The Frumplingtons

We may not know much about graphic design, but we know what we like. And so, inspired by an article I read at the weekend about something called The Design Disease — it’s a tale of obsession, punctuated by photos of pencils; you should read it — and by later mention, in general conversation, of satirical signwriting artist, Bob and Roberta Smith, we decided to splash out on a book about typography and calligraphy. It’s on its way to us in the post at the moment.

I haven’t had much previous experience at the art of calligraphy. Shana therefore suggested that, while waiting for the book to arrive, I should practice on something suitable for beginners; something simple. Like potato printing. It’s ever so easy, apparently. All you have to do is cut away the areas of the spud that you don’t want, and carve the rest of the potato into the reverse image of the letter you want to print. Press the potato onto some paint and from there onto a sheet of paper and viola! (sic) — your first potato print.

It’s how Gutenberg got started, you know.

“That sounds like a doddle,” I said, after Shana had explained the process to me. I had to promise not to use all the potatoes, though. Otherwise there’d be none left for our evening meal. (It’s potatoes and chips tonight. My favourite!)

“I’ll get started right away,” I said. “If you want me, I’ll be sitting out on the front stoop, whittling potatoes.”

“Oh yeah?” said Shana. “I suppose you’ll pick up the guitar and sing the blues from time to time will you? We’re not in the Deep South, you know. This is Lincoln, Lincolnshire. Not Sweet Home Bloomin’ Alabama.”

I think that should perhaps have been Sweet Potato Bloomin’ Alabama.

“And besides,” said Shana, “It’s half past midnight!”

Well, that sort of clinched it. There’s no arguing with Shana sometimes.

Chris