A level above hentracks
I’m just too young to have had to deal with an inkwell. Or a pen with a nib that required constant care and attention. I’m sure that if my school had required me to adopt such a tool, my handwriting might have improved. No hentracking allowed. Anyhow, a short documentary, this morning, showed me one side of the page that I’ve missed.
The Melodies Graphiques, somewhere on a side street in Paris, is devoted to fine pens and papers. (No, I haven’t been there.) The owner encourages his clients to test things, and provides a blank page in a bound journal to show the result of that transfer from fine motor control and messy ink to something legible. And then, he stores the journals away. Had done so for years and years. The pages are exciting, and static.
Watched another documentary, predating my life, where I learned about the steps involved in the construction of a steam locomotive. Not exactly a skill set that you find in my neighbourhood. I have a whole new appreciation for the ability of man to meld metal into something greater.
It’s almost spring; the season when winter boots collapse from fatigue. Another year, and another tube of Shoe Goo. Perhaps enough to get me through to sneaker season, so that I can leave the new boots in their box, ready for a future on another calendar. I’d like to keep my feet dry for a few more weeks, so I’ve spread the goo into the seam cracks. I mean, worth a try, right?
