The morning’s torrential rains drove me out of the garden and into the print room to continue with the eulogy I’m working on for my father-in-law. While I’m pleased that the words finally fell into place in writing the piece, I found myself to be out of sorts (really!) as I began typesetting it. It’s no big deal, but simply means that I’ll have to print and diss each of the four pages separately.
Still, it’s a zenful activity – and I have time to lavish over the work. The contemplative motion of typesetting, the minute measurements of the forme, the velvety sheen of the ink, and then, proffing, prooffing, proofing.
It’s quiet, tranquil work that lets me think about the beauty of the words, their significance, and the tender void that lingers in our hearts. Sometimes I can’t resist the urge to touch the inky type and marvel at the ephemeral nature of the type in the forme, and paradoxically, the enduring character on the printed page.
First page is done – dissing to start again another day.