go forth and multiply

My lurking obsession with typefaces periodically surfaces on this blog in one form or another, and we’re overdue for a sighting. So thanks to Serious Eats for catching a story in Print magazine in which typeface designers Nick and Adam Hayes marvel at the discovery of a NYC street food vendor — in this case, the Calexico cart in SoHo — using their font: 

“We’ve also found this strange use of Monark for a street vendor selling Mexican food [in Soho, New York City]. They used Monark for the menu and the logotype. I have no idea why a street vendor would use Monark to promote their services, because it was a typeface originally designed for a magazine. We love waiting and watching for our typefaces to pop up in the strangest places. This has got to be one of our favorites!”

My obsession with type doesn’t stem from its mathematical principles. Or the aesthetics of typeface design (serifs! spacing!). But rather in how typography is so different from the other creative arts: once a typeface is finished, the artist largely relinquishes control. 

… and it’s how they meet again that’s the interesting part: In the Print magazine article, type designer Mark Simonson talks about how he receives junk mail in Felt Tip Roman, the typeface he designed after his own handwriting. His reaction? “It doesn’t fool me for a second.”

street haunting

Couples coupling, hands groping, bodies in various states of undress. On benches, behind bushes, tangled and horizontal on the grass. I would have believed it on blind faith, sure, but Kohei Yoshiyuki’s etheral black-and-whites certainly remove any doubt about the lively night scene of various Tokyo parks in the 1970s. Allegedly, after a gallery show in 1979, Yoshiyuki destroyed most of the photos and disappeared. (The plot thickens: supposedly Kohei Yoshiyuki is a pseudonym.) A first-rate sleuth at Yossi Milo gallery in Chelsea managed to track down the elusive artist and convince him to make a new set of prints. It’s the first time these photographs have been publicly shown since disco died.

Bemused, dreamy-eyed, nostalgic for a decade in the way only someone who’s never lived through it can be. Walking East on W. 25th Street, another instance of an unreal reality. Framed within the rolled-up gate of a corrugated steel facade, there’s a man in an off-white lounge lizard’s suit, playing a candy-apple red electric guitar, crooning that part of a song that isn’t quite words but always builds up to something… He is standing on dirt, on a narrow lot, underneath a rusted section of the future-fab highline park, accompanied by a mic and an amp, a spotlight, and a theatrical grouping of forlorn-looking leafless tree props. A small sign says that he’s an Icelandic performance artist, and he’s going to play the same riffs in the same spotlight for six straight hours a day, ten days in a row. It’s a project by CCS Bard, Bard College’s Center for Curatorial Studies (and Art in Contemporary Culture).

English Lit classes brainwashed me forever: I see forest, actual or allegorical, any shape or size—hell, you could say I see trees and I have flashbacks to scenes from King Lear, Walden, the Scarlet Letter. But there is something to it, the forest being a place apart from a society of likeness, apart from conventional rules, apart from judging, peering eyes. To find two such escapes in the middle of Manhattan yesterday felt good because I, for one, need to disappear sometimes and it’s not easy here.

Post Script: I confess, I procrastinate. Meaning that the Yoshiyuki exhibit has closed and Kjartansson’s sun has set. I wound down my day at a screening of Helvetica. It’s an amazing documentary with the premise of being about a font but is really about the arc of graphic design ideology over the last fifty years (that I also blogged about in March). If you runrushgo!, you’ll probably still be able to catch Helvetica at the IFC Center—although it’s been there long enough that it’s due to disappear any day.

starring

I have a soft spot in my heart for typography. We can “feel the difference when sommething is set in one typeface,” rather an another, says says Ina Saltz, a professor in Electronic Design and Multimedia at City College NYC. “There’s a visual distinction that sends a visual message.” Saltz was one of more than a dozen interviews that I spent more than a month on (just prior to starting this blog), for a story exploring the rising trend of typographical/word tattoos. I interviewed several “words” in Shellly Jackson’s Skin project, a typeface designer in Las Vegas whose whole torso is covered in Latin tattoos in antique typefaces, Saltz, editor of Body Type, the first photographic book of word/typographic tattoos, among others.
So I was thrilled to read unBeige’s blog report on the world premiere of the feature-length documentary film, Helvetica, held at SXSW last week. The film “just might be the best history of graphic design we’ve ever seen,” reports unBeige. Helvetica, that [in]famous font, turns 50 this year.

Festival organizers had to turn away more than 150 people at the SXSW premiere. I think that’s going to be the precident as the film begins touring the international film fest circut. It’s coming to New York for a screening at the New School on April 6, and guess what? Yep, sold out. The film’s website has the complete—and oft updated— tour schedule. In the meantime, I’m gonna try to get into the screening, guerrila-style.