|
|
Sept. 2025: Appearing with my new performance art installation typeface at the Maxwell Street Market in Chicago on September 14. Stop by for an on-the-spot, one-of-a-kind poem! More info at: Maxwell Street Market | Choose Chicago
typeface
a mobile, analog, and participatory
public art project
The Manual Typewriter. A useless relic of the past! Or, is it?
Whenever I begin to despair about the state of the world -- AI data centers lapping up our drinking water, corrupt politicians dismantling our hard-won public services, Satan’s apparent resurgence -- I like to take my 1950’s Smith Corona typewriter and a box of cream colored paper out into public, just to see what happens.
Typically ...humanity shows up, in hopeful and beautiful ways. Using no electricity (other than that which resides in the human body and mind), a manual typewriter creates a kind of magic.
First of all, it’s handsome, and people like to look at good-looking things. Heavy in its case, but light in its purpose, a typewriter calls out to people to it. And people always stop, admire, come over, ask questions... driven by their natural curiosity, nostalgia, and joy.
The young are perplexed; what is this thing that’s like a computer, but isn’t one? A lot of time is spent just getting to know the machine, itself. How do you put the paper in? Where is the space bar? I’m afraid to make a mistake, but I want to write something! For older folk, it is a time machine, often transporting them back to when they first learned to type.
Then, people type. A blank page stares out; no cursor, and nothing prompting your next word.
Poems are written. Wishes made known. Best of all, there is no Undo. What is typed, resides on the paper, forever. The mistakes we make are magic.
Whenever I begin to despair about the state of the world -- AI data centers lapping up our drinking water, corrupt politicians dismantling our hard-won public services, Satan’s apparent resurgence -- I like to take my 1950’s Smith Corona typewriter and a box of cream colored paper out into public, just to see what happens.
Typically ...humanity shows up, in hopeful and beautiful ways. Using no electricity (other than that which resides in the human body and mind), a manual typewriter creates a kind of magic.
First of all, it’s handsome, and people like to look at good-looking things. Heavy in its case, but light in its purpose, a typewriter calls out to people to it. And people always stop, admire, come over, ask questions... driven by their natural curiosity, nostalgia, and joy.
The young are perplexed; what is this thing that’s like a computer, but isn’t one? A lot of time is spent just getting to know the machine, itself. How do you put the paper in? Where is the space bar? I’m afraid to make a mistake, but I want to write something! For older folk, it is a time machine, often transporting them back to when they first learned to type.
Then, people type. A blank page stares out; no cursor, and nothing prompting your next word.
Poems are written. Wishes made known. Best of all, there is no Undo. What is typed, resides on the paper, forever. The mistakes we make are magic.
