The Paper: Hidden Glories
Meredith Anderson
D. Mount
WR 123-05: T Th
17 May 2008
See the Art in Me: Exploring the Hidden Glories of Handwriting
Typing quickly before my computer expresses itself again, the e-mail is almost finished. One click (two? three?) of the ‘send’ button orbits the message through cyberspace with the greatest of ease. Within a few seconds, the message makes a precise landing in Taipei, ready for my friend Sandra’s review and response. The communication is efficient and swift, but something is lacking. I do not feel satisfied with my hurried correspondence; throughout the day, I think of dozens more things I would have liked to say, but because of my computer’s unpredictable nature and my busy schedule, they remain unsaid. Computers have made correspondence easier, but they have also made it easier to lose sight of correspondence’s true purpose: communication.
I am, by age, a member of the “technologically savvy” generation. Some of my generation’s traits have rubbed off on me – I know how to navigate Microsoft without excess trouble, I have a cell phone with about a hundred and twenty people with whom I talk at least once or twice a year, I can send and receive text messages (albeit ungracefully), and can sporadically wind through social forums, instant messaging, email and blogs. Why is it, then, with the abundance of innovative, brand-new technology available, my communication is increasingly bland and my papers concocted solely via Microsoft Word or Google Documents or Word Perfect or – I could list more! – frankly, suck?
I’m embarrassed to admit it for fear of sounding quaint, but as research progresses, I find it easier to confess: I am addicted to handwriting. The sound of the pen coupled with the feel of paper, the plasticky ink fumes after a serious writing session, and the hand’s chassé (a term borrowed from ballet that describes a gliding motion) are utterly delightful. Writing is bliss and words glide onto the page. As much as I try, I cannot produce a similar work solely by keyboard. For fear of losing my readers, it is good to note that long before this project’s realization on Microsoft Word, it was sketched and scribbled into spiral-bound notebooks. For me, the creative muse dwells in the pen ink and no matter how much or how hard I pound, the muse in the keyboard is naught.
Are such writing experiences anomalous? Is there truly a link, as I’ve experienced, between the pen, paper and creativity? In such a swift time as ours, is there any value in the slowness of writing by hand? The hand-shaped word deserves attention and not just for pseudoscientific personality analysis. Handwriting is an art that everyone can achieve. This paper surveys aspects of word-productivity, artistic capability, and benefits of handwriting in the twenty-first century. I believe there is more to handwriting than meets the eye, and am determined to travel the loops of handwriting’s inner workings until a handwriting-creativity bridge is found. This paper intends to broaden the reader’s knowledge of handwriting by revealing its intricate base in human imagination.
Past Entries: Script History
The history of written communication is vital to our knowledge of script today. It is intriguing to see how time and social factors have influenced writing from painting on a wall to a series of electronic symbols punched into a digital display. The earliest forms of written communication existed as images, or as the paleographers say, pictographs. In prehistoric times, detailed images were painted on cave walls to symbolize, we speculate, successful hunting grounds. Later, communication became more symbolic and simplified images were engraved into stone tablets (Sumerian cuneiform) or inked onto papyrus (Egyptian hieroglyphs) (Fairbank 19-28).
Jumping forward to the Roman Empire, lettering was founded on stone engravings, and became very angular. Much of writing was recorded on stone tablets; adopted from the Greeks, cursory notes were scratched, erased, then re-scratched into a portable wax tablet. Close to the time of Rome’s fall, some Christians, disgruntled with the worldly, recently legalized form of their religion, cloistered themselves away in attempt to maintain sincerity. They developed a monastic lifestyle that placed great importance on transcribing historical texts. Several hours each day were set aside for the transcription of important writings onto vellum. It was in the reverent monks’ hands that lettering softened and deviated from the angular Roman script (Jackson 47-8).
Until the mid-fifteenth century, the vast majority of books and documents were handwritten by scribes. It is interesting to note that lower classes typically had the best handwriting. The scrivener occupation was low on the social totem pole, but society depended upon his ability for history to be recorded. He had a larger impact on society through his valuable skill than many of the citizens for whom he wrote! Arrival of Gutenberg’s printing press in 1455 brought consternation to a world where handwriting enjoyed free reign. The swift ease of moveable type put many scribes out of a job. Its letters were exact and not subject to blunders made by a typical human scribe, so it became the standard for books and large documents. Even with print’s arrival though, no one feared handwriting’s obsolescence: “…long after Gutenberg cast his moveable type, the use of pen and ink persisted, and even when print became ubiquitous, people continued to write by hand” (Thornton xii). Some still preferred handwriting: it was affordable, available (print did not become widespread until the sixteenth century), and traditional. Besides the practical purposes, print could not even graze the aesthetic artistry of an illuminated manuscript.
The Italian Renaissance of the 1500s left a beautiful italic, or humanistic, script that is valued and imitated by calligraphers today. During this time, writing was studied as an art; script masters conducted lettering schools for all boys and a few fortunate girls. Ludovico degli Arrighi, a name prominent in the lettering and calligraphy circle, set the tone for handwriting’s aesthetic future. His copybook, La Operina, was ravingly popular when it arrived in 1522 for the legible, yet gloriously artistic handwriting contained within (Jackson 109). It was this model that the twentieth century scholars Alfred Fairbank and Lloyd J. Reynolds used to popularize and reform handwriting in their respective English and American societies. Even now, it is the ultimate goal of many lettering artists to emulate Arrighi’s fine script. Meanwhile, England was in bondage because of its kinked and confusing Black Letter script regularly employed for documentation. So abstract was it, secretary (“keeper of the secrets”) hand was its nickname. One can imagine the English writer’s relief who learned to write a humanistic script (Martin 510).
In nineteenth century America, following the transcendentalist heed to “know thyself,” handwriting became valued for its human, unique qualities. With transcendentalist self-reliant philosophy in place, and print devices (particularly the typesetter and typewriter) widely used, handwriting became valued for its individuality – each handwriting specimen had personalities waiting to be extracted. Towards the later half of the 1800s, as American literary romanticism bloomed, a script similar in flowery emotion and soft appeal became popular. Classes and copybooks for Spencerian script were wildly advertised. Based on a font coppersmiths used on their wares, the Spencerian script was a challenge for those writing on paper. Students were obligated to spend copious amounts of time practicing the infinite loops and curves of the so-called “elegant” hand. Although the Spencerian script looked exquisite if perfected, it was inconvenient and flimsy, so it must have been a relief when the practical Palmer Method appeared in the early 1900s. Palmer adapted the Spencerian writing into a tamer beast by eliminating many of the flourishes and lines that made the script so unmanageable (Thornton 113).
The printing press, typewriter, and telephone all took a whack at handwriting’s corner on the communication market. In addition, the recent computer, cell phone, and text messaging trends all contribute to the natural hand’s place in societal shadow lands. Even with these brilliant, timesaving devices, handwriting is not shunned completely. It is acknowledged in a cursory fashion every time a “Post-It” note reminder is jotted or a check is signed. It is still taught in elementary schools -a deteriorating and awkward Zaner-Bloser model, but it is taught nonetheless. It is flaunted as a social statement in the form of graffiti, and occasionally in the form of calligraphy. It is yet wielded, in the face of electronic opposition, to produce legendary compositions by steadfast bastions of longhand, true until death. Finally, with a less serious stance, it is perused by those entranced with graphology and eager (perhaps sheepishly) to learn what handwritten fortunes lay scripted within them.
Review of Literature
Even though there is interest in the field of handwriting, and writers are faithful to the craft, there is surprisingly little research pertaining to longhand-inspired creativity. There are countless resources for individuals to analyze handwriting for positive and negative personality traits, but no direct link has been made between creativity and the act of writing. Concerning art in handwriting, the sources are innumerable. From graphology to graffiti, handwriting’s human artistry is boundlessly explored.
According to Tamara Thornton’s excellent book, Handwriting in America: a Cultural History, Johann K. Lavater and Edouard A. P. Hocquart were the first to tack personal meaning to the everyday function of handwriting. As the typewriter came onto the market, the human origins of the handwritten word came into focus. Handwriting had ties to the “unconscious” and so revealed otherwise hidden morsels of the writer’s personality and life. Working in the nineteenth century, they analyzed the shape, size, and slant of individual letters in handwriting and then made conjectures about the writer’s personality and character. Their theories became wildly popular, and handwriting interpreters, called graphologists, sprang from nowhere to make predictions and offer attributes to those who brought a handwriting sample. The autograph became akin to a lock of hair; its personality was one of a kind. It was during this embrace of the human word that autograph books became popular among teenagers, and one’s signature became a legal binding seal (Thornton 74-5, 82-4). For a contemporary example of Lavater and Hocquart’s beliefs, the signatures of presidential hopefuls Hillary Clinton, Barack Obama, and John McCain were analyzed for un-presidential character traits and the results were broadcast in almost every way possible. In case you are curious, Clinton’s up-and-down signature hinted a no-frills attitude and practical personality, Obama’s graceful swirl had signs of poise, but little backbone, and McCain’s angular mark radiated with energy and the occasional temper mishap (Fiore).
Although graphology is similar in basis to phrenology (the study of skull bumps to determine personality), forensic script analysis is valid and extremely helpful for criminal-vanquishing purposes. Many cases have been solved through the analysis of handwriting. Perhaps the earliest and most famous example is the Lindbergh Kidnapping case of 1932. By matching line angles of Bruno Richard Hauptmann’s handwriting to a sample on the ransom note for the son of aviator Charles Lindbergh, detectives exposed and arrested the kidnapper (Sellers). In our current timeframe, forensic analysis is routinely involved when identifying forgery. No two scripts are identical; each is a fingerprint of its original hand.
Dr. Steve Graham, a respected Vanderbilt University professor, studied handwriting in American schoolchildren over a twelve-month period. From his results, published in November 2007, he concluded that fluid handwriting is critical to the learning process and directly related to creative, clear writing. Training in penmanship helps build mental connections in the developing child’s brain, allowing the child to express herself more fluently (Kelley). A proper training in penmanship allows the student to write without running into the speed bumps of clunky script. Graham, along with David Coker, of the article “Writing Instruction for Young Children”, makes a strong case for reformed writing instruction (Graham, MacArthur, and Fitzgerald 110). Accordingly, research conducted by University of Warwick scholars claims an emphasis on good penmanship hinders creativity in composition. After studying a group of five- to seven-year-old students over a short period of time, the researchers reasoned that best compositions occur when their handwriting is fluid and without conscious effort. Students preoccupied with writing neatly, write too tediously to stay on a train of thought or even board one in the first place. Although the study’s lead researcher, Professor David Wray, suggests that handwriting may take up valuable space needed in the task of writing, the study ultimately supports Dr. Graham’s conclusion (Lipsett).
Esteemed neuroscientist Dr. Nancy Andreasen approaches the complexities of creativity from a scientific and literary arts background. In The Creating Brain: the Neuroscience of Genius, published 2005, she studies the patterns of past creative intellectuals and analyzes traits applicable to non-geniuses. When discussing the source of creativity with prolific playwright Neil Simon, who wrote longhand, writing creatively was an unconscious occurrence that only happened once he was in the environment to write (Andreasen 36-38). A person’s surrounding environment stimulates or inhibits their creativity. Andreasen blames creativity’s decline on the Industrial Revolution and its legacy. Allowing machinery to think for people enslaves their minds and makes them dependent on the man-built structure. Subsequently, being in nature is a major factor in awakening creativity – she encourages readers to get outside, beyond the bonds of the synthetic. Creativity has its roots in nature, therefore, the more we embrace what is natural around us, the more inspired we are(175-6).
Turning the Page
It is astounding how much research has been done in the field of handwriting without touching creativity, the fuel that moves the hand. Even approached from the creativity perspective, Nancy Andreasen’s study does not attend to handwriting’s creative complexities. Though she interviewed a writer known to write by hand and researched factors that stimulate creativity, her book does not directly address the dynamic of handwriting. Ceaseless studies focus on the angles, pen strokes, and contours of hand-formed letters, as well as the letterforms themselves, but never touch on the creative aspect. Finally, Steve Graham may prove the well-trained hand-writer more literate, yet does not acknowledge creativity in the least. What many fail to notice is the artistic, imaginative attribute of the act of writing. The relationship of creativity and handwritten composition requires further study.
Writing in the Margins
Knowing very well my own peculiarities about writing, I was curious to see how others went about it. Following Professor Graham’s research, I decided to address handwriting from its base in primary education. I wrote a survey for classmates in an introductory-level college writing class that asked three questions:
a) Where do you do your best writing – at the computer, or with pen and paper?
b) Recount a memory of learning penmanship during childhood. How difficult of a skill was it to learn?
c) How important is the appearance of one’s handwriting?
Most of the participants were similar in age to me, and all were able to navigate computers enough to compose text online. Expecting a loyal computer crowd, I was pleasantly surprised to see more hand-writers out there. The reasoning given was fairly predictable: the computer is fast, and not subject to as much illegibility as handwriting affords, while the pen is excellent for recording personal thoughts and correspondence – can anything beat a handwritten letter? Recounts of penmanship training detailed arduous, tedious, and sometimes loathsome experiences: “I always hated learning cursive. It is possibly the most useless skill in the world.” The same respondent did not condemn all handwriting, however. For the sake of one’s coworkers, the student permits that “in a business setting it is important to have [handwriting] legible.” From the small sampling, I learned of others’ conceptions and experiences with handwriting. I realized not all students have my enthusiasm for writing by hand, and I have come to understand that handwriting education has some potholes.
After conducting the classroom survey, I spent two afternoons studying original manuscripts of Lloyd Reynolds, an honored professor of lettering arts and English at Reed College. I talked informally with the college’s Special Collections librarian, Gay Walker, for about ten minutes. She took Reynolds’ calligraphy class forty years ago and gave me suggestions for research. Lloyd Reynolds was a prominent figure in the Arts and Crafts Revival of the 1940s and a strong advocate for handwriting reform in public schools. Numerous times when sifting through boxes of his manuscripts, I found small notes stating worthy reasons to learn italic handwriting. Reynolds’ voice spoke naturally through the brown walnut ink and thin paper. He encourages all to resist the growing industrialization of society by using their hands for artisans’ endeavors (Reynolds “Autobiographical Notes”). His own script was very elegant – enough to earn the title “Calligrapher Laureate” from Oregon Governor Tom McCall. It is easy to understand why many of Portland’s public schools began teaching italic during Reynolds’ time. Though Lloyd Reynolds passed away in 1978, his passion is present in those he taught: Inga Dubay and Barbara Getty created a successful italic curriculum and handwriting reformation program, Jacqueline Svaren teaches calligraphy in the Northwest area, and Steve Jobs, of Apple Computer fame, was and is influenced by what he learned of letterforms in Reynolds’ lettering class. Beat poet Philip Whalen’s writing is laid out in notebooks written in Lloyd-instructed italic script. Whalen and fellow Beat Gary Snyder attended Lloyd Reynolds’ popular classes together – some say he was the inspiration for their successful future in writing (Schwartz).
Too young to live during Reynolds’ time, and lacking the means to take a class, I decided to work through a penmanship book on my own. The illustrations in the Getty-Dubay Italic Book G are stories in themselves, let alone the script’s handsome and promising features. With time, I hoped to improve my script, instead, I now empathize more with those too busy to reform their handwriting! With the mileage I have to write each day, I am more productive using my familiar penmanship. In other words, progress is slow. Still, relearning to write is relaxing – even fun. The practice of copying script has an oddly meditative quality, and somehow, I feel a childish nobility for preserving a script of centuries yore.
Over and over, in Lloyd Reynolds’ vibrant manuscripts, my fumbling attempts at writing neatly, and in classroom surveys, handwriting is more than a code to trigger neurological impulses; it is an art begging to be communicated.
Art: Do You Feel It?
Art is a popular word, but it is very elusive. Thinking one will find a concise definition anywhere is challenging, and many try to create their own. Grove Art Online, a publication of Oxford University, states the paradox this way:
The diversity of what is commonly called art, as well as the variety of definitions that have been suggested, [...] can easily make it seem that any definition will be arbitrary and pointless (Walton).
Generally, ‘art’ suggests an ambiguous feeling of well-being, but in other instances, it is used in sarcastic defense of a lousy display. (“Oh well, it’s art.”) Subject of heated argument for deep thinkers and the artless vagabond alike, art’s definition is wobbly at best. Though there are strong feelings, there is common ground for the cacophonous mumblers. Art theories share a human medium: the human filter, whether it is eye or ear, decides what is pleasing, or aesthetic, and the human hand brings it to life.
In his essay, “What is Art?,” Leo Tolstoy launches an educated tirade against society’s frivolous treatment of art. In the nineteenth century, when artwork was being mass-produced and Industry became savior, Tolstoy staunchly refused to follow the trend. He believed art’s purpose to be much greater than the happy-go-lucky stuff churned out in his surroundings. In his opinion, art has transcendent purpose but is down to earth in its passage. Art’s ultimate goal is to “infect” its audience with an emotion experienced by the artist. To say that all emotions are beautiful is a sham; likewise, art does not reflect an idealistic beauty, but a sincere human feeling. The pathway to great art is paved by natural human interaction. The audience can only share in the artist’s deep-seated emotion if there is a strong element of “man to man” communication in the display (Tolstoy 160). A successful piece transmits the emotion subtly, yet clearly, so that the audience empathizes. In keeping with the clear communication objective, simplicity is key – there are no over-gilded lilies in Tolstoy’s definition. He viewed art as a deeply human, raw process, rather than the glorious conclusion many expect it to be:
[T]o define art, it is necessary [...] to cease to consider it as a means to pleasure and to consider it as one of the conditions of human life. Viewing it in this way we cannot fail to observe that art is one of the means of intercourse between man and man (Tolstoy 49).
Because of art’s emotional resonance, one artist’s masterpiece cannot be imitated to the same effect. Imitation removes the character of the piece, removing the emotional vibrancy present in the original work. Much of art depends on the artist’s emotional experiences; imitations cannot be art for they are devoid of that heartfelt expression, and human process.
To see art from another perspective, take a quick glance through Plato’s philosophical lens. In his eyes, imitation is the essence of art. Universal ideals, called forms, such as Beauty or Justice, are mirrored by the physical world. In turn, the physical world is humanly reflected through art. Since it is art is only a copy of a copy, it tends to stray from the universal forms; misrepresenting reality and skewing the viewer’s mind. Art’s connectivity to human emotions is quite significant, and Plato feared its strong influence. As stated in the Republic, he would have art banned to prevent its power from overtaking the ideal community (Worth).
Though art’s overall definition may be unstable, it teeters on a steady fulcrum of human expression. The instability is perhaps what is most exciting about art – a direct representation of the fragile human condition. In short, man’s outlook on life determines how he perceives and creates art. Art requires human touch in order to spring to life and be seen. Though opinions of art seem to clash, handwriting can fulfill the expectations of a masterpiece. What better place to find human touch than in the tactile activity of writing by hand? The structure of handwriting is highly imitative, much to Plato’s satisfaction. Students learn handwriting by imitating an example from a teacher or a text. Through repetition, the student learns the motions involved in the making of each letter. Students learn to write by imitation, but once comfortable, they have a style of their own.
While it has imitative qualities, handwriting is also highly individual. As mentioned earlier, signature forgers try to imitate the script of their victims in every possible way; their career depends on their ability to copy accurately. However, there are minute details to each person’s signature that cannot be imitated by others, and with a sharp eye and luck, forgery is detected and the perpetrator caught. Distinct nonverbal messages abound in a handwritten text. Subtleties in the writing betray emotions otherwise hidden by the verbiage. Referring again to Lavater and Hocquart, handwriting is tied directly to our unconscious being; there is nonverbal symbolism in every word we write. Whether it is a rolling Romantic-era script or flat out “chicken scratch,” the hand-formed word displays peace, formality, anxiety, or other emotions deeper than the word itself can articulate. Consider modern artist Jim Dine. A foundational figure of contemporary art, Dine’s most recent work, compiled in the book This Goofy Life of Constant Mourning, focuses on handwriting in harsh places. The penmanship is not particularly balanced or aesthetically beautiful, but the unconventional settings – a table, a wall, a skull, a telephone – in addition to the scrawled nature of the writing, cause the poetic fragments as a whole to stand out symbolically.
Extrapolation and Further Doodling
By jotting a grocery list or sending a note in a loved one’s lunch, we are participating in an art born nearly twin to time itself. For us living in a lively electronic world, handwriting is a last remnant of the creative age: “Amongst the opportunities left to the individual in this mechanical age to express himself artistically there is the commonplace activity of writing by hand” (West 7). From cave painting and hieroglyphs, to our A-B-Cs today, handwritten communication is artistically drawn, not mechanically transcribed. Lines, shading, and curves apply equally to the art of drawing as they do to the seemingly mundane task of writing our name. Giovanni Battista Armenini, a sixteenth century artist, felt a study in handwriting was necessary to an artist’s learning. He believed that with regular handwriting practice, artistry in drawing and writing is improved. He is quoted in David Rosand’s Drawing Acts: Studies in Graphic Expression and Representation saying:
The skill which children, through continual practice, acquire in handling the pen well and in forming good letters will make the imitation of drawings easier since one learns to write in part through the imitation of another’s letters (Rosand 140).
For this reason, I suggest that putting a pen to paper, whether to sketch a figure or compose a message, employs an entirely different area of the brain than one utilizes when typing a message on a keyboard. If it does indeed employ another department of the brain, perhaps the words composed are different than they would be if typed.
Whereas The Creating Brain investigates the factors and stimuli of human creativity, The Right Mind: Making Sense of the Hemispheres approaches creativity from the anatomical standpoint. Robert Ornstein, in his exhaustive research on the differences in the brain hemispheres, states that the left side controls motor movement and quick actions – it does not control complex movements or thoughts, but supplies the body with near immediate reactions. The right brain, in contrast, is slow-operating; it houses abstract thoughts and complexities, and interprets symbolism and imagery. When writing and reading, the left hemisphere is quick to supply a single meaning to a word, but in slower writing, the right hemisphere provides a complex array of words and an intricate web of possible interpretations (Ornstein 107-8). It follows that handwriting – slow paced and reflective – taps into the right brain’s intricacy more than its counterpart, typing, which tends to be rapid-fire and automatic. The right hemisphere is associated with creativity, but is used far less in modern society than the mechanically oriented left brain. According to Ornstein, the left brain processes sequences, for instance, the order of letters in a word is handled by the left hemisphere (40). Is it possible that the left brain operates the sequential action of tapping keys on a keyboard? Likewise, is a busy right brain behind the legato flow of handwriting? If so, writers can hone a creative edge by taking a break from typing to enter the imaginative realm of handwritten script.
Tapping into creative springs via handwriting is difficult if handwriting is not natural to the writer. Referring again to Steve Graham’s research, students who learn to write from a neat script have a better model for literacy than those who learn from a disorganized or unnatural model. As previously mentioned, Lloyd Reynolds was a strong advocate for teaching italic handwriting as the standard elementary school model, but in addition, he proposed every art class, elementary school or not, should begin with a segment dedicated to the acquisition of the comfortable and adaptable italic penmanship. Continuing where Giovanni Armenini left off, he believed that handwriting not only encourages human artistry, but is the “most universal art form” (Reynolds Italic Lettering, introduction). In Chuck Lehman’s words, “… a durable, traditional writing system can sustain the continuous imaginative flow necessary for a meaningful transfer of thought” (Lehman introduction). It is possible that the muscle movement of handwriting – especially that of the rhythmic italic script – is triggered by the right brain? If so, it would complement Reynolds’ claims that an italic script encourages literacy and creative artistry.
Handwriting education in schools needs to be relaxed and reformed – authoritarian grading and tedious curriculum create a poor learning environment. In 2008, handwriting of the younger generation is, on average, deplorable. This is largely due to the regularly employed Zaner-Bloser curriculum and the distractions bleeping from every pocket and desk of the technologically advanced society. Year after year, students have suffered through unnatural “ball-and-stick,” or print, lettering through third or fourth grade, then are forced to leap into the complex world of joined cursive. Sometimes, learning cursive merely involves connecting the ball-and-stick letters of primary school; most often, however, the switch to cursive is like learning to write all over again. The old Palmer cursive, or a close adaptation, is taught in many public schools and makes for a complex, awkward, and completely disorienting switch for the average fifth grader. Used to writing with “sticks and stones,” he must abandon the material of his earlier years for the evanescent ribbon of illogical Palmer script. Students often revert to an adapted version of the ball-and-stick style, as not enough time is devoted to learn the loopy cursive properly (Reynolds “Italic”, 1, 5).
The confines of an uncomfortable script deter some from writing by hand, and make the keyboard enticing, indeed. The computer has been a part of popular culture since the early eighties, but only within the past eighteen years has it fully wrapped its pixelated fingers around our lives. With the advent of the World Wide Web in 1990, computer use has all but increased (Ciolek). Many menial, yet exacting, tasks become doable and fast when the internet lends its cyber helping hands. Email is a lifesaver for those short on stamps and access to a postal service. It possesses the permanence of the written word, but is far faster than mail by post and cheaper than the archaic novelty of a telegraph. With computer access, students, the economically disadvantaged, travelers, businessmen, and their mothers alike sit happily in the virtual parlor of informal conversation. The efficiency of electronic communication is astounding. Words can be pounded into the page at nearly the speed of light – the world’s fastest typist clocked a record of 212 words per minute (Blackburn). From madly moving fingers or voice-activated software, the electronic devices sequentially muster the messages hidden in our heads.
The instant achievement of the writer who types arrives all too often at the sacrifice of language and literacy. The increasingly common automatic spell check and grammar patrol of word-processing software serves two functions: one, to make the writing look presentable by calling attention to typos, and two, to erroneously and detrimentally ease the burden of editing off human shoulders. More and more, we see computer users become reliant on their PC’s supposed grammatical gifting and rely less and less on their own abilities (Baron 241). Publishing written compositions is easier than ever thanks to the cyberspace our society orbits. By verbal ability’s plunge, and the rise in self-publishing, the amount of literary flotsam floating around the world is overwhelming.
Written composition improves because of time spent in reflection and right brain stimulation, and a multiplicity of other reasons. It takes more energy to write by hand than by computer. Think of the muscles and nerve impulses necessary to move the hand in each letter; there are far more for writing than for the dormant action of typing. Since we are more involved in our handwriting, we are more conscious of the activity of our writing instrument. More of our body is involved in the composition, and the text produced is wholly our own. David Levy, at his poetic best, reflects on the humanity of script:
Documents are very close to us, very much like us. Recall how, in one of the creation stories in Genesis, God forms Adam from the dust of the earth, blowing into him the breath of life. The analogy with the creation of documents is striking and can hardly be accidental. When we make documents, we too take the dust of the earth (clay, stone, plant fibres) and impress into it our voice which is inextricably connected with our breath. Documents, it seems, are created in our image, as we are created in God’s (Levy 30).
The organic process of drawing words, rather than hammering keys mechanically is good for the mind. For non-creative assignments – work-related technical reports, for example – the keyboard aids a zippy completion. When writing fiction, or other creative masterpieces, longhand seems to be a trend. Still, there are some writers who started out longhand, then adapted to mechanical media as the various forms became commonly and affordably available. This is especially prevalent for those who edit as they write. It is convenient to be able to hit ‘backspace’ or cut-and-paste content here and there when rattling out a text. Of course, the convenience slows productivity; instead of painting a languid word-portrait, the writer is caught up rearranging a phrase and consulting the electronic thesaurus. Others feel the need to get it all out there at once without pausing to edit. For them, paper and pen offer friendly assistance. Notes or ideas can be written in the margins as one writes – a difficult task for Microsoft Word.
Writing by hand takes away the pressure to “write something good” and inspires candid remarks. Although lovely penmanship encourages drawing skills, one’s natural handwriting draws words just as well. One should not feel obligated to write neatly, or create a masterpiece. Natalie Goldberg encourages us to write without boundaries; take the first wave of thought and ride it. Pausing to edit slows us down, causes us to write conventionally, and pulls us away from the daring brink of our first thoughts (Goldberg 9). The more inhibited we are by our editing habits, the more imitative we are, and the less inspired. And as Tolstoy reminds us, imitation is not art – where is the feeling in an over-edited word?
Communication through the internet is easily accessed; it requires no postage or print expenses. Its swiftness, however, is negotiable; there are too many things to do or read or see when writing on the computer. Handwriting removes the encumbering diversion. With a pen and a notebook, one can go where computers fear to tread – we can write in the woody calm of a floating boat, lofted high in a maple tree cradle, or squashed between commuters riding public transportation. As Dr. Andreasen observed, creativity graces the head of one who graces the natural world. With the freedom of pen and paper, we can be there. Free from the dutiful distractions dwelling in cyberspace, words stream onto the page.
Closing the Notebook
A pen in hand is an irreplaceable form of individual artistry. It invites an element of creativity and idyllic reflection into a world made dull by excess technology and a perpetual shortage on time. There is art in each of us and it is more accessible than you think. Not all of us are in a place to write elevated verbal masterpieces, but, unlike the computer’s wonders, handwriting’s creative benefits are for any who can shape the letters. The computer offers boundless resources for anything conceivable, yet it should not monopolize our communication. It is sorely lacking in personality and cannot touch the reflective beauty of a handwritten composition.
Handwriting does have value in the twenty-first century – in an increasingly technological age, we need it now more than ever to preserve our status as creative beings. To begin using handwriting, consider applying it to correspondence. Though some situations call for the swiftness of email, the handwritten note is a friendly place to warm one’s creative faculties, and the vitality of human script is not to be denied. Looking forward, if more are to write by hand, educational systems should examine their current handwriting pedagogy. It is crucial that they provide adequate instruction in a fluid, logical script, such as italic. The future of handwriting is steadied when these actions are taken.
It seems easy enough to write off the question of creativity in a pat answer – “our brains are complex, that’s all” – but more should be done to study the connection between handwriting and verbal creativity. There is a connection, to be sure, but it is hazy and illegible until further research is conducted. In the meantime, let us not lose our appreciation for the word shaped by hand. Instead, let us savor the aftertaste of a sweet handwritten note, relish an imaginative book from a longhand-writing author, and inhale the fragrance of our own work as we sketch it into being.
Three weeks after my e-mail is sent, I receive a letter in the mailbox postmarked two weeks prior. Sandra’s handwriting, petite, much like herself, lightly embroiders the destination to the envelope, beneath a stamp commemorating the Chinese New Year. I recall that she is not a native English writer, so her lettering is precise and clear. The paper’s faint spicy odor evokes vibrant memories of time spent at Sandra’s home. The note, though merely a response to my electronic letter, is a vivid reflection of my friend that allows me to know her more deeply. No galaxy of cyberspace verbiage can fill the human need for affection and humanity expressed in a written letter. Cyberspace communication is fast and postage-free, but has gaping black holes that only the written word can fill.
———————————————
Works Cited
Andreasen, Nancy C. The Creating Brain: the Neuroscience of Genius. New York: Dana P, 2005.
Baron, Naomi S. Alphabet to Email: How Written English Evolved and Where It’s Heading. London: Routledge, 2000.
Blackburn, Barbara and Robert Ranger. “Barbara Blackburn, the World’s Fastest Typist.” Syracuse University. 2008. 2 June 2008 <http://web.syr.edu/~rcranger/blackburn.htm>.
Ciolek, T. Matthew. Global Networking: a Timeline. 18 Sep. 2007. 26 May 2008 <www.ciolek.com/PAPERS/milestones.html>.
Dine, Jim. This Goofy Life of Constant Mourning. Göttingen, Germany: Steidl, 2004.
Fairbank, Alfred. The Story of Handwriting: Origins and Development. New York: Watson-Guptill, 1970.
Fiore, Faye. “Handwriting of Hillary Clinton, John McCain and Barack Obama May Speak Volumes.” Los Angeles Times. 13 May 2008. 26 May 2008 <http://www.latimes.com/news/politics/la-na-handwriting13-2008may13,0,5566144.story>.
Getty, Barbara, and Inga Dubay. Italic Book G. 3rd ed. Portland State U. Portland, OR: Continuing Education P, 1994.
Goldberg, Natalie. Writing Down the Bones: Freeing the Writer Within. 2nd ed. Boston: Shambhala, 2005.
Graham, S., MacArthur, C. A., and J. Fitzgerald, eds. Best Practices in Writing Instruction. New York: Guilford P, 2007. Google Books. 25 May 2008 <http://books.google.com/>. Path: Google Books >> Search: “Steve Graham handwriting”.
Jackson, Donald. The Story of Writing. New York: Taplinger Pub., 1981.
Kelley, Raina. “The Writing on the Wall.” Newsweek. 12 Nov. 2007. 31 May 2008 <http://www.newsweek.com/id/67956?GT1=10547>.
Lehman, Charles L. Introduction. Changing American Models for Children’s Handwriting, 1776 – 1976: a Comparative Study of Commercial Cursive, Manuscript, and Italic Models. 1975. [Spiral-bound, ts.]. Box 26: Writings by Others 2. Lloyd J. Reynolds Special Collection. Reed College Lib. Portland, OR: Reed College.
Levy, David. “Slouching toward Cyberspace: the Place of Lettering Arts in the Digital Age.” ‘Codes and Messages’ Craft Council Exhibition Catalogue. 1995. Cur. Ewan Clayton. Rpt. in Font: Sumner Stone, Calligraphy and Type Design in a Digital Age. Edward Johnston Foundation and Ditchling Museum. 27-30. Cambridge: Cloister P, 2000.
Lipsett, Anthea. “Emphasis on Neat Handwriting Stifles Creativity, Says Research.” Guardian.co.uk. 4 Dec. 2007. 25 May 2008 <http://education.guardian.co.uk/schools/story/0,,2221722,00.html>.
Martin, Henri-Jean. The History and Power of Writing. Trans. Lydia G. Cochrane. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1994.
Ornstein, Robert. The Right Mind: Making Sense of the Hemispheres. New York: Harcourt, 1997.
Reynolds, Lloyd J. “Autobiographical Notes.” 1977. Lloyd J. Reynolds Collection. 21 Aug. 2007. 13 May 2008 <http://library.reed.edu/collections/findingaids/reynolds/ljrauto.htm>.
- – -. Italic Lettering, Handwriting, and Calligraphy: a Craft Manual. Portland, OR: Champoeg P, n.d. [Annotated ts.] Box 8: Reynolds Writings. Lloyd J. Reynolds Special Collection. Reed College Lib. Portland, OR: Reed College.
- – -. “‘Italic Handwriting’ (from a Report Written at the Request of the Oregon State Curriculum Committee).” 1969. [14 p. ms.] Box 8: Reynolds Writings. Lloyd J. Reynolds Special Collection. Reed College Lib. Portland, OR: Reed College.
Rosand, David. Drawing Acts: Studies in Graphic Expression and Representation. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2002.
Schwartz, Todd. “The Dance of the Pen.” Reed Magazine. Aug. 2003. Reed College. 30 Apr. 2008 <http://web.reed.edu/reed_magazine/aug2003/features/dance_of_pen/index.html>.
Sellers, Clark. “The Handwriting Evidence against Hauptmann.” Journal of Criminal Law and Criminology 27 (1937): 874-886. JSTOR. Multnomah County Lib., Portland, OR. 29 May 2008 <http://0-www.jstor.org.catalog.multcolib.org>.
Thornton, Tamara Plakins. Handwriting in America: A Cultural History. New Haven: Yale UP, 1996.
Tolstoy, Leo. “What is Art?” Ed. and trans. Aylmer Maude. 1898. Indianapolis: Hackett Pub., 1996. Google Books. 16 May 2008 <http://books.google.com/>. Path: Google Books >> Search: “Hackett inauthor:Leo inauthor:Tolstoy title:What is Art”.
West, Aubrey. Written by Hand. 2nd ed. London: Allen, 1953.
Walton, Kendall L. “Aesthetics, §I, 1: Defining Art.” 31 Mar. 2000. Grove Art Online. Oxford UP, 2008. Multnomah County Lib., Portland, OR. 16 May 2008 <http://0-www.groveart.com.catalog.multcolib.org:80/>.
Worth, Sarah E. “Art and Epistemology.” The Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy. 2006. 16 May 2008 <http://www.iep.utm.edu/a/art-ep.htm>.
Like this:
Be the first to like this page.
