Entering an old typography, you are immediately struck by the strong and acrid smell of ink that mixes with that of the wood from which the containers are made. The ancient printing machines, now silent, fill almost entirely the space of the room and the remaining part is occupied by large wooden drawers that contain the movable characters used to compose the text by hand. Everything is perfectly ordered, ready to be used again: each chest of drawers is dedicated to a single type of character and each of its drawers contains a body (i.e. a size) of that character. I like to think that men with beards, curved on these machines, have first meticulously composed and then printed numerous texts, delivering the words of many men to history. Maybe even important people.