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Contributed by Stephen Coles Source: www.flickr.com Kit Karzen/Harris for President. License: All Rights Reserved. The Kamala Harris 2024 campaign identity, designed by Wide Eye Creative, is built around Sans Plomb, a condensed gothic not unlike the Bureau Grot used by Wide Eye for Harris’s 2020 primary bid – in turn inspired by Shirley Chisholm’s 1972 campaign. This time, though, the typeface is from a French foundry, rather than from Anglo-American origins (Stephenson Blake via Font Bureau). Source: fontsinuse.com License: All Rights Reserved. The logo for Kamala Harris’ 2020 campaign used Bureau Grot and an atypical asymmetrical layout. It’s not clear to me why they made the switch. From a design point of view, the caps aren’t significantly different from Bureau Grot. Perhaps they liked the more constructed, “modern” feel? Personally, I would have gone back to Chisholm’s pick, the all-American Franklin Gothic, which has no shortage of contemporary versions for any use case. (At the risk of friendship bias, I recommend the interpretation from Fonts In Use cofounder Nick Sherman.) The symmetrical layout for “Harris/Walz” is a much more conventional approach compared to Harris’s 2020 logo, which took a different road than most US presidential campaigns. The new look reflects her move to the center (no pun intended) for a broader audience. Source: www.flickr.com Eric Elofson/Harris for President. License: All Rights Reserved. Not the best kerning on this rally sign (AY). The font, Sans Plomb Super, doesn’t deliver that big of a gap out of the box, so something went awry in the typesetting. Source: kamalaharris.com License: All Rights Reserved. Source: kamalaharris.com License: All Rights Reserved. Source: store.kamalaharris.com License: All Rights Reserved. The supporting face for “WALZ”, running text, and other small bits like “YES SHE CAN” merch is Balto, Tal Leming’s contemporary take on the American gothic genre, such as Franklin Gothic and News Gothic. The Harris web store adds Sara Solskone and Jonathan Hoefler’s Decimal, a continuation of the Biden/Harris 2020 campaign. Seeing Solskone’s name makes me wonder if maybe there was a missed opportunity to also choose a typeface by an American woman for the main mark. For example, Program by Zuzana Licko, or Utile Narrow by Sibylle Hagmann. Source: store.kamalaharris.com License: All Rights Reserved. Source: kamalaharris.com License: All Rights Reserved. The logo used in this web pop-up is the early version before it was redrawn (see below). Source: www.instagram.com Jonathan Hoefler. License: All Rights Reserved. A refined version of the Harris/Walz logo (white outline) launched around August 11. The biggest changes were relieving the pinched curve at the top of the S and enlarging “WALZ” just slightly to the left for optical centering. Hoefler, whose typefaces (or those of Hoefler & Co.) have been part of the logo for “every Democratic president in the twenty-first century”, recently revealed that the mark was refined on August 10–11, a few weeks after its initial launch. The work – which involved some redrawing and better “WALZ” centering – was done by Leming and Scott Dadich under the direction of Wide Eye’s Alayna Citrin. Hoefler also commented that, “Trump has used Gotham for years, and NEVER bought a license. Color me surprised! We talked to a white shoe lawfirm in NYC about taking action, and was told, with a laugh, ‘take a number.’” Ironically, it was Barack Obama’s 2008 run that made Gotham (and its lookalikes) a default for US political campaigns, regardless of party. At least Harris is diverting a bit from that same old choice. This post was originally published at Fonts In Use
Contributed by Florian Hardwig Source: www.abebooks.com Between the Covers (edited). License: All Rights Reserved. One advantage that lettering has over typeset text is that the artist can always alter letterforms ad hoc, depending on the context. This allows her to make the most of the available space, to dissolve awkward pairs into pleasing combinations, or simply to enliven a design by means of variegation. Ursula Suess was a graphic artist who designed numerous book jackets in her career. For the majority of them, she’d come up with her own letterforms. I’ll later add a selection of designs that hints at her stylistic range in the comments to this article. Source: www.abebooks.com Between the Covers. License: All Rights Reserved. An early jacket with italic lettering, designed by Suess for Sean O’Casey’s Sunset and Evening Star, Macmillan, 1955 Source: www.abebooks.com Between the Covers. License: All Rights Reserved. Suess designed the jacket for The Confrontation by Lenore Marshall (W.W. Norton) in 1972, the year her Book Jacket was released. The lettering could pass as an extrabold variation. Source: www.klingspor-museum.de Photographer unknown. License: All Rights Reserved. An undated portrait of Ursula Suess In the early 1970s, Suess set about designing a typeface. According to a 2014 article by Ellen Sussman, she was in part motivated by the fact that “most type styles at the time were too wide and didn’t fit on a jacket.” Her typeface indeed is compact, both horizontally and vertically, with condensed, tight-setting letterforms and a large x-height with short extenders. Suess didn’t want to forgo all the flexibility she was familiar with from lettering, so she drew a large set of alternates. A TGC specimen sums it up: “She used lettering similar to this in her book cover designs, where space limitations called for lettering with many swash characters that was strong and condensed, yet rich and sensuous.” The calligraphic design was released by VGC as a stand-alone italic in 1972, named Book Jacket. Whether you find the name boring or brilliant, it did clarify the intended application area. And Book Jacket indeed was used for designing book jackets. One example by Suess herself is shown here. (See Robert Halsband’s biography of Lord Hervey for a second one.) As We Are Now is a novel by Belgian-American writer May Sarton (1912–1995), published by W.W. Norton & Company in 1973. Suess used her typeface in two sizes, with the alternate swash caps for the big initials, a wider terminal form in “We”, and hardly any space between the last two words of the title. For the subline, she opted for more restrained forms overall, but inserted a descending h, a sweeping f that embraces the preceding o, and a single swash cap L in “LOVE”. The a in “author” is the double-story alternate. May Sarton’s name is set in Richard Isbell’s wide Americana. Source: canadatype.com Canada Type. License: All Rights Reserved. Partial glyph set of Book Jacket Pro, the digitization drawn by Patrick Griffin and released by Canada Type in 2010 Ursula Suess was born August 13, 1924 – which means it’s her 100th birthday today. Canada Type, who released a digital version of Book Jacket in 2010, provided a biographical outline: Ursula Suess was born in 1924 to German parents in Camden, NJ, and grew up in Munich, Germany, where she attended two semesters of design school at the Academy of Fine Art before it burned down during the war [in July 1944]. She then studied calligraphy with Anna Simons for two years. She returned to America in 1946 and established herself as a graphic designer working for Oxford University Press, Macmillan Co., Harper, and other publishers. She also taught calligraphy for 20 years at the Westchester Art Workshop, and at the Cooper Union in New York City. In her 50s she learned to cut gems and eventually became an accomplished gem carver. She moved to Green Valley, AZ, in 1998, and has been applying her artistic versatility with clay, water-color and acrylics. In Arizona, Suess became a long-time supporter of the Tubac Center of the Arts. Ellen Sussman additionally mentions paper sculpture, pottery, and collage as techniques she engaged in. Apart from Book Jacket, she is credited with at least one more typeface: Rotalic is a low-contrast italic sans featuring swash caps with ball terminals. It was also released with VGC. One of its four styles recently was digitized as BN Rascal. Suess passed away in 2020. She left us a large number of beautiful works, including many pieces of lettering and two unique typefaces that have stood the test of time. Source: tubacarts.org DeDe Isaacson, Tubac Center of the Arts. License: All Rights Reserved. Ursula Suess at the Tubac Center of the Arts Source: www.abebooks.com Rare Book Cellar. License: All Rights Reserved. This post was originally published at Fonts In Use
Contributed by Stephen Coles Source: lithub.com License: All Rights Reserved. Martyr! is a novel by Iranian-American writer Kaveh Akbar that combines modern situations with traditional imagery. For the jacket, prolific cover designer Linda Huang did what she does so well: pick a striking and relevant typeface and let it do a lot of the work. License: All Rights Reserved. Left: Salem, as advertised in the Inland Printer, Vol. 28, No. 2 (November, 1901). Right: Daria Cohen’s reinterpretation, Zangezi (2018), with additional weights, italics, and condensed (2021). Her choice was Zangezi Condensed, a fresh, fashion-forward take on Salem, in which Daria Cohen took a turn-of-the-century dazzler, narrowed it, and increased its stroke contrast, giving it even more spike and sparkle than it already had. The idiosyncratic type is the perfect companion to the contemporary use of antique illustration. Huang also deftly delivers the commercial necessities – a blurb and “a novel” – in an inconspicuous way. Huang on the design: Despite its heavy themes, I found Akbar’s novel to be insanely funny,” Huang told Literary Hub. “I cackled many times while reading the manuscript. More than anything, I wanted to evoke this unique tragi-comedic tone on the cover. One of the central, recurring images is this Iranian ‘Angel of Death’ warrior. I experimented with scale and ultimately found the warrior in miniature to be most striking, with ‘a novel’ set in a deadpan speech bubble. I was also lucky to stumble upon the perfect decorative typeface to activate all that negative space. To me, humor is one of the most alluring qualities in a book (and really, in life) so it was an absolute treat to work on Akbar’s novel. Source: www.penguinrandomhouse.com License: All Rights Reserved. The version of the cover seen in bookstores today. Martyr! quickly became a New York Times best seller – soon enough for the cover to get an extra speech balloon celebrating that fact. You can also see an improvement on the letterspacing in “Akbar”. A Digression and Suggestion Photo: Stephen Coles. License: All Rights Reserved. Once you get to the end of a book, “a note on the type” is a great way to learn about the creation of the letterforms you’ve been staring at for hours. Photo: Stephen Coles. License: All Rights Reserved. Back jacket flaps usually include an author bio and designer credit. This is good. Could they include a bit more? The interior of this book, designed by Betty Lew, includes “A Note on the Type”, a lovely hundred-year-old publishing tradition which not only credits the text face (in this case, Dante), but tells a bit of its story. Why not have a typeface credit on the jacket flap, too? Sure, you’re reading a lot more Dante than Zangezi when you read this book, but it’s the cover that often sells the book. Also, the type used on book covers is more likely to be something newer that the interior text, and thus more likely to be made by living designers. Isn’t it time we give them a nod? This post was originally published at Fonts In Use
Contributed by Stephen Coles Source: lithub.com License: All Rights Reserved. Martyr! is a novel by Iranian-American writer Kaveh Akbar that combines modern situations with traditional imagery. For the jacket, prolific cover designer Linda Huang did what she does so well: pick a striking and relevant typeface and let it do a lot of the work. License: All Rights Reserved. Left: Salem, as advertised in the Inland Printer, Vol. 28, No. 2 (November, 1901). Right: Daria Cohen’s reinterpretation, Zangezi (2018), with additional weights, italics, and condensed (2021). Her choice was Zangezi Condensed, a fresh, fashion-forward take on Salem, in which Daria Cohen took a turn-of-the-century dazzler, narrowed it, and increased its stroke contrast, giving it even more spike and sparkle than it already had. The idiosyncratic type is the perfect companion to the contemporary use of antique illustration. Huang also deftly delivers the commercial necessities – a blurb and “a novel” – in an inconspicuous way. Huang on the design: Despite its heavy themes, I found Akbar’s novel to be insanely funny,” Huang told Literary Hub. “I cackled many times while reading the manuscript. More than anything, I wanted to evoke this unique tragi-comedic tone on the cover. One of the central, recurring images is this Iranian ‘Angel of Death’ warrior. I experimented with scale and ultimately found the warrior in miniature to be most striking, with ‘a novel’ set in a deadpan speech bubble. I was also lucky to stumble upon the perfect decorative typeface to activate all that negative space. To me, humor is one of the most alluring qualities in a book (and really, in life) so it was an absolute treat to work on Akbar’s novel. Source: www.penguinrandomhouse.com License: All Rights Reserved. The version of the cover seen in bookstores today. Martyr! quickly became a New York Times best seller – soon enough for the cover to get an extra speech balloon celebrating that fact. You can also see an improvement on the letterspacing in “Akbar”. A Digression and Suggestion Photo: Stephen Coles. License: All Rights Reserved. Once you get to the end of a book, “a note on the type” is a great way to learn about the creation of the letterforms you’ve been staring at for hours. Photo: Stephen Coles. License: All Rights Reserved. Back jacket flaps usually include an author bio and designer credit. This is good. Could they include a bit more? The interior of this book, designed by Betty Lew, includes “A Note on the Type”, a lovely hundred-year-old publishing tradition which not only credits the text face (in this case, Dante), but tells a bit of its story. Why not have a typeface credit on the jacket flap, too? Sure, you’re reading a lot more Dante than Zangezi when you read this book, but it’s the cover that often sells the book. Also, the type used on book covers is more likely to be something newer that the interior text, and thus more likely to be made by living designers. Isn’t it time we give them a nod? This post was originally published at Fonts In Use
Contributed by Florian Hardwig Source: www.c82.net C82 / Nicholas Rougeux. License: All Rights Reserved. January 1990, ft. an unidentified rounded sans Source: www.c82.net C82 / Nicholas Rougeux. License: All Rights Reserved. February 1990 ft. Italia Bold C82 is the website of Nicholas Rougeux, a Chicago-based designer and data artist. One of the many great things one can find on C82 is his collection of train tickets sold by Metra. Every month, the commuter rail system in the Chicago metropolitan area releases a new ticket design. In 2004, Nick started collecting. Over the years, and with the help from other ephemera enthusiasts as well as of Metra, the archive considerably grew in size. At the time of writing, it includes an impressive 1,395 tickets, spanning more than fifty years of commuter history. This post highlights the monthly tickets from 1990 and 1991. In a recent blog update, Nick comments: In the early 90s, ticket designs varied significantly with new typography and visual styles appearing each month. I can’t say these are some of my favorites but I recognize that this may have been in an effort to curb counterfeiting. However, I do enjoy some of the typography from the 1990s tickets. I owe a big thanks to fellow collector John for these and others. Each of the tickets features a different typeface. Many of the chosen fonts stem from the libraries of ITC (Korinna, Quorum, Serif Gothic, Zapf Chancery, …) and Letraset (Caxton, Italia, Romic, …). There are also classics that go back to the era of foundry type, like Beton, City, or Optima, and Monotype originals like Albertus and Plantin. The typographic smorgasbord is completed by designs as diverse as Moderne Schwabacher, a turn-of-the-century blackletter; Salut, an upright script first cast by Gebr. Klingspor in the 1930s; and Checkmate, a futuristic sans with chamfered corners, dreamt up at Schaedler in the 1970s – all of which were either used still as phototype, or in the form of early digitizations. For the year 1990, all abbreviated month names are shown in vertically stretched letterforms. The source of the stacked numerals (“90”) was identified by Quinn as City Bold, see comments. The bitmap caps (“D/A”) are likely custom. While the spelled-out month names and the ticket numbers are similar to OCR-B, the specific font appears to be a proprietary design with some differences, probably from a specialized printing machine. The Metra logo seen on the depicted train as well as on some of the tickets is Crillee. See also the dedicated post about it. Source: www.c82.net C82 / Nicholas Rougeux. License: All Rights Reserved. March 1990 ft. Macbeth Source: www.c82.net C82 / Nicholas Rougeux. License: All Rights Reserved. April 1990 ft. City Bold Source: www.c82.net C82 / Nicholas Rougeux. License: All Rights Reserved. May 1990 ft. Checkmate Source: www.c82.net C82 / Nicholas Rougeux. License: All Rights Reserved. June 1990 ft. Roberta Source: www.c82.net C82 / Nicholas Rougeux. License: All Rights Reserved. July 1990 ft. what appears to be a version of Filmotype Amber (or a similar face) Source: www.c82.net C82 / Nicholas Rougeux. License: All Rights Reserved. August 1990 ft. Salut Source: www.c82.net C82 / Nicholas Rougeux. License: All Rights Reserved. September 1990 ft. Moderne Schwabacher a.k.a. Chalet Text Source: www.c82.net C82 / Nicholas Rougeux. License: All Rights Reserved. October 1990 ft. Clarendon Condensed Source: www.c82.net C82 / Nicholas Rougeux. License: All Rights Reserved. November 1990 ft. Beton Bold Condensed Source: www.c82.net C82 / Nicholas Rougeux. License: All Rights Reserved. January 1991 ft. ITC Quorum Bold Source: www.c82.net C82 / Nicholas Rougeux. License: All Rights Reserved. February 1991 ft. ITC Kabel Ultra Source: www.c82.net C82 / Nicholas Rougeux. License: All Rights Reserved. March 1991 ft. ITC Serif Gothic Heavy with the pointed forms for M and A that were omitted from the digital version. “March 1991” uses ITC Korinna and Times New Roman. Source: www.c82.net C82 / Nicholas Rougeux. License: All Rights Reserved. April 1991 ft. a bold variant of Plantin Source: www.c82.net C82 / Nicholas Rougeux. License: All Rights Reserved. May 1991 ft. a bold variant of Albertus Source: www.c82.net C82 / Nicholas Rougeux. License: All Rights Reserved. June 1991 ft. Caxton Bold Source: www.c82.net C82 / Nicholas Rougeux. License: All Rights Reserved. July 1991 ft. Optima Bold Source: www.c82.net C82 / Nicholas Rougeux. License: All Rights Reserved. August ft. ITC Cheltenham Bold Source: www.c82.net C82 / Nicholas Rougeux. License: All Rights Reserved. September 1991 ft. ITC Zapf Chancery Bold with the alternate swash caps Source: www.c82.net C82 / Nicholas Rougeux. License: All Rights Reserved. October 1991 ft. a bold variant of Century Oldstyle Source: www.c82.net C82 / Nicholas Rougeux. License: All Rights Reserved. November 1991 ft. Romic Bold Source: www.c82.net C82 / Nicholas Rougeux. License: All Rights Reserved. December 1991 ft. ITC Berkeley Oldstyle This post was originally published at Fonts In Use
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This by no means a definitive list, so don’t @ me! AI is an inescapable subject. There’s obviously an incredible headwind behind the computing progress of the last handful of years — not to mention the usual avarice — but there has also been nearly a century of thought put toward artificial intelligence. If you want to have a more robust understanding of what is at work beneath, say, the OpenAI chat box, pick any one of these texts. Each one would be worth a read — even a skim (this is by no means light reading). At the very least, familiarizing yourself with the intellectual path leading to now will help you navigate the funhouse of overblown marketing bullshit filling the internet right now, especially as it pertains to AGI. Read what the heavyweights had to say about it and you’ll see how many semantic games are being played while also moving the goalposts. Steps to an Ecology of Mind (1972) — Gregory Bateson. Through imagined dialogues with his daughter, Bateson explores how minds emerge from systems of information and communication, providing crucial insights for understanding artificial intelligence. The Sciences of the Artificial (1969) — Herbert Simon examines how artificial systems, including AI, differ from natural ones and introduces key concepts about bounded rationality. The Emperor’s New Mind (1989) — Roger Penrose. While arguing against strong AI, provides valuable insights into consciousness and computation that remain relevant to current AI discussions. Gödel, Escher, Bach: An Eternal Golden Braid (1979) — Douglas Hofstadter weaves together mathematics, art, and music to explore consciousness, self-reference, and emergent intelligence. Though not explicitly about AI, it provides fundamental insights into how complex cognition might emerge from simple rules and patterns. Perceptrons (1969) — Marvin Minsky & Seymour Papert. This controversial critique of neural networks temporarily halted research in the field but ultimately helped establish its theoretical foundations. Minsky and Papert’s mathematical analysis revealed both the limitations and potential of early neural networks. The Society of Mind (1986) — Marvin Minsky proposes that intelligence emerges from the interaction of simple agents working together, rather than from a single unified system. This theoretical framework remains relevant to understanding both human cognition and artificial intelligence. Computers and Thought (1963) — Edward Feigenbaum & Julian Feldman (editors) This is the first collection of articles about artificial intelligence, featuring contributions from pioneers like Herbert Simon and Allen Newell. It captures the foundational ideas and optimism of early AI research. Artificial Intelligence: A Modern Approach (1995) — Stuart Russell & Peter Norvig. This comprehensive textbook defined how AI would be taught for decades. It presents AI as rational agent design rather than human intelligence simulation, a framework that still influences the field. Computing Machinery and Intelligence (1950) — Alan Turing’s paper introduces the Turing Test and addresses fundamental questions about machine intelligence that we’re still grappling with today. It’s remarkable how many current AI debates were anticipated in this work. Cybernetics: Or Control and Communication in the Animal and the Machine (1948) — Norbert Wiener established the theoretical groundwork for understanding control systems in both machines and living things. His insights about feedback loops and communication remain crucial to understanding AI systems.
My thoughts about the Zettelkasten (Slip box) note taking methodology invented by the German sociologist Niklas Luhmann.
Chinese interior studio Various Associates has completed an irregular pyramid-shaped flagship store for drone brand DJI in Shenzhen, China. Located...
AI promises to automate both work and leisure. What will we do then? In 2005, I lived high up on a hill in Penang, from where I could literally watch the tech industry reshape the island and the nearby mainland. The common wisdom then was that automation would soon empty the factories across the country. Today, those same factories not only buzz with human activity — they’ve expanded dramatically, with manufacturing output up 130% and still employing 16% of Malaysia’s workforce. The work has shifted, evolved, adapted. We’re remarkably good at finding new things to do. I think about this often as I navigate my own relationship with AI tools. Last week, I asked an AI to generate some initial concepts for a client project — work that would have once filled pages of my sketchbook. As I watched the results populate my screen, my daughter asked what I was doing. “Letting the computer do some drawing for me,” I said. She considered this for a moment, then asked, “But you can draw already. If the computer does it for you, what will you do?” It’s the question of our age, isn’t it? As AI promises to take over not just routine tasks but creative ones — writing, design, music composition — we’re facing a prolonged period of anxiety. Not just about losing our jobs, but about losing our purpose. The industrial revolution promised to free us from physical labor and the digital revolution promised to free us from mental drudgery. Yet somehow we’ve ended up more stretched, more scheduled, more occupied than ever. Both were very real technological transitional periods; both had significant, measurable impacts on the economies of their time; neither ushered in a golden age of leisure. History shows that we — in the broadest sense — adapt. But here’s something to consider: adaptation takes time. At the height of the pre-industrial textile industry, 20% of all women and children in England were employed, hand-spinning textile fibers. This was in the late 18th century. Over the course of the following forty years, a process of mechanization took place that almost completely obviated the need for that particular workforce. But children working as hand-spinners at the pre-industrial height would have been well past middle-age by the time child-employment was no longer common. The transitional period would have lasted nearly the entirety of their working lives. Similarly, the decline of manufacturing in the United States elapsed over a period of nearly fifty years, from its peak in the mid-1960s to 2019, when a net loss of 3.5 million jobs was measured. Again, this transition was career-length — generational. In both transitions, new forms of work became available that would have been unforeseen prior to change being underway. We are only a handful of years into what we may someday know as the AI Revolution. It seems to be moving at a faster pace than either of its historical antecedents. Perhaps it truly is. Nevertheless, historical adaptation suggests that we look forward to the new kinds of work this transition will make a way for us to do. I wonder what they may be. AI, after all, isn’t just a faster way to accomplish specific tasks; investment in it suggests an expectation for much grander than that, on the order of anything that can be reduced to pattern recognition and reproduction. As it turns out, that’s most of what we do. So what’s left? What remains uniquely human when machines can answer our questions, organize and optimize our world, entertain us, and create our art? The answer might lie in the spaces between productivity — in the meaningful inefficiencies that machines are designed to eliminate. AI might be able to prove this someday, but anecdotally, it’s in the various moments of friction and delay throughout my day that I do my most active and creative thinking. While waiting for the water to heat up. Walking my dog. Brewing coffee. Standing in line. Maybe we’re approaching a grand reversal: after centuries of humans doing machine-like work, perhaps it’s time for humans to become more distinctly human. To focus not on what’s efficient or productive, but on what’s meaningful precisely because it can’t be automated: connection, contemplation, play. But this requires a radical shift in how we think about time and purpose. For generations, we’ve defined ourselves by our work, measured our days by our output. As AI threatens to take both our labor and our creative outlets, we will need to learn — or remember — how to exist without constant production and how to separate our basic human needs from economies of scale. The factories of Malaysia taught me something important: automation doesn’t move in a straight line. Human ingenuity finds new problems to solve, new work to do, new ways to be useful. But as AI promises to automate not just our labor but our leisure, we might finally be forced to confront the question my daughter so innocently posed: what will we do instead? This will not be easy. The answer, I hope, lies not just in finding new forms of work to replace the old, but in discovering what it means to be meaningfully unoccupied. The real challenge of the AI age might not be technological at all, but existential: learning to value the empty hours not for what we can fill them with, but for what they are. I believe in the intrinsic value of human life; one’s worth is no greater after years of labor and the accumulation of wealth and status than it was at its beginning. Life cannot be earned, just lived. This is a hard lesson. Wouldn’t it be strange if the most able teacher was not human but machine?
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