Someone recently laminated over “Brooklyn” on the 23rd St A/C/E Subway station entrance with the original name. An over-zealous Peter Stuyvesant fan? A shareholder in the Dutch West Indies Company? An Old Amsterdamian? Dunno. But what I love is that this “street art” actually prompts us to wiki. Now if that isn’t clever, ik weet niet wat er zou zijn.
I rarely get the opportunity to use script fonts. My dabbling in the geometric hand has, for the last ten years, been limited to IDs (see Frances Schultz) and Holiday Cards. For the most part, when hand-written fonts are used, I opt instead for the handwriting of calligraphers and illustrators within our network. Actually, the only deviation that I can think of was when we designed the Target Holiday Boat, in NYC’s Chelsea Piers, and that was a gross overuse of House Industries’ League Night (from the House-a-rama collection). And while I still absolutely love that face, which resembles more of a hoe-down than a bowling jersey, Ms. Hische’s work has always inspired me to get in touch with the feminine fontographer inside of me. Buttermilk, as well, churns this feeling. As a result of my vulnerability in this catharsis, I believe you should buy Buttermilk and as a gift for all your clients prior to the upcoming holiday season, so that they may, in turn, return to you to design their holiday cards and identities.
One of my favorite authors and good friends, Charles Bock, mentioned me and my studio in the acknowledgements for his New York Times bestselling novel, Beautiful Children.
From Publishers Weekly:
A wide-ranging portrait of an almost mythically depraved Las Vegas, this sweeping debut takes in everything from the bland misery of suburban Nevada to the exploitative Vegas sex industry. At the nexus of this Dickensian universe is Newell Ewing, a hyperactive 12-year-old boy with a comic-book obsession. One Saturday night, Newell disappears after going out with his socially awkward, considerably older friend. Orbiting around that central mystery are a web of sufferers: Newell’s distraught parents, clinging onto a fraught but tender marriage; a growth-stunted comic book illustrator; a stripper who sacrifices bodily integrity for success; and a gang of street kids. Into their varying Vegas tableaux, Bock stuffs an overwhelming amount of evocative detail and brutally revealing dialogue (sometimes in the form of online chats). The story occasionally gets lost in amateur skin flicks, unmentionable body alterations and tattoos, and the greasy cruelty of adolescents, all of which are given unflinching and often deft closeups. The bleak, orgiastic final sequence, drawing together the disparate plot threads, feels contrived, but Bock’s Vegas has hope, compassion and humor, and his set pieces are sharp and accomplished.
I definitely recommend you pick up a copy: