I like walking.
Walking is a repetitive act of alternating between the left and right foot in a certain direction.
It takes us from point A to point B.
Viewed from a two-dimensional perspective, the traces of walking are formed by curves and straight lines.
The same applies to writing a character. A stroke starts from point A, and ends at point B. The intrigue part of typography lies in exploring the variations from A to B.
Yet many appealing parts would be missed out if the behaviour of walking is considered only as traces on a surface.
After all, walking takes place in space—a shared space with individuals and different species. And our paths intersect, forming a myriad of AB, just like the longitudes and latitudes of the earth.
A–B is a journey from A to B. It is a memory rather than a path.
When looking into a history or a memory of the others, I am squeezing my time and space to a point in A–B. And the point becomes the starting point of my exploration.
The gap between me and that history makes it difficult for me to trace back. However, it gives me the freedom of tracing to either A or B, and allows me to interpret A–B from a wider perspective.