• as downloadable, self-hosted fonts (like FontFont, Commercial Type, or the many small foundries on MyFonts);
• or their own service (like Typotheque, Just Another Foundry, or the upcoming product from Hoefler & Frere-Jones);
• or as part of a library-based service (like Typekit or Fonts.com);
• or via a service with individual licensing (like Webtype or Fontdeck);
• or a combination of these.

• Over (for functionality)
• Photo-Lettering (for fonts)

• Requiem
• Goudy Trajan
  
• Goldenbook
  
• ITC Humana Serif
  
• see also Serifs with Swashes

• Belwe
• Stan
• Bellweather Anitqu NF
  
• Sparrowhawk
• Trieste

getting a fair share in regards to the actual usage, like in the music industry

now that Facebook started using Freight Sans with it's products, is it any better for the author than if any other font-self-hosting website has bought a single license?

• one is Arial and the other is Gotham
• one has a curved entry stroke, the other has a straight or horizontal entry stroke (AKA flat-topped ‘3’)
• one is regular weight and the other is bold

• Jabberwub
  
• FF Amoeba
  
• Toulouse Lautrec Le Chat Noir
  
• Karolla
  
• Fraggle

• FF Tisa
• Rooney
• Skolar
  
• Cassia

• With what kind of typefaces are your readers most familiar?
• What type styles are common in your field (health care)?
• What type styles are common in the medium (web)?

• Hummingbird
• Alana
• Montague Script
• Hipster Script
  
• Feel Script
  
• Sweetheart Script
• FF Tartine Script

• “Inside Paragraphs” by Cyrus Highsmith
• “Shaping Text” by Jan Middendorp
  
• “Stop Stealing Sheep & Find Out How Type Works” by Erik Spiekermann, E.M Ginger
  

• “The Anatomy of Type” by Stephen Coles

• Typography and Type Design 101: Reading Lists
• Book Reviews at Typographica.org

1. They already have Arial. Yeah, it’s certainly not Helvetica (see The Scourge of Arial), but most consumer-level users do not recognize the difference. Microsoft made their bed with Arial years ago and shows no sign of reversing course now.
2. They have already invested hundreds of thousands — maybe millions — of dollars in their own fonts custom designed for Windows’ ClearType rendering engine: ClearType Font Collection.

• Interstate
  
• Helvetica / Helvetica Monospaced
  
• FF Nexus
• FF Nuvo
  
• FF Quadraat
  
• FF Letter Gothic
  
• FF Fago
  
• TheSans / TheSansMono
  
• TheMix / TheMixMono
  
• Thordis
  
• Fedra
  
• Alto / Alto Mono
• Swiss 721 / Monospace 821
  
• Century Schoolbook

In 1982 Linotype set out to revise and systematize the hodgepodge of fonts Helvetica had become over years. Adopting a numeric naming system from the former competitor typeface, Univers, styles and weights were coordinated and complemented. The height of capitals and lower case were aligned throughout the family. Yet the wish for regularization led to new compromises: condensed and expanded styles required squarer forms, which had to be adopted for the normal width, again sacrificing some of the personality of the rounder original.

They’re usually shown as proud, fearsome creatures, but this depiction seems more realistic. In an awkward stance, gagging as he presents his rainbow wings and oversized talon, Gary is rightly uncomfortable with the whole affair.

Image found at the always enchanting BiblioOdyssey.

Shot this on my way out of Copenhagen. Bless the Danes for putting a big window on the back of their subway trains. I recommend clicking the HD button and then Full Screen one next to it.

Back from a trip to Berlin, Copenhagen, Malmö, and Stockholm. Many photos will go up soon, but first, my pal Peter Bruhn caught this moment of his son Adrian letting me join in on some construction with vintage Plasticant. Believe it or not, I was once that blonde.

I am not a great singer. There are few tunes that I will belt out without fear of embarrassment or retribution. Two exceptions: Morrissey and Salt. Here is the latter: the best song and one of the best scenes in one of the best films of all time. It doesn’t get much better than Bricusse and Newley.

Youtube users Elora, j00ntje and missbeccymay singing "I WIll Always Love You" as performed by Whitney Houston. Mixed by Ray Fenwick.

Lou Reed, Bob Dylan, Tom Petty and Randy Newman at first annual Farm Aid benefit concert. Photograph by Deborah Feingold. Courtesy Corbis.

What a weird and beautiful mix of dudes. I think I liked the photo better before I knew the context. It was intriguing, like any old party snapshot captured late at night on someone’s back porch — except that this particular party is full of music legends.

It reminded me of this pic:

For no reason other than it’s a nostalgic shot of four people I love, just hangin’ out. And also, they are musical legends too.

O Lucky Man! (1973) by Lindsay Anderson and starring Malcom McDowell is, among many things, an allegory for the pitfalls of capitalism, an avant-garde Forrest Gump, and a musical with performances by Alan Price, formerly of The Animals.

Also starring Rockwell.

Sorry for the shaky shot. That's about as good as I could do with an iPhone and The Palsy.

Tonight, on the eve of California Supreme Court hearings, I marched for the causes of equality and peaceful, respectful protest; and on behalf of my 4 siblings — all active LDS churchgoers, and all opposed to Prop 8. James, Matthew, Marilee, and Deanne: I love you and I'm proud to be your brother. Wish you could be here.

Corii sent me this record of human life as seen by a camera set on a sushi conveyor belt. It is great. Can’t think of a better way to capture candid reactions to the unusual and, for those who don’t notice the camera, an authentic documentation of everyday life. Imagine the joy of the geniuses who set it in motion when the digicam made that final turn and arrived safely in front of them, video captured.

During James’ move we found an unopened poster tube that was mailed to him and me in 2006. The handwriting was unmistakably Dad’s but was strangely neat and clear compared to other things he’d written at the time he was affected by Lewy Body Disease. We opened the tube to reveal eight travel posters he and Mom must have collected during their travels to Europe in the '60s.

Mom and Dad in the Swiss Alps, Fall 1963

Props to Sean “Spud” Keane.

The animated CV of Michael A. Charles. Also of Garson Hampfield, Crossword Inker, and Sea Water Bliss. Props to Gaela.

Oh...

yeah!

Went to San Jose’s massive but forgettable flea market a few weeks ago. Wish it was more like this one.

Her Morning Elegance
Directed by: Oren Lavie, Yuval & Merav Nathan
Photography: Eyal Landesman
Featuring: Shir Shomron

Perhaps inspired by:

After I lounge around a while, soaking in the online inauguration festivities, I’ll be cleaning up Oakland with other Day of Service volunteers. Get on up! Celebrate and serve!

My pals Jineui and JLT just returned from Korea with a New Year gift, their adoptee Olivia. I asked him what it feels like to be a dad:

it feels really, really, really, really good. pretty much better than anything else ever. even better than a really good sandwich, a MAGIC sandwich.

Ok, that’s pretty convincing. Maybe I'll reconsider my long-held stance against having kids of my own.

Carrie Fisher on her relationship with Paul Simon:

We once had a fight (on our honeymoon) where I said: “Not only do I not like you, I don’t like you personally!” We tried to keep the argument going after that but we were laughing too hard.

Paul is on the unfortunate list (with Woody Allen) of artists whose work I love but who are not very lovable. I like them, but I don’t like them personally.

On my list of good artists who are actually good people too? Alan Alda. David Byrne. Gene Wilder.

Here’s a smokin’ performance by Pacific Gas & Electric, a band I just met online 10 minutes ago thanks to my friend Norm (go read about his new book on airbrush art and buy it — you will not be disappointed). Oh glory, there is so much to love about this video — from the sheepish trumpeter, to the guitarist who tears up a great solo despite being physically impaired by an abnormally tiny head and gigantic afro, to the creepy glare from the keyboardist who only gets a shot on camera in the last minute and really makes it count.

For nearly three months last year, I drew some type every day. My “Daily Typesketch” was an experiment — in drawing, discipline, public practice, and in getting less fearful of process and paper.

Let me say this first: I know there are many designers who draw more and better than I; who have sketchbooks filled with lovely letters and exciting experiments. My hat is off to them, because I’m not like that. I’ve always thought of myself primarily as a digital designer — computers are my playgrounds, while paper usually instills in me a vague sense of dread (or at least, inconvenience). So it felt like quite an experiment last year when I committed to drawing some type every single day, on paper, and posting a photo of the sketch to a dedicated Flickr set.

I had been getting a bit frustrated in the months after finishing my first typeface, FF Ernestine. Over the course of three years, I had learned to draw type by making that typeface, and now every letter I drew still looked like it wanted to be part of that same family. I longed to diversify, but wasn’t sure how.

Process, Paper, Patience

At TYPO Berlin a year ago, I participated in Erik van Blokland and Paul van der Laan’s wildly popular TypeCooker critique session. I had known TypeCooker before — Erik’s “tool for generating type-drawing exercises”, which, in a manner of speaking, offers guided walks out of one’s type-drawing comfort zone. Pick a type of exercise and a level of difficulty, and the site generates a random combination of parameters, a “recipe” to follow. My TYPO submission was a narrow, tall, contrasted sans that was reasonably hard to draw, and I sweated over it for the better part of a week-end until I deemed it nice enough to show. “This is a very pretty sketch” was the verdict, “but where is the process?”

That was when I realized I wanted (and needed) to get deeper into practice, into the process. Indeed process, like craft, seems fairly obvious to honor in theory and principle, but harder to embrace in practice. In-progress work is uncomfortable, it shows more open questions than answers; and “uncertainty”, as Paul Soulellis wrote in The Manual, “runs counter to how we’re trained to articulate our design values. We’re taught to express clearly and certainly”, but in-progress work is usually not clear yet, craft is messy and dirty, and sometimes you hit a dead end. Facing this is unsettling — maybe especially so for a generation of designers raised with the shiny precision of computers. We love that precision, even if deep down we know that it’s often a lie. The precise numbers of computers can make our work look like we’ve found answers when really all we have are questions, and the only truth we know is vague.

It is in this crucial point that paper is friendlier to the creative process than the screen: It supports (and renders) vagueness, sketchiness, better than computers do.

Type Cooker creator Erik van Blokland demonstrates the type sketching method passed down from Gerrit Noordzij and taught in the Type and Media program at The Hague.

Embracing the famed “inside out” drawing technique was a key to the whole exercise. The basic idea of starting with fuzzy shapes and gradually “bringing them into focus”, making the shapes cleaner as the ideas get clearer, is tremendously helpful (and can, I think, be applied to all kinds of shapes, beyond the classic application echoing the strokes of broad-nibbed or pointed pens). Thus one gradually progresses from general proportions to details. This is likely the correct hierarchy of decision making — first fixing what is most relevant and visible in type, even at text sizes (proportion, weight, contrast, the rhythm of black and white), before getting hooked on little details.

This was an exercise in patience, too. I am better at details than the conceptual “big picture”, better at refining than defining, and the computer makes it a little too easy to jump right into the details, with which you fiddle around forever until you realize something big is off anyway. (I’ve lost count of the times I had to redraw all the curves in Ernestine because I decided the x-height wasn’t right yet after all.)

Letting Loose

So I started drawing, and I drew every day. Most of the sketches were based on TypeCooker, which made me draw things I wouldn’t usually draw, or even think of as good ideas. It asked for wide seriffed faces and compressed sans serifs, but also such strange things as a monospaced upright italic for TV subtitles, a wide light monoline serif with swashes but no ascenders, or a grunge monospaced Helvetica as drawn by Gerard Unger. (Making sense of these turned out to be interesting.) I drew with an x-height of 4cm on an 11×14 inch pad of transparent marker paper, tracing over the drawings in multiple steps when necessary. Typically I’d do 5–10 letters, a variable basic set that could form the basis for a typeface design (for lowercase this was typically an ‘o’ or maybe ‘e’, at least one arch, something with an ascender, something with a descender, one bowl-and-stick letter, and of course some diagonals and special favorites like ‘a’, ‘s’, or ‘g’). Usually I first made a quick, rough pencil sketch of the approximate structures and proportions, then started working with a pen as soon as I dared, sketching rough proportions and areas before filling in outlines and details. (I never quite lost my urge to add outlines prematurely, but doing this too soon invariably derailed the sketch.)

The learning curve was noticeable. A good month into the experiment, I tweeted: “Best parts of #dailysketching: Slowly sensing better where black needs to go; & understanding I can build outwards from that fuzzy vision.” It still took courage to lay down ink; applying a dab of slow-drying Tipp-Ex is not the same as hitting Cmd-Z, and having to cut up a drawing to get the spacing right does not feel the same as adjusting sidebearings on screen, where space is elastic and erasure leaves no marks. But my fearfulness of the physical process was evolving into thoughtfulness, my dread into respect.

I learned to think about type in new ways, practiced looking at it differently. I squinted, “unfocused” my eyes, and used a reduction glass. I learned to see the space between the letters as an inherent part of the design. I tried lots of different pens and attempted (mostly in vain) to trim the Tipp-Ex brush just the right way. And I began to feel more free to take on new ideas and try them out on paper without over-thinking details right away. Six weeks into the experiment I was “letting loose on … things I’ve exactly never drawn before”, as I wrote happily in the caption to a funky, brushy, reverse-contrast script sort of thing that I wouldn’t have conceived of trying to draw before. I had finally stopped worrying so much, and I was making letters, every day. Letters that didn’t look like Ernestine. Letters that didn’t look like they were finished, or had to be.

Public Practice

The decision to make drawing practice a daily exercise was a trick to make me stick with it. Keeping it up was a challenge sometimes, but it also brought beautiful opportunities, like drawing together with friends I happened to be visiting. In a similar way, publishing the work online was intended to up the pressure and confirm my commitment, but I also hoped it could trigger discourse that might prove helpful to me and maybe also inspiring to others.

Of course, if embracing sketchiness and vagueness on my desk was hard, sharing it publicly was really scary. But I felt I needed to overcome the anxiety of showing something that isn’t as “clean” and “finished” as can be — for sometimes polish is simply not the point. In contrast to other “daily” doses of impressively final-looking work (like Jessica Hische’s famed Daily Drop Cap), sketchiness and roughness are at the heart of my experiment. My sketches are snapshots from a process, stills from a learning curve.

The project ended about as spontaneously as it began. After almost three months of daily drawing, and quite a bit of welcome input and exchange, I went on a vacation with a barely functional internet connection and the desire to disconnect from my routine for a bit. I look back fondly. I’ve learned a lot: much about the myriad shapes that type can take; some sketches have spawned little digital typeface prototypes; and I got out of my deadlock and frustration. While there remains so much that I haven’t yet learned, there is this: It’s true that if you want to draw type, then go draw type. Every day, if you have to. Try doing it loosely, looking beyond your own preferences, and resisting the pressure of polish. You will find new answers — and, what is more, new questions too.

Yesterday, Adobe declared that Creative Cloud is its future. Designers will no longer license desktop copies of Photoshop, Illustrator, or InDesign and use them “forever” (though that word is obviously limited by each version’s practical lifespan). Instead, they subscribe to a Creative Cloud membership and get access to the apps through an online account.

Along with this announcement came the news that Typekit will be included in the Creative Cloud product. This move was widely expected — once Adobe acquired Typekit in 2011 we all knew that they would use the fonts to add value to their core software, but just how they were going to do that was less clear. Now we know: desktop font syncing. Come mid-June, paid subscribers of Creative Cloud ($50/mo.) or Typekit Portfolio ($50/yr.), Performance, and Business plans will get access to some Typekit fonts directly in their desktop OS. This includes all desktop apps, not just those from Adobe.

Adobe’s announcement comes on the heels of Monotype’s SkyFonts product which offers time-limited desktop access to any of Fonts.com’s webfonts for free. Those who pay for the Professional ($40/mo.) or Master subscriptions get 30-day access to all the fonts from Monotype’s internal libraries, which include Monotype, Linotype, ITC, Bitstream, and Ascender.

For many font users, these services are a godsend. Creating websites without desktop access to webfonts is a major hurdle for designers who rely on apps like Photoshop for comping. Some providers offer workarounds: OurType fonts are licensed once and can be used in print or on the web; FontFont bundles their downloadable webfonts with free (but limited) desktop versions. But Creative Cloud and Skyfonts gives users access to an entire library of fonts, not the individual fonts of traditional sales.

For font makers, these developments raise all sorts of questions. Equating the music and font industries is rife with pitfalls, but the parallels here are too conspicuous to ignore. A few years ago, people bought albums — now they stream songs from a music service. If the font market is headed down the same path, I wonder:

Will easy access to desktop fonts increase piracy?
My hunch: no. While Creative Cloud and Skyfonts obfuscate the temporarily installed fonts in some way, there is always the concern that users will find a way to hack the system or otherwise use the fonts outside the license. I feel the same way about this as I do the silly old debate about PDF embedding permissions: never punish your customers in the attempt to prevent piracy. Fighting font theft is a losing battle. Those who steal fonts will always find easier ways to steal them. Those who focus on making their fonts easy to license and use earn the good will of the market.

Will library subscriptions lessen the perceived value of type?
My hunch: yes. The recent rise of steep discounts and Google freebies has already reduced the value of fonts in most users’ eyes. Cheap access to a vast library of more professional fonts will only add fuel to that fire. Granted, the ease of use and bundling with the Adobe ecosystem will bring new users to the foundries who participate, and Typekit says that providers will be compensated whenever their fonts are used, but it’s unclear whether these things will compensate for sales lost through traditional licensing models. Mark Simonson, for one, is not worried: he says that Typekit has been good for sales via other channels. But I suspect his experience is an outlier, as his Proxima Nova is probably the most popular family in Typekit’s library, raising awareness of the typeface throughout the market. What I hear from other participating type designers is that Typekit revenue represents(ed) a very small fraction of their sales. Beyond hard numbers, I think the more important casualty is that squishy concept of type’s overall worth. As Frode Bo Helland says: “If ‘everything’ is available to ‘everyone’ for a small monthly sum, what does that do to the perceived value of a typeface?” The answer to that question may depend on the definition of “everything”. Right now, there are thousands of professional typefaces that aren’t yet available from these services. Which leads me to my final question.

Will other professional foundries join these libraries?
My hunch: mostly no. Typekit has announced that “7 top-tier foundries” are participating in the initial Creative Cloud offering, and Monotype offers their substantial collection via SkyFonts. The size of these libraries is nothing to scoff at, but it doesn’t represent heavy-hitters like Hoefler & Frere-Jones, Font Bureau, House Industries, Commercial Type, Typotheque, Emigre, and most of FontFont — not to mention a vast and growing crop of small indie foundries that increasingly defines original type design. Given what I mentioned above, I don’t think we’ll see these top-tier foundries join either venture, and if they do it will only be to tease with a few typefaces, as FontFont does with Typekit. If they don’t, the contrast between the major and indie labels will be even more stark than it is today.

What are your hunches? Are we entering a new era of font selling? Are subscriptions a thing to celebrate or lament?

Based in Vienna, Typejockeys are three young designers — Anna Fahrmaier, Thomas Gabriel und Michael Hochleitner — with a broad palette of activities. They make graphic design for print and web, and have their own digital-to-letterpress project. They are also a typefoundry, to which both Gabriel (KABK, The Hague graduate) and Hochleitner (University of Reading graduate) contribute.

With everything that’s going on besides type design, they aren’t Europe most productive foundry, but when they bring out a new typeface, it is always something of an event. Typejockeys’ fonts are not only beautifully made, they also have content — they are carriers of a typographical culture. Their 2012 Henriette is a case in point. ​​Michael Hochleitner’s versatile family is a functional typeface of striking features that betray the design’s origin in early 20th-century lettering styles — more specifically, in Vienna’s street name signs.

I like it when designers do serious research regarding their source material (as opposed to quickly scanning a specimen they like and begin fontifying); and here, thorough research took place indeed. The story of the Viennese street sign alphabet and its many incarnations is told (in English) on the Typejockeys website; no use repeating it here. The main outcome of it was that, as there had been so many variations on the (anonymous) early alphabet, done by so many companies for various production techniques, Hochleitner felt free to improvise, no strings attached.

The original alphabet came in two distinct versions, for short and long street names — the one a kind of Heavy or ExtraBold, the other Bold Condensed. Developing a family with a broad range of widths, as Hochleitner did, is tricky: it’s like deriving a text family from Cooper Black. The resulting lighter weights are quite interesting, in that they don’t resemble much of what’s already there (Bookman and Candida come to mind) while still building a plausible and usable toolkit for day-to-day typographic work. If you’re looking for something neutral, the typeface’s idiosyncratic feel is a drawback; but for those designers who are looking for a strong and unusual personality, Henriette may be a terrific find. Needless to say, the character set and language coverage are flawless.

With thanks to Florian Hardwig.

I’ll be honest. When December rolls around and I ask a group of smart, articulate font users and makers to each select their favorite release of the year, not everyone rushes back with their pick. And when they do, they don’t always have much to say about it. Some years are stronger than others. 2012 was a strong year. The rich diversity in new type design has never been so evident.

I got so many responses this time around, many with texts that were longer and more in-depth than ever before, that I admittedly fell behind in the editing and production of the list. I hope you’ll find it to be worth the wait.

If you need an entry point, might I suggest:

Matthew Butterick’s review of Eskapade, in which he explains the difference between originality and surprise;

Sébastien Morlighem on the unusual stencil family that is Bery;

Indra Kupferschmid on Stan, with history on the unusual designs that inspired it;

Eben Sorkin on Turnip, Typographica’s new text face;

Catherine Griffiths, our newest contributor, on FF ThreeSix;

Florian Hardwig, who offers not only praise, but a bit of critique for Axia;

Shoko Mugikura and Tim Ahrens on the complex beauty of Quintet;

or Patric King’s “cocaine-and-vodka” take on Xtreem, dripping with references to ’80s pop culture.

Brief Thoughts on the State of Type

For the font market, 2012 was a year in which burgeoning trends matured into permanent shifts.

The most obvious example of lasting change is in type for the web. Professional webfonts were available in 2011 — primarily via services hosting previously released font families — but buyers can now expect most new fonts to be issued in both desktop and web formats. And some typefaces, like Turnip RE and JAF Bernini Sans, were designed from the start with screen performance in mind. (Unfortunately, mobile publishing is still left behind, as phone and tablet developers struggle to find clear licensing options for embedding fonts in apps. While there are some exceptions, most buyers still need to contact foundries for this kind of license. Look for this to evolve in 2013.)

The independent foundry has also cemented its place as the new foundation of the industry. Most of this year’s selections are from very small shops, several of which are entirely new to the market. It’s also significant that, in addition to offering their fonts through retailers like FontShop, MyFonts, and the newly revived Fonts.com, most of these indie foundries now sell directly to customers through their own sites. In some cases they have eschewed outside distribution altogether. The “majors” have not simply laid down, however. Monotype, Linotype, Font Bureau, FontFont, and H&FJ are all represented in this year’s list, each with releases that are remarkably characteristic of their respective brands.

Stylistically, no single classification or genre dominated the selections this year. This is a good thing. It indicates that me-too-ism is limited and that designers are open to a variety of styles. If you cast your net wide across all areas of graphic design, that trend for diversity is confirmed by today’s practical typography, too. Speaking of Fonts In Use, we are now adding links to that site from Typographica reviews, so you can see how the typefaces perform in the real world.

There are plenty of open questions about how fonts are marketed these days, but I am very optimistic about the proficiency and creativity of type design as a whole. The Golden Age of Type lives on, and it’s growing up.

Thanks to Chris Hamamoto for his continual design and dev prowess. Tânia Raposo also joined the team this year, designing many of the specimen images that represent the selections (now double-density for Retina-level displays). I’m also very grateful to Tamye Riggs for copyediting help, to Laura Serra for production assistance, and all the contributors for their insightful reviews.

The “Type of 2012” title graphic features Stan, Signalist, Trio Grotesk, and Bery Tuscan.

Today’s large font families allow graphic designers to easily create variation — using different weights, widths, or italics — while retaining stylistic consistency. Kunihiko Okano, who is also an experienced package designer, chose an unusual way of creating a useful palette of fonts.

How do you achieve typographic diversity in display use? The layered approach of Quintet gives the designer a toolbox that allows exploration of different shades within the same underlying model. Different weights are implemented in an unconventional way: instead of varying the main strokes, Quintet varies the weight of the outline. And this contour itself is maybe the most remarkable feature of the font: it is in fact broadnib-based double stroke drawn as a single, connected line. This technique itself has been practised by calligraphers for centuries, albeit in ornaments and illustrations, not the letterforms themselves. This way, Quintet gives us the pleasure to enjoy it not only once at first sight but again as we discover its clever loops and connections.

You could think of so many design possibilities with Quintet, as well as applications. It could be perfect for chocolate packaging or cosmetics — perhaps each layer printed in a different colour, or maybe one layer embossed, or even better foil blocked? It is not often in student projects that one could instantly see applications of the font so clearly.

Quintet was originally developed at the type]media type design course in The Hague. If we remember correctly, the first two of the unofficial rules of the program are “Make it extreme” and “Enough is enough”, and Quintet is a perfect example of this. It is remarkable in that it implements so many concepts without looking like a mash-up. Despite its richness, the typeface looks strangely simple and systematic. It must have taken a lot of self-discipline, trying and discarding of options. Hats off!

Sometime, somewhere, during the last decades of the nineteenth century, the type designer slowly mutated into a ghost hunter. Faces of the past became sources of inspiration, some quite obvious, others forgotten; all acquired a mnemonic, almost “mediumnic” value. An aura.

It is heaven-sent, then, that the works of Jean Gabriel Bery were summoned and rescued from oblivion, thanks to the pioneering research work of Eric Kindel and Fred Smeijers on the history of stenciled letterforms. Those who visited the astonishing and stimulating exhibition the duo curated for the Catapult gallery in Antwerp last spring know what I’m talking about.

Bery was a stencil maker established in Paris in the 1780s, who sold a set of 400 brass plates to Benjamin Franklin. All these materials, along with a specimen sheet, are now archived in the American Philosophical Society in Philadelphia. They possibly represent the only survival of this craftsman’s remarkable work, and an opening towards an unexpected revival.

In creating Bery Roman, Script, and Tuscan, Smeijers cautiously transferred the brass-made designs into an astute combination of delicacy and strength. Bery and Smeijers’s dialog, a bridge built over a 230-year gap, allows designers to use three distinctive and complementary display fonts that can bring an enlightening flavor to our digital epoch.

In Cyrillic and Latin scripts, there are many letters which, when written, look the same. This is something that has intrigued many designers. While some might insist on enforced separation, Nikola Djurek and Marija Juza have reconciled the situation with ingenuity.

The concept of the Balkan Sans type system is quite simple — it represents equivalent letters from both scripts with a single glyph. For example, one tall letter exists when the form is the same in both scripts, while two short letters are stacked when the form differs between the Latin and Cyrillic. After all, these are not two different writing systems; these are two writing systems that overlap. (At least, in former Yugoslavia, it seems that way.)

Besides being entertaining, it’s a cultural thing.

Croatian and Serbian are very similar languages that, however, use different writing systems. According to the authors, this series of fonts “… demystifies, depoliticizes, and reconciles them for the sake of education, tolerance, and, above all, communication”. This is what particularly strikes me about Balkan Sans — it’s not just a self-contained set of refined forms. In a situation where differing scripts are used to separate people and communities, the type says: “Well, it is not all that different, is it?” Please note, this is not just a witty cultural poster, it’s a typeface! It can be reused to tell the story many times; it even demonstrates it every time you type with it.

The fonts are well encoded, so they can be used to translate Croatian Latin to Serbian Cyrillic and vice versa. Got an email in Serbian and can’t read Cyrillic? Change the font and, voilà! Now you can read it. This type system could become a great educational tool.

Now, if you had to stack letters from two scripts, which one would you put on top? To be fair, Djurek and Juza designed different styles: in one, the Cyrillic is on top, in the other, the Latin is uppermost. And, of course, Balkan designers do need a stencil version (just in case they ever need to design a warning notice for a minefield or, hopefully, something more peaceful).

Good wide display fonts are tough to come by. Period.

As a novice designer in the late 90’s, I was enamored with Microgramma. Maybe it was obsession with things Swiss, having a grandfather born in the country. Perhaps it was a natural inclination to wide type. Whatever the case, the release of Hoefler & Frere-Jones’ Idlewild renewed an infatuation that has fallen dormant in the latter years of my career.

“For the longest time,” H&FJ writes in its description of Idlewild, “we’ve been reaching for a typeface that wasn’t there.” So I have I. Maybe that explains the dormancy. But what amazes me is how remarkably well the H&FJ crew pulled it off. Industrious, versatile, and instantly timeless. And that ‘G’, how it perfectly demonstrates the font’s subtle, restrained beauty!

Microgramma still enamors me a decade later, and I’m pretty certain I’ll say the same for Idlewild in the 2020s.

Fenland is a very polarizing typeface — you either admire it, or you think it’s pretentious art or just plain ugly.

But Fenland doesn’t care. Fenland doesn’t care, because when it needs to prove itself by setting running text, it performs with aplomb. But it really gets the lead out stylistically when set large — flaunting its ideology, not being sneaky about it. That ‘f’ is so in-your-face, and the uppercase is so different from the lowercase.

As designer Jeremy Tankard likes to emphasize, Fenland really does have “its own way of talking”. But this face is no flight of fancy: sober proportions, seven weights with italics, five flavors of numerals, comprehensive fractions…

From day one, Tankard has been an inventive designer (see FF Disturbance), and even an innovative one (see Blue Island); with Fenland, he has crossed over into the murky yet rewarding territory of subtle innovation. As this reviewer is wont to extoll, the noteworthy innovation here involves the application of stroke contrast in oblivion of the handwritten basis of virtually all typefaces. Tankard thickens and thins the letterforms as he thinks they need to function, not as what would occur when writing by hand using a broad-nib pen (something notably absent from contemporary life).

Tankard’s stated intention is to evoke a modern, “manufactured” feel. But since Design is not Art, we must ask: What is the point of violating an established norm? The answer might very well be: What is the point of not doing so? Unlike almost any other usable font out there, Fenland makes us ask such questions. It is exactly what we need.

Tal Leming has built a career on his ability to deftly turn both the geometric (United, Bullet, and Mission + Control, for example) and the lettered (Burbank, Baxter, and Shag Lounge) into well-balanced typographic forms that are aesthetically rooted in their source material but function flawlessly in contemporary typographic applications.

This is a design challenge that appears simple at first glance, but it can be an exercise in hair-pulling frustration to get the letterforms sitting comfortably in both worlds while betraying neither. Timonium brings these two sides — the lettered and the geometric — together in a design that achieves lettered warmth within a geometric construction. The design takes a style that I associate with a certain French flavor (the high-contrast sans serifs of Deberny & Peignot, in particular) and with Optima (sans entasis), looks to that style in non-typographic traditions, and merges its influences in a design that doesn’t reference any certain era, but maintains a distinctive character.

Timonium’s capitals — including its small caps — give the family its geometric spine, while the warmth of the curves in the lowercase balances geometry with a letterer’s eye for softness. The italic, sloping at a sharp angle, amplifies the geometric side of the family, calling a good amount of attention to itself. All of this combines to give a designer working with Timonium a wide palette of typographic options.

As always with a typeface from Leming, everything in the family is drawn with deliberate attention to fit and finish, down to the asterisk. There are few typeface families that would work so easily on both a high-end cosmetic package and on a NASCAR race car; this is Leming’s achievement with Timonium.

Above: Jared Rusten poses at his signature California desk for shirt maker Taylor Stitch. Photo by Neil Barrett.

San Francisco woodworker Jared Rusten is best known for his epic California series, large slabs of beautifully finished walnut, cut into the shape of his home state — a shape that happens to work quite well for a coffee table, and especially a desk. I’m often most comfortable working on a table that wraps a bit around me, offering reachable surface area for papers and gadgets, and an ergonomic resting place for elbows.

Rusten’s desk and tables in two sizes. Photos by Karen Cline.

The California tables are impressive, but the toolbox he made as a student in 2002 is just as remarkable in its own way — a signal of the meticulous craftsmanship he would later demonstrate as a professional furniture designer.

The toolbox Rusten made while attending Cerritos College, “a humble community college with a startlingly large and vital woodworking program”.

Rusten’s work exemplifies some of the best traits of mid-century modernism: simple, functional, with a reverence toward and celebration of natural materials. Wood is obviously his favorite of those materials. His thoughtful description of the particular kind of walnut used for the California tables says it all:

The Claro Walnut, a perfect analog to the left coast’s culture and people, possesses a spectrum of colors and textures, unlike many other wood species. And, because Claro Walnut is not harvested commercially at any significant scale, it is obtained mostly through small, independent sawyers who are able to spare displaced trees from the landfill or chipper.

Sawyer! What a great term.

A close look reveals the unique quality of Claro Walnut. “I haven’t seen grain this intense in many trees,” said Rusten. “This wood came from a single tree salvaged in LA that has yielded 5-6 tables/desks already.”

He continues to sing wood’s praises in his blog (a lovely but rarely updated thing that I hope he’ll revive soon):

Wood is like gemstone. It is a precious, organic material that can be used for pedestrian industrial purposes, or it can be carefully faceted, polished, and set to reveal the greatest color, figure, and clarity. Unlike many gemstones though, wood is plentiful among us, and it can be composed in forms to satisfy the most vital human needs.

I’m drawn most to the “modern” aesthetics of the mid-twentieth century, and I feel that these clear, minimal forms are the best means of showcasing the beauty of the wood. … Because I work only with solid woods, a scratch, a dented corner, or a worn armrest will not reveal an inferior material hidden beneath a thin layer of veneer. Rather, marks of wear on a piece of J. Rusten furniture will only serve to demonstrate it’s value as a beloved functional object.

Rusten inspects a new slab of walnut in his studio and deems it sufficiently large.

The Cupertino Cantilever table.

Despite the time and skill that clearly goes into each of Rusten’s pieces, they are surprisingly affordable handmade objects. It’s also rare (although increasingly more common) to buy a piece of furniture directly from the maker. If you have the means — and a worthy space — I highly recommend you take a look at his online shop and Flickr collection.

High-end UK dealer Vintage Seekers is offering an expertly curated selection of mid-century posters featuring ski resorts throughout the Alps and other destinations. These are all uncommon original prints and the price tags reflect that fact. Those of us without the budget for these classic works of advertising art will have to admire them via our computer screens. Fortunately, VS has supplied us with a few larger images for an even better view. Twelve of our favorite posters are below — click to enlarge.

Alpensonderzüge, Germany
Otto Ottler, 1936
German Railway System

Zugerberg
Martin Peikert, 1948
Gebr. Fretz AG, Zurich

World Skiing Championships, Czech Republic
Kovar, 1969
International Ski Federation

Zermatt, Switzerland
1964
Swissair

St. Moritz
Enis, 1955
J.C Muller, Zurich

Sun Valley, Idaho
Sheets, 1956
United Air Lines

Crans Montana, Switzerland
Hans Erni, 1987

St Moritz Piz Nair
Martin Peikert, 1948
Wolfsburg A.G, Zurich

Ski Colorado
Gates, 1957
Colorado State Winter Sports Committee

Norway
Claude Lemeunier, 1957
Norwegian State Railways and the Norway Travel Association

Niederösterreich, Austria
1950s
Christoph Reissers Sohne, Vienna

Les Diablerets, Switzerland
Martin Peikert, 1949
Klausfelder S.A., Vevey

A few more favorites.
See the rest at Vintage Seekers »

See also: A Trip to Europe, 1963

Director Jeremy Konnor was clearly inspired by “American Look”, the 1958 film by Chevrolet, in this music video for She & Him’s “Don’t Look Back”. See both videos below.

We saw this news over a year ago, but HUH reports that the iconic house from “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off” is still for sale. The 4 bedroom, 5,300 sq. ft. landmark was designed by A. James Speyer and David Haid in 1953. The price is now reduced to $1,650,000. Not bad for a historic landmark of modernism just outside Chicago.

As a refresher, have a look at the scenes from the movie that featured the building, and the incredible 1961 Ferrari 250 GTO California that lived in the separate garage.

Via Motorator

Stella Artois consistently produces amusing, cinematic ads and their latest combines two of my loves: wood panels and control panels. Wes Anderson and Roman Coppola co-directed this spot in which the set is the star.

Can anyone ID that table? It’s got a base like a Nelson, but not quite.

Via my pal Leila and AgencySpy.

Los Angeles Modern Auctions (LAMA) is an auction house that specializes in modern art, design, and furniture with an emphasis on works by important 20th century artists, designers, and architects. LAMA’s 50th auction on October 17, 2010 promises a strong selection, most of which has never traded hands until now.

The auction will include a variety of classic modern designs from Hans J. Wegner, such as a set of six “Wishbone” or “Y” chairs, a “Peacock” chair, a “Sawback” rocking chair, a pair of daybeds, a high-back rocking chair, a rare drop-leaf desk, a credenza, and a “Papa” Chair.

Peter Loughrey, founder and director of LAMA, has been dealing in Wegner designs since 1989 and has seen these pieces change in value and popularity. We asked him about the pieces in his October 17th auction.

“These are all mass produced items. However, each of these designs was crafted at a very high level for mass produced furniture. Out of all the pieces we are selling in the auction, only the “Papa”, “Peacock” and “Wishbone” can be bought today as a reproduction. The reproductions are far more expensive than the originals, which is a clear sign that their market value is very reasonable.”

Drop Leaf Desk
Model no. 305
Designed 1954
$3,000‐5,000

Peter says that of the pieces being offered in the auction, the drop-leaf table is the most rare design.

“The drop-leaf desk was not always available in Wegner catalogs from the period and was likely a more expensive item, therefore fewer of them were ordered by American buyers.”

Papa Chair
Model no. AP19
Designed 1951
$4,000–6,000

The “Papa” chair does not include an ottoman, which most of the time is more desirable, however this clean, restored example, could probably be purchased for half price because of that sole reason. The estimate for this “Papa” chair is $4,000–6,000 and the starting bid usually starts at half the low estimate.

“Right now, people place extra value on original condition with the ottoman, so this is a great piece to live with and sit on everyday.”

In his 60-year career, Wegner designed over 200 different chairs, in addition to daybeds, tables, and desks, which were very prolific and captured the essence of the Scandinavian aesthetic, which is still prevalent in many interiors today.

“What is extraordinary about these designs is their ubiquity, and that the market has taken them for granted. All these designs are excellent candidates to actually use in your daily life. None of these pieces are so precious and rare, that merely using them might lower their value.”

Rocking Chair
Designed 1951
$2,000–3,000

For more information regarding the October 17th Modern Art & Design auction, LAMA, and Peter Loughrey, visit lamodern.com.

Photos courtesy of Los Angeles Modern Auctions (LAMA).

See more Wegner pieces in the MCM Gallery »

A couple of years ago, we featured the “Teak Cabinet of Curiosity”, a sewing box with some unusual swinging drawers. Since then, that model or similar — always without a design or maker credit — has made several appearances on eBay, both in Europe and the U.S. So it’s not very rare, but I’m still quite enamored with it.

Since then I’ve run across several other types of mid-century sewing boxes, each with its own clever way to store and reveal its contents, be they needles and string, or paints and brushes. Here are three favorites.

Red Felt Box — Delicate and unique. I haven’t seen anything quite like this one.

Tripod Box with Swinging Drawers — Still available!

Rolling Box with Removable Tray

AMC’s “Mad Men” is not only one of the best dramas on television, it also debuted with perfect timing, at a moment when America’s fascination with mid-century style was at a fever pitch. Three years later, as Season 4 premieres, the frenzy for furniture and fashion of the 1960s is still hot.

In celebration of tonight’s episode, let’s take a look at the show’s immaculate, award-winning production design. Starting with Don Draper’s office.

Set in the early 1960s, nearly every shot of “Mad Men” is filled with objects from an era rich with new ideas, a time when modernism was still fresh, yet more mature than its early years — on the brink of going mainstream.

Of course, not everything we see in “Mad Men” was produced in the ’60s, as Production Designer Dan Bishop explains:

We wanted to make sure it wasn’t a textbook study of mid-century modern America — as Matt specifically pointed out, look around your own house, does everything exist from 2007 or do you actually have stuff lying around from the ’80s?

Property Master Scott Buckwald elaborates:

… there are a lot of things that are holdovers, especially for the older generation. Their cars could be from the early ’50s. You have to watch out for the misinterpretations and prejudices you might have about the era. It’s also very easy to try to jam everything that was introduced in 1960 all into one episode. You have to space it out a little bit. ’Cause everything that was developed in 1960 didn’t happen in one day.

We also don’t want to create a historical anachronism by putting a 1962 typewriter or transistor radio in, so we try to watch that, unless, creatively we just decide it’s a good way to go. Otherwise, we keep ourselves locked to April of 1960.

Don Draper’s Office

Set decorator Amy Wells was responsible for the decor. Many of the pieces are originals, like the Eames Executive Chair (see it at DWR), others are reproductions. Wells was featured on NPR’s All Things Considered in anticipation of the Season Three premiere.

Wells, oddly enough, is one of the few people on the Mad Men staff old enough to remember the era the show depicts. But she doesn’t just rely on her memories when she’s decorating a kitchen or a swanky office; she’s got a vast library of vintage catalogs and decorating books.

“One of the best references — we just used it this morning for the size of a baby blanket — is the Sears catalogs and the Montgomery Ward catalog,” she says. “They’re so specific, and they have all these items. And then I have every decorating book from the late ’40s through the mid-’60s. So Better Homes & Gardens — you know, all those decorating books that came out every year — I have all of those.”

Wells also revealed in the NPR interview her budget: $25,000 per week/episode. I imagine that’s increased since last season.

Time-Life Executive Chair (ES 105)
Eames
FD-146 Chair
Hvidt/Mølgaard-Nielsen
Boxy set
Simplaform/Futurama

Don’s office was gently remodeled between the pilot and subsequent episodes. The simple leather chairs were replaced with cane-back pieces (possibly Hvidt/Mølgaard-Nielsen), and the desk lamp went from Bauhaus to ’50s twin. Don’s all-teak Danish modern desk from the pilot was a beauty with its backside display shelf (lonely and bare) but it was replaced with something that was much more common in an American office at the time: a larger Knoll or Steelcase, with metal legs and an overhanging surface.

The drab walls of the pilot office get the biggest upgrade: rich wood paneling. Dan Bishop says in a special feature of the Season 1 DVD that the panels are real walnut (stained in the typical way), but creator Matthew Weiner thought it as too cold, so they added a red dye.

Boxy Sofa
Simplaform
unnamed sofa
Jydsk Møbelværk
Goetz Sofa
Herman Miller

The lounge area of Don’s office is anchored by a Boxy sofa, armchair, and coffee table from Futurama, a Los Angeles shop that reproduces vintage designs. (Thanks to Javi!) The Futurama sofas are manufactured by Simplaform and are inspired by Jydsk Møbelværk and Milo Baughman. If you like this look, don’t forget Autoban’s Box and Herman Miller’s Goetz.

And oh, that steel ashtray on a pedestal … the roulette cigarette dispenser … they make even non-smokers dream about decorating their pads with smoking accessories.

What sort of desk will Don Draper grace in the new agency? Maybe we’ll find out tonight. In the meantime, the Mid-Century Modernist “Mad Men” Furniture series will continue. In the next installment we’ll step outside Don’s nest and explore the rest of Sterling Cooper’s former offices and the new digs of Season 4’s Sterling Cooper Draper Price.

Read more:
Props Gallery with commentary by Property Master Scott Buckwald
Collectors Weekly interview with Buckwald
Interior Design interview with Amy Wells

This week, London’s Rocket Gallery is launching a collection of nine pieces from the mid-century master Jens Risom. The release is the result of a four-year collaboration between Risom and gallery owner Jonathan Stephenson who hosted the first ever retrospective of vintage Risom pieces in 2007. Stephenson says their shared beliefs — “that good design can change lives, and beautiful, well-made objects should be accessible to everyone” — facilitated the partnership. However, it wasn’t until he introduced Risom to Sean Sutcliffe and Terence Conran at Benchmark, a UK company specializing in handmade furniture, that “he was sure we could produce a product that would meet his exacting standards.” Rocket and Benchmark have jointly secured the European rights to re-issue Risom’s 1950s and 1960s furniture designs.

Risom, who was born in Copenhagen in 1916, describes himself as a Danish-born, American designer, not a Danish designer. His father Sven Risom was an award-winning architect and Risom says he lived with wonderful design for years before he “really got into it professionally.” He attended the School for Arts and Crafts in Copenhagen where he became close to Hans Wegner, one of the few designers whose furniture he has in his own home. He trained under Kaare Klint, the principal founder of the furniture school at the Royal Danish Academy of Fine Arts. In 1938, he left for the United States where he thought he’d have a better chance of making a name for himself.

Stephenson says the move was born out of Risom’s tremendous ambition. “He was such a good businessman, and he always says he left Denmark partly because there was so much competition there. He wanted to be a very big player in a much bigger market. His aim was to get good furniture into the hands of every American.”

In fact, Risom describes the size of the market when he arrived with bemused dismay. “I came here without really knowing how impossible it was for a furniture designer to get going, because there was no furniture design in the United States. There was no acceptance of contemporary design or architecture. It’s true, there was nothing going on at that time. You could have looked for a furniture designer and you wouldn’t have found one. I was very, very early and it was fortunate,” he says.

Risom was ahead of his time. When he applied at at the New York Museum of Modern Art (MOMA), an interviewer could not imagine what kind of job Risom hoped to find. Risom laughs when he says he started his furniture career working as a textile designer for Dan Cooper, a well-known interior designer.

Cooper introduced Risom to many of the New York architects and designers who would champion his work. He describes the “young guys who were always coming by for a drink” as similarly discouraged about America’s unwillingness to embrace modernism.

“They were always crying in their beer because there weren’t any customers and no one would buy contemporary things,” he says. But, it was this new generation of architects — always architects — that encouraged him.

“Interior decorators were only interested in more traditional design and old things and making things look old. Anything new or contemporary especially from Europe, especially from Scandinavia, they didn’t want it,” he says.

Designed in 1949, the iconic T 539 Magazine Table appeared in the first comprehensive Jens Risom Design catalogue.

Risom, who believes one can reshape public taste with time and education, persisted. He asked craftsmen in his neighborhood — German and Italian furniture makers — to make his designs. He sold pieces directly to “the young men hanging around Mr. Cooper’s”, who went on to become some of the country’s most influential architects and designers. Risom participated in a number of high profile collaborations. One was with Hans Knoll, for whom he designed 15 of the 20 pieces in Knoll’s first collection, before starting his own business, Jens Risom Design Inc. (JRD) in 1946.

Risom felt it was important to maintain control over not only the design elements of the company, but also the manufacturing. The introduction of his 1955 catalogue states: “Everything is designed and manufactured by us. Having the planning, engineering, and production all under one roof is very important, we think. It guarantees uniformity and continuity of style.” Hardly the detached designer with a sketchpad, he was on the factory floor every week and supervised day-to-day production. His obsessive pursuit of perfection in both form and function delivered enormously successful products. By the time he sold the business in 1970 to the Dictaphone Corporation, it was the third largest furniture company in America.

Jens Risom catalogs and literature.

While trolling eBay, Stephenson discovered Risom, who was relatively unknown in the UK since the sale of JRD. He was looking at furniture and a round label on the bottom of a chair caught his eye. It was Risom’s original typographic logo. Stephenson says the design of the label inspired him to explore Risom’s work.

“His obsession with presentation and detail reminded me of my own,” he says. Moreover, this passion and discipline extended into every aspect of Risom’s business. “He wasn’t just involved with the design of the furniture, he was involved with the design of the whole company, from the selection of materials to the finish of each piece, the advertising campaigns, all the publicity, slogans, the logo, everything. He was quite an early example of that kind of comprehensive corporate identity.”

Stephenson began seriously collecting Risom pieces in 2005. After he accumulated more than a 100 examples of original designs, he phoned Risom at his home in New Canaan, Connecticut and introduced himself. He explained Rocket was interested in holding a mini-retrospective of Risom’s work.

Risom agreed, saying, “England has always been very close to my heart, in part because there was always more acceptance of modern design there than here in my own country.”

Jens Risom visits Jonathan Stephenson at Rocket in 2006.

The two began making plans, and in 2006, Stephenson flew to the United States to meet with Risom and others involved in the exhibition. Risom says, “I am very impressed with Jonathan’s courage; he is very knowledgeable and understands good design. It is a very warm affair when you find the right people.”

Stephenson says it was clear from that outset that Risom was interested in getting some of his designs back into production. His original pieces were getting harder and harder to get a hold of.

With a dwindling supply of vintage pieces, a number of companies approached Risom about reissuing his designs. Stephenson says they were turned down, “Jens’ standards were extremely high. He wasn’t confident that the quality was going to be upheld and felt that the manufacturing was going to go off to China or the Far East or whatever. He really wanted to know that the furniture was being made to the same standard that his own factory used to make it.”

Stephenson was also keen to move toward furniture production but couldn’t find anyone to make the product he needed until a meeting with Sean Sutcliffe and a visit to the premises of Benchmark in Berkshire.

“It became clear this was perhaps the only company in England capable of making Risom’s furniture to the required standards, in solid sustainable woods,” Stephenson says.

The U 620 Bench is another iconic Risom piece, designed in the early 1950s.

Benchmark is one of a handful of furniture companies left in the UK. Not only are they committed to “excellence in design, materials and craftsmanship” but also to keeping the skills and industry of furniture making alive in England. Stephenson already knew that Benchmark was exactly the right company to make the furniture, but the decision was finalized when Risom’s son Sven visited the Benchmark workshops to see the craftsmanship for himself. According to Stephenson, the younger Risom said, “The factory is exactly like my dad’s old factory, just smaller.”

When asked what makes Risom’s work so relevant and sought after, Stephenson says, “I keep coming back to how functional his pieces are, how down-to-earth. There is nothing frivolous or gimmicky about them. His work is practical but still has enormous elegance. There’s nothing unnecessary about it.”

Out of production since 1959, Benchmark and Rocket bring the simple, timeless U 431 back to life in oak or walnut with fabric or leather upholstery.

He considers Risom’s furniture perfectly positioned for a 21st century revival. “The mid-century furniture world has come through its love affair with Danish furniture and is looking for the next trend to study and appreciate. Risom trained in Denmark, but took his skills and outlook to the United States where he created furniture that was a fusion of Danish craft and American modernism. His revival is well underway in the United States and in Europe it has started keenly. Market-wise, his vintage pieces have risen sharply in value over the last three years and so it is ideal timing to offer new re-issued pieces of Risom furniture,” Stephenson says.

In his 94th year, Risom is also optimistic about the collaboration and happy to sate a world hungry for his designs.

“As far as I am concerned, England is a charming country and I like to work with them, and that is what we’re looking forward to doing with Rocket,” says Risom. “I hope people will come to see it. I hope people will come and take advantage of sitting in the chairs and using the tables and cabinets because it’s all designed very much for contemporary people, us, you and me, to use and live with.”

A preview of the Jens Risom collection will be held at Rocket on Thursday, 1 July from 6–9. The exhibition will run between the 2 July – 4 of September. The furniture can be viewed at jensrisom.com and will be available in select outlets. International inquiries welcome. The gallery is open Tuesday to Friday, 10–6 & Saturday 12–6.

Photos copyright Paul Tucker, courtesy Rocket Gallery

Welcome to the new Mid-Century Modernist. Before you even enter the doors, it’s clear things have changed around here.

First, the obvious: the façade. With the expert help of my partner in bloggery, Chris Hamamoto, we’ve widened the site and enlarged the images. A grid view makes entries easier to traverse. Categories were rescued from obscurity, given a sensible hierarchy and placed at the top of the structure. (Expect these to expand in the near future.) The new Selected space at the right shines a spotlight on our favorite items. And at the bottom of each entry, related posts and eBay items beckon you to explore further. In short, three years of existing content is completely tidied up and refurbished.

But what’s truly new is the addition at the back of the house. The Gallery is a curated showroom of the most interesting items from the mid-century modern era — for both sale and research. You can browse by tags denoting categories, materials, designers, and color. For this first release, it’s filled with items from eBay. The mega auctioneer is still one of the best ways to find affordable, original mid-century pieces online, but scoundrels and mislabeled items abound, making it difficult to seperate treasures from trash. We do the sifting for you, selecting the best items by hand every day.

Special thanks to Laura Serra for her tireless work updating legacy posts to the new format, to Daniel Pennypacker for his code wrangling, and to Christian Schwartz for designing Neutraface Slab, the typeface adorning our new transom. All other type is set in FF Dagny, designed by Örjan Nordling and Göran Söderström and served up by Typekit.

Though we’re now open to the public, our work is far from done. The beauty of the web is that a construction project is never finished. Follow the RSS feed or Twitter and keep an eye on the site for more developments in the near future. In the meantime, make yourself at home and let us know what you think. Our mailbox is open.