Here’s an enigmatic postscript beneath a rusty old No Parking sign. The stencilled red words demand attention and the upside down question mark adds intrigue. The message seems to be crying tears of blood.
Is this the lament of a former country dweller, who is missing the presence of wildlife? Is it the cry of an animal rights activist, enraged by murderous vehicles? What do you think?
This number two is well-situated in the window above the double doors. Here’s a perfect marriage of type and architecture.
The number looks a bit like a swan, swimming in a pond that she usually has all to herself. But every so often she has to share her territory with a pigeon.
I’m featuring this number now because Toronto Type recently passed the two year mark. If you’ve been following along for a while, thanks for your interest. And if you’ve recently discovered this blog, welcome aboard!
The collision of words and illustration gives this sign its graphic force. The partially rendered face is mysterious and the jagged diagonal mark along the right side makes it even more so, inviting you to imagine a large and complicated hairdo.
This sign has a retro flavour. It makes me think of sixties paperback covers and of movie posters designed by Saul Bass. I wonder if this salon has a flair for looks inspired by that era.
I like signs that reward attention and this one delivers. Check out the upper right hand corner—there’s a small Eiffel Tower that you may not have noticed. Perhaps the figure in the sign is daydreaming of Paris.
I discovered this embossing on the sidewalk while walking on Yonge Street one day. I often notice markings with dates underfoot, but I don’t recall seeing a fish before.
If you look carefully, you’ll see some faint characters inscribed in the concrete: “5-9-99” above the fish, and “9M” below. So the exact date is recorded here. I’m surprised they didn’t go as far as recording the hour.
This makes me think of the fossilized remains of animals that paleontologists study eons later. Perhaps someone in the distant future will be puzzling over these marks, trying to imagine our present world.
These letters look like they were kidnapped in Las Vegas and smuggled to Toronto. They have a showbiz razzle-dazzle that is perfectly fitting for a store that sells music.
Ever since the demise of Sam the Record Man, Toronto hasn’t had a sign that captures the larger-than-life joys of hearing music you love. But this one has a bit of that magic to it.
I like the fact that it’s a one-word sign with no brand name attached. Only when you check out the window display do you learn that the store is actually called Sonic Boom.
A restaurant labeled “Food” or a coffee shop labelled simply Coffee” might seem odd. But at a time when vinyl is a more rarified pleasure, maybe “Records” is all you really need to say.
There’s something surreal about approaching a gigantic letter U. It’s a Sesame Street moment.
This letter stands near the sales centre for a new condo development called U Condominiums. The name seems to be a reference to the proximity to U of T, but it’s also a seductive call-out—”you”—to a potential buyer.
The reflective surface of this letter got me thinking about the self-regarding aspect of condo-buying, the desire to craft an ideal image of your life through your home. Stand in the right spot and you’ll see yourself mirrored, though with a bit of a funhouse effect.
Move to another spot and you’ll see the entrance to St. Basil’s Church reflected. So there’s a tension between two types of building, secular and sacred. A place that’s all about “U” and another, where you are asked to step beyond yourself.
One more sign from Montreal and then I’ll get back to focusing on Toronto. This is one you’ll see while walking along St. Laurent in the Plateau area.
It’s a business that makes gravestones—signs when you think about it, the most permanent kind.
The sign is in French and Hebrew and I’m assuming the Hebrew text also says “monuments”. The work “fils” seems to be patched on and I wonder if there’s a different word underneath. Maybe it’s just a repair.
I’m struck by the positioning. A gravestone pulls your gaze earthwards, but this sign lifts your gaze to the sky.
This gigantic calligraphic question might sound a bit arrogant, but the fact that “writing” is misspelled makes it funny as well.
This is part of the cluster of handmade signs that I spotted in Montreal. (Please see my previous post.) The small sign here, “for the love of letters”, suggests the artist’s motivation for creating these one-of-a-kind messages.
And yet they’re abandoned on the street. Gifts to strangers maybe? I wouldn’t be surprised if someone walked off with a sign or two after I took the photos.
I was in Montreal recently and came across this sign while strolling on Avenue Mont-Royal. It was part of a whole jumble of signs at the edge of the sidewalk, and of course I had to stop and take pictures.
It looked as if an aspiring calligrapher was getting ready to move and was getting rid of his experiments. After a day of exposure to commercial signs and street signs, encountering a sign that’s so personal is a little disarming.
Who is the one who’s waiting? Who is “you”? It’s up to us to invent the story.
I saw this sign on my lunch break last week. A colleague pointed out that it’s not very easy to read and he’s right. The low contrast lettering is too close in colour to the background to jump out.
The business name and phone number are exceptions though. Perhaps the signmaker thought these are the most important elements to highlight.
I took a risk that day, stood close to take this picture and escaped with my life and health intact.
TORONTO TYPE 