One of the things I enjoy about urban space is the way words collide. Sometimes they engage in smart conversation, sometimes they overlap in strange harmonies, sometimes they shout simultaneously and dissolve into the general noise.
Here it looks like Osker is reacting to the graphic energy of Gusti. One’s rough, one’s polished; one tilts forward and the other leans back. It may just be an artful coincidence, but it’s collisions like this one that make walking through the city so invigorating.
Here’s a game you can play when you’re walking around the city. When a sign catches your eye, try to imagine it as a person’s voice. What would it sound like? Would it be a woman’s voice or a man’s? Would its tone be commanding? Seductive? Whimsical?
I hear the sign in this photo as a man’s voice: raspy, cigarette-damaged, hesitant. His neurons aren’t firing too quickly and he sometimes loses track of what he’s saying. “Super…” (Where was I again? Oh yeah!) “…Smoke.”
Do you hear someone different in this sign? Are there signs you’ve noticed that have a memorable voice?
I admire the sneaky nature of arrows. They’re coercive in such a friendly and gentle way that you hardly notice what they’re doing. They steer you by the elbow and before you know it you’re in a new and surprising place.
This arrow is unusual in its sidewalk placement and the bilingual message adds to the sense of invitation. It’s interesting that the word “welcome” faces customers as they’re leaving the shop. It’s as if the sign wants to loop everyone back inside again!
Any guesses about what sort of business this announces? (I’ll have to do some homework myself, because I can’t recall!)
There’s something grand about a sign that isn’t content to be framed by one rectangular box, but spaces itself out letter by letter. These gigantic slabs affixed to the side of a building have the tactile allure of Scrabble tiles.
I have a confession to make: I only photographed the last three letters of the sign. I just couldn’t help myself! So here’s a challenge for all you sign geeks and type freaks: What’s the full name of the store and in what Toronto neighbourhood will you find it? C’mon, impress me!
The New York Times recently ran a funny article about errors in typography and the intense pain they can trigger in people who adore type.
I completely understand the sensation of horror that a gaffe can arouse. But at the same time, in wandering the city and observing signs, I find it’s often the glitches and mistakes and points of failure that make something memorable.
For example, take this number I often pass by on Yonge Street. That painted seven bracketed by three-dimensional siblings is irresistible. I suppose the original fell off and needed to be replaced. I can just picture the resourceful signmaker who came up with this solution, thinking maybe nobody will notice the difference.
What about you? Do flaws in typography irritate you or delight you?
I enjoy looking at signs that show the effects of weather and time. Here I’m guessing that several layers of paint have washed away, leaving the first methodical brushstrokes. The result has the appearance of Pop art: think of the flags and targets of Jasper Johns.
It’s satisfying to imagine that signs that look polished and invincible might harbour something human and vulnerable underneath.
Five things I love about this sign:
1. It blows up a private sentiment to billboard scale.
2. It invites you to imagine stories about “you” and “I.”
3. Its zigzagging ribbons have the kinetic elegance of a spiderweb.
4. It’s soul-baring yet anonymous.
5. It’s gradually unravelling, like a less and less potent emotion.
If it’s still there in the winter, I’ll photograph it again.
Stenciled lettering is one of the speediest methods of turning a surface into a sign. Like many things designed with utility as the foremost consideration, it can have a peculiar beauty.
I noticed this impromptu sign underfoot. Sometimes when that happens it turns out to be an advertisement masquerading as street art. Here something different is going on.
Perhaps it’s a statement about living with HIV and the sensation of being labeled. Or is it an exhortation to be optimistic? Its teasing ambiguity is also its appeal.
Here’s a perfect marriage between a slab serif typeface and a tough-sounding word. This sign is bold without apologies.
Is Hardboiled a crime fiction bookstore? A private detective agency? A breakfast joint where they only serve one style of eggs? No, no, and no.
Hardboiled is a t-shirt shop and I admire its punchy street presence.
You’ll find this sign above the entrance to a bar and its implication is provocative: perhaps not only can we recognize buildings, but buildings can also recognize us.
The lowercase script has the intimacy of a friendly scrawl on the back of a postcard. To walk beneath this sign is to accept an embrace.
When you enter your local watering hole, isn’t this the message you secretly crave? (As opposed to “back so soon?” or “not you again!”)
Imagine if all buildings were this welcoming!
TORONTO TYPE 