I love tiny letters
Last Friday evening while sitting around a friend’s kitchen table, we started talking about her bulk food purchase excursion—highlighting a jar she filled with little tiny alphabet pasta. Little. Tiny. Letters. In a clear jar.
photo from Amazon and obviously not in a jar.
I have a small type fetish. It’s true. So why wouldn’t I have a tiny letter fetish? I would.
I can’t say exactly what it is, though surely it’s brought on by a certain professor during undergrad. But I think what keeps it going is the overly romanticized poetry of it all. Small letters are like the equivalent of a whisper or (in)significant gesture, or a photo with a sensationally low horizon line, or using white on white on white. All soft spots and all a very similar mindset to that of the pauses I talked about a couple posts ago.
And in related news, via a Design*Sponge post last week, I was introduced to this refinished/redesigned table from the sticks and bricks blog (they’re an “artist collaboratorium” and shop in Northampton, Massachusetts). The first photo below shows the table in its original state.
Their post states:
we sanded it down, hammered in ‘the summer day’ by mary oliver, rubbed black paint in & gave it a coat of furniture wax.
From checking out the comments, it looks like they used these letter stamps from Harbor Freight—which I DIDN’T KNOW EXISTED—to hammer in those teeny letters.
Oh, letters. I like you.