typogrammes as floating modules of words, another kind of writing, assembling the letters differently, looking at alphabets with eyes that cannot read, making small castles of strokes, round ones, straight ones, curved ones, recreating old runes and new ones alike, imagining parallel ways of communicating, seeing the letters as signs, assembling strokes arbitrarily, establishing new connections between words, finding meaning in the mere shape of words, letting the relief of the letters determine the sense, is it sharp, is it soft, is this one leading to a closure or to a new opening, should this A point towards the north or the east, should this angle be built with U or with I, and why is your name spelt like this, and is it truly a coincidence if in the word spelling there’s the word spell, typogrammes as small enchantments, mesmerising, hypnotising, magically creating something that we didn’t know existed before, it’s like music but for the eyes, like architecture but with letters, building small houses of words, some of them dimly lit, others completely open to the light,some of them sturdy, others more fragile, some of them inhabited, others still waiting for their first tenants, all of them loved and cherished when first drawn, all of them still floating in my mind, everyday, bringing new directions to my thoughts, revealing new possibilities, asking to be reshuffled again and again, reminding me that there is an infinite number of combinations and that I haven’t tried them all yet, not just yet, so there is more work to do: I will never understand the alphabet and neither will you, it is saying too many things at the same time, hiding everything in plain sight—so I keep exploring, assembling uppercase and lowercase, connecting the dots, turning the question marks upside down, messing around with the semicolons, asking new questions with words that didn’t exist before and won’t exist after: that, in short, is a typogramme, and obviously, it is much more than that: for my friend A. it became a tattoo, for E. it became a logo, for A. it became a signature, for me it always becomes a prayer, one begging to see the world differently, through the language, but when I say through, I mean it: piercing the language, peeling off its layers, removing the dust on the surface and the excess of ink, verbal ink and written ink, going deep into the language, feeling it with the fingers, with the tip of the pen and the tip of the brush, weighing every letter, understanding the length of the strokes that compose it, loving every letter, getting more acquainted with them everyday, letting the hand and the eyes remember them, making friends with them, and obviously I prefer some letters over others but I can’t disclose with ones, I don’t want the other ones to get upset and not let me play with them anymore, it has to be all of them at the same time you see: otherwise we can’t speak in any shape or form, and what was the point of it all in that case.