Frasco expressed his intelligence in a barbed tongue, with a wit evinced in the reams of correspondence he left behind. Frasco the man was an epicure: his spacing provided ample separation, inviting readers to savor every shape and word.
Frasco wrote in an quick hand, his bowls evoking eyes that squint skyward in inquiry, be it daytime, midnight, or eclipse. The typeface that bears his name bristles with loops and tails; its ascendants emerge like figures leaping up on tiptoe.
The letterforms are a lean creation, sparingly adorned, marked by acute curvature. Steep swoops dictate the pace, while the capitals are not overlarge, like a king who is respected, but not given too wide a berth.