Beginning: Experimental Letterforms
This artwork started with a large amount of raw material. During a series of experiments with different tools and instruments, I created hundreds of experimental letterforms. They appeared naturally, carrying their own character, feelings, and meaning. I fell so deeply in love with these unintentional shapes that I couldn’t bear to throw them away. Instead, I reused them, making a new piece focused entirely on experimental forms and materials.
Process: Searching for the Right Phrase
The first challenge was to find a phrase that could bring these experimental forms together. Using just the alphabet felt too still—without energy, movement, or meaning. I wanted something that would make the letters feel alive and open up visual and idea possibilities. That led me to pangrams: sentences that use every letter of the alphabet, usually used for testing typefaces.
I began collecting pangrams and looking for one that created a clear picture in my mind. I went through dozens—from the playful “Pack my box with five dozen liquor jugs” to the poetic “Vexed by hollow praise, my quirky soul finds depth” and “Crazy Frederick bought many very exquisite opal jewels.” None really matched the vision I had. Finally, I chose:
“My quiet black Zen fox jumps over vivid doubt.”
The phrase felt full of movement, mystery, and open to different meanings. I was attracted to the unusual and powerful mix of images—a quiet black zen fox, a jump, vividness, and doubt. It sounded almost thoughtful, yet left room for imagination.
Composing an Artwork from Experimental Letters
After choosing the phrase, I went back to my collection of experimental letters. I picked only the forms that felt lively, full of energy, and character, choosing the letters I liked most. I wanted to use the entire alphabet. I chose forms by feeling, based on their movement, texture, and personality. I scanned them, moved them around, swapped some, changed others, and created several compositions.
During that process, I found something I should have checked before. My “pangram” wasn’t a real pangram. It was missing the letters H and W. I could have fixed it easily by adding the word white, for example, to make the sentence technically complete:
My quiet black zen fox jumps over vivid white doubt.
But I chose not to fix it. The phrase already had the word “doubt,” and this accidental mistake became an important part of the work. It made me think about systems that seem complete but aren't, and how a missing part can be more powerful than a perfect one. The work became an experiment in letterforms and language: the mistake itself became part of the piece’s meaning.
Doubt tests structure. In this case, quite literally.
Throughout, I stayed focused on the energy and individuality of each form. After experimenting with static and dynamic layouts, I settled on a composition that captured a sense of movement, echoing the fox’s leap in the phrase.
To deepen the conceptual layer, I moved beyond simply describing the techniques or instruments used for each letter. Instead, I questioned each word in the pangram:
To deepen the conceptual layer, I moved beyond simply describing the techniques or instruments used for each letter. Instead, I questioned each word in the pangram:
Quiet is not passive.
Black absorbs more than it reveals.
Zen is not aesthetic.
The fox moves before its explanation.
Jumps require leaving the ground.
Over is a matter of distance.
Vivid depends on contrast.
Doubt tests structure.
Creation: From Concept to Physical Artwork
Turning this vision into a physical object became a journey of its own, shaped by experimentation, mistakes, and everything I learned from working with the materials.
The original sketch was blue-green, but as I began planning the physical piece, I became fascinated by what would happen if I replaced that combination with gold and deep blue. I was drawn to the tension between these colors. Gold felt physical and reflective, while blue gave the experimental letters space to move and exist.
The idea also connected to my interest in Yves Klein and his use of blue and gold. Klein linked blue with the invisible and the infinite, while gold carried a sense of physical presence and value. The contrast matched what I was exploring: the space between the physical letter and the idea it stands for.
By this point, I had also started to see my letters differently. They had begun as very physical gestures, shaped by tools, paint, pressure, and accident. I had collected them because I liked their individual forms too much to throw them away. Now, arranged together, they became more than pieces of writing. They were visual forms with their own texture, movement, and character. The letters remain readable, but their unusual shapes make you notice the letters themselves, not only the words they create.
Material Process: Making the Gold-Leaf Canvas
Turning that idea into a real surface was much harder.
I decided to make a gold-leaf canvas and place the letterforms in deep blue on top. I began by applying a thin layer of gold leaf to the canvas. Then I added a sealer, only to discover that the gold had darkened unexpectedly.
That meant starting to experiment again.
I tested different sealers, paints, and ways of transferring the letterforms onto the thin golden leaf. Some attempts worked. Others did not. I had to make corrections, change the process, and learn how the materials behaved before I could get the clarity and texture I was looking for.
Eventually, the physical piece began to catch up with the idea.
A pangram gave me the alphabet.
My experiments gave me the letters.
The questions gave them another layer of meaning.
And the material process gave the whole thing a physical life.
My experiments gave me the letters.
The questions gave them another layer of meaning.
And the material process gave the whole thing a physical life.
What began as a collection of letterforms I couldn't bring myself to throw away became a composition about language, form, material, and doubt.
After all, the fox doesn't explain itself.
It just jumps.
Thanks for staying curious.
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