Dear Andrei and Bruce,

I briefly answered your question last week, Andrei, in issue #362, but I wanted to come back to it. Your comments kept going round in my mind, and when a tough question makes me feel uncomfortable, it is usually because there is some truth in it.

You are not the first to criticise The Red Hand Files for its content, however, I think it is important to say that when I answer questions about grief, these are only a fraction of the hundreds of letters that arrive daily from people experiencing various forms of loss. Reading these letters over the years has profoundly changed how I understand the world, so I tend to gravitate towards them. I see them not merely as sad letters, but as letters of immense spiritual value, for hidden behind their distress is an invaluable insight into what it means to be fully alive. Through the breaking open of their own hearts, these people, these grievers, point the way toward tending a world many of us feel is in urgent need of reparation. To me, these apprentices of loss are the holy ones who, for an excruciating time, live in acute and shocking proximity to the essence of things. In their raw, unguarded anguish they stand at the point of revelation, deep in grief, blindly gesturing towards some unbidden thing, unaware that the unbidden thing is, in fact, grief’s own outrageous beauty awaiting them. This view has developed not only from my own experience, but also from reading these letters – the writers have shown me the way forward, and I love them for that. I am indebted to these people, and it would be remiss not to acknowledge their considerable efforts in writing and in laying themselves bare. In fact, I feel a deep desire to advocate for them, and this is, to some extent, what this website is for. Grief is so often made to hide in the shadows, to be internalised as an unwelcome, disorderly, improper thing. Perhaps, deep down, posting these letters is a form of protest too – against flat-Earthers, against half-lived lives, against respectability, good taste, and decorum, I don’t know.

But, Andrei, I’ve looked back at the files and you are right, there’s been considerable grief lately – I’m not entirely sure what to do about it though. People die, and the letters come, and people are sad. “Life is beautiful”, I respond, because it is true and good to say so. If you happen to unsubscribe from The Red Hand Files because you feel it is not the place for you, I suggest you still keep them in mind, in case you need them one day. In the meantime, I hear you, and I will try to be a bit more diverse.

Bruce, I couldn’t let this one go! I’m stunned that you had Philip Guston as an art teacher. I didn’t know he was one! Such a brilliant artist – an extraordinary colourist and master of paint, subversive, radical, playful, tough. I’m envious! He was a hard teacher, but a softy? That’s funny to think about, but I relate. My friend Andrew Dominik calls me hard on the outside, squashy in the middle. Susie says the same. Wow, Philip Guston as a teacher? Awesome!

Love, Nick

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