Saturday, March 20, 2010

spring has sprung!

The other day, while rooting through boxes of old photos looking for vintage pictures from high school to post for my facebook friends, I came across this:

It's a vintage sheaf of xeroxed calligraphy from back in the old days, when Dave and I worked with a ragtag bunch of our compadres at a hole in the wall print shop in San Francisco, owned by Dave's former brother in law.

This portfolio of sorts belongs to an old and dear friend of mine who has since gone on to become a successful graphic designer and artist.

These were some of her first efforts at calligraphy and design for customers at the shop, and I think they have a certain sweetness and innocence to them...these days any 3rd grader can put together a pretty professional looking flyer for a grocery store on their home computer, but back then, setting type was an expensive proposition, so hand lettering was certainly a cheaper and more creative option.

But I think my favorite sample in the lot was a hand lettered original poem that I've never forgotten all these years later. It's really the perfect poem for today, the first day of spring:

I sat seeking inspiration
and someone must have told
because the day put on a show for me
at first nearly deafening me with
the sudden outcry of watercolor
(still dripping in its newness)
then its perfume brushed me,
weaving around knees
slithering through toes
as I inhaled a breath of song
(and I must say it did tempt me)
I think it was the blue flavor
of the wind juice,
harmonious on my tongue
that made me decide
to eat spring.


1 comment:

Diane Fassler Chasmar said...

Whoa Nelly! I just found this on your blog! What a blast from the friggin' past. I was just perusing your blog about the "hole" in Queens, where I served some of my youthful years also... and lo and behold, my poem from high school! (A homework assignment written right before class that went on to be published our the local rag.) Anyway, Jane, I did get your package of calligraphy. Thank you. Where should I file it? Under "pile from the past?" As digital as my work is, I still work amongst towering paper piles. How does that happen?