True love is of details; love never stays general. Not that love starts with the smallest fractal; it likely begins with a joy defined out of “the field.” Then, the definition desires ever more specific articulations, continuing until a rhythm of devotion and intimacy is wholly underway. A lover of dresses becomes a lover of tailoring, a lover of speed becomes a lover of engines. Or here, we assume typographer Peter Roeleveld was a lover of visual communication which begat the lover of glyph and letter.