The end of calligraphy

I don’t know the last time I wrote or received a handwritten letter. Except for the occasional message or short list I scribble down to remind myself of what to do, the computer has replaced that habit.

However, I still receive postcards from time to time, especially during the holidays and at the end of the year. It’s often at these times that you can tell if the sender has a flair for design.

I know my handwriting isn’t the best, but it bothers me when I see a message written with crooked lines. It’s as if a messy, untidy handwriting would give a false representation of who we are.

In The Swerve, Stephen Greenblatt tells the story of the humanist Poggio Bracciolini (1380–1459), a hunter of ancient scrolls that had been kept for centuries in the monasteries of Europe.

With the decline of the Roman Empire, it fell to the monks, who were tasked with reading, preserving, and copying texts that had kept the ideas of the ancient world alive for generations.

Poggio copied several of these texts. He discovered and reintroduced Lucretius’s ancient poem De rerum natura to the world. With his beautiful handwriting, he became one of the precursors of modern graphic design.

It is fascinating to see that, at a time when Gutenberg’s printing press was just beginning to emerge, someone managed to create a font so legible and unlike anything known until then.

Poggio Bracciolini created space between words and developed a cursive, rounded font (1) that gave rise to what we know today as italics.

The guy even took the trouble to make holes in the margins (2) so the pages would stay firmly in place and not slide while he wrote. Additionally, he created 26 very thin lines per page, ensuring that the space between the lines of text, perfectly aligned to the left, would be the same (3).

Of course, today’s environment is different. But I wonder if, in the digital world we live in, handwriting will disappear forever. I even wonder if our signature will one day become binary code.

But most of all, I am frightened when I imagine that my shopping list, which I wrote by hand this morning, will be rediscovered in five hundred years by a humanist android.

Photo: Reproduction of the Poggio manuscript, Laurentian Library, Florence.
Source: “The Swerve” by Stephen Greenblatt

Be different!

In 1933, German psychologist Hedwig Von Restorff conducted a simple yet groundbreaking experiment on human memory. She presented participants with a list of words that were all categorized similarly, except for one word that was completely different.

For example, the list could include words like “cat,” “dog,” “lion,” and “tiger” (all related to animals), with the word “conduit” (out of context for animals) inserted. After the list was shown, participants were asked to recall as many words as possible.

This phenomenon came to be known as the Von Restorff effect, which revealed that isolated items stand out in memory due to their uniqueness.

Naturally, businesses have leveraged this effect to create more impactful advertising campaigns. A commercial or ad that breaks away from the typical visual or narrative patterns of conventional media can be more effective in grabbing attention and being remembered. For instance, an ad may feature an unusual element or an unexpected image associated with a product to ensure it stands out in the consumer’s mind.

In design, highlighting certain visual elements can make an item more memorable. This is commonly used in user interfaces and website design, where key elements are emphasized to capture the user’s attention.

In a world saturated with information, uniqueness has become a powerful tool to attract attention and improve customer retention, whether for products, brands, or ideas.

Does a blank sheet of paper mean nothing?

The American John Cage (1912-1992) was a composer who is probably known for just one work: 4’33”. It is an experimental piece that can be performed by any instrument and, even better, by any person.

The score instructs the performer to NOT play their instrument for exactly four minutes and thirty-three seconds, because the “music,” in this case, consists of the ambient sounds that the audience hears during the performance.

In short, a very simple little piece of music.

But, no matter how much this might seem like pure nonsense (I, for instance, wouldn’t pay to attend such a concert, since I could play it for free on the piano here at home), there is an interesting question to analyze not by what it is, but by what is around it.

Imagine a piece of paper with nothing written or drawn on it. Just a blank space.

This empty area actually has the same importance as the written or drawn elements on it. It is this separation of background and elements, as well as sound and silence, that explains the dependence our perception has on the surrounding environment.

Take, for example, the classic image of the two heads facing each other.

Or am I seeing a white vase? In any case, both options are valid. Figure and background have the same importance.

Similarly, we can say that size and brightness are also relative. Look at the figure below and say without thinking: are the shades of gray in the central square of these two figures the same?

They are. The simultaneous contrast of the surrounding squares is what ends up deceiving our eyes.

And what about the diameter of the central dots in the two illustrations—are they the same?

Yes, they are. The small and large dots around them, when seen side by side, create this perception.

So, now that we know that there is no such thing as “nothing” and that even the illusory emptiness of a blank page has its function in design, I had an idea: I’m going to write a book with only blank pages.

Preferably one where the reader can read for exactly four minutes and thirty-three seconds.

How to get a “yes!”

I once heard about a guy who went to a rock concert. When he was leaving, he saw a huge line to pay for parking. Instead of waiting, he approached two big guys who were almost at the front of the line and asked them:

“Can I skip ahead? It´s because I really hate waiting in lines.”

To his surprise, they said yes. The simple fact that he gave a reason, even if it was completely absurd, worked in his favor and let him cut in line.

This highlights a principle that marketing professionals have known for a long time: giving a reason when asking for something can make a big difference.

I often say that the customer isn’t king; the customer is a partner. If they have a problem and you have the solution, it’s a perfect match: they buy your product or service, you get paid, and everyone’s happy.

But sometimes, customers hesitate, delay, or avoid payment altogether. This can be especially tricky when the relationship isn’t contractual.

Take designers, for instance. They often provide services without any formal safeguards, but neither you nor I are a bank.

For two months, I had to keep reminding a client to pay for a small project I had completed and delivered. It wasn’t a large amount, but it was a real hassle to get paid.

Finally, one day, I wrote to her and explained why I was asking for the payment. Miraculously, the money appeared in my account shortly after.

Of course, not everything works out this perfectly every time. But generally speaking, there’s no need to shout or throw a tantrum. Sometimes, all it takes is a brief explanation—no matter how unusual it may seem—to get what we want.

And now, since you’ve read this far, could you please do me a favor? Comment on this post.

It´s because I really hate waiting in lines.

Brands that last

When the president turned ninety, the directors of his company decided to honor him with a small turtle, symbolizing resilience and longevity.

Upon opening the package, the president made a face and declined the gift. He said he might grow attached to the little animal and would be deeply saddened if the turtle, which can live for over a century, were to die before him.

Brands are also meant to endure. However, the ability to survive in a constantly changing environment is a different challenge altogether.

This is the challenge every designer faces when creating a visual identity that not only stands the test of time but also keeps the brand alive.

Although I can’t remember the last time I used a film camera, the image of the Kodak logo, once the market leader in photographic film, remains sharp in my memory.

Similarly, the torn blue ticket from Blockbuster, the largest DVD rental franchise that went bankrupt more than a decade ago, lingers in my mind.

The product in these cases is like a turtle that has died. But the visible side of the brand remains intact, like its shell.