Colophon.

I. SITE

Philosophy and compass

Animal Rationis Capax
on art, work, and becoming

“Animal rationis capax”
The animal capable of rationality.
—Attributed to Jonathan Swift, amending Aristotle’s “rational animal”

This phrase offers a profound redefinition of the human condition: not as a rational being, but as a being capable of rationality. It rescues us from the rigidity of essentialism and places us in a space of potential, process, and ethical growth.

Rather than assuming we are always, or even usually, rational—it gently affirms our capacity to become so. This distinction has powerful implications across pedagogy, ethics, grief, identity, and metaphysics.

I. Being vs. Becoming

Swift replaces Aristotle’s static ontology with a dynamic view of selfhood. We are no longer beings who are, but selves in the making—becomings.

This echoes:

II. Ethical Capacity

To be human is not to always do right, but to be capable of recognizing, choosing, and realigning toward the good.

This vision is humbling and compassionate. It leaves room for:

III. Pedagogical Orientation

Teaching, like ethical growth, becomes a practice of cultivating conditions rather than imposing outcomes. This phrase aligns closely with my own pedagogical work: Pattern, Presence, Practice.

IV. Ways of Seeing

This inquiry takes many forms across these pages: daily observations from life in Barcelona, reflections on works I’m performing, pedagogical experiments, musical speculations. Like a street photographer, I’m drawn to capture fleeting moments that reveal larger patterns—whether in the gesture of a student discovering bow distribution, the architecture of a Bach suite, or the quality of afternoon light filtering through Catalan streets.

My way of moving through the world has been shaped by four essential voices:

Christopher Alexander taught me that living structure emerges from careful attention to what wants to grow. His Pattern Language informs not only my pedagogical framework but my approach to daily observation—seeking the generative patterns that connect the small scale to the whole.

Gaston Bachelard revealed how spaces, objects, and moments carry emotional and philosophical weight. His poetics of space and phenomenology of elements help me read the deeper significance in seemingly ordinary encounters—the way a rehearsal room’s acoustics shape musical phrasing, or how the gesture of tuning contains the ethics of listening.

John Berger showed me that seeing is always a form of encounter, never neutral. His integration of art criticism, social observation, and personal reflection models the kind of attention I aspire to—one that recognizes the political and emotional dimensions embedded in aesthetic experience.

Richard Sennett reminds me that perception is not abstract; it is tactile, practiced, formed through contact. To see well is to handle the world with care. Just as a craftsman learns through the resistance of wood or metal, so too does the artist, teacher, or writer learn through the textures of daily work. Sennett offers an ethic of involved seeing—one that honors rhythm, repetition, and the deep time of skill.

Together, these four minds offer tools for recognizing that no moment is merely technical, no observation purely objective, no practice separate from the larger questions of how we choose to live.

Interlude: The Desk

There is a desk beneath the window. Morning light from the northeast. The shutters open just enough to let the day arrive gently. A red writing mat anchors the surface. Papers rest in loose formations. A mechanical pencil. A thin notebook. A handmade mug, still warm.

The mug is thick-walled, unglazed at the base, ochre and grey like riverbank clay. It holds heat like a body, which feels honest. I don’t reach for it so much as return to it. It’s not the best mug. It’s the one that understands waiting. Steam rises from the surface of the coffee in vapor-spirals.

My son is not yet born, but I feel his presence. He reshapes the silence around me. I write more slowly now–not because there is less time, but because the time I have feels newly textured. He is the breath before the phrase, the stillness before the page turns.

And my daughter–

She is not in this room, but the room bears her shape.
The turn of the chair toward the light.
The way I hesitate before beginning.
The softness I now permit myself.

There are days her absence presses against the edges of the morning. But even then, she is what steadies my hand. What draws me back to unfinished thoughts. What teaches me that holding on is not the same as not letting go.

This desk is not where I work.
It’s where I return, when I want to listen more carefully.
To what matters.
To who I’m becoming.
To what love requires of me next.
This is the room where I begin.

II. TYPOGRAPHY

On Shape, Substance, and the Time of the Page

This site’s typography is not decorative—it is epistemological. It expresses a belief: that form shapes thought, and that good design is not a matter of taste but of ethical and cognitive alignment.

The typographic system draws from centuries of typographic tradition and contemporary design craft. It aims for clarity without sterility, personality without pretension. Inspired by the quiet power of early printed books and the balanced restraint of modernist humanism, this system seeks legibility, rhythm, and grace.

Core Typefaces

Body: EB Garamond A digital revival of Claude Garamont’s 16th-century type, as interpreted by Octavio Pardo and Georg Duffner. With its calligraphic detail and generous spacing, it offers warmth, dignity, and a whisper of history—fitting for a site concerned with time, presence, and memory.

Interface and Headings: IBM Plex Sans Developed by Bold Monday and IBM to embody humanist engineering. Its rational structure and friendly tone pair well with Garamond’s organic voice, offering contrast without dissonance.

Code and Monospace: IBM Plex Mono A companion to Plex Sans, used sparingly for technical contexts and subtle tonal shifts.

Small Caps: EB Garamond SC Used selectively for emphasis, hierarchy, and semantic nuance. True small caps, not faux transformations—typography that honors the microstructure of meaning.

Typographic Values

Expressive Utility Classes

A small typographic utility library extends Markdown’s capabilities. These SCSS classes allow expressive variation within a semantic system:

.small-caps    // true small caps with letter spacing
.oldstyle      // oldstyle numerals
.ligatures     // discretionary and common ligatures
.no-ligatures  // typographic silence
.poetic        // italicized, softened rhythm
.callout       // block quote emphasis
.whisper       // subdued aside

Usage Philosophy

Typography is not neutral. Every line break, ligature, and space speaks. The system here aspires to:

This colophon section itself is an example. Where appropriate, classes like .small-caps, .poetic, and .oldstyle are used to let the typography not just convey the text—but participate in its meaning.

“The artist constructs a new symbol with his brush. This symbol is not the likeness of a face, but the feeling of an event.” — John Berger

III. TOOLS

“The tool is the instructor of man.”
—Not merely by enabling action, but by shaping attention, memory, and care.

Richard Sennett writes that craftsmanship is a slow unfolding of skill over time, grounded not in raw talent but in the intimate relationship between hand, tool, and material. My tools reflect this ethic. They are chosen not for novelty or automation, but for how they cultivate my capacity to dwell within the work, to listen more attentively, and to think with my hands—even when those hands are typing, bowing, or sketching.

Digital Practice

I work within a modular, text-centric digital environment—built around plain formats, transparent versioning, and slow knowledge.

These tools are companions, not conveniences. They are refined by repeated use. They reward patience and fidelity.

Mobile Mirror

My phone is a roaming atelier. Not ideal, but viable—mirroring core functions (Drafts, iA Writer, Working Copy) to allow continuity of thought across settings. When I’m traveling or parenting or waiting for rehearsal, the flow persists—smaller, slower, but intact.

Analogue Continuity

Paper is not nostalgia. It is a tool with its own virtues.

I left digital task managers behind when they became systems I served. Pen and paper offer presence. They slow time. They produce a quieter kind of attention. As Bachelard might note, the graphite’s residue matters. The smudge is also a mark of thought.

Rhythms and Maintenance

Every morning: the notebook, a stretch, a breath. Every evening: reflection, often brief, always handwritten. Once a week, I clean my desk. I review what remains. A practice is not kept alive through optimization, but through return.

Philosophy of Use

Alexander asks: Does it have the quality that cannot be named?
Berger reminds: Every tool has a perspective.
Bachelard whispers: The tool is also a room.
Sennett affirms: The good tool teaches.

These are the companions I consult. I choose tools not to finish faster, but to stay longer with what matters. Not for seamlessness, but for resonance. Not for automation, but for attunement.

I no longer ask, What can this tool do?
I ask:
Does it foster presence?
Does it invite care?
Can it be part of a life worth making—again and again?

IV. CONTACT

V. SITE DETAILS

Hosting & Engine

Version

25.3
Went live: Paris FR | 2020-05-12 | 22:41:35 UTC+1
Latest edit: Barcelona ES | 2025-06-03 | 14:21:00 UTC+1

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