Dying Arts, Dying Magic: Part I

I am a self-proclaimed geek.  I love electronics and "new-fangled" toys.  But as many of my friends can attest, even when I am enthused about something, I still highly advocate the idea of balance.  And I think that while technological advances are wonderful, they are causing society to trivialize some very important ideas and experiences. That said, I give you part one of my list of "dying art, dying magic."

1.) Hand-written correspondence.
I used to take for granted that most of my acquaintances had written and mailed a letter at some point in their lives.  That they had picked out a favorite pen from which the ink flowed just right.  That they had grinned to themselves as they penned amusing anecdotes, or felt a glow of affection towards a family member.  That they had sealed an envelope, hoping that the recipient would accept the apology they felt unequal to giving in person. Or even that they had felt the edgy satisfaction of penning a stinging, sarcastic, sharply-worded rebuke, their annoyance in the slashing lines of ink, the grooves of emphasis in the paper.

I've learned not to.  There are people in my generation who've never written mailed a package, or hand-written a letter.  There are even more in the generations that are growing up around us.  I wonder how many personal messages are sent through the post office these days, tucked in among the advertisements, the bills, the catalogs and newsletters.  Very few of us, I'd imagine, run out to the mailbox in the hopes that we'll soon be holding a piece of paper that was sent by a loved one with us on their minds and in their hearts.

You can't really put stickers on an email, sign your name with a special flourish, press a lipsticked kiss to the fold, or draw a funny little sketch on a whim.  You can't smell a scent that the author spritzed onto it, enjoy the texture of the paper as you unfold it, or grin to yourself when you discover that the author was long-winded and had to use more than one sheet of paper. We're losing a beautifully expressive artform, as well as the magic of that special personal connection.

I got a letter this week.  Lined paper, soft and flexible.  Two pages of someone taking the extra time to connect me to their life.  It felt fabulous.  I also wrote a letter this week. I picked a pen color and I drew a goofy sketch on the envelope. I put it in the mail.  And it made me smile. 

2.) Beautiful handwriting - even LEGIBLE handwriting!
On a related note - when I came across this article, I felt a certain pang.  As a child, I remember being terribly excited to move on from block printing (functional, easy to read, but slightly boring to me) to learning cursive.  I was obsessed with the way the letters flowed together, the way the pen would glide across the page.  How words became art with the addition of a slight slant and a connecting trail of ink.

I freely admit that cursive isn't for everyone.  But penmanship itself, be it cursive or print, isn't a skill that should be a complete mystery.  It isn't a science, it requires no equations.  And it is such an expression of self.  My handwriting is partly my father's, partly my mother's, and a lot of ME that I got from neither of them.

I get compliments on my handwriting and they almost always take me by surprise.  Often I'm simply scribbling out some random thought.  I'm no calligrapher with a special pen, perfect lines, and special inks.  But to me, writing is a simple, accessible form of art - the merging of your ideas and an easily-learned and highly personalized skill to create an expression of thought and self.  It saddens me that this may be a form of expression that future generations will, by and large, never experience.