So let us think of designers as those who constantly operate on the edge—whether with and on forms of recognition, or by allowing in the different, which fills the constantly repeating cascade of differences (from sensuality to imagination, from imagination to memory, from memory to forgetting, and finally to creative power (and then the whole thing starts all over again)). A contemporary Sisyphus. Tireless optimists striving to create forms of communication across all these differences and fault lines.
If we think of them as optimists constantly operating on this borderline, then perhaps their only consolation (and their tool) is the fact that we are all condemned to constant motion.

Cutting into stone, writing swiftly by hand, pushing nodes on a graphical user interface: Motion is one of the driving forces in typography and a guiding principle between handwriting and type design (where are type users and type designers closer than at the hands?). Type is always a trace of hand movement. Be it the actual hand of its creator in handwriting, the already slightly formalised hand in calligraphy, or the hand movement that is ultimately only cited secondarily in the constructed font family (on the screen). While certain type designs and styles (italic) explicitly reference the sometimes virtuoso, perhaps expressive character of handwriting and calligraphy, no typeface, no matter how formalised or constructed, can avoid movement if it uses Latin or similar character sets. And just as portrait drawing or sculpture can capture a longer moment or even a multitude of moments and movements, typeface testifies not only to the dynamically guided edges, but in its entire expression to the preservation of a millennia-old continuous motion.