#cursive — Public Fediverse posts

It occurred to me recently that, as I enter the later stages of my life,

and begin to visit doctors who are only now emerging from America's medical schools,

that I may soon visit a doctor who only knows how to print their name illegibly....

#lostArts #cursive

It occurred to me recently that, as I enter the later stages of my life,

and begin to visit doctors who are only now emerging from America's medical schools,

that I may soon visit a doctor who only knows how to print their name illegibly....

#lostArts #cursive

It occurred to me recently that, as I enter the later stages of my life,

and begin to visit doctors who are only now emerging from America's medical schools,

that I may soon visit a doctor who only knows how to print their name illegibly....

#lostArts #cursive

It occurred to me recently that, as I enter the later stages of my life,

and begin to visit doctors who are only now emerging from America's medical schools,

that I may soon visit a doctor who only knows how to print their name illegibly....

#lostArts #cursive

It occurred to me recently that, as I enter the later stages of my life,

and begin to visit doctors who are only now emerging from America's medical schools,

that I may soon visit a doctor who only knows how to print their name illegibly....

#lostArts #cursive

https://www.europesays.com/britain/16291/ AI firms pioneering drug discovery, cheaper supercomputing and more get first backing through UK’s Sovereign AI | Department for Science, Innovation & Technology #ai #AIRR #Britain #british #Callosum #CANOPY #CEO #Cosine #Cursive #deepmind #Doubleword #Founder #Fund #Mente #Prima #research #Sovereign #Twig #UK #Unit

i wrote a cursive z today for no reason, and... wooeee, i didn't care for it.

#cursive #writing #silly

The Funeral of Handwriting: What We Lose When the Hand Stops Moving

In 2010, the Common Core State Standards Initiative dropped cursive instruction from its recommended curriculum. The decision arrived without ceremony. No public debate, no period of mourning, no recognition that a cognitive practice stretching back to the Sumerian reed stylus was being retired from American education. Forty-one states adopted the standards. Cursive, along with its slower sibling manuscript handwriting, began its institutional death.

The loss registers first in the brain. Karin James, a cognitive neuroscientist at Indiana University, published research in 2012 demonstrating that children who practiced letter formation by hand showed activation in the left fusiform gyrus, the reading circuit of the brain, that children who typed the same letters did not. The hand, moving across the page, recruits neural networks that the keyboard bypasses entirely. Virginia Berninger’s longitudinal studies at the University of Washington reinforced this finding: children who wrote by hand produced more words, generated ideas faster, and composed more complete sentences than those who typed. The hand thinks its way through language.

The argument here has nothing to do with sentiment about fountain pens and wax seals. The motor act of forming letters creates a proprioceptive feedback loop that anchors memory and comprehension in ways that tapping a glass screen cannot replicate. A 2014 study by Pam Mueller and Daniel Oppenheimer, published in Psychological Science under the title “The Pen Is Mightier Than the Keyboard,” showed that students who took longhand notes outperformed laptop note-takers on conceptual questions, even when the laptop group had more recorded material. Speed worked against understanding. The hand’s slowness forced selection, compression, and interpretation in real time, while the keyboard encouraged transcription without cognition.

The cultural history tells a parallel story. In the nineteenth century, Platt Rogers Spencer developed the Spencerian method, a system of penmanship that became the standard American hand from the 1850s through the turn of the century. Spencer did not conceive of handwriting as a mechanical skill. He understood it as moral training. The discipline of forming graceful, consistent letterforms was a discipline of the self: patience, attention, proportion, restraint. When Austin Norman Palmer replaced Spencerian script with his own method around 1900, he stripped the moral philosophy but kept the premise that handwriting shaped character. Both men would have found the idea of abandoning handwriting instruction incomprehensible, the equivalent of canceling arithmetic because calculators exist.

The legal and institutional architecture of Western civilization was built on the handwritten document. Wills, contracts, treaties, confessions, correspondence, medical notes, field observations, laboratory records: for centuries, the handwritten text carried an evidentiary weight that print could not match. A signature functions as an assertion of identity and intention, a mark that forensic examiners can trace to a single human hand. The typed name carries no such specificity. As handwriting recedes from common practice, an entire system of authentication rooted in the irreducible individuality of the body recedes with it.

The counterargument writes itself: nobody needs cursive to function in a digital economy. Keyboards are faster. Screens are ubiquitous. Communication has moved to platforms where handwriting has no utility. All of this is true, and all of it misses the point. Efficiency has never been the right lens for evaluating a cognitive practice. Running is less efficient than driving; we do not therefore recommend the abolition of legs.

What is happening is a form of cognitive amputation performed in the name of convenience. The connection between the hand and the brain’s language centers, between the body and the act of composition, between the slow, resistant, physical work of making meaning and the frictionless digital surface that asks nothing of us but a tap, is being severed by policy and indifference. The children who will never learn cursive will still read and write. They will compose texts and emails and reports. What they will lack is the knowledge of what they are missing, which is the particular cruelty of amputation: the phantom limb aches, but only if you once had the limb.

A growing number of American states have passed legislation mandating cursive instruction, swimming against the Common Core current. Louisiana’s Act 300 in 2016 was among the earliest. These legislative acts respond to accumulating evidence that the hand’s retirement has consequences the brain cannot absorb on its own. The neuroscience keeps arriving, and it keeps pointing in the same direction: the hand and the mind developed together, over millennia, and separating them carries costs that no efficiency calculation can account for.

The funeral of handwriting is the funeral of a particular kind of thinking: slow, embodied, resistant to acceleration, irreducibly personal. Every word written by hand carries the tremor of the individual body, the pressure of the moment, the angle of fatigue or excitement or care. The keyboard produces uniform characters regardless of who strikes the keys. Uniformity offers comfort, and the comfort has a price measured in capacities we can no longer name.

The Funeral of Handwriting: What We Lose When the Hand Stops Moving

In 2010, the Common Core State Standards Initiative dropped cursive instruction from its recommended curriculum. The decision arrived without ceremony. No public debate, no period of mourning, no recognition that a cognitive practice stretching back to the Sumerian reed stylus was being retired from American education. Forty-one states adopted the standards. Cursive, along with its slower sibling manuscript handwriting, began its institutional death.

The loss registers first in the brain. Karin James, a cognitive neuroscientist at Indiana University, published research in 2012 demonstrating that children who practiced letter formation by hand showed activation in the left fusiform gyrus, the reading circuit of the brain, that children who typed the same letters did not. The hand, moving across the page, recruits neural networks that the keyboard bypasses entirely. Virginia Berninger’s longitudinal studies at the University of Washington reinforced this finding: children who wrote by hand produced more words, generated ideas faster, and composed more complete sentences than those who typed. The hand thinks its way through language.

The argument here has nothing to do with sentiment about fountain pens and wax seals. The motor act of forming letters creates a proprioceptive feedback loop that anchors memory and comprehension in ways that tapping a glass screen cannot replicate. A 2014 study by Pam Mueller and Daniel Oppenheimer, published in Psychological Science under the title “The Pen Is Mightier Than the Keyboard,” showed that students who took longhand notes outperformed laptop note-takers on conceptual questions, even when the laptop group had more recorded material. Speed worked against understanding. The hand’s slowness forced selection, compression, and interpretation in real time, while the keyboard encouraged transcription without cognition.

The cultural history tells a parallel story. In the nineteenth century, Platt Rogers Spencer developed the Spencerian method, a system of penmanship that became the standard American hand from the 1850s through the turn of the century. Spencer did not conceive of handwriting as a mechanical skill. He understood it as moral training. The discipline of forming graceful, consistent letterforms was a discipline of the self: patience, attention, proportion, restraint. When Austin Norman Palmer replaced Spencerian script with his own method around 1900, he stripped the moral philosophy but kept the premise that handwriting shaped character. Both men would have found the idea of abandoning handwriting instruction incomprehensible, the equivalent of canceling arithmetic because calculators exist.

The legal and institutional architecture of Western civilization was built on the handwritten document. Wills, contracts, treaties, confessions, correspondence, medical notes, field observations, laboratory records: for centuries, the handwritten text carried an evidentiary weight that print could not match. A signature functions as an assertion of identity and intention, a mark that forensic examiners can trace to a single human hand. The typed name carries no such specificity. As handwriting recedes from common practice, an entire system of authentication rooted in the irreducible individuality of the body recedes with it.

The counterargument writes itself: nobody needs cursive to function in a digital economy. Keyboards are faster. Screens are ubiquitous. Communication has moved to platforms where handwriting has no utility. All of this is true, and all of it misses the point. Efficiency has never been the right lens for evaluating a cognitive practice. Running is less efficient than driving; we do not therefore recommend the abolition of legs.

What is happening is a form of cognitive amputation performed in the name of convenience. The connection between the hand and the brain’s language centers, between the body and the act of composition, between the slow, resistant, physical work of making meaning and the frictionless digital surface that asks nothing of us but a tap, is being severed by policy and indifference. The children who will never learn cursive will still read and write. They will compose texts and emails and reports. What they will lack is the knowledge of what they are missing, which is the particular cruelty of amputation: the phantom limb aches, but only if you once had the limb.

A growing number of American states have passed legislation mandating cursive instruction, swimming against the Common Core current. Louisiana’s Act 300 in 2016 was among the earliest. These legislative acts respond to accumulating evidence that the hand’s retirement has consequences the brain cannot absorb on its own. The neuroscience keeps arriving, and it keeps pointing in the same direction: the hand and the mind developed together, over millennia, and separating them carries costs that no efficiency calculation can account for.

The funeral of handwriting is the funeral of a particular kind of thinking: slow, embodied, resistant to acceleration, irreducibly personal. Every word written by hand carries the tremor of the individual body, the pressure of the moment, the angle of fatigue or excitement or care. The keyboard produces uniform characters regardless of who strikes the keys. Uniformity offers comfort, and the comfort has a price measured in capacities we can no longer name.

The Funeral of Handwriting: What We Lose When the Hand Stops Moving

In 2010, the Common Core State Standards Initiative dropped cursive instruction from its recommended curriculum. The decision arrived without ceremony. No public debate, no period of mourning, no recognition that a cognitive practice stretching back to the Sumerian reed stylus was being retired from American education. Forty-one states adopted the standards. Cursive, along with its slower sibling manuscript handwriting, began its institutional death.

The loss registers first in the brain. Karin James, a cognitive neuroscientist at Indiana University, published research in 2012 demonstrating that children who practiced letter formation by hand showed activation in the left fusiform gyrus, the reading circuit of the brain, that children who typed the same letters did not. The hand, moving across the page, recruits neural networks that the keyboard bypasses entirely. Virginia Berninger’s longitudinal studies at the University of Washington reinforced this finding: children who wrote by hand produced more words, generated ideas faster, and composed more complete sentences than those who typed. The hand thinks its way through language.

The argument here has nothing to do with sentiment about fountain pens and wax seals. The motor act of forming letters creates a proprioceptive feedback loop that anchors memory and comprehension in ways that tapping a glass screen cannot replicate. A 2014 study by Pam Mueller and Daniel Oppenheimer, published in Psychological Science under the title “The Pen Is Mightier Than the Keyboard,” showed that students who took longhand notes outperformed laptop note-takers on conceptual questions, even when the laptop group had more recorded material. Speed worked against understanding. The hand’s slowness forced selection, compression, and interpretation in real time, while the keyboard encouraged transcription without cognition.

The cultural history tells a parallel story. In the nineteenth century, Platt Rogers Spencer developed the Spencerian method, a system of penmanship that became the standard American hand from the 1850s through the turn of the century. Spencer did not conceive of handwriting as a mechanical skill. He understood it as moral training. The discipline of forming graceful, consistent letterforms was a discipline of the self: patience, attention, proportion, restraint. When Austin Norman Palmer replaced Spencerian script with his own method around 1900, he stripped the moral philosophy but kept the premise that handwriting shaped character. Both men would have found the idea of abandoning handwriting instruction incomprehensible, the equivalent of canceling arithmetic because calculators exist.

The legal and institutional architecture of Western civilization was built on the handwritten document. Wills, contracts, treaties, confessions, correspondence, medical notes, field observations, laboratory records: for centuries, the handwritten text carried an evidentiary weight that print could not match. A signature functions as an assertion of identity and intention, a mark that forensic examiners can trace to a single human hand. The typed name carries no such specificity. As handwriting recedes from common practice, an entire system of authentication rooted in the irreducible individuality of the body recedes with it.

The counterargument writes itself: nobody needs cursive to function in a digital economy. Keyboards are faster. Screens are ubiquitous. Communication has moved to platforms where handwriting has no utility. All of this is true, and all of it misses the point. Efficiency has never been the right lens for evaluating a cognitive practice. Running is less efficient than driving; we do not therefore recommend the abolition of legs.

What is happening is a form of cognitive amputation performed in the name of convenience. The connection between the hand and the brain’s language centers, between the body and the act of composition, between the slow, resistant, physical work of making meaning and the frictionless digital surface that asks nothing of us but a tap, is being severed by policy and indifference. The children who will never learn cursive will still read and write. They will compose texts and emails and reports. What they will lack is the knowledge of what they are missing, which is the particular cruelty of amputation: the phantom limb aches, but only if you once had the limb.

A growing number of American states have passed legislation mandating cursive instruction, swimming against the Common Core current. Louisiana’s Act 300 in 2016 was among the earliest. These legislative acts respond to accumulating evidence that the hand’s retirement has consequences the brain cannot absorb on its own. The neuroscience keeps arriving, and it keeps pointing in the same direction: the hand and the mind developed together, over millennia, and separating them carries costs that no efficiency calculation can account for.

The funeral of handwriting is the funeral of a particular kind of thinking: slow, embodied, resistant to acceleration, irreducibly personal. Every word written by hand carries the tremor of the individual body, the pressure of the moment, the angle of fatigue or excitement or care. The keyboard produces uniform characters regardless of who strikes the keys. Uniformity offers comfort, and the comfort has a price measured in capacities we can no longer name.

The Funeral of Handwriting: What We Lose When the Hand Stops Moving

In 2010, the Common Core State Standards Initiative dropped cursive instruction from its recommended curriculum. The decision arrived without ceremony. No public debate, no period of mourning, no recognition that a cognitive practice stretching back to the Sumerian reed stylus was being retired from American education. Forty-one states adopted the standards. Cursive, along with its slower sibling manuscript handwriting, began its institutional death.

The loss registers first in the brain. Karin James, a cognitive neuroscientist at Indiana University, published research in 2012 demonstrating that children who practiced letter formation by hand showed activation in the left fusiform gyrus, the reading circuit of the brain, that children who typed the same letters did not. The hand, moving across the page, recruits neural networks that the keyboard bypasses entirely. Virginia Berninger’s longitudinal studies at the University of Washington reinforced this finding: children who wrote by hand produced more words, generated ideas faster, and composed more complete sentences than those who typed. The hand thinks its way through language.

The argument here has nothing to do with sentiment about fountain pens and wax seals. The motor act of forming letters creates a proprioceptive feedback loop that anchors memory and comprehension in ways that tapping a glass screen cannot replicate. A 2014 study by Pam Mueller and Daniel Oppenheimer, published in Psychological Science under the title “The Pen Is Mightier Than the Keyboard,” showed that students who took longhand notes outperformed laptop note-takers on conceptual questions, even when the laptop group had more recorded material. Speed worked against understanding. The hand’s slowness forced selection, compression, and interpretation in real time, while the keyboard encouraged transcription without cognition.

The cultural history tells a parallel story. In the nineteenth century, Platt Rogers Spencer developed the Spencerian method, a system of penmanship that became the standard American hand from the 1850s through the turn of the century. Spencer did not conceive of handwriting as a mechanical skill. He understood it as moral training. The discipline of forming graceful, consistent letterforms was a discipline of the self: patience, attention, proportion, restraint. When Austin Norman Palmer replaced Spencerian script with his own method around 1900, he stripped the moral philosophy but kept the premise that handwriting shaped character. Both men would have found the idea of abandoning handwriting instruction incomprehensible, the equivalent of canceling arithmetic because calculators exist.

The legal and institutional architecture of Western civilization was built on the handwritten document. Wills, contracts, treaties, confessions, correspondence, medical notes, field observations, laboratory records: for centuries, the handwritten text carried an evidentiary weight that print could not match. A signature functions as an assertion of identity and intention, a mark that forensic examiners can trace to a single human hand. The typed name carries no such specificity. As handwriting recedes from common practice, an entire system of authentication rooted in the irreducible individuality of the body recedes with it.

The counterargument writes itself: nobody needs cursive to function in a digital economy. Keyboards are faster. Screens are ubiquitous. Communication has moved to platforms where handwriting has no utility. All of this is true, and all of it misses the point. Efficiency has never been the right lens for evaluating a cognitive practice. Running is less efficient than driving; we do not therefore recommend the abolition of legs.

What is happening is a form of cognitive amputation performed in the name of convenience. The connection between the hand and the brain’s language centers, between the body and the act of composition, between the slow, resistant, physical work of making meaning and the frictionless digital surface that asks nothing of us but a tap, is being severed by policy and indifference. The children who will never learn cursive will still read and write. They will compose texts and emails and reports. What they will lack is the knowledge of what they are missing, which is the particular cruelty of amputation: the phantom limb aches, but only if you once had the limb.

A growing number of American states have passed legislation mandating cursive instruction, swimming against the Common Core current. Louisiana’s Act 300 in 2016 was among the earliest. These legislative acts respond to accumulating evidence that the hand’s retirement has consequences the brain cannot absorb on its own. The neuroscience keeps arriving, and it keeps pointing in the same direction: the hand and the mind developed together, over millennia, and separating them carries costs that no efficiency calculation can account for.

The funeral of handwriting is the funeral of a particular kind of thinking: slow, embodied, resistant to acceleration, irreducibly personal. Every word written by hand carries the tremor of the individual body, the pressure of the moment, the angle of fatigue or excitement or care. The keyboard produces uniform characters regardless of who strikes the keys. Uniformity offers comfort, and the comfort has a price measured in capacities we can no longer name.

The Funeral of Handwriting: What We Lose When the Hand Stops Moving

In 2010, the Common Core State Standards Initiative dropped cursive instruction from its recommended curriculum. The decision arrived without ceremony. No public debate, no period of mourning, no recognition that a cognitive practice stretching back to the Sumerian reed stylus was being retired from American education. Forty-one states adopted the standards. Cursive, along with its slower sibling manuscript handwriting, began its institutional death.

The loss registers first in the brain. Karin James, a cognitive neuroscientist at Indiana University, published research in 2012 demonstrating that children who practiced letter formation by hand showed activation in the left fusiform gyrus, the reading circuit of the brain, that children who typed the same letters did not. The hand, moving across the page, recruits neural networks that the keyboard bypasses entirely. Virginia Berninger’s longitudinal studies at the University of Washington reinforced this finding: children who wrote by hand produced more words, generated ideas faster, and composed more complete sentences than those who typed. The hand thinks its way through language.

The argument here has nothing to do with sentiment about fountain pens and wax seals. The motor act of forming letters creates a proprioceptive feedback loop that anchors memory and comprehension in ways that tapping a glass screen cannot replicate. A 2014 study by Pam Mueller and Daniel Oppenheimer, published in Psychological Science under the title “The Pen Is Mightier Than the Keyboard,” showed that students who took longhand notes outperformed laptop note-takers on conceptual questions, even when the laptop group had more recorded material. Speed worked against understanding. The hand’s slowness forced selection, compression, and interpretation in real time, while the keyboard encouraged transcription without cognition.

The cultural history tells a parallel story. In the nineteenth century, Platt Rogers Spencer developed the Spencerian method, a system of penmanship that became the standard American hand from the 1850s through the turn of the century. Spencer did not conceive of handwriting as a mechanical skill. He understood it as moral training. The discipline of forming graceful, consistent letterforms was a discipline of the self: patience, attention, proportion, restraint. When Austin Norman Palmer replaced Spencerian script with his own method around 1900, he stripped the moral philosophy but kept the premise that handwriting shaped character. Both men would have found the idea of abandoning handwriting instruction incomprehensible, the equivalent of canceling arithmetic because calculators exist.

The legal and institutional architecture of Western civilization was built on the handwritten document. Wills, contracts, treaties, confessions, correspondence, medical notes, field observations, laboratory records: for centuries, the handwritten text carried an evidentiary weight that print could not match. A signature functions as an assertion of identity and intention, a mark that forensic examiners can trace to a single human hand. The typed name carries no such specificity. As handwriting recedes from common practice, an entire system of authentication rooted in the irreducible individuality of the body recedes with it.

The counterargument writes itself: nobody needs cursive to function in a digital economy. Keyboards are faster. Screens are ubiquitous. Communication has moved to platforms where handwriting has no utility. All of this is true, and all of it misses the point. Efficiency has never been the right lens for evaluating a cognitive practice. Running is less efficient than driving; we do not therefore recommend the abolition of legs.

What is happening is a form of cognitive amputation performed in the name of convenience. The connection between the hand and the brain’s language centers, between the body and the act of composition, between the slow, resistant, physical work of making meaning and the frictionless digital surface that asks nothing of us but a tap, is being severed by policy and indifference. The children who will never learn cursive will still read and write. They will compose texts and emails and reports. What they will lack is the knowledge of what they are missing, which is the particular cruelty of amputation: the phantom limb aches, but only if you once had the limb.

A growing number of American states have passed legislation mandating cursive instruction, swimming against the Common Core current. Louisiana’s Act 300 in 2016 was among the earliest. These legislative acts respond to accumulating evidence that the hand’s retirement has consequences the brain cannot absorb on its own. The neuroscience keeps arriving, and it keeps pointing in the same direction: the hand and the mind developed together, over millennia, and separating them carries costs that no efficiency calculation can account for.

The funeral of handwriting is the funeral of a particular kind of thinking: slow, embodied, resistant to acceleration, irreducibly personal. Every word written by hand carries the tremor of the individual body, the pressure of the moment, the angle of fatigue or excitement or care. The keyboard produces uniform characters regardless of who strikes the keys. Uniformity offers comfort, and the comfort has a price measured in capacities we can no longer name.

@ferret_stack I love this! I have similar little diagrams to myself in the margins of my notes

This feels like it could use a #cursive or #handwriting hashtag... #cursiveMeta? #cursiveWorkshop?

Anyway I'm hungry for this kind of stuff and I find not many people really get into it, despite the fact that us cursive sickos would lap it up like the latest lamy limited edition aubergine ink pack

I'm old enough to remember cursive. I also remember being surprised to find out my kids were not being taught cursive.

Cursive is back. But should students be learning the skill? https://www.npr.org/2026/03/19/nx-s1-5669426/cursive-handwriting-school-controversy

#cursive

Coding My Handwriting

https://www.amygoodchild.com/blog/cursive-handwriting-in-javascript

#HackerNews #Coding #Handwriting #HandwritingInJS #JavaScript #TechBlog #Cursive

> Pennsylvania schools will be required to teach cursive again starting in April

To what end? What practical utility has #cursive ever served beyond aestheticism? What existing (and hopefully more useful) topics will get sidelined to make a boomer feel better?

I ask this as someone from a class where cursive WAS taught, and now realize it was an unnecessary cognitive burden, in retrospect, over my lifetime.

> The House sponsor, Rep. Dane Watro (R‑Luzerne/Schuylkill), said proponents believe the skill supports fine motor development and access to historical documents written in script. "Cursive is more than handwriting. It’s a bridge," Watro said in a statement last month. "It connects us to our history, strengthens learning and deepens our understanding of the world. By teaching cursive, we’re equipping students with skills that sharpen the mind and safeguard our shared heritage."

The article also touches on other potential neuroscientific positives. Maybe, maybe not. But honestly this feels like fluff to me to make old people happy.

Like re-opening coal mines.

https://www.fox29.com/news/pennsylvania-schools-will-be-required-teach-cursive-again-starting-april

I don't know what they teach in #school now but I was showing my cousin's son a marriage certificate of his great great grandparents and he couldn't read it because it's in #cursive. I see that being a serious issue in the future when his generation takes charge of historical documents. 🤦‍♀️

Bring back #cursive

https://www.the-sun.com/news/15811640/new-writing-law-makes-americans-joined-up-cursive/ #writing

Here are 10 under-the-radar Florida political stories to watch in 2026

Not every consequential political fight in Florida comes with a campaign…
#UnitedStates #US #USA #america #ashleymoody #CAIR #cursive #executivepower #FloridaForever #forensicmentalhealth #freekill #geopolitics #licenseplates #mentalhealth #Politics #pride #prideflag #rainbowroad #SchoolsofHope #UnderTheRadar #unitedstatesofamerica #UnitedStatesPolitics #USPolitics #usapolitics #Vertiports
https://www.europesays.com/2670840/

He's kind and helpful to the sick,
And never spreads a nasty rumor,
He doesn't get on people's wick,
And never laughs at toilet humor.

Blackadder, Blackadder, he's sickeningly good,
Blackadder, Blackadder, as nice as Christmas pud!

#FountainPen #cursive

@nina_kali_nina by the way ...

the work that went into joining lowercase characters in Script font was INSANE

The curriculum had this until nearly 1990 at which point "cursive joining" was less of a mandatory thing … actually on second thoughts there's a few differences, because we had a "p" that looked like an "h" so to allow the carryon line to join. And their "h" and "l" have loops in it.

But the 'w' and 'u' and 'v' — the real head-busters when you saw them all joined together — those look EXACTLY the same as what we did. If you know what to look for, there's a minimal viable difference: I typed fffsmnwuvvv

#typology #cursive #fonts #script #1980s #handwriting #vector #windows2

@nina_kali_nina by the way ...

the work that went into joining lowercase characters in Script font was INSANE

The curriculum had this until nearly 1990 at which point "cursive joining" was less of a mandatory thing … actually on second thoughts there's a few differences, because we had a "p" that looked like an "h" so to allow the carryon line to join. And their "h" and "l" have loops in it.

But the 'w' and 'u' and 'v' — the real head-busters when you saw them all joined together — those look EXACTLY the same as what we did. If you know what to look for, there's a minimal viable difference: I typed fffsmnwuvvv

#typology #cursive #fonts #script #1980s #handwriting #vector #windows2

@nina_kali_nina by the way ...

the work that went into joining lowercase characters in Script font was INSANE

The curriculum had this until nearly 1990 at which point "cursive joining" was less of a mandatory thing … actually on second thoughts there's a few differences, because we had a "p" that looked like an "h" so to allow the carryon line to join. And their "h" and "l" have loops in it.

But the 'w' and 'u' and 'v' — the real head-busters when you saw them all joined together — those look EXACTLY the same as what we did. If you know what to look for, there's a minimal viable difference: I typed fffsmnwuvvv

#typology #cursive #fonts #script #1980s #handwriting #vector #windows2

@nina_kali_nina by the way ...

the work that went into joining lowercase characters in Script font was INSANE

The curriculum had this until nearly 1990 at which point "cursive joining" was less of a mandatory thing … actually on second thoughts there's a few differences, because we had a "p" that looked like an "h" so to allow the carryon line to join. And their "h" and "l" have loops in it.

But the 'w' and 'u' and 'v' — the real head-busters when you saw them all joined together — those look EXACTLY the same as what we did. If you know what to look for, there's a minimal viable difference: I typed fffsmnwuvvv

#typology #cursive #fonts #script #1980s #handwriting #vector #windows2

@nina_kali_nina by the way ...

the work that went into joining lowercase characters in Script font was INSANE

The curriculum had this until nearly 1990 at which point "cursive joining" was less of a mandatory thing … actually on second thoughts there's a few differences, because we had a "p" that looked like an "h" so to allow the carryon line to join. And their "h" and "l" have loops in it.

But the 'w' and 'u' and 'v' — the real head-busters when you saw them all joined together — those look EXACTLY the same as what we did. If you know what to look for, there's a minimal viable difference: I typed fffsmnwuvvv

#typology #cursive #fonts #script #1980s #handwriting #vector #windows2

You hope I brought what now? 🤨

(I don't recall in which US store I took this picture, but it was in Sep. 2023)

#doormat #unfortunate #writing #cursive #funny #wine #picture