A Moment With is a series of conversations and visits into the worlds, spaces, and practices of others, seen through KERN1.
On a late Sunday afternoon in early March, I met with Julie Brigati of Every Form of Poetry to watch her practice the art of copperplate calligraphy.
I first met Julie a few weeks earlier during a course she was teaching at the Hartwig Proxy in Amsterdam. What struck me most during that class was the attention and calmness with which she worked. Each letter appeared slowly and deliberately on the paper, guided by a steady hand and a careful eye for precision. After the course finished, I reached out to Julie. I was interested to hear more about how she first began, and to see where she practiced this craft in her own environment.
Before dedicating herself to calligraphy, Julie worked in PR in LA, and NYC. She always loved her handwriting, and writing had always been part of her professional life. Colleagues would often turn to her whenever something important needed to be written. At some point she decided to take a short calligraphy course, initially out of curiosity, realizing that it really fit her. From that moment on, she kept studying, practicing, refining, and learning more about the technique, the rhythm of the pen, researching the history of it, and the discipline behind each letter. The process never really stops, she tells me. There is always more to refine.
Copperplate calligraphy lives somewhere between precision and imperfection. Each letter requires careful balance: the spacing, the pressure on the nib, the rhythm of the lines, the centering on the page. Julie strives for perfection in every stroke. Yet the beauty of the craft also lies in the fact that it is made by hand. No two letters will ever be exactly the same.
Slowly, people around her began to notice her work. Friends started asking if she could address invitations or write cards. Then friends of friends reached out. What had begun as a personal fascination gradually grew into something more serious. Today Julie works together with her partner Marjolein in a graphic design practice, where calligraphy and typography meet design.
The Sunday afternoon we met turned out to be surprisingly sunny. Soft light poured through the windows of her home, highlighting Julie as she prepared her tools. While setting up the workspace, Julie tells me she often wears navy or darker colours while working, simply to avoid staining her clothes with ink. For this meeting, I brought two Chanel jackets, one from 1991. Only once we sat down together did Julie mention that it also happens to be the year she was born.
We also got to speak about time as the biggest luxury. In a world that moves increasingly fast, time has become a rare luxury. Calligraphy requires the opposite of speed. You cannot rush it. Sitting down with pen and paper means committing to the process, practicing again and again, allowing yourself to slowly improve. And when the letters don’t come out as you hope, you probably need to go even slower.
She notices that more and more people of our generation are drawn to the practice. Perhaps because when writing calligraphy, you cannot do anything else at the same time. The phone disappears from the table, and your attention narrows to the paper in front of you.
Julie often practices at night. When the day quiets down, she sits at her desk, listening to music, breathing in and out as she writes. The pen moves across the page in a rhythm that feels almost meditative. A moment of stillness.
The jackets worn by Julie, a navy four-pocket bouclé jacket from the 1991 Fall Winter collection, and a late 80s double-breasted relaxed fitted jacket with collar are available in the KERN1 online store.
Images by Philia-Santana