This week in a candle lit shack you’ll be frantically printing with an antiquated printing press the manifesto of your art shanty out-post far out on the barren wind-scoured ice. What’s that mournful sound in the distance? Only wolves howling. But here there’s a whole conclave of strange looking artists each in their very own strange looking shack, just trying to survive the ridiculous winter of creative discontent. What must be printed for them? Little brilliant tricksy things: the artists will read them and then know how to live. But the indelible type has to look just the right way. Artists won’t read comic sans. How about Univers? It’s simple and clean and wants you to believe just what it’s saying. The artists will love that it’s so neo-grotesque. Your eyesight is going as you write with tweezers the lead type backwards, but it doesn’t matter: the artist’s need to read as soon as they can the wicked truths that you’re printing up one sheet at a time. Quickly, quickly, print the magic. In the distance? The wolves are howling nearer.