Nas Entrelinhas (Between the Lines) is a series of interviews about handwriting, objects with stories, and everything that transcends the immediate. A space for cherished letters, unlikely lists, and gestures that take time.
For this edition, I invited Sofia de Moser Leitão. Between Lisbon and Paris, she builds her own universe made of curiosity and culture. She always seems a step ahead, yet with a knowing eye on the classics.
There's a clear narrative in everything she does. In ceramics, she found a language of imperfect forms, strong colors, and an almost naive side, embracing humor and lightness.
She comes from fashion but isn't limited by it. Her work has solid references and refined taste, visible in the pieces she creates, in how she lives, and in the images she produces for brands that choose her as their muse.
There is consistency, but also freedom. Space for chance, for error, for uncontrolled gestures.
We talked about love letters, kept papers, and calligraphy. Between rituals and memories, the essential idea remains: creating is also preserving, repeating, and insisting.
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To whom would you write a letter on paper?
I confess I exchanged many letters, almost all with boyfriends or romances. In fact, almost all my loves involved exchanging letters.
I keep them all, since I was 15. It's a bit of a strange archive, perhaps. I almost never re-read them, but I like knowing they exist, as if they were old versions of myself that are still there, intact.
I imagine that one day, later, I will open that collection of letters and find them amusing.
I think writing about love on paper is more honest. The gesture itself is more honest than writing on a phone or computer; it demands a certain time, a certain choice of words, a commitment.
What inspires you to create?
One thing that inspires me to create is listening to music.
I can't be in my studio without listening to music. There's a ritual: I arrive, make coffee, turn on the speaker, connect my phone, and from then on, the music stays with me all day.
It helps me enter a more intuitive, more open state. As if, somehow, it gives permission for the work to happen.
A book that impacted you.
A book that impacted me was Bonjour Tristesse, by Françoise Sagan.
It was a book I read with immense pleasure, and to which I've returned more than once. There's something in the way it approaches emancipation, psychological games, a certain subtle immorality… themes that have always interested me.
An artist who inspires you.
I have several artists who inspire me — off the top of my head I'd say Helena Almeida, Anni Albers, and Sonia Delaunay.
For their work with color, for the way they organize it, almost like a language. There's a very constructed, very conscious freedom that attracts me.
An object that lives on your desk.
Unfortunately, I don't have space for a desk at home, but there are things I always have in the bag I carry around: my agenda and my Moleskine notebook, which I buy two new ones every year, and where I write and draw everything, and a box with colored pens.
What is always in your stationery drawer?
Paper, pens, pencils. Always. Despite everything, I'm quite old-school in that regard. I've never used a phone calendar; I always have everything written by hand.
What's on your Papelaria Moderna wish list?
On my Papelaria Moderna wish list, there's a very simple thing: a good pencil sharpener. I don't know why I always lose my pencil sharpeners. Last summer, François, a friend of mine, gave me a special one, but I've already lost it, obviously. They seem to have a life of their own. Nothing beats a good quality pencil sharpener.
And then there's another thing, more emotional. Besides letters, I really enjoy writing small notes, to say thank you, congratulations, or just mark a moment. So, I can never have too much stationery. A beautiful set of correspondence, with cards and envelopes, is always something I appreciate and know I will use. And if they're as nice as Papelaria Moderna's, even better :)
Brass pencil sharpener with leather pouch
What stationery item would you like to exist – and no longer exists, or never existed?
The stationery item I would like to exist, and that never existed, would be anything capable of changing my handwriting.
I've had virtually the same handwriting since I was 10: childlike, a bit crude, but completely recognizable to those who know me.
If there were a device, a kind of guide for the wrist and fingers, that would help me write more beautifully, to be taken more seriously, I think I would invest immediately.
A piece of paper you could never throw away.
A piece of paper I could never throw away are my grandmother's letters.
Every year, on my birthday, she writes me a short letter, but always with beautiful words.
The cards themselves, in truth, are almost always quite ugly. If it weren't for what's written inside, I probably would have thrown them away. But this way, I know I would never be able to part with any of them.
What is the best letter you could receive in the mail?
Perhaps the best letter I could receive in the mail would be from my brother.
He's one of the people around me whom I least imagine writing me a letter (because he's quite modest and reserved), and perhaps for that very reason, it would have even more meaning. It would be a huge surprise. And I know it would touch me deeply. (I hope he doesn't read this)
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