James Cook, the Artist who Creates Incredible Typewritten Drawings

Transmission 119: Interview with James Cook

London-based artist James Cook creates intricate drawings using just a typewriter. His text-based and language-inspired artwork has gained recognition from audiences worldwide. Viewers are often surprised to learn that instead of being painstakingly drawn with pen and ink, his pieces are composed entirely of the letters and symbols found on an old-fashioned typewriter. He meticulously arranges letters, numbers, and punctuation to form detailed landscapes and portraits. Using these elements, he draws lines, builds up tones, and creates shading on sheets of paper. His typewriter art ranges in size, from small postcards to large pieces spanning several meters.

James Cook has reimagined the use of outdated technology, and throughout his career, he has received recognition for his skillful recreations of famous artworks. Hidden within his pieces are meaningful, encoded messages, which can only be discovered by those who examine the works closely.

For those interested in viewing his artwork and uncovering some “Easter Eggs,” a free exhibition titled “Ten Years Typing: A Decade of Typewriter Art” will be held in London on Saturday, 30th November, and Sunday, 1st December, at The Print Space, 74 Kingsland Rd, London E2 8DL, UK. Opening hours are from 10:30 AM to 4:30 PM. The exhibition is a retrospective of his first 10 years of work, featuring pieces from his archive along with two brand-new works: the Brooklyn Bridge and the Golden Gate Bridge. James will also personalize prints with your name during the exhibition and sign them for you!

James Cook‘s official site , Facebook, Instagram, Youtube

What inspired you to explore the medium of typewriter art, and how did you first conceive the idea of creating images solely with using vintage typewriter letters and symbols?

Typewriter art has been a passion of mine for a decade, but the journey began in an unexpected way during a school art project back in 2014. This year marks a special milestone for me: ten years of typing! It all started when my college art teacher assigned us a research project focused on artists who incorporated technology into their work. I initially planned to explore the iconic British artist David Hockney, who famously used a fax machine to create art in the 1980s. However, unable to track down a fax machine, I shifted my focus and stumbled upon a forgotten form of creativity; typewriter art.

While researching, I came across the obituary of an artist named Paul Smith, not to be confused with the British fashion designer, but an American artist from the early 20th century. Paul was born with cerebral palsy and, unable to use a pencil, found his voice through the mechanical precision of a typewriter. He used it not just to write, but to create intricate drawings, piecing together letters, numbers, and punctuation to form stunning depictions of buildings, landscapes, animals, and portraits. His work left me mesmerized, and his backstory inspired me deeply. Here was someone who turned his limitations into a unique form of expression, using technology in a way few had imagined. I became energized to experiment with the same tool.

Finding a typewriter however proved challenging. After a few false starts, luck struck when an elderly couple overheard me inquiring at a jumble store and sold me a mint-condition 1950s Oliver Courier for just £15. My first typewriter; a small, mint-green beauty became the foundation of what would become a collection of 100 typewriters and counting. My Oliver Courier helped me produce my first 50 artworks, mostly portraits and architectural pieces, as I developed my technique. It was also the spark that ignited my passion, which I kept alive even while studying architecture at UCL in London between 2015 and 2021.

How do you select the specific letters and symbols you use for shading, texture, and detail in your work? Are there any characters you find yourself gravitating toward more frequently?

Through trial and error, I’ve learned which letters, numbers, and punctuation marks work best for different effects. For instance, the “@” symbol is fantastic for creating soft shading when overlapped, making it ideal for capturing smooth skin tones in portraits. The brackets “()” are perfectly scaled for typing the pupils of eyes at A4 size, and when it comes to architecture, brick or stonework can be meticulously reproduced by aligning underscores “_” next to each other, with capital “I” characters spaced in between to form the bonds between the bricks.

In what ways does the limitation of using a vintage typewriter influence your artistic style, the way to challenge yourself and  the themes you choose to explore?

What fascinates me about typewriter art is the inherent limitation: every stroke is dictated by the 50 keys on a standard typewriter. It’s a challenge that requires precision and strategy, almost like playing a game of chess, each move has to be calculated in advance. And as if that weren’t enough, no two typewriters are exactly the same. Some machines have more or fewer keys, and others are in completely different languages. In my collection, I have typewriters that type in Arabic and Hebrew, both of which function in reverse, typing right to left. Recently, I even acquired one designed to type musical notes for sheet music. The diversity of typewriters adds another layer of complexity, but that’s what makes it so compelling. The limitations force you to think creatively and problem-solve in the most unexpected ways.

What are some of the biggest technical challenges you face when working with a typewriter to create detailed imagery? Have you ever encountered a situation where the typewriter’s mechanical limitations forced you to adjust your original idea? 

First, transporting typewriters around the world is a task in itself. I’ve been fortunate enough to create artwork in places like Taiwan, Las Vegas, Amsterdam, and New York, but getting a typewriter through airport security always presents a challenge. I never risk putting them in my checked luggage; after all, we’ve all seen how luggage is handled, and I can’t afford to arrive at my destination with a broken machine. Instead, I opt for a portable typewriter, small enough to fit in a backpack, ensuring it stays with me at all times. But then there’s the second challenge: airport security. When the x-ray reveals a bundle of metal gears and levers, I can always see the confusion on their faces. Typewriters aren’t exactly common these days, so when they ask me what I’m carrying and I tell them it’s a typewriter, their usual follow-up question is, “Why on earth are you traveling with a typewriter?” When I explain that it’s for creating typewriter art, they give me a blank look and wave me through.

The other major challenge of working outdoors is the weather. Even the slightest hint of humidity or rain can ruin days of effort. Early in my career, I learned this the hard way. I was working on a local project in Essex, where I grew up, creating a piece of Finchingfield, a historic village. I was typing outside on a park bench, but I’d used paper that was too thin for the damp conditions. The moisture caused the typewriter hammers to punch right through the page, much like a hole punch. Four days of work were nearly ruined, and though I managed to tape it back together, the lesson was clear; always use thicker cartridge paper when working outdoors!

Do you plan in advance by hand sketching on paper the alignment and spacing of characters to ensure the final image is cohesive and accurate, or do you go directly on the project? How much time does it typically take you to complete a single typewriter drawing from idea to final piece?

I usually dive straight into my work, embracing the challenges as they come. One unique aspect of typewriter art is the weight of the keys, which allows me to create subtle marks on the page. By pressing lightly and using a dry, well-worn typewriter ribbon, I can produce faint, almost ghostly impressions that act as a framework. This technique gives me the freedom to sketch out my ideas without fully committing. Once I’m satisfied with the layout, I switch out the dry ribbon for a fresh, ink-heavy one and type over the framework to create bold, final lines.

When working on larger pieces that exceed the paper feed of the typewriter, I assemble them from multiple sheets. For example, my artwork of the Lower Manhattan skyline for New York’s 400th Anniversary earlier this year was made using several sheets of paper. To ensure everything aligned perfectly, I pencilled in reference points to guide the placement of each sheet. Beyond that, it’s all down to the typewriter, every element of the artwork is produced directly from the machine.

Do you also draw any inspiration from other forms of text-based art, such as ASCII art or calligraphy, and if so, how does that influence your work? I read that you have a typewriter that includes an Arabic script. Have you considered creating new projects using Chinese, Japanese, Indian etc … ideogram symbols?

I’ve touched on this earlier, but to expand on my inspirations, I love adding a second layer of information to my artwork. From a distance, typewriter art often resembles traditional pen-and-ink drawings, but as viewers get closer, they begin to notice the letters, numbers, and punctuation marks. And if they look even more carefully, they might discover hidden messages; my personal “Easter eggs.”

Growing up, I was captivated by Wimmelbilderbuch-style illustrations, those highly detailed, story-packed images like “Where’s Wally?” (or “Where’s Waldo?” in the U.S.). Martin Handford’s work, concealing stories within a larger scene, really fascinated me, and I’ve adopted a similar approach. I hide little messages within my typewriter art for viewers to find, whether they’re related to the historical context of landmarks like the Brooklyn Bridge or Rome’s Colosseum, both of which I’ve recently completed, or to my own experiences.

In some cases, these messages might be the names of places I’ve visited, shop signs, or even personal memories tied to the location. For instance, many of my London landmark pieces contain the names of pubs I went to with my mates during my university days. These hidden details add a personal narrative to the artwork, inviting people to take a deeper look and uncover stories woven into the larger picture.

Typewriters are often associated with a bygone era. How do you think your art bridges the gap between the historical context of typewriters and contemporary artistic expression? In what ways do you see your work contributing to or challenging the traditional definitions of digital and analog art?

While digital art offers infinite possibilities in terms of tools and precision, typewriter art is limited by the physical constraints of the machine; the number of keys, the ink ribbons, the type of paper. These limitations force me to be more intentional with every keystroke, making each piece a highly tactile and immersive process. In that sense, I see my work as blurring the line between analog and digital art. It’s analog in execution, but conceptually it resonates with our digital age. The hidden messages I include are my “Easter eggs” to invite viewers to interact with the art, much like in the digital world where we’re used to layers of meaning and interactivity.

I read that some people gave you their typewriters. How many do you own right now? Do you have a favourite typewriter? If yes, can you share the story behind it?

If someone visits my studio in London or attends one of my exhibitions, there’s a good chance they bring along a typewriter. Over the last decade, I’ve only needed to purchase around five or six typewriters, as the majority of my collection has been generously donated by the public, which I’m incredibly grateful for.

People often tell me they prefer donating their typewriters to me rather than selling them to a collector, because they know the machine won’t just sit on a shelf collecting dust or behind glass on display. I actually use them daily in my art. In a way, I’m giving these typewriters a second lease on life. Each one comes with its own history, and by incorporating them into my work, I feel like I’m extending their story, allowing them to continue being part of the creative process. It’s a special connection between the tool, the past, and what I’m able to create today.

Considering the vintage nature of typewriters? How do you maintain and care about them? Do you also manage the technical aspect of manutention?

You might be surprised to learn that despite their age, typewriters are far from fragile. In my experience, they’ve proven to be incredibly robust and built to last. Unlike much of today’s technology, mobile phones come to mind, which often have a sense of planned obsolescence built in combined with marketing to encourage constant upgrading, typewriters didn’t follow that trend. Their design evolution over the 20th century was minimal, so there wasn’t a need to upgrade to the latest model every few years.

Maintenance is straightforward too. A little oil now and then keeps the mechanics running smoothly, and the only regular task is replacing the ink ribbon which can be a messy job with ink smudging all over your hands, but otherwise, they’re easy to care for. Of course, it’s ideal to find a machine in good condition, preferably one that’s been stored in its original case which has been protected from the elements. I do occasionally come across typewriters that have been abandoned in garages or sheds, covered in dust and grime, and all their mechanical parts seized up. But if a typewriter has been well looked after, even with decades of use, it can still function as smoothly as it did when it was first made, which in some cases could be 80-100 years ago. I own an Oliver Batwing which was built in 1897 which is 120 years ago and this still works like it is brand new. This durability is one of the reasons I love working with them.

In the digital age, where images are often mass-produced and quickly consumed, what role do you think your meticulous, hand-crafted typewriter art plays? Have there been any memorable responses to your work? Is there a particular message or feeling you want to convey through your typewriter creations?

In the digital age, where social media often demands constant updates and rapid content creation, my typewriter art presents a unique challenge. Balancing the need to engage with my audience while producing intricate pieces can be tough. A drawing may take me anywhere from a week to three months to complete, which is a stark contrast to the fast-paced nature of social media. This slower process requires not just skill but also the patience of a saint.

However, I believe this approach adds a certain rarity to my work that my audience truly appreciates. While it may go against the grain of what’s expected in the social media landscape, it ultimately enhances the value of each piece. The limitations of my craft ensure that every creation is a labour of love, making it all the more special. My aim is to foster a deeper appreciation for the art form, encouraging viewers to connect with each piece on a more meaningful level, rather than just consuming it as another fleeting image in their feed.

Photos courtesy of James Cook

Dominique Musorrafiti

Ciao! My name is Dominique. I’m Italian and I’m proud to be a mix. My father was an Italian chemical engineer and high school teacher, with Greek and Polish heritage. My mother is Haitian, she was high school language teacher, with Dominican, Spanish, French, Portuguese, African and Native American heritage. Being a mix makes me appreciate to want to understand different cultures and lifestyles. I grew up in Italy, lived few years in Haiti, travel around main European capitals, lived many years in China, in Spain and UK. Traveling makes me feel that we can learn something from every situation in every part of the world.