Daily explorations and quiet reflections
Not every piece is destined for a commission. Some marks exist simply to maintain the practice, to keep the hand familiar with motion.
This morning's practice revealed how much the hand forgets after just a few days away. The rhythm that felt natural last week now requires conscious thought. Each oval slightly different, spacing uneven.
This is not failure. This is the nature of craft—it demands regular attention. The inconsistency is data, showing where focus needs to return.
Earlier This Week
Received a bottle of iron gall ink from a small producer in Portugal. The flow is different than what I'm used to—slightly thicker, requiring a bit more pressure to start the stroke.
The color is extraordinary though. A deep brownish-black that shifts depending on the light. After drying, it has an almost velvety quality on this cotton paper.
Will need more practice to adapt my pressure, but I'm drawn to the organic variation it creates.
Last Month
Spent the entire session on basic strokes. No words, no flourishes—just upstrokes and downstrokes, ovals and compound curves.
It's humbling to return to the beginning, but also clarifying. Every complex letter is built from these simple elements. When the foundations are shaky, everything else suffers.
There's a meditation in repetition. The 200th oval teaches something the 50th couldn't.
Earlier This Season
What happens when you write larger than comfortable? The arm must move from the shoulder instead of just the fingers. Balance shifts. Control becomes both harder and, paradoxically, easier.
These oversized letters revealed habits invisible at normal scale—how I favor certain angles, where tension creeps into the wrist.
Sometimes you have to magnify to see clearly.
Because perfection is a myth that stops people from beginning. If we only ever show finished, polished pieces, we perpetuate the illusion that good work emerges fully formed.
It doesn't. It emerges from hundreds of imperfect attempts, from showing up on days when the hand doesn't feel right, from being willing to start again.
This journal is a reminder—for ourselves and for anyone learning—that practice is the point.