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· Behind the Scenes

· Interviews
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· New Type )5('26/
· News
· Parker Type History Posted by Cyrus Highsmith
· Seen and Noted
One of the things I have struggled with as a type designer is explaining
· Sketches
what I do for a living. This was especially true when I was starting out. I
· Type Design
might be at a party with my girlfriend, now my wife, and we would be
· Web Fonts
meeting some new people for the first time. At some point, one of these
people would ask, “So Cyrus, what is your job?” I lived in particular fear
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of this question. I knew it would involve a lot of explanation about what a
· David Berlow typeface is, how drawing them really is my job, and that it really is all
· Sam Berlow that I do.
· Font Bureau
· Carrie Gee However, I am happy to report it is getting easier. In the last couple of
· Cyrus Highsmith years, I have noticed that when I tell someone I am a type designer, it
· Kent Lew requires less explanation than it used to. People will say, oh you mean
· Mary Louise Marino like the fonts on my computer. Or I think I read about someone who did
· Mike Parker that in the New Yorker or something. At least some awareness of
· David Jonathan Ross typefaces has become common knowledge.
· Dyana Weissman
I enjoy talking about type design to people who aren’t designers. At a
barbecue in someone’s backyard on a summer night in Providence, I met
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a mathematician. (I bet he hears a lot of uninformed questions about his
Join the FB News List job also!) He asked what I did for a living. I replied that I was a type
designer, and he was quiet for a moment. His brain was up to something.
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I prepared myself for the worst. Finally, he said, “Wow, that must require
a lot of non-linear thinking.” I nodded enthusiastically and we talked about
the kind of systems thinking involved in type design. A typeface is a kit of
parts, designed to be combined in any order. The networks of
relationships between the parts, and the parts of parts, form the
structures that hold the typeface together.

The most common question I get about being a type designer is this:
“Aren’t there enough typefaces already?” The best response I have ever
heard to this question is, “You know, I heard the same thing about
people!” It is quite funny but probably comes across a bit rude, especially
to people you have just met. For a long time, the best response I could
come up with was a more diplomatic, although less articulate, “Oh well
you know ha ha.” And then I would try to change the subject. “Aren’t there
enough typefaces already?” isn’t a bad question though. There are a lot of

typefaces. Even to a type designer, it can seem like everything has

already been done.

Losing control

In addition to learning how to make small talk about type design at

parties, I had to learn some other things about being a type designer. For
example, a type designer has to get used to losing control of his work
after it is published. I can spend months or years drawing, spacing,
perfecting a series of typefaces. Then I release them into the world. The
next time I see them is on a page created by a graphic designer that I
probably have never met or communicated with. A graphic designer has a
lot of control of how a typeface looks. They can make it look great. And
they can make it look terrible. One day, you might find your typeface,
beautifully set. The next time you see it, it might be squeezed and tracked
to within a point of its life.
Even when I work on commission, when I work closely with the art
director and I know how the typeface will be used down to the point size,
tracking, and leading, even then, the final result, the printed page is not
something I have created. I created one of the elements that someone
else used to compose the page. There is that gap between my final
product and the way it is presented to the public.

Often when I see one of my typefaces in use, on the cover of a magazine

at the newsstand, or on a book on the shelf of a bookstore, I don’t
recognize it at first. There is a second when it catches my eye but I am
not sure why. There’s something familiar about it. Then finally, I recognize
my drawings. I usually find myself smiling and wanting to say hello.

My students seem to have a similar experience when they bump into me

off campus. At first, they just cannot figure out who I am but they are
sure they know me. Then, a second later, they figure it out—hey, that’s
my teacher. They always think it is so funny and ask, “What are you doing
here?” A teacher’s existence away from school comes as a surprise to
them. What could I possibly be doing outside? I wonder the same thing
about my typefaces when I see them out in the world, away the shelter of
my studio, doing their own thing.

It reminds me of what some novelists say when they are talking about
their characters and how they can almost seem to have a life of their
own. Stephen King says that when he writes, he likes to “put a group of
characters in a predicament and then watch them try to work themselves
free. Characters do things in their own way. I’m not able to guess with
any accuracy how the damned thing is going to turn out.” I like to imagine
my typefaces in a similar way. After a while, a good typeface takes on a
life of its own almost, and I watch what happens as the letters leave my
desk and then make their way into the world.

I like Stephen King’s detachment about his characters. He is comfortable

losing control. He enjoys it. I have tried to adopt this attitude when it
comes to seeing my own work in use. In fact, I have learned a lot of
tricks for being a type designer from novelists.
I think there are a lot of similarities between being a novelist and being a
type designer. You might not think so at first because on the surface it
seems like writing and letter drawing have so many fundamental
differences. For example, the job of the novelist is telling a story. In
contrast, type designers create abstract symbols. Drawing type is a
mostly formal exercise, not dealing in content the way writing a novel
does. Another difference is in voice. The author’s name is on the cover of
the book, we hear his voice throughout the story. In contrast, type is
largely invisible. In a single paragraph, drawings I have made will be
reproduced thousands of times. The reader thinks about it differently
though. They think about the text. But I don’t mind—in fact, that is usually
how it should work. Type design is a great occupation if you are a private
person yet have the urge to publish and see your work everywhere.

Plodding along

The popular image of the writer is of a drunk. They write in explosive

flurries of inspiration, then sink into despair until the next idea magically
appears to them. They fit into the classic romantic image of the creator as
the tortured soul who is visited by the mysterious muse. I have never
been able to relate to this style of working or seeing yourself. In reality,
most writers are plodders. They write every day. They don’t wait for
inspiration. They just keep their fingers moving. My daily routine of
drawing is quite similar.

The other thing about plodding along is that by working almost every day,
it is easier to remember what you are doing. Both novelists and type
designers, when they are in the middle of a project, are holding
complicated structures in their heads, networks of relationships and
details.

The joke at Font Bureau is that drawing typefaces is easy. Keeping track
of all the details is the hard part. A typeface’s success depends on how
of all the details is the hard part. A typeface’s success depends on how
well all the parts fit together to form words and lines on a page. The
designer has to keep track of the relationships between all the parts so
they fit together and form a strong structure.

The novelist plods away, usually in a quiet room, away from distractions.
Writing has traditionally been a solitary occupation. At some point, an
editor needs to be involved, and all the apparatus of a publisher. But a
writer still spends most of his time in his own head, alone, at his desk at
home.

Factory and staff

I think most type designers have a similar temperament. However, it is

only recently that a type designer can really work at home, in the way
that most writers have always done. In the old days, you needed a whole
factory and staff of letter drawers to make a typeface. It took a really
long time, it was expensive. You couldn’t be a type designer full time and
work on your own, from a home office.

I have tried to think of a type designer, pre-digital, who worked at home.

Perhaps William A. Dwiggins came closest to being able to. He dreamed
up his innovative designs and methods for working by himself from his
studio in Hingham, Massachusetts. However, the majority of work was
done by the staff at Linotype in Brooklyn. Dwiggins had to wait weeks for
the drawing office to translate his sketches of a few characters into
production drawings, then make a prototype and proof it. Finally, Dwiggins
would receive the proofs in the mail and he could assess his progress and
decide what to do next. When the design was finalized, Linotype’s drawing
office would go to work on the production drawings for the complete
character set and the drawings for additional point sizes. Many people
were involved. It would have been impossible for Dwiggins to produce a
typeface all on his own.

The computer has changed all that. The computer put the means of
production of typefaces in the hands of individuals. If Dwiggins were alive
today, he could make typefaces on his laptop as fast as he could draw
them. If he were lucky, he would work with other people to help with
technical issues, trademarks, marketing, and publishing. However, the
vast majority of the production of a typeface today can be done by one
person, working alone, just like a writer working on a novel.

There are some risks in working alone though. And these risks go beyond
forgetting to leave your house for three days to get some fresh air or
keeping odd hours. When there is no need to involve other people in the
creative process, it is easy to forget about the audience. You risk falling
into the black hole of your own narrowly defined personal vision. Both
novelists and type designers need an audience for their work.

Imaginary audience

I have heard some novelists say that when they write, the audience they
imagine is small. Often it will be someone they know. For example, J.K.
Rowling said she writes the Harry Potter books for her daughter. She is
the author’s most important reader. Other novelists have spoken about
their one reader. It could be a spouse or lover, a son or daughter, a
mentor, a parent. The reader could be alive or dead. The important thing
is that the novelist always has a specific audience in mind for his product.

A type designer’s audience is usually not as intimate as the novelist’s, but

I think we also work with a specific audience in mind when we are
creating something. Often the most loved typefaces are the ones that
were originally drawn for a single client or purpose. For example, there is
Matthew Carter’s Bell Centennial drawn for setting the phone books, DIN
and Interstate for roadway signage, Meta for the German post office, or
Frutiger for De Gaulle airport, among many others.

I like to create new typefaces on a speculative basis, without an official

commission. If I don’t have a real client, I will create an imaginary one.
Sometimes it will be for a publication that I think could use a new
typeface, whether they know it or not. Other times it will be for a
designer who I think could use this typeface in an interesting way. Often it
will be for a publication that doesn’t exist, but if it did, I would be

interested in reading it. My hope is that if the typeface is out there,

someone will create the content to go with it. They will see the sum of the
ideas that went into making it, and realize it perfectly reflects a powerful
zeitgeist that they always knew but until that instant never were able to
express or define. But now, thanks to that typeface, they have the voice
with which they can articulate it. So far, this hasn’t actually happened.

Real clients

Fortunately, I usually have a real client, a specific magazine or

newspaper, who I am working with. The client and I discuss the
personality of the publication, the identity of the readers, how the
typefaces will be used, and the other typefaces in the palette. All these
things drive the design of a new typeface series.

It isn’t always exciting to focus on skill and serving the audience. Can you
imagine that happening in an art school today? There wouldn’t be enough
time left to discuss theory. All those big words and indecipherable essays
would be wasted. And the poor critics—they wouldn’t have anything left to
explain to the rest of us. But real or imaginary, audience is important. I
believe that thinking deeply about the audience and being serious about
craftsmanship leads to innovative and imaginative work, original work.

Recently, I drew a new script for Brides magazine. I was discussing the
different options with the art director when she said to me, “I want a
typeface that makes me feel pretty.” What a great way to think about it! A
typeface is for more than just reading. There is an emotional side of
typefaces also.

When the art director was talking about wanting a typeface that made her
feel pretty, she was talking about the tone of the magazine’s voice—this is
who we are, this is how we feel about ourselves, this is how we feel about
our readers. The readers who buy the magazine identify with the
magazine’s tone. They are saying, “This is how we feel about ourselves
also.”

The audience of Brides magazine is young women who are planning their
weddings. A wedding is a special event, an emotional event. To not
address this in the design of the magazine and the typography would be a
disservice to the reader, and a disservice to our craft. But this kind of
attention shouldn’t be limited to magazines about weddings or stressed-
out young women.

We all identify with the publications we consume. I think this is why

readers, who aren’t typographers, can get so emotional when publications
change their typefaces. It isn’t just that their favorite publication is
suddenly speaking to them in a different voice. The shock is also that the
readers are suddenly forced to see themselves differently. Part of their
identity has changed too.

Digital revolution

The technology of type design has changed since Dwiggins was working.

We don’t need factories to produce fonts anymore. Thanks to digital tools,

one person can do it by themselves at home. But where does this get us?
In the New York Times, Stephen Heller wrote, “During the ensuing digital
typographic revolution of the 90s… typeface design became something of
an expressive art.”

I like to compare today’s type designer to the solitary novelist who plods
away, working daily, writing his story, writing for an audience. However,
as Mr. Heller observes, maybe even promotes, today’s type designer
could also be compared to the fine artist, toiling away in his studio,
creating beautiful works of art. There is a lot of appeal in this romantic
image of the lone artist. The current low status of fine art shows us that
we should be careful though.
 we should be careful though.

As the act of producing art becomes more individualistic, the artist’s vision
becomes more singular. The artist retreats into his studio, away from the
world and into the world of self-expression. He creates work only for
himself, instead of producing something for an audience. The artist is seen
as the lone tortured soul. Art’s purpose becomes more therapy for its
creator than for satisfying the emotional needs of the audience.

This romantic image of the lone tortured artist endures today, in one form
or another. The critics like it because it is their role to explain what
inaccessible art means. The art academy likes it because when you are
dealing in self-expression, you don’t need to get bogged down in things
like skill and serving the audience. And some artists like it because it
appeals to their ego. But art’s marginal status is the result. If it seems the
artist isn’t interested in anyone else, most people will not be very
interested in art. And this is a shame because art has potential to do
more.

Black hole of self-expression

There is a negative side to all the control that the computer has put in the
hands of the individual. It is great that we have so much creative control.
The danger is getting too wrapped up in your own head, and forgetting
about the audience. In the old days, because of the amount of money and
resources needed to make a typeface, a lot of people were involved. You
had to convince them it would be worthwhile. Therefore, the focus was on
the audience—would they like it? Would it sell? How would it serve the
reader?

Don’t get me wrong; I am not yearning for the old days of being
dependent on a huge company to produce a font. I don’t think the factory
method is superior. Just look at all the crappy movies that come out of
Hollywood every year to see how badly an expensive collaborative
process can go.

Digital tools have led to an explosion of creativity and innovation in type

design. In my opinion, in the last ten years because of this
democratization, we have seen maybe some of the best typefaces ever.
And also some of the worst. These are interesting times in the world of
typography. There are more typefaces available now than ever before and
there are more different kinds of typefaces available than ever before. It
isn’t just that graphic designers have more to choose from, the average
reader is exposed to more different kinds of typefaces than the average
reader twenty years ago.

We have to figure out the role of the type designer in all this. I don’t think
type design has to fall into the black hole of self- expression that art has
fallen into, if we don’t want it to. The work of novelists has shown you can
make creative work, full of personal vision, without losing sight of the
audience.

Our audience is diverse and has strong ideas about what it wants.
Typefaces can address these identities and needs. This is why there is still
a need for new typefaces. And if we respect our audience, there will
continue to be a need for new typefaces. So in other words, no, there are
not enough typefaces already. I do have an answer to that question
finally. I really should try to remember all this for the next time I am at a
party and someone asks.

Lecture given by Cyrus Highsmith at TypeCon, July 2006, Boston,

Massachusetts, USA

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