IMOGEN HOLLOWAY

Wednesday evening settles around seventeen degrees. Looking over the test sheet pulled this afternoon, the ink coverage across the capital M holds an even density, but the impression depth bites slightly too deep into the reverse. In the margin, I noted to remove one sheet of tissue packing from behind the tympan before tomorrow’s morning run. Pressure must be measured to the tooth of the sheet, never forced to compensate for dry rollers.

Dnevnik · 8. lis 2026.

Wednesday morning brings a clean chill near fourteen degrees through the window. The lead sorts laid out on the galley need a thorough wipe with mineral spirit before any test lines are locked into the chase. Ink residue from an older pull has settled into the bowl of the lowercase e, blunting what ought to be a crisp interior counter. My margin note for today’s trial is to wipe the metal clean with rag linen before rolling fresh black. A sharp impression begins with the type, not the platen.

Dnevnik · 7. lis 2026.

A page of hand-set text always reveals where impatience crept into the spacing. Looking over my earlier notes on Victorian municipal slabs, the tendency is often to let the eye forgive what the brass rule would catch at once. My intention for tomorrow’s early writing session is to isolate the description of bracketed serifs from their civic utility, treating each facet strictly as cast metal first. When the anatomy is set down without decorative flourish, the functional purpose explains itself.

Dnevnik · 6. lis 2026.