By Brianna Davis
I find solace in the art of hand lettering,
taking words both mediocre and meaningful and intertwining them
to form a masterpiece of letters pleasing to the eye.
With little effort, I find the only words
capable of articulating my thoughts and emotions in that very moment.
They speak to me alone;
they are codes that no one else can decipher.
I let them dance through my mind until they fall into place,
forming the perfect combination of serifs and strokes.
Immediately, I take the cap off my pen
and let the tip flow steadily across the page.
I trust my instincts—without a pencil,
I am prone to making mistakes.
But that’s the beauty of the entire process.
Looking down at my work, absorbing the words that lie before me,
I realize that was once just a few words in my head
has now become a tangible piece of art.
I couldn’t have achieved it with a pencil—
otherwise, it would no longer be genuine.
What I see is the result of simple spontaneity.
My words become permanent with the stroke of my pen and,
as ironic as it may seem, I become less prone to making mistakes.