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Cover image: Everyone here calls me Mrs Bauhaus. The Life of Ise Frank A Biographical Novel
Letter from Irene Hecht to Ise Frank after Jana Revedin’s book, “Jeder Nennt Mich Frau Bauhaus: Das Leben der Ise Frank.”
Munich, Winter 1945
I did miss you. Why I was committed to you in the first place, I don’t know. Perhaps, it was the way you spoke to me, your vivid voice. Adorable, Barthes once said, a voice that vibrated between gravity and lightness, qualities I didn’t acquire but envied. You achieved a well-formed voice which was ahead of time while mine was lacking. Your voice was your weapon and language, your style. I didn’t lack style but your worldly voice muted me. You were in control, Ise, and so I retreated, sinking into a sphere of reticence just listening to you. What we cannot say we must pass over in silence as, Wittgenstein knew so well, the absent voice. Sure, there were times I wanted to challenge you but it wasn’t a competition. I didn’t play language games, certainly not in German. I couldn’t meet your perfection and the gap between my intention and expression widened as time passed. I pretended my interest in your tastes and freely exhibited my deficits. Your perfectly formed voice too often injured me but you didn’t hear it. I am still working on my image here and, perhaps, I should stop, since speaking to you is anyway, a redundant idea.
 “Everyone calls me Frau Bauhaus: The life of Ise Frank.”