The Page Was
Never Finished

Before a reader reached the first line, a sheet had already crossed the press twice. In a workshop beside the Rhine in 1455, black type established the fence of the page; vermilion followed, marking initials and headings where the eye needed a door.

A margin is an invitation

That order made the book feel less like a machine than a conversation between tools. The compositor set a measured block, then left its broad margins to a hand with a brush, a pot of red, and time enough to make each opening answer the next.