As scribes are becoming rarer and rarer in todays world, I often wonder if I’m one of the last calligraphers. The use of script or cursive (running writing) have been slowly fading since the typewriter arrived, and today, many children can’t even read what we once learned as normal handwriting.

While I’m of the generation that learned cursive at school, even within Australia, each state had its own style adopted by the education system. The letters I practiced as a child might look very different from someone just across the border. It made me aware early on that handwriting isn’t just a skill—it’s a local tradition.

My heart belongs to Copperplate Script, with its elegant loops and flowing lines. For me, calligraphy is that one thing that puts me into a flow where time disappears. I love it when I think of refilling my cup of coffee, and I look down and see the result of just hours of watching ink flow onto and into paper. It’s not about saving a dying art or carrying a mission. It’s about being completely present in a profession that I love.

Yet even I face modern quirks. Knowing what I know about the decline of script as a commonly accepted form of writing, I am aware that many people today may not be familiar with it. This is why my envelope addresses are always written in ALL CAPS. On placecards, I add the surname in capitals beneath the name, so that even if a guest doesn’t immediately recognise their name in script, the surname gives them a pause to take a second look.

I’m also of the belief that the world runs on seasons and cycles. There’s little to encourage the teaching of cursive to every school child anymore. Sometimes I wonder—am I one of the last calligraphers? Will calligraphy even exist as a profession in 100 years?

Am I one of the last calligraphers?

I do believe that cursive calligraphy will outlive me as an acceptable form of communication. My generation may have had educational learning in writing in cursive, but the passion for script still exists.

Calligraphy feels like a quiet rebellion against speed and machines—a reminder that communication can be art, not just tools. Even as the world speeds up, I can slow down, shape each curve, and watch time itself pour into my work.

Ultimately, I may not be preserving a dying art for the world—but I am preserving it for myself. And perhaps, in that simple love of flowing ink and elegant forms, there is hope that others will stumble across the beauty of script and continue the tradition in their own way.

Maybe I am one of the last calligraphers, but I am not THE last.