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Early this year, an acquaintance asked me to graph this line from a patient who had passed. “She and her family were just lovely, and she was an intelligent woman and quite particular with her verbiage. There was a phrase that she used to say all the time and we (the hospice team) loved it”.

A pragmatic prevarication with a propensity for oratorical soneration which is too pleonastic to be expeditiously assimilated

Since privacy laws don’t apply past death, I was allowed to share this lovely line. As with all pieces, I tried a few different scripts, and a lovely text like this wanted italics with some flourishes. And as always, it’s a bit nerve-wracking as you get to the end, but that’s also the thrill of longer quotes.

Living in Vegas, I regularly use the slot machine analogy for calligraphy. Gamblers are addicted by the notion that a loss is “almost winning”. It’s the same while making these pieces. I’m rarely satisfied with a piece, so I keep trying until I run out of steam and move on to the next project. But in retrospect, I’m usually quite happy with the result.

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Since I was so busy at work, I was happy to tackle the project, but I didn’t ask for money—only for the time to do it right. After a long wait I sent these variants out and was reimbursed way more than the cost of shipping. I guess this makes this my first paid commission!

After my daughter was born, I discovered the On Taking Pictures podcast. Bill and Jeffery had a Google+ online community, where I met Tanya while tackling the weekly assignments. She’s a great photographer with over a decade of daily projects, it’s well worth checking out her IG and website.

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Emily Dickinson

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Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I’ve heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

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I tried this poem with “my” new favorite script, but I’m worried it’s becoming a thoughtless default, so I tried again in cursive with brush and fountain pen.

I’m not sure any of these are the right fit for the poem, but I’m also trying to avoid torturing myself over these one-off poems. I’ve got plenty of second-guessing while scribing those books!

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                                    All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms;
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lin’d,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper’d pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well sav’d, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

William Shakespeare, from As You Like It, spoken by Jaques

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I’m still infatuated with this script, even though both the Girl and Mama find it illegible. This one was graphed over 4 sheets and stitched together in GIMP. Unlike the Lord’s Prayer from the week before, I had switched inks before start this piece, so there is a slight natural gradation in the actual piece, which is pushed further in the computer.

A piece this long still prints out small on a letter sized sheet, so I need to look for shorter poems…or go back to my book projects. But things are so busy at work, I’m having a hard time slowing down in the mornings to take a breathe of calligraphy. This office pace, which started in December, is not sustainable, but hopefully the new guy who joined our team this week will take some of the load.

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