corner; and finally affixing a return label to the upper left-hand corner. All as a way of "setting the scene" for composing the letter itself.
This preliminary ritual helps me reach a certain state of mind. When handwriting a letter or message on a photo card, I find myself magically transported into the presence of the individual, far, far away, with whom I'm corresponding. And then "presto," I no longer find myself in a state of isolation! I'm in good company at last!
As I handwrite a letter or message on a photo card, I find myself totally absorbed in the moment and in the process of sharing, which I so powerfully crave. It's as if I've fallen under a spell. Those who know me and who've seen me put pen to paper are surprised it takes me so little time to write a full letter. It just flows forth!
“When exchanging letters, one has the luxury of time. Time to read and re-read a newly received letter as often as it takes to fully “get it.” Time to reflect. Time for nuance; time to read between the lines; time for empathy. Time to consider just how to respond. No one expects a return letter to appear instantly in one’s e-mail inbox. Thank goodness for the luxury of time that written correspondence affords!”
But developing a correspondence with someone is more than just about me and how it makes me feel. It's more than just offering my experiences and perspective to my correspondents. The Concise Oxford English Dictionary defines "to correspond" as: "to communicate by exchanging letters." Exchanging letters is a two-way street. It's as much fun to learn about my correspondent's experiences as it is to inform them about mine. I often find myself ensorcelled by the letters I receive!
And then there's the matter of how much of what we communicate is actually retained. When exchanging letters, one has the luxury of time. Time to read and re-read a newly received letter as often as it takes to fully "get it." Time to reflect. Time for nuance; time to read between the lines; time for empathy. Time to consider just how to respond. No one expects a return letter to appear instantly in one's e-mail inbox. Thank goodness for the luxury of time that written correspondence affords!
Before concluding this piece, let me include one last image of Monterey.
Photo #4: Monterey's Inner Harbor at Sunrise
“Solstice Sunrise,” photograph by Craig F. Barth, provided courtesy of and copyright Craig F. Barth
The Story: Shortly before relocating to the high deserts of northern New Mexico, I took this photo as a way of savoring my experience living in Monterey. On my commute to work, I witnessed sunrise over Monterey harbor each morning for years, although it could only be glimpsed in my rearview mirror as I drove along the inner harbor from Monterey to Pacific Grove. It was time to experience sunrise directly.
How it makes me feel: As an amateur astronomer and photographer, I felt it symbolic to capture the sunrise over Monterey's inner harbor on the morning of the winter solstice; after all, from this day forward each year until the summer solstice, each day we receive progressively more daylight. And with it, presumably, more "enlightenment!" Despite humanity's collective efforts to achieve "dominion" over the natural order, the natural order - in all its power and magnificence - persists! And despite the barrenness of winter, from this day forward, we are assured that life, in all its verdant splendor, will return each Spring.
I call this image "Solstice Sunrise." It gives me hope, and I often choose it to complement my more buoyant messages.
I realize that handwritten letters and photo cards aren't for everyone. But if you wish to make an indelible, positive impact, surprise someone special and send them a hand-written letter. Or, better yet, charm them with a handmade card with one of your original images.
And if preparing handmade photo cards from your original photography becomes a hobby of yours, don't be surprised if someday you learn that many of your correspondents have been collecting your work!
About Craig Barth: Craig Barth is a writer, photographer, and filmmaker currently based in New Mexico. He is the co-producer of the documentary film “Sacred Land, Sacred Water: Confluences in the Rio Grande Valley,” released in 2018.
© Craig F. Barth 2023