I am continuing my search for fonts that inspire me. Sometimes their names have a lot to do with why I pick them. Who was Jenkins? “Jenkins” feels a certain way to me. It conjures up the South, dill pickles and the title of mister, for some reason. Mr. Jenkins. He sits on the front porch eating his pickles, watching the cars go by. His whole life so informal that he never uses punctuation. He never had to. His parents, Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins either. In fact, at family reunions, he walks around not really talking to anybody, but that’s okay because all the Jenkinses are like that. All Jenkins’ family reunions involve thirty people dressed in plaid away from their stoops, not knowing how to handle themselves. Jenkins’ reunions would go a lot better if they had a giant front porch strewn with rocking chairs centered on a round-about.
Update: After writing this upper paragraph, I had the image of the Jenkins’ reunion.
Here it is after some time with Photoshop.