Ode to Type

I believe anything in need of your hands to happen, is a trade thus; Design is my trade. Not dust, dirt or splinters, but days ending in ink stains as we pack our collection of pens into our work belt and gently tuck our adobe suite into it’s sleepy state, fuelling it for the next day of hammer, nails and stature.

Now, call me silly, naive, obnoxious, whatever you  like, but my old shameful old self once doubted the beautiful magic behind typography. Please know that I really am apologetic for ever thinking such thoughts and saying those mean words. Thankfully, my life has been re-arranged and I can see past such dismissive conceptions.

What a beautiful thing. Poetry for the eye. Simple wit, clever ideas, an ancient tool given life and quirk. Using it to conjure up images and thoughts in minds that are unaware of its sorcery. Excellent.
It’s a dark arts intelligence for muggles; a much loved tool in the shed.

And all of a sudden, the folly is amiss; see for yourself.

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