[O]pinionated equestrian pants
“There is an entirely different order of product being developed here, far beyond the outer reaches of irony. I first started seeing them in Google Image searches; the most random queries were returning pictures of t-shirts, trucker hats, and especially ties that were truly uncanny. One could not, by looking at them, decipher how they had come about, what possible thought process lay behind them, who they were for, or why anyone would want them. They had something akin to the lost-in-translation weirdness of Chinese Shanzhai culture, but what was being lost was in a language far more distant than Chinese; one got the impression the “designers” of these pieces were speaking strictly in ones and zeros. I had visions of design-bots, data mining for user patterns, instantaneously designing products based on trending search queries, generating t-shirts like predictive text and graphics through some kind of visual auto-tune. Amazingly, it turns out I am not totally wrong.” Babak Radboy, Spam-erican Apparel: Do Androids dream of ironic tees? DIS, n.d.
6 urban sitcom intertitles, 1978-93.
“This is a true picture of a gross, sensual chin.” L. A. Vaught, Vaught’s Practical Character Reader (Chicago: L. A. Vaught, 1902) (via)
“Optima is the anti-Helvetica. Zapf designed it in the early 1950s, around the same time that Helvetica was taking shape, but he had a completely different and far more profound sense of what a typeface ought to be. Instead of being mathematically perfect and untethered to a particular time or place, Optima embodies a subtle understanding of history. It is nominally a sans-serif, but its lines swell subtly toward their endpoints, with the result that they suggest classical serifs without actually having them. Zapf based the letterforms on carvings he found on Italian renaissance grave stones, and their overall shape and proportions unmistakably derive from the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. But their sleek lines suggest the aerodynamic curves of modern technology, and the whole design could only have been invented in the mid-twentieth century.
“People who love type have been known to confess to each other in secret—so they can avoid being quoted in Private Eye’s Pseuds’ Corner—that in certain moods they are emotionally moved by Optima. Its echoes of renaissance carvings evoke nostalgia for a lost and unrecoverable past. Its streamlined curves evoke the forward-looking hopes of the machine age. Like other great works of art it prompts intense mixed feelings, a double sense of loss and gain: it simultaneously portrays something that has receded into the abyss of time and something that is still emerging.
“Helvetica is the ideal typeface for corporate logos and any other function in which individual persons have little value of their own. Optima, in contrast, is a typeface that can be put into service to indicate the unique value of individuals. When Maya Lin designed the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington, she chose Optima as the face in which the names of the dead would be etched into the polished stone wall. Every name—each signifying a particular, irreparable loss—is recorded in letters that had been designed by one person’s singular hand.” Edward Mendelson, The Human Face of Type, NYRblog, Aug. 4, 2011
“Questi libri non son strumenti per la divulgazione di un contenuto testuale o figurativo ma, piuttosto, l’espressione di una visione personale — dell’arte, della poesia, della tipografia — da condividere in una cerchia ridotta di ‘complici’.”
(‘These books are not instruments for the dispersion of textual or figurative content, but, rather, are for the expression of a personal vision — of art, of poetry, of typography — to share with a small circle of accomplices.’)” Lucio Passerini, Milanese woodcut artist and letterpress printer, qtd. in Paul Shaw, Lessons from a Milan Type Master: A renowned letterpress printer talks about his influences and inspirations as we explore his studio, Imprint via Salon, Aug. 16, 2011
Photo with 1 note
LEDs hidden behind millwork tint and hue the walls. (Wendy Goodman, “The Four-Walled Kaleidoscope; Architect Joel Sanders creates an incandescent East Village pied-à-terre where the colors are constantly changing,” New York, April 26, 2010: 54-55. Photo by Peter Aaron.)
Source: New York Magazine
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