My parents are engaged in the slow process of cleaning out the home they’ve lived in the last 35 years. Recently, for example, they cleared papers out of an old secretary my grandmother used (my dad’s mother). READ MORE
Perhaps it was because he was the only other living person in the graveyard. But the old white-haired man, sitting with a straight back on a stack of wooden stools caught my attention. Or, perhaps it was the sound of his work that piqued my curiosity; the graveyard was silent other than the tapping of his mallet.
Two years ago, Steve Heller invited me to submit images of my type sketchbook. I loved how he didn’t ask whether I had a type sketchbook, rather he assumed I did. It was an honor to share images, but also a bit scary as I’ve never shown my sketchbook to anyone before. After submitting the images and answering a few questions about materials and process, I didn’t hear a word. To be honest, I wasn’t sure if anything ever came of the project.
Yesterday, a small cardboard box arrived, and as I walked up the driveway, I tried to puzzle out who it was from. When I opened it, I was delighted to see a hard-cover book from a Kickstarter campaign I backed months earlier, and had nearly forgotten about.
When I buy a piece of handwritten ephemera, it’s because something caught my eye: a decorative swirl, a unique number, an unusual color ink. Other times, it is because one individual letter is so spectacularly beautiful, buying it is like acquiring a work of art.