This Is Why Your Creative Expression Matters

I think it was the fountain pen that initially caught her eye. After all, most people in Starbucks are fumbling with smartphones or laptops, not antiquated ink and paper.

I was tucked in a corner seat, scratching down ideas in my leather-bound field notes with my Namiki retractable fountain pen.

“You have such beautiful handwriting,” she said.

“Thank you. I think it’s my obsessive-compulsive nature.” It was a lie, but judging by her business attire, I figured she needed to get to work. The truth would have delayed her.

The truth is, it’s not my handwriting. Maybe bits and pieces, but the bones of it belong to two people I loved very much. My father and my Aunt Cynthia.

The art of his penmanship

Dad’s copperplate handwriting looked like something from the Constitutional Convention. His cursive letters were evenly placed, with artful yet restrained loops and curves.

A sample of my father’s handwriting.

I have early memories of my boyhood, sitting on Dad’s knee as he penned legal briefs on yellow notepads with his Parker 21 fountain pen.

I’d sit transfixed, watching his beefy hand compose elegant letters across the page. With age and maturity, I grew to respect the intellect behind his written words. But most of all, I fell in love with the art of his penmanship.

My great Aunt Cynthia Weiss lived in Florida, where she inked letters to our family back in northern California.

Dad and Aunt Cynthia were close. Both possessed strong intellects and similar views about life and politics. They also shared a unique discipline that is quickly dying these days: remarkable penmanship.

A sample of my Aunt Cynthia’s handwriting.

Where Dad’s cursive leaned to the right like Abraham Lincoln’s, Aunt Cynthia’s letters were crafted upright, with a slight tilt to the left. Both ran straight across the page, without the assist of lines, and displayed artful loops and curves. Both of their handwriting styles were expressive and beautiful to me.

Time capsules of ink

Kids used to be taught the same cursive writing system in grade school (such as the Palmer method). Yet over time, they develop their own unique hand.

For some, the script becomes messy or illegible. Others resort to block printing. A few rise above the crowd and produce beautiful penmanship, like my Dad and Aunt Cynthia.

I don’t know if it’s an artful sensibility that informed my Dad and Aunt Cynthia’s penmanship, but receiving letters from them was always a joy. Each correspondence and note was like a little piece of artwork.

In college, my father would pen weekly letters to me. He always included some money, which was great, but the real joy was his letters. Aunt Cynthia wrote to me too, also sending money here and there.

I have little recollection where the cash was spent (probably beer and pizza) but those letters found their way into a shoebox. Little gems of artfulness tucked away for posterity. Time capsules of ink and letters formed into elegant script, expressing love and support from my Dad and Aunt Cynthia.

The frustrations of an artful soul

Every time I pull out those old letters to re-read their words and admire their writing, I am transported back in time. It’s like, through my memories, I am able to resurrect the spirits of my Dad and Aunt Cynthia.

Maybe that’s why I emulated their handwriting over the years? To keep a bit of them alive. With each swirl, controlled loop and even placement, it’s like I’m channeling their spirits. Conjuring their artful presence. I guess it just makes me feel good.

Samples of my own handwriting- sort of a blend of Dad’s and Aunt Cynthia’s.

Of course, adopting the personal handwriting of loved ones long gone comes at a cost. While the familiarity warms my heart, I am never able to completely capture their styles, which frustrates me to no end. So, there is some truth to my claim of obsessive compulsiveness.

I toil to capture the look of my father’s writing and Aunt Cynthia’s style, but then my own hand edges into the mix. Sometimes I wonder where my authentic hand begins and the borrowed lettering ends. Ah, the frustrations of an artful soul.

It matters in ways you may not realize

You may not think your artwork and creative expression matters, but you’d be mistaken. Maybe you’re a weekend watercolorist or part-time poet. Perhaps you write music or short stories. Despite work and the commitments of life, you squeeze in time for your art.

Whatever artful expression you do, don’t get discouraged and keep at it. Why? Because it matters in ways you may not realize. Beyond money or fame, your creative expression is a vital part of who you are. And it can touch others in unexpected ways.

I’ll bet my father and Aunt Cynthia never imagined I’d keep their letters and emulate their handwriting. Little did they know how much their artful penmanship would mean to me. The joy those letters still bring.

A gift that can last a lifetime

I think if I explained all this to the woman at Starbucks, her eyes might have glazed over. I suspect left-brained people probably view all this art stuff with confusion. “Why not just write with a laptop, it’s way more efficient?”

The thing is, I do write with a laptop. Usually, after the initial ideas and thoughts have been inked in my notebooks and journals.

Every time my fountain pen touches paper, it’s like I’m back on my Dad’s knee, and he’s penning another letter or legal brief.

It’s like I’m a little boy again, basking in the protective love and guidance of my father.

It’s like Aunt Cynthia is still here, with her hugs and Christmas letters. It’s like the past comes alive again, and I can retreat briefly from this fast-paced, digital world. To a simpler time, before email, when girls sent perfumed letters and handwriting was still somewhat of an art form.

All this nostalgia, fond memories and artful inspiration, from letters penned long ago. A father’s grand old cursive, and a loving Aunt’s steady hand. Both, with their fine script, did more than memorialize their creative expression and affection.

They inspired in me the same love of penmanship, writing, and creative expression. In this way, they live on, and the pain of their loss is lessened a little.

This is why your creative expression matters so much. Because rather than fame or fortune, it just might inspire some artful joy in others. And that is a gift that can last a lifetime.