My Underwood No. 5 was a flea market find, a heavy inelegant paean to the past-- lovely simply for what it was, no longer for what it did. Drawing it became an understanding of the clunky knobs, the exposed innards, the physicality of squeezing and tapping, the sticky springs and keys, the aural ding and zip.
I used dry media and collage: found newspaper and magazine ads of similar vintage to the typewriter, and tin panels from my 1910 Boston kitchen ceiling, so each work became another piece of the experience, poem-like, an elegy to the unheralded workhorse that bridged the eras of pen and computer chip.
*Click* to enlarge.
