Woman’s Search for Meaning

In a prison cell in Turkey sits an award-winning artist and visual journalist. With little sunlight and few materials, he creates astonishing art. This powerful essay by Greg Manifold, creative director at The Washington Post, tells Fevzi Yazıcı’s story.

I am breathtaken at Fevzi’s courage and persistence. His latest artwork, limited to pencils and pens, is astounding. I think of Viktor Frankl’s words: “What then matters is to bear witness to the uniquely human potential at its best, which is to transform a personal tragedy into a triumph, to turn one’s predicament into a human achievement.”


Continue reading

The Benefits of Hiking

A significant part of a typeface designer’s job is looking at small details. A regular person might look at a font and be able to identify the difference between a sans and a serif. But if they take the time to look and learn, they could appreciate the little quirks that make each typeface unique. It’s the same with hiking; For a first stroll in the woods, someone might only be able to distinguish between trees and bushes. But they might look closer, at the tiny differences, at the blossoms and berries and lichens. They’re in a fascinating world with so much to explore.

Cherry blossoms, Northern bayberries, and Old Man’s Beard growing on branches.

Continue reading

Remember December: Providence

My Providence! What airy hosts
Turn still thy gilded vanes;
What winds of elf that with grey ghosts
People thine ancient lanes!

–H.P. Lovecraft

Overlooking the RISD Beach. Can you spot the State House?

Knowing the risks, I drank from the mythical fountain.* The legend says: anyone who drinks from it will always return to Providence. Seems more like a self-fulfilling prophecy to me: if you like Providence enough to drink from a magical fountain, you’ll probably keep coming back.

The fountain sits in front of the Providence Athenæum, around the corner from College Street, home to both the Rhode Island School of Design and author H.P. Lovecraft. The deep affection he felt for the city is unmistakable. I remember walking down that same street for the first time, rounding the corner of the quad, and the state house—“a delirious marble dome,” as Lovecraft wrote—loomed into view, towering over the city.

Continue reading

Dyana Loves Garbage

Finding the divine in the details—what others overlook—is not so much an amusing pastime, but a constant state of being. When out on a hike, I often stop to question a seemingly meaningless feature. What species of moss is this? Why does this look like a witch’s hat? Who lives in this hole? The answers can be fascinating.

Living in a city, one might find charming little doodads in the gutter and under hedges as well. The metal numbers and letters on telephone polls—what’s the deal with those? In the same week, I found two that had liberated themselves somehow. For years, I’ve been accumulating these letters, or odd bits that look like letters. Some as possible solutions for future typeface projects, others just for the sake of the collection.

Continue reading