All Art Is Theft. All Of It.
Tchaaa. Tchaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. Here I was, thinking I was so clever in making my business displays all whimsical and breaking out the typography-fu. My payment disclaimer, especially.
(The last bit of Things I Will Not Accept In Lieu Of Payment reads, "Monopoly Money, Dream Dollars, Imperial Norton (I) Notes or any other form of self-printed currency." You see, right there after "Young Men With Loose Morals.")
But oh-
I had this thread of a thought tickling the back of my mind, an article I had been reading in November but lost the link to. So I did what anyone would do: I pulled at that thread to make it stop tickling. Possibly a bit of a mistake, in that it unravelled my sense of cleverness.
For at the other end of it lies the Ministry of Stories and its Hoxton Street Monster Supply Shop. A UK affiliate organization of the American 826 National-promoting reading arts and storytelling-it's storefront is full of the most sublimely typeset cleverness. Something deep inside of me went ¡ping!
While I might look at their tinned fears and olde fashioned brain jam and fang floss, I was content to be mildly jealous of the clean, unified design, the orchestrated overarching in-joke-ness of it all. It was something to aspire to. Something to admire. And then I read their payment disclaimer and my head imploded . . . well, it was more an emphatic headdesk but you get the idea.
Had this been sitting in the back of my mind, stewing away? Their version is neat and concise, and includes pre-decimal pounds sterling. Why didn't I think of that? Why did I have to give in to all that overwrought playbill typesetting, when there is Garamond, elegant Garamond? Does failure to list human sacrifices, pounds of flesh, or immortal souls mean that I am obligated to accept them as a form of payment?
Oy.
I'm pleased with my efforts, no question. Just, now I am aware that I am not as pleased as I could be. Small woes.
The solution is obviously to hold a seance and channel the spirit of Oscar Wilde the next time I need something truly witty and clever. If I have to add a by-line to the stuff to cite him as a reference, so be it.
(And having a degree in the fine arts, shouldn't I know by now that ideas are passed around like plague germs?)
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(The last bit of Things I Will Not Accept In Lieu Of Payment reads, "Monopoly Money, Dream Dollars, Imperial Norton (I) Notes or any other form of self-printed currency." You see, right there after "Young Men With Loose Morals.")
But oh-
I had this thread of a thought tickling the back of my mind, an article I had been reading in November but lost the link to. So I did what anyone would do: I pulled at that thread to make it stop tickling. Possibly a bit of a mistake, in that it unravelled my sense of cleverness.
For at the other end of it lies the Ministry of Stories and its Hoxton Street Monster Supply Shop. A UK affiliate organization of the American 826 National-promoting reading arts and storytelling-it's storefront is full of the most sublimely typeset cleverness. Something deep inside of me went ¡ping!
While I might look at their tinned fears and olde fashioned brain jam and fang floss, I was content to be mildly jealous of the clean, unified design, the orchestrated overarching in-joke-ness of it all. It was something to aspire to. Something to admire. And then I read their payment disclaimer and my head imploded . . . well, it was more an emphatic headdesk but you get the idea.
Had this been sitting in the back of my mind, stewing away? Their version is neat and concise, and includes pre-decimal pounds sterling. Why didn't I think of that? Why did I have to give in to all that overwrought playbill typesetting, when there is Garamond, elegant Garamond? Does failure to list human sacrifices, pounds of flesh, or immortal souls mean that I am obligated to accept them as a form of payment?
Oy.
I'm pleased with my efforts, no question. Just, now I am aware that I am not as pleased as I could be. Small woes.
The solution is obviously to hold a seance and channel the spirit of Oscar Wilde the next time I need something truly witty and clever. If I have to add a by-line to the stuff to cite him as a reference, so be it.
(And having a degree in the fine arts, shouldn't I know by now that ideas are passed around like plague germs?)
This entry was originally posted at http://chronographia.dreamwidth.org/69730.html and has
comments. Please comment there using OpenID.