The antithesis of slop. It's been a few years since I'd attended the SF Zine Fest. Friend Scott Boms had a table with his Matter Editions wares, and it's a 10-minute walk from home, so Jen and I had to go. Held at The Hibernia, it was a treat to actually go into this historic building that I've wondered about for as long as we've lived here.[1] It's a beautiful venue inside, and lots of people were milling about outside, having just gone in or waiting to meet friends to head inside. Masks were required (which we already had), and they were giving out plenty of KN95 masks. Transmission is high at the moment, and I just recovered from my second bout with Covid two weeks ago. Bustling with people! Inside, the venue was delightfully packed. Good energy in the air, and it was pretty tight getting around to seeing makers and their wares. A huge variety of zines in all shapes, sizes, and styles were present, and it warmed my heart. Having made a few zines in the past, it really inspired me to pick up a long-gestating project of making some zines or book-shaped things with the photography and words from the Weightshifting newsletter overland archives. Scott's table, and a photo of the two of us taken by Jen. We found Scott downstairs, chatting with people, and interjected with hugs. I had just received his Lost Memories zine last week, so it was a delight to add his fresh-off-the-overnight-press spiral-bound release, The Tower That Ate People. More people kept coming by, and with the vibrant crowd continuing to grow, we started to make our way out. Matter Editions latest — The Tower That Ate People. (And C3P0's eyes are worked in here). As we passed more tables on the way out, Jen and I remarked to each other that this felt like “the antithesis of slop.” So many young people, getting zines, getting into art. So many hand-drawn, hand-made pieces of art all over the venue. That energy again present in the air, feeling like I was back in my own teenage years in the 90s, when technology was just a means to propel our own innate creativity rather than usurp it. Photocopiers, basic computer graphics for layouts, cut and paste collages. That felt liberating. Today's technology feels imprisoning. Good job, SF Zine Fest. I fucking loved it. That would be over 17 years now. ↩︎ → This looks better on the web → Reply via email Thanks for reading and using RSS!

Collaborative writing is rewarding. In the past few months, I’ve been writing a lot. Not as much here, but for Aphera. Between our newsletter, blog, direct email feedback, and social media networks, I might spin up a draft and then bounce it off Ryan and Juan, or we volley it back and forth. It’s a remarkable thing: we’re absolutely slower by writing collaboratively, but the end product is so much better than if just one of us wrote it alone. At times, we take point on direct beta feedback emails as questions arise that speak to our respective strengths or knowledge. But I’ve been really enjoying the here’s-a-markdown-file-thoughts? approach. And then the subsequent revisions, image additions, and even last-minute PRs. All to say: I enjoy reading the end result because it’s not just a human voice, but a collaborative one, made better each time it passes each of our eyes. → This looks better on the web → Reply via email Thanks for reading and using RSS!

Redesigning as a method of interrogation. Okay, okay, okay. I did it again. Sometimes you design a thing, or redesign it, or evolve it, and you think you're there. But this unsettling feeling sinks in, and you think: “I’m not happy with this. What’s the problem?” Friggin' vibes Lo and behold, the structure is fine, but the aesthetic is... bothersome. And why is that? Oh, because my design language has now become what the damn LLMs spit out and regurgitate for every vibe-coded design that’s positioned as “craft.” So the previous design became hard to look at. I wondered how many passing visitors might think my site was made on vibes — that the Klim type I paid for was something out of Google Fonts — because to the untrained eye, who could tell? They see warm beige, terracotta orange, serif fonts, small sans, and VIBES. Damnit, they're all there. It’s a real concern, and I’ve come to notice some lauded “well-designed” sites to be the tells of Claude (and I suppose ChatGPT). If you don’t get much exposure to these designs, just spend time on LinkedIn, Threads, or that other trash platform run by a man-child. I paused to think about what I found inspiring at this time, and what feels fundamentally me. The answer lay in a mix of blueprints, indigo dyes, and selvedge denim. Add in some mid-century Americana via compartmentalized typography, and here we are. In hindsight, I’ve used shades of blue a number of times with Weightshift, but had left it behind. The blues are back. What’s new to me is what’s true to me. Design is typography Manuka Condensed livin' large. For a brief moment, Manuka Condensed, another Klim favorite, was in rotation, and it’s returned in the form of both a graphical and textural element. If you’ve seen the design I did for Lost World's Fairs, you’ll know I love print work; in particular, that was inspired by Hatch Show Print. Screenprints and letterpress have remained strongly in my aesthetic appreciation bucket. I’ve also introduced a touch of grain for more texture. It's no surprise then with the way Klim describes it: New growth from old wood. Mānuka is a collection of compressed fonts for large sizes. With deviant details pilfered from Teutonic timber type, Mānuka grafts a contemporary antipodean aesthetic onto 19th century German root-stock. Tight spacing, closed apertures and sharp joins make a compelling texture, like sunlight sparkling through a forest canopy. Speaking of type, I’ve dropped Tiempos Text. I will forever love these Plantin revivals, and Tiempos is just an astounding piece of work.[1] As I’ve gotten older, however, I’ve noticed my eyes getting tired from reading serif text of a certain weight.[2] I considered switching to the medium weight, but that feels a little too thick at larger sizes while looking great at smaller ones. I faintly recall a reply on Mastodon that Kris Sowersby might be agnostic about variable fonts,[3] but I could see a cut of Tiempos Text around the 450 range. Depending on which way you slice it, it could be a Book weight, or vice versa. Well, I think you know what these are. That said: Söhne is now utilized for most text here, with its agreeable thickness at Buch (regular?) weight being soothing and easy for these aging eyes. Your default OS monospace provides an auxiliary font where applicable. Söhne may be used by many organizations and companies, but I truly do love it. Sundries For a bit of flavor, the About page gets a shift in color — somewhere between the shades of kraft paper you’d find at a paper store and a hint of the butcher paper you’ll find wrapped around, or serving as the base for, barbecue. The images on this page took more CSS than it may be worth, but it's for me, so... Peachy goodness. The topics and “see also” mechanism on individual posts also got a revamp as I wanted a more robust taxonomy. The list suits me more than anything. Related topics was also something I wanted, and so that’s present on an individual topic page. Personally, it’s illuminating. Maybe, you’ll find something of interest there. I'm quite fond of the dark mode. It’s my full-on “selvedge mode.” Again, its dark blues and texture harken back to a previous version of Weightshift — these subconscious patterns prevalent in my work and inclinations. I’ve never been self-aware of it, but when I find myself looking back at older work, it’s there. Two versions of Weightshift that used blue. This is what they mean when they say, “to know yourself.” Live enough life and do enough work, and your intuition inevitably kicks in. Or do enough work under pressure and deadlines, and it shakes out. It’s a percolation of all of your influences, taste, and tendencies — you know what you like. And I like this iteration of this site quite a bit. For now. See Copernicus, and Sowersby’s third take on Plantin, Martina Plantijn (which I also purchased). ↩︎ How close am I to bolding the font on my iPhone?! ↩︎ Die Grotesk is the first. While we don’t use the variable font, as we have only two weights, I was itching to use it when it was released, and Aphera was the perfect moment. ↩︎ → This looks better on the web → Reply via email Thanks for reading and using RSS!

A time, a place, and humans. Let’s take a moment to consider the font, Instrument Serif. Created by the Portland-based design agency Instrument for their own use — along with Instrument Sans — they open-sourced it on GitHub, where it made its way to Google Fonts, in a generous act. And, guess where LLMs love to get fonts? There is something deeply ironic about the sample text on Google Fonts. Instrument Serif went from a cool nod to the condensed serif type beloved by direct-to-consumer brands on Instagram — inspired by the way New Balance, Nike, and Apple approached branding — to the default output of LLM-assisted and vibe-coded web work. Today it’s everywhere. The White House uses it. In all caps, natch. “It’s the fascism font.” Condensed serifs were all the rage back then. The embrace of typefaces like this, and the slurping up of what’s been hot and trendy results in the tell-tale sign of the manufacturer. “Craft will no longer be a moat. The LLMs are getting very good at craft.” A speaker said something to this effect at the recent Design Futures Assembly.[1] I nodded to myself. A while ago, craft and taste were bandied about as untouchable and unreplicable. But there is bad craft and terrible taste. There’s no accounting for it. LLMs are in the cosplaying stage, approximating what’s popular and what’s in the zeitgeist. Aesthetic alone was never a defense. It’s always been easy to copy, mimic, and rip-off design. Another speaker: a mechanical engineer from a hundred years ago and one today could find common ground in process. Technology evolves, but shared understanding persists, and an engineer from then and one from now will still be able to converse. I nodded again. That fundamental knowledge passes through culture, through community, to practitioners who push it further. Culture is the moat. It’s not craft and it’s not aesthetic. It’s always been culture — lived, relational, contextual. The ability to decode what’s happening right now, to encapsulate it, to communicate it through deep experience. Culture can give birth to something that hasn’t been seen, hasn’t been appropriated, hasn’t been followed to death. LLMs can pattern-match around culture, but they cannot be inside it. They cannot live it. A curated gathering of about a hundred design operators across generations hosted by Jeff Veen. We were seated in a squircle — fitting — able to face each other, in the light-filled space. It operated under the Chatham house rule. Disclaimer: I did the identity, branding, and website for the event. ↩︎ → This looks better on the web → Reply via email Thanks for reading and using RSS!

AI makes particle board. As a child, woodworking was part of my school’s curriculum. One of our projects was making a simple sailboat, with the kind of shape and blockiness of those wood toys you see for little kids. From a solid block, we chiseled out the center cavity where the hull was, made a hole for an inserted rounded piece to become the mast, and carved off the sides to make the prow. Decades later, I attended a woodshop class that Jen gifted me. I made a simple side table. With the rig camper we have, I made a dropdown table for the rear barn door. I can make a table today. It would not be great. It would work, for some time, but it would not be the level of craft of the furniture I have in the home. These are mid-century pieces made out of solid joinery employing techniques before glues, particle board and other mass efficiency and machinery made joinery automated. I deeply admire the quality. I know the distance between what I can make and what a master craftsperson can build is a wide chasm. That’s what making with AI feels like today. I know the shape of things well enough to approximate the result. It is disposable, cheap, fast. But, I want more real wood in my vicinity than I want wood chips bonded with glue and lacquered over with plastic. But I don’t want more of it in volume, just enough that I need, will grow with, and appreciate. A piece in our home that I love. Figma Make, Claude Design, etc. are all promising an IKEA-style future: flatpacked designs in a small footprint of a box that you can easily assemble in an hour or two, with a pleasant result. You might not have enough imagination or skill to craft the piece yourself, but you recognize a common conception of decent or good enough, and the low price enables you to attain it. I don’t need more. I need durable, lasting things built with quality, longevity and self-maintenance in mind. I can oil a solid wood table. I can repair the joints if needed. I won’t do that for particle board. → This looks better on the web → Reply via email Thanks for reading and using RSS!