Lovers of words have close cousins—lovers of the letters that comprise the words. And there’s a couple of roads those letter lovers drive: one where they enjoy seeing certain letter arrangements, getting a visual delight from seeing a particular dance of letters. For instance, words like “lagniappe,” “flummoxed,” “bollixed”—I get a kick out of seeing those words. Perhaps it’s their alliterative alliances, the letter twins hopscotching, arms entwined. But it’s not just a double-consonant that charms—”chockablock,” “whisper,” “pendulum”—the list of eye-candy words for me is endless.
There’s also an aural bite that’s chewy: if you’re like me, you hear the words in your head as you read, so particular letter combos ring a brighter bell in the mind’s auditorium. I’m a slow reader anyway, but when I see a word that touches me both visually and aurally, I’ll say it aloud a few times, mouthing its syllabic shape. Hey, there are no horses around to spook, so I’m safe. I even like words about language: diphthong. Yes!
But there’s another angle (and an ascent and a ligature and a stem and on) to this word wrangling: typography, a deep study all its own. Despite (or because of) my own crabbed hand, I’ve always loved to look at nice cursive handwriting, the swirl and swashbuckle of the written word’s flow. More fascinating to me are people who mastered some measure of the calligraphic art, where the letters can be exquisite expressions of both control and whimsy. But higher yet on this communication column is the typographic designer, who combines some elements of painstaking engineer with soulful artist.
Doyald Young, Master Typographer, Beautiful Being
The reason I’m going on about this, other than the matter that I’ve always loved letterforms—and loved strolling through typeface books to ooh and ahh at the myriad ways to work with words as a visual form—is the image above. It’s a still from a movie available free on Lynda.com on the life and work of Doyald Young, master typographer. Young, who died a little over a month ago, comes through in this movie with such a presence: warmth, genuineness, curiosity, and most telling of all, love. Love for the pursuit of his art, its expression, its failures and allures.
I can’t draw a stick man to pet a stick cat, but I can appreciate someone like Doyald Young and the deep well of feeling he draws from to work his lettering magic. He understands that emotion and drama and mirth can be conveyed in those not-so-simple strokes, and as he said in the movie, “I’m still learning to draw.” We all should have such capacity for learning.
I hope whoever letters his tombstone takes a good measure of the man, and makes it right.
Watching Doyald Young do his art reminds me of my grandfather, who also was extremely attentive to detail, and who so lovingly, perfectly executed every single letter he ever formed. Judging from the sorry state of my hurried printing, I did not get even one toe into that part of the gene pool.
One of my favorite pieces of eye (and ear) candy is “susurrous.”
Susurrous—yes! That’s long been one of my favorites too. I thought about putting it in the list, but it was another of those suspiciously alliterative allies of mine, and I do hate to be so rrrrrepetitive.
As for gene-pool good penman(or woman)ship, my handwriting looks like I wrote it with my toes. Sigh.