Eliza Holliday Letterist.com: Brush Uncial on youtube...

Thursday, December 3, 2009

Brush Uncial on youtube...

4 comments:

Deb WarnatDecember 4, 2009 at 5:46 AM
Great to see your lettering again; a good refresher! Love it.
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lori vliegenDecember 4, 2009 at 8:53 AM
you create the most eloquent letters of anyone i know!!! thanks for the wonderful video.....you make it look SO easy (and i know that it's not!!)!! hugs, :))))
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Victoria PittmanJanuary 9, 2010 at 11:08 AM
Love your header Eliza!
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Renee TroyApril 23, 2010 at 1:09 PM
I found your video on uncial very informative. I don't do a lot with uncial but love it. Nor do I use a brush very often. I'm inspired to try both so thank you Eliza...
What brush do you recommend I buy?
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A Speech to the Garden Club of America

Thank you. I’m glad to know we’re friends, of course;
There are so many outcomes that are worse.
But I must add I’m sorry for getting here
By a sustained explosion through the air,
Burning the world in fact to rise much higher
Than we should go. The world may end in fire
As prophesied—our world! We speak of it
As “fuel” while we burn it in our fit
Of temporary progress, digging up
An antique dark-held luster to corrupt
The present light with smokes and smudges, poison
To outlast time and shatter comprehension.
Burning the world to live in it is wrong,
As wrong as to make war to get along
And be at peace, to falsify the land
By sciences of greed, or by demand
For food that’s fast or cheap to falsify
The body’s health and pleasure—don’t ask why.
But why not play it cool? Why not survive
By Nature’s laws that still keep us alive?
Let us enlighten, then, our earthly burdens
By going back to school, this time in gardens
That burn no hotter than the summer day.
By birth and growth, ripeness, death and decay,
By goods that bind us to all living things,
Life of our life, the garden lives and sings.
The Wheel of Life, delight, the fact of wonder,
Contemporary light, work, sweat, and hunger
Bring food to table, food to cellar shelves.
A creature of the surface, like ourselves,
The garden lives by the immortal Wheel
That turns in place, year after year, to heal
It whole. Unlike our economic pyre<
That draws from ancient rock a fossil fire,
An anti-life of radiance and fume
That burns as power and remains as doom,
The garden delves no deeper than its roots
And lifts no higher than its leaves and fruits.