The best typefaces from the Google web fonts directory
- The 2014 Letterform Archive Calendar: Historical Work, New Type
- The advent of affordable photographic equipment capable of capturing printed material in high fidelity.
- The advent of broadband connections, larger image file sizes (Twitter substantially increased their image size at the beginning of August, as one example), and Retina displays. Many more people can now access and view high res captures.”
- Going Global: The Last Decade in Multi-Script Type Design
- Beyond Helvetica: The Real Story Behind Fonts in iOS 7
- that it will take at least another four months for the final version of iOS 7 to reach the market
- that you can’t judge the effectiveness of a typeface in a dynamic OS from videos or screenshots
- that no one commenting on the keynote said a word about iOS’s underlying font technology, which has obviously changed.
Rob Saunders has spent most of his life in publishing. He founded Picture Book Studio in 1981 which published dozens of award-winning children’s books from authors like Eric Carle and Jane Goodall. He ran Alphabet Press, producing titles by or about graphic artists like Friedrich Neugebauer, Hans Eduard Meier, Lance Hidy, and David Lance Goines. Saunders’ career veered into designing, teaching, and consulting, but he has never diverted from one pursuit: collecting. For over 35 years, Saunders has amassed an astounding assortment of historically significant design books and periodicals, graphic arts ephemera, and specimens of 20th-century metal typefaces.
I met Saunders earlier this year through our mutual friend, Tânia Raposo, who was helping to organize the material. I gladly accepted his offer to visit the collection. The breadth and depth of what he had to show was overwhelming. He would ask me what I wanted to see, and for every designer or foundry or typeface I tossed out, he delivered the goods. I returned many times and each visit was a pleasure and education. I always left with only one regret: that the stuff wasn’t accessible to more students, researchers, professional designers, all other lovers of type and lettering.
Saunders feels the same way. While most private collections are limited to their owners and a few friends, Saunders has committed to sharing his collection in ways that even most libraries and museums cannot. It was a few months ago that ideas about digital publication began to form. Saunders explains:
“I was somewhat clueless about what to do with the collection until I began to understand the breadth of the interested constituencies and the weaknesses of traditional institutions in meeting their needs. The other tipping points were two very recent technical developments:
So Saunders recruited the help of digital reproduction expert E.M. Ginger, designer Tânia Raposo, printing enthusiast and bookbinder Nicky Yeager, type designer Sun Helen Isdahl Kalvenes, and book historian Simran Thadani to catalog and produce a digital representation of his collection. The Letterform Archive was born. Its first steps into the public are a web gallery of high resolution captures from the collection and a 2014 calendar that features 12 rare masterworks and 232 birthdays of notable personalities in the letter arts.
For the calendar Saunders wanted to accompany the 12 main images with newly released typefaces. He asked Isdahl Kalvenes and me to suggest candidates. I liked his approach of contrasting the historical pieces with contemporary type. It represents a continuum of lettering and typographic design and demonstrates that the Letterform Archive is not just about ogling incredible old work, but also supporting new designers. Here’s how Saunders describes the selection criteria:
“The aesthetic goal was to find a good complement to the artwork, not necessarily match it. Rudy first suggested Oakland, the pixelated font featured in his press sheet, but I pushed him to go another way. Obviously we were also looking for recent, excellent, underexposed faces.”
With a couple exceptions, most of our selections also come from type designers or models that match the nationality of the featured artist. Of course, 12 typefaces are far too few to represent what’s happening in type right now, but I think our picks offer a nice slice of the best in contemporary type design. Here’s what we picked:
Mislab is by French designer Xavier Dupré, one of my favorite type makers, whose work for FontFont, Font Bureau, Emigre, and now Typofonderie represents some of the most characterful text faces of the 2000s. Xavier Dupré typefaces on Typographica.
There are already many reinterpretations of Edward Johnston’s design for the London Underground, but Henrik Kubel’s fresh take for London shows that the model is still worth exploring. Henrik Kubel typefaces on Typographica.
Laura Meseguer is a lettering artist and typeface designer from Barcelona whose 3-font Rumba (a Typographica favorite) explores the idea of typeface variations optimized for a specific range of sizes, but also degrees of expressiveness.
All revivals of metal type are limited to some extent by the quality of the source material, the specific size chosen for digitization, the flawed interpretation of the designer, etc. Linotype’s digital rendition of Dwiggins’ Metro No. 2 is limited even more than most because it only represents a narrow shadow of the original work. It misses the funky glyphs from Metro No. 1. Although I admire Akira Kobayashi’s Metro Office, it’s a completely different design, so for years I’ve been wishing someone would bring back the funky shapes of Metro’s first version. Toshi Omagari did that (and more) with Metro Nova.
It was a little difficult to imagine something contemporary that could accompany Will Bradley’s distinctly turn-of-the-century feel. But Jeremy Mickel’s Shift (a Typographica favorite) felt just right. Not only is it inspired by type of the same era, but Shift shares the warmth, ruggedness, and slightly off-kilter personality of Bradley’s work.
Any “Germanetric Sans” owes something to Futura, so it’s obvious to pair FF Mark with Paul Renner. But this FontFont collaboration reaches back to other German geometric roots including Erbar and Neuzeit Grotesk, exploring territory that is surprisingly uncharted within an increasingly crowded category.
Ben Shahn’s lettering — especially the stuff on the book cover featured in the calendar — is rough and square, with counter shapes that often contradict the outlines. The blatantly obvious typeface pairing would be FF Folk, the 2003 fontification of Shahn’s style, but David Jonathan Ross’ Turnip (a Typographica favorite) is a newer release with much more subtle and interesting similarities.
There is no other new typeface more fitting to accompany Rudy VanderLans’ work than the most recent release of his partner in Emigre (and life), Zuzana Licko. Program has a much more refined finish than the grungy bitmappery of the early Emigre piece shown in the calendar, but the rule-bending is still there: Program “mixes different structures, stem endings, and weight distributions not usually employed in a single family of fonts”.
Filippo Marinetti was an Italian poet and founder of Futurism, a movement that broke free from the conventions of art. Antonio Cavedoni is an Italian designer and founder of the fantastic Enquire, a typeface that breaks free from the conventions of contrast, putting the weight where it isn’t supposed to be. Cavedoni’s as-yet-unpublished typeface was initiated while earning his MA in Typeface Design at the University of Reading. I love it. I’m glad he authorized use of this pre-release version for the calendar.
The other two typefaces can’t be revealed yet, but I’ll add them here as soon as they’re announced.
You can pre-order the 2014 Letterform Archive Calendar by backing the Kickstarter campaign which ends on Monday, November 18. The $10,000 goal is just enough to produce a reasonable run and ship it at break-even cost. Any earnings beyond that will support the programs of the Letterform Archive, including sharing more of this rare work with the world.
Also, for a bit of fun during the fundraising period, Saunders is running a trivia game, challenging players to guess the creators of the artwork he posts to Twitter and Facebook. It’s a multiple choice test: all the answers — the personalities whose birthdays are listed in the calendar — are shown on the game board. It’s also a demonstration of the image quality standards set for the digital incarnation of the archive: the zoomed-in and cropped details show paper texture, halftones, ink squeeze, brush strokes, even compass pinholes. These are not your standard scans. These are revealing reproductions that inform and enchant.
Science fiction is a mirror. It’s rarely good at predicting the future, but it’s great at telling us what we’d like the future to be, or what we fear it may become. Isaac Asimov, Arthur Clarke, Robert Heinlein, Philip K. Dick: familiar names that guided many imaginations to think about societies spanning the galaxy. Then Star Wars finished off what 2001 started: rich visual textures and soundscapes made it ever more difficult for our imaginations to keep up.
But there were two things that always bothered me about science fiction. First, everybody speaks the same language, or understands the other person’s locutions without so much as an “excuse me, can you repeat this?” And, most frustratingly, nobody ever reads. Nobody. Sometimes there are symbols, diagrams, and gibberish that brands a vehicle or a building, but that’s pretty much it. It is as if some mundane version of mind-meld has rendered obsolete those moments between you and some letters on a surface in front of your eyes.
Well, it didn’t turn out that way. We know that people read more than they ever did. Perhaps they read fewer of some traditional thing or other (and even that depends on the region) but, overall, more people spend more time looking at strings of letters. What was once a dedicated activity has expanded to fill out the previously empty spots of the day: news, a story we saved for later, the playground utterances of Twitter, the trivial ego massages of Facebook. It pains to imagine Dick’s Deckard checking his smartphone while slurping at the noodle bar, but you can bet that this is exactly what he’d be doing today. And we have only begun to see what ubiquitous tablets will do. Many years from now, these very few years at the beginning of the century’s second decade will be seen as a key inflection point: The combination of portable, personal, ever-present, ever-connected screens will transform our ideas of learning, of exchange, of creating new knowledge to degrees unimaginable by our idolized authors.
There is one problem, however: the future is turning out to be more complicated than we had imagined. Instead of a single, Esperanto-like über-language, most of us are growing up with two parallel identities. One is based on a commonly-owned, flexible, and forgiving version of English, with a rubber-band syntax and a constant stream of new words that spread like an epidemic to other tongues. The other is our regional and historical identity: local in geography, and deeply personal in its associations. This identity is awash with the memories that make us who we are. It comes in the language we dream in, the language of our laughter, our exasperations, and our tears. Overwhelmingly, this language is not English, and quite likely it is not in the letters of the Latin script.
Indeed, just as globalization brought a wave of uniformity, it also underlined the rights of communities to express themselves in their local languages and dialects, in the script of their traditions. But the growing urban populations (over half of everybody, now) are contributing to a demand of complex script support. The equivalent of a single typeface rendering a plain-vanilla version of a language is not a new thing. For about two decades we’ve had the equivalent of a global typewriter, spitting out a single-weight, single-style typescript for nearly every language, with varying degrees of sensitivity to the historical forms of the script. Great if you only speak in one tone, only typeset texts with minimal hierarchies, and don’t care much about the impact of typography on reading. Indeed, the typewriter analogy is supremely fitting: the limitations of typewriter-like devices migrated onto subsequent technologies with astonishing persistence, despite the exponential increase in the capabilities of our typesetting environments.
Stage One: getting fundamentals right
So, here’s the context: globalized technologies and trends, with localized identities and needs. But typeface design is nothing if not a good reactor to changing conditions. Indeed we can detect a clear path for typeface design in the last decade, with two-and-a-half distinct stages of development.
The first stage was about rethinking how we develop basic script support for global scripts. Starting with pan-European regions (wider Latin, Cyrillic, and Greek) and gradually extending outwards to Hebrew, Arabic, and mainstream Indian scripts, typeface designers moved away from re-encoding the dated, limited typefaces of the previous technologies. This development led to two narratives that are increasingly central to typeface design. On one hand, an understanding of typemaking and typesetting technologies, and their critical impact on character sets, the design of typeforms, and the possibilities for complex behaviors along a line of text. On the other hand, an appreciation of the written forms: the relationship of the tools and the materials used for writing that determined the key formal features of each script.
For many designers the depth of research required to tackle a new script was a surprise, and not always a welcome one; but increasingly the dimensions of the challenge were respected, and understood. This research began, very slowly, to liberate global scripts from the formal tyranny of the Latin script and the expediency of copy/paste. Notions of a uniform stress at a steep angle, and of serifs to terminate strokes, are gradually seen to be primarily Latin-specific. And the faux-geometric, over-symmetrical, pot-bellied International Style typefaces are steadily unmasked as an intensely North-Western style, meaningful only as a response to the post-war trauma and urban explosion of the 1950s and 60s. Already dated by 1985, their continued adoption serves only to discredit their users and promoters. When taken as a model for non-Latin scripts, they are increasingly recognized as the typographic equivalent of a cultural straightjacket, limiting innovation and the expression of a more sensitive and current identity.
This does not mean that new typefaces with non-Latin character sets were all good, let alone perfect for their purpose. But people started questioning their assumptions, and put their money where their mouth was. Most notably, Microsoft (with a global perspective early on) and Adobe (starting with Europe, and gradually expanding its horizon) asked themselves, and others who could help, how to get things right. Their typefaces with large character sets raised the bar for many subsequent designers, and in many ways continue to determine the default level of script support on a global scale. (Regrettably, Apple never claimed a seat at this table: throughout its ecosystem its use of typefaces remains persistently unimaginative and pedestrian, abandoning any aspirations of typographic leadership.)
Stage Two: linear families
The second stage in global typeface design came when development migrated from the big developers to the publishers catering to the publishing and branding markets. The briefs for typefaces mutated from very broad specifications (for fonts that ship with operating systems and office suites, or bundled with page layout applications) to the needs of very specific documents, with rich hierarchies and multiple styles. While Office could muddle through with four Latin styles and one each for most non-Latin scripts, a newspaper or a magazine demands a range of weights and widths — especially if the templates are imported or designed to match an existing house style. Headings and subheadings, straplines and pull-quotes, footnotes and captions, for starters. And, hot on the tails of global publications and multi-script branding, come the limitations of doing the same on smaller screens, where the color palette and the typefaces may be the only elements that transfer fluidly with some consistency across materials and devices, bridging scales from the pocket to the poster.
In the previous stage designers had to ask themselves what are the fundamental differences, for example, between Arabic-script typefaces for Arabic and Persian and Urdu texts. Now the matter shifts to something like, “What are the typographic conventions in these language communities, what are their traditions, and what are the rules for differentiating between contrasting kinds of text within the same document?” In real terms, this moved design from the single typeface to the family: how will a bold Devanagari relate to a text weight, and how far can you go in adding weight? Can you squeeze, condense, or compress? And how light can you make the strokes?
The answers to these questions stem from a deeper engagement with the script, and an understanding of which elements are integral to maintaining the meaning of the glyph, and which are there to impart a style and build the identity of the typeface. All typeface designers (native or not) need to understand the impact of type-making and typesetting developments on the script, engage intensively with the written forms, and consider the development of typographic norms within a community. But we know, through the evidence of many successful typefaces, that designers need not be native to a script to design well for it; in many cases, they might not even be able to read the text they are typesetting. This may seem counterintuitive. However, good typefaces rely hugely on the designers’ dialogue with convention, and their understanding of very clear — if not always obvious — rules.
Having said all that, this stage of typeface development for global scripts is inherently conservative. The recognition of the formal richness of non-Latin scripts, and the efforts to design new typefaces that respect this complexity and represent it adequately, is a corrective against past sins, technological and human. Typefaces that are well-designed and comfortably read by native communities, while allowing multi-script typesetting for a range of different applications, are a Good Thing, but nothing to be particularly proud of. This is the typographic infrastructure of a connected world. These typefaces are elementary, and essential. They have to be many, because the documents they are used in are hugely variant in their specifications and complexities; and when contemplating multi-script typesetting, the specifics of the document determine which typefaces will do the job better.
But for all the celebration, these new, expansive families are refinements of fundamental forms, without raising difficult questions. It is a relatively simple process to add weights to a typographic script, hindered only by the scale of the work, when the character set is substantial. The challenge becomes interesting only in the extremes of the family, the very dark styles, and the very light ones. At these extremes designers need to deal with loops and counters, stroke joints and cross-overs, and all sorts of terminals that may not accommodate a dense stroke within the available space, or dilute the distinctive features of the typeform. Indeed, these extremes demonstrate clearly how the neatly expandable grammar of the Latin script, with its misleadingly simple-to-modulate strokes, is a crippled model for a global typography.
Problems compound with scripts that have only ever been implemented in type with a modulated stroke, or a monoline stroke, but never both. As the weight approaches the blacks, monoline strokes have to gain some contrast to fold around counters, and to save terminals from turning into blobs or stubby appendages. In the opposite direction, towards the thins, critical modulation may have to be sacrificed, and strokes that have only been experienced as curves turn into long, nearly straight strokes. Unsurprisingly, designers had overwhelmingly steered clear of these extremes for their non-Latin typefaces.
Stage two-and-a-half: rich typography and typeface innovation
So far, so good. The developments that make up these two stages are not consistently evident in terms of market position or geography, but the trends are coherent and clear. Yet the last two or three years are beginning to kick typeface design onto a different plane. The causes may be a mix of technical developments (webfonts, and the improving support for complex scripts in browsers), a maturity of design processes informed by research, and a growing number of typeface designers working locally but having graduated from structured courses that build research and reflection skills. There may also be factors that are only barely registering in our discussions, that will be obvious in hindsight. Regardless, four notions are clearly emerging.
Most visible is the development of typefaces not only for mainline scripts, but for scripts from relatively closed markets (like Khmer or Burmese), for minority scripts, and for local dialects, with the required support. Such projects may be as diverse as an extension of Bengali for Meeti Mayek, a typeface for a Native American tribe, or the consideration of diacritics for Brazilian indigenous tribes. Only a few years ago these would be esoteric projects for academics, at best — and candidates for typographic extinction at worst.
Secondly, we can see that typeface design is now, very clearly, a global enterprise, for a mobile and connected community. There are relevant courses in many countries, and no national monopoly. Designers from nearly any country are increasingly likely to be working for global projects, diluting the “old world” associations bequeathed to us by the large hot-metal and phototypesetting conglomerates. We may see young designers cutting their teeth in a European company, then returning to their native region to develop typefaces locally. This is unquestionably the mark of a healthy community of practice.
The third notion is that typographic families are being actively rethought, across all scripts. This process began some years ago with large typeface families moving away from a predictable, unimaginative, and frankly un-typographic interpolation between extremes, towards families of variants that are more loosely related, with individual styles designed for specific uses. Although this is only just beginning to be evident in the non-Latin realm, the signs are there. We can safely predict that many designers across the world will be contemplating the constitution of their typeface families on a more typographically sensitive basis.
The fourth notion stems from this expansion of typeface families. As designers try to address the issue of secondary or complementary styles within a family, the absence of established models opens up new possibilities. We have already seen Latin typefaces with radically different ideas of what may pass for a secondary style. Similarly, in non-Latin scripts designers are looking for inspiration in the written forms of native speakers, in a process that reminds us of the adoption of cursive styles for Latin typefaces. Even more, they are looking at the high- and low-lettering traditions: magnificent manuscripts, as well as ephemeral signs and commercial lettering. These sources always existed, but were considered separate domains from typeface design. Armenian, Korean, and many other scripts are beginning to break these typographic taboos.So, there you have it: the world may be turning upside down in other areas, but typographically it is entering a period of global growth, maturity, and cultural sensitivity. There will, of course, be many duds, due as much to deadlines as to over-confidence or sloppiness. But we can confidently look forward to many innovative projects, and exceptional designers from a global scene to making their mark.
(N.b. The first version of this text was published in Slanted Non-Latin Special Issue, July 2013.)
There was no shortage of long-distance diagnoses of the typography in Apple’s recently presented mobile interface, iOS 7. The live-streaming keynote address from the WWDC developer’s conference last Monday hadn’t even started before the first typophiles started sharing their concerns on Twitter. The day before the announcement, our friend Stephen Coles was already deeply worried about the light weight of Helvetica on the display banners hanging at the WWDC venue in San Francisco:
“Skinny font as seen on the iOS 7 banner at WWDC.” Please, no. http://t.co/8ajr15GOgL
— Typographica.org (@typographica) June 10, 2013
The next morning former New York Times art director Khoi Vinh compared the look of the new iOS to a cosmetics department:
Why iOS 7 looks like a makeup counter at Macy's: My thoughts on iOS 7's use of Helvetica Neue Ultra Light. http://t.co/7kRdUCTTNz
— Khoi Vinh (@khoi) June 11, 2013
And two days later, Thomas Phinney (formerly in the type team at Adobe) also took iOS 7’s typography to task:
1/2 iOS 7 preview: horrible type. Low foreground/background contrast & lighter weight Helvetica trending illegible.
— Thomas Phinney (@ThomasPhinney) June 13, 2013
2/2 Existing iOS Helvetica UI font was already anti-legibility. iOS 7 choices could make me run for the hills.
— Thomas Phinney (@ThomasPhinney) June 13, 2013
I should remind the early birds who were already chirping during the keynote:
People did calm down over the subsequent days of the week-long conference. This was largely because of the presentations from Apple’s engineers devoted to ways the OS would handle fonts, in which they revealed the first details of the new technology.
In fact, it’s just the opposite.
In his session, Ian Baird, the person in Cupertino responsible for how Apple’s mobile products handle text, showed off what he called the “coolest feature in iOS 7”: Text Kit. Behind this name is a new API (application programming interface) for developers of apps in which text plays a critical role. Text Kit is built over Core Text, a sophisticated Unicode layout engine with a lot of power, the potential of which unfortunately hasn’t been very easy to tap in the past. But now, no one needs to struggle with it, because Text Kit is there to act as an interpreter.
Text Kit is a fast, modern layout- and text-rendering engine, easy to maintain through settings integrated into the User Interface Kit. Those settings give developers full control over all Core Text functions, so they can choose very precisely how text will behave in all user interface elements. To make that possible, Apple has revised UITextView, UITextLabel, and UILabel. The good news: this means the seamless integration of animation and text (the same principle behind UICollectionView and UITableView) for the first time ever in the history of iOS. The bad news: this means existing text-heavy apps will have to be redeveloped in order to support all these nifty new features.
Apple has rebuilt the text layout architecture in iOS 7, allowing developers to build control over the behavior of text and fonts into the user interfaces of their apps, with a level of dynamic freedom unheard-of before.
So what do all these new options mean, practically speaking? Developers can now drop long-form texts into reader-friendly, attractive layouts, with multiple columns and with image layers that aren’t chained to the grid. There are exciting new possibilities hiding behind the labels “Interactive Text Color”, “Text Folding”, and “Custom Truncation”. So, for example, it will soon be possible while composing in iOS to have the color of text change if the app recognizes a specific dynamic element (a hashtag, a Twitter account name, or the like). Or, we can trim longer texts into previews without being limited to options like before/after/middle; developers can define those options however they want.
With just a few lines of code, developers can display the time using presentable typography, with proportionally-spaced figures and the correct hh:mm divider.
Typographic aesthetes will be happy to learn that support for kerning and ligatures (Apple calls these macros “font descriptors”) will be turned on throughout iOS 7, effortlessly accessible even over very advanced visual effects like the deceptively real-looking handmade paper texture. But don’t worry: the magical letterpress look is, for now, the only remaining skeumorphism that has survived the update, and that only in the Notes app. Think of it as an example of something that can be turned off in the future, something developers will have the right to use, or not, as they wish.
But the hottest typographic number in iOS 7 is Dynamic Type. As far as I know, Apple’s mobile products will be the first electronic devices that will by default consider a quality of type that hasn’t been given so much attention since the age of letterpress. That’s right: we’re talking about an operating system, not an application or a layout job. It’s true, optical sizes were tried in photosetting and desktop publishing—but they weren’t really automatic, and some of the attempts turned out to be blind alleys (like Adobe Multiple Masters). And yes, there are any number of displays in industry products that use different ‘grades’ of text for smaller and larger settings. But optical sizing in iOS builds on these earlier attempts and offers astonishing possibilities.
The Dynamic Type waterfall in iOS 7 (middle) lets developers specify which fonts to use at each font size. This allows them to select heavier weights when type is small, for example. Compare this to the example on the left which demonstrates a simple decrease in size of the headline weight only, and the one on the right which shows just the text font getting larger.
The letterspacing shown here isn’t perfect, but an app developer could always embed a different font family, one with a wider spaced variant for the text size. Update: It appears Dynamic Text does not work with custom embedded fonts like we hoped.
Thanks to Dynamic Type, users can now use sliders (with seven stops, found under Settings > General > Text Size) to adjust the text size in every app according to their own taste. And in case the largest size isn’t large enough, those with impaired vision can find under Settings > General > Accessibility a way to turn Dynamic Type up to its maximum size, options to “improve legibility” (which sets the text over a light gradient without changing its size), and optimize the background contrast.
Conclusion: When iOS is ready to be released in a few months, the operating system itself may not offer the best typography (using Neue Helvetica). But the OS’s underlying text layout and rendering technologies offer Apple and developers everything they need to conjure up dynamic and readable text on the Retina Display in ways they’ve never been able to before.