On Present-day Typography: Emil Ruder
Emil Ruder, Gewerbemuseum Basel - Neue Bauten von Basler Architekten, 1954, poster, 134.5 × 91 cm.
In edition number 11 of the German professional journal ‘Der Druckspiegel’ from the year 1958 there appeared in the form of a typographical supplement an essay by Jan Tschichold entitled ‘On Present-day Typography’ A strong corrective urge here would seem to us to be justified by the fact that certain aspects of Tschichold’s elaborations are seen from a somewhat distorted point of view, even if we have no hesitation or compunction in adhering to many of his viewpoints.
Tschichold commences his work with a confrontation between typesetter and graphic designer, a topic which understandably elicits more excitement with the former than the latter. It is immediately apparent that Tschichold ranks these two professional counterparts differently: ‘A competent craftsman who can properly handle text has a truly better understanding of type composition than the average graphic designer.’ Without doubt true. Yet this cannot be the whole story. One needs to compare the average graphic designer with the average typesetter, and the ‘competent craftsman’ must pit his expertise against the creative energy of the fine graphic designer. Moreover, Tschichold paints a falsified picture of the graphic designer, describing him as someone who is ‘primarily a visual person competent at handling colour and form, one who is more a painter or draughtsman than a thinker and for whom the content is merely a pretext for a display of graphic pyrotechnics intended to show what he can do.’ We do not wish to deny that there is more than one graphic designer to whom this portrayal applies, but it is not true of the good ones. The graphic designer who has received an earnest and thorough schooling (at a college of applied arts — one preliminary year followed by four years of specialised training) is unreservedly on a par with the typesetter. We are well aware that a plethora of would-be graphic designers threaten the existence of the true exemplar and sully relations with the typesetter. Psychologically, too, it is understandable that the emergence of this much younger profession is regarded by the typesetter as an intrusion into his sphere. Not that he is guiltless in this development. All too long have our ‘colleagues at the type case’ stubbornly adhered to meaningless and outlived rules, a highly regimented way of thinking which excluded all outside influences.
There are a number of good Swiss graphic designers who, with an open mind and free from professional prejudice, have provided valuable impulses to typography: Alfred Willimann, Pierre Gauchat, Heiri Steiner, Hans Neuburg, Max Bill, Josef Miller-Brockmann, Richard P. Lohse, Carlo Vivarelli, Hans Falk, Armin Hofmann, Karl Gerstner and others. Typesetters will do well to pay heed to these stimuli, to assess their feasibility, to refine them as necessary and to incorporate them into their daily work. May the typesetter be so expert in what he does that he is esteemed and consulted by the graphic designer. The goal is collaboration based on mutual respect.
It really is time to set aside the rivalry between typesetter and graphic designer, and to replace it with a strengthening of the design colleague’s position. In most firms, the typesetter who designs finds himself in an invidious situation. The ceaseless churning out of designs precludes any degree of creative input and forces him into a rut. Only a comprehensive and thorough training in typeface arrangement would herald a fresh evaluation of the ‘creative colleague’ on the part of management and customers.
Tschichold states the following: ‘Nowadays asymmetry occurs frequently and is often wholly appropriate. Yet the natural form of typography is symmetry. Nowhere is symmetry more legitimate than in typography. Someone writing by hand is hard put to centre a line correctly. For the typesetter it is the easiest thing in the world.’
Yet it is asymmetry which is the most effortless and congruous technique within typography. The beginning of the line is fixed, resulting in a width which is determined by the number of letters and spaces, its end being determined by the right-hand margin. This simple and commensurate principle already prevails in early printing and is self-evident for contemporary typesetters.
Not so self-evident, however, is the centring of a line. Within the technique of typesetting by hand or by machine, centring means additional work. In handsetting, positioning something in the middle means ensuring that equal amounts of space are distributed to the left and right of the line, and this is very time-consuming.
We would happily calculate such technical complications into our work were they to be justified by the fruits of our labours. Much more serious than technical reservations are our objections to symmetry with regard to effortless intelligibility of the text and formal considerations.
We unreservedly subscribe to Tschichold’s opinion that it is the task of the typographer to set the text in such a way that it is pleasant to assimilate without the slightest strain. Yet how is one to read several centred lines? The eye needs to locate a new beginning for every line, making it more onerous to apprehend the text; it is something which has been forced upon the reader for purely formalistic reasons and for which there is no compelling rationale.
Actual writing forms the basis of printed lettering and thus also of typography. The process of type-founding (outlining, punchcutting, moulding or forming and casting) must be visible in the shape of the letters, yet it must not completely water down the Original written form. The form of a letter which is too far removed from its hand-written antecedent is rightly seen as degenerate. Printing takes its flow from written script, in other words there is a propensity to the right. In the case of majuscules, static and quiescent letters without any sense of motion are rather more common: A, H, L, M, O, T, U, V, W, X and Y. The minuscules, on the other hand, show a stronger tendency to the right, and only i, l, o, v, w and x abstain from this movement. In the golden age of written script prior to Gutenberg, but also in subsequent masterpieces of calligraphy, one will search in vain for symmetry. For the scribe, centred writing goes against the grain and can only be achieved with considerable effort.
Printing which has clear directional movement cannot be centred. Certainly one can place the static majuscules A, H and O beneath each other around a single axis; but what about with the capitals E, K and L? Where precisely is the centre of these letters? The problem of centring around a single axis becomes especially clear in the case of italics in which the written flow is particularly pronounced.
Tschichold writes: ‘Apparently it is the style of the present that is being sought’ - before going on to add that our times do not have a single all-embracing style to show for themselves.
Only in the heads of truly naive contemporaries can the belief arise that the form assumed by the typeset must externally resemble skyscrapers and coach-work. Nor can we remember ever having read of such an absurd requirement being proclaimed as a postulate of modern typography. The self-respecting designer does not give a jot about contemporary style. He knows that style cannot be created - it emerges, often unconsciously. Similar thinking and feeling give rise to commonality between various fields of creativity. The architecture of a house or the composition of a book can scarcely be said to have external, hard and fast features. And yet, the same unifying idea can be at work in both entities. The house is conceived from the inside to the outside. Spatial requirements are calculated in terms of cubes; it is the sum of these cubes which determines the construction, not the design of a facade to which other criteria must then adapt. The same approach will be taken by a good book designer: choice of type-face, size of type, line width and line spacing coalesce to make up the page, which in turn forms the core and the essence of book design. Questions such as title page, cover and dust-jacket remain from a design point of view peripheral.
This central idea, namely that the process of design advances from the inside to the outside, connects objects which can be externally so diverse.
lf Tschichold is of the belief that the forms of today’s architecture are primarily the result of new building materials and working practices, then we are almost tempted to read a materialistic Weltanschauung into this conclusion. At the fount of this new way of construction was a new way of feeling, a new way of seeing as well as new and real contemporary demands. Modern architecture has its roots in the human need for the elemental, for truthfulness in the constructive and in the ethically social. Humanity entered into a new relationship to light, to air, to the sun, to nature. New materials and methods helped in the realisation of these postulates as well as being conspicuous in the shape of objects.
Creative domains have not become autonomous and it is impossible to sever typography from the general context. This would be to condemn it to sterility. It can, and should, maintain its own technically determined sovereignty even if closely linked with other fields.
Admittedly legibility has for centuries placed constant demands on typography and will continue to do so in the future. However, this unchanging factor has not been able to prevent the contribution of typography to all temporal manifestations throughout the ages since Gutenberg’s invention. These eras are reflected in typography, in architecture as well asin all other creative fields. At times the emphasis may be more on legibility, at other times more on formal aspects. However, typography is always rooted in its own time. It is also creative in its aberrations, be they the creepers of Art Nouveau, the irrationality of Dada or the constructivist ambitions of the Bauhaus. Its participation in experimentation is as necessary as are its periods of calm and consolidation. Even if one might sometimes regret the way in which typography almost frivolously embraces the vagaries of the Zeitgeist, this is still better than being disconnected and standing aloof.
The exclusivity with which Tschichold approaches the subject of Grotesque typefaces leaves an unpleasant aftertaste: ‘Thus Grotesque lives up to its historical name with complete justification. In fact it is a monstrosity... Whoever encounters it too often as a basic form will very quickly tire of it, for Grotesque lacks any charm or appeal - to say nothing of gracefulness. Its demeanour is one of coarseness, and nobody wants to be continuously shouted at.’
First of all, which Grotesque are we talking about here? The Grotesque typefaces from between the wars which hold hardly any further interest for contemporary typographers? Or those Grotesque creations from our own times which are all more or less variations of the ‘Berthold’ (Akzidenz Grotesk)? Or Adrian Frutiger’s ‘Univers’, which we do regard as an accomplishment worthy of being taken seriously? Or is this disdain directed at the character of Grotesque typefaces in general? This can hardly be the case, since Tschichold expressly excludes Gill Sans Serif from his crushing verdict.
It is incomprehensible to us who one is grappling with here. One talks of devotees of Grotesque, of fanatics, of the impoverishment of the Grotesque adherents in matters of typeface. We also have little time for these kinds of professionals; they are not the exponents of a typography which is in keeping with and appropriate to its time. The constriction of typographical possibilities to Akzidenz Grotesk, at the most with the addition of Monotype Grotesque, is just as absurd as the belief that Old Style Serif is the only typeface for our times and for all future ages. There really is no point in trading one dogma for another.
Time and again, and not only in the work being discussed here, Grotesque has had to endure attacks on its form and its legibility.
The beauty of a typeface arises fundamentally out of its proportions. Its basic form, the relationship between printed and unprinted areas, is what determines its artistic merit. The black of a letter interacts with the white of the counters and that of the gaps between letters. The degree to which serifs protrude i.e. the final strokes, can scarcely make any significant difference to the basic conception of a letter. A letter can be varied in the manner and degree with which it is made to protrude; this is what often provides its stylistic feature. From this it must follow that a Grotesque letter, if expertly proportioned, need shirk no comparison with Old Style Serif. On the other hand a well proportioned Old Style Serif letter is of course superior to a poorly constructed Grotesque one. We concur with the author in the view that as far as legibility is concerned the majority of today’s Grotesque typefaces are inferior to other typefaces. The most readily legible Grotesque typeface, and one which does not break with tradition, is Gill Sans Serif. The altering of thickness in the strokes and their proportioning show that Old Style Serif retains its potency in Gill.
All of our typefaces can be traced back to Old Style Serif. The written form is the basis for each and every printed letterform. We consider that the preeminent characteristic of handwriting lies not in its final strokes but rather in the change of stroke thickness which ts created as the nib pen travels across the page: full breadth in diagonal strokes from top left to bottom right, reduced breadth in vertical and horizontal strokes, least breadth in diagonal strokes from top right to bottom left.
We must insist on these differences in thickness being clearly discernible in good Grotesque typefaces. The type gains in legibility whilst remaining firmly anchored to tradition. Sans Serif fonts from between the wars were trying to break with tradition; their intention was to ‘create the typeface of our times’. This demonstrative aspect made these typefaces typical children of their time, rendering it impossible for them to be used nowadays. One cannot keep up a demonstration for thirty years.
Grotesque fills a legitimate present-day need, and its place besides the classical typefaces is assured. This need has become so deeply entrenched that it must not be misinterpreted as mere fashionable speculation. Within the whole spectrum of applied arts there is an unmistakable lure towards the essential, the elemental, the basic. Here at the core one is immune from the voguish allures of the moment. The best forces of our time are united in their repudiation of everything that is mere facade, histrionics or ornamentation. Forms are created from the inside to the outside, and a well designed object achieves its beauty precisely from this simple and expedient attitude.
Grotesque is the typeface with the most succinct form of expression. To accuse it of being unrefined is inadmissible. lts shapes are very vulnerable as there are no distracting embellishments. Every formal weakness is immediately apparent, and to design a good Grotesque typeface requires a high degree of proficiency.
The classification still so often used according to which printed typefaces are divided between those of amore refined and those of a more robust nature should be shunned once and for all — along the lines of Old Style Serif for projects of a refined nature, Modern Serif for the more fashionable, Grotesque for functional and technical (soulless!) assignments, Fraktur for folkloristic and historicised print matter. A good Grotesque typeface is a sufficiently sensitive and artistic configuration for us to consider it usable in all fields.
There is, however, a further consideration which speaks in favour of using Grotesque: the classic typefaces used today such as Bodoni, Garamond, Baskerville, etc., are not products of the German-speaking world. Baskerville when applied in English reveals its full beauty, whereas in German texts its overall character changes. An accumulation of majuscules as well as other word patterns lead to an appreciable devaluation of its formal qualities. The same holds for all other national typefaces. Fraktur is the only typeface which is fused exclusively to the German language. Tschichold profoundly regrets that today this typeface should be fighting a virtually losing battle, and we may indeed concur with this regret. The demise of Fraktur constitutes a sorely felt cultural loss.
European unity and unmitigated cultural exchange seem to us today to be what is most pressing. This unity is the final political card left in Europe’s hand. It is regrettable that Fraktur should stand in the way of this evolution. As a national typeface with a singularly separatist character (from a European perspective) it can, within a united Europe, play at most a provincial role, never a leading one. Grotesque, on the other hand, would seem to us to slightly transcend national idiosyncrasies. Not being particular to any single European language, it is consequently a vehicle through which any language can speak to us. One might even be tempted to call it neutral.
All this commotion about Grotesque — and here we share Tschichold’s opinion —is anything but gratifying. We know that type foundries today bring out Grotesque fonts against their own better judgement simply so as to keep their business. We are also acquainted with graphic designers and typographers for whom Grotesque is just good enough for the execution of things they have not properly thought through or assimilated. There have always been excesses. Every genuine impulse has always been accompanied by any number of parasites feeding on it who have often brought worthy attempts into disrepute. This should not, however, unsettle us in our quest for the right typography.
It would be foolhardy to assume that Old Style Serif could satisfy all demands placed upon a typeface today. It has its roots in a time in which advertising and journalism were unknown concepts, and in its original form shows only normal width, regular and italic type. Its essence is one of intimacy, and one should think twice before using it for printing advertising material or for large-formatted pieces of work. We have observed for example how increasing the size of Garamond beyond its norm has a detrimental effect.
Yet our times also need print which in the competition of ideas and products will attract attention. We need large letters and semi-bold, bold, narrow, broad, italic and normal fonts. Only Grotesque can arguably fulfil such wide-ranging requirements — and not any Grotesque typeface, only a good one. Here we permit a reference to the twenty fonts of ‘Univers’. We by no means see in them ‘a vociferous wilderness, a strident orgy of heedlessness and blatant violence’ (Tschichold), but rather the reflection of the wholly legitimate demand which scholarship, technology and commerce place on typography.
In summary, we regard the manner in which Tschichold gives vent to his discontentment as being injurious. Such publications will endlessly perpetrate radicalisation within our fine profession — Sans Serif here, Serif there! Symmetry here, asymmetry there! One cannot engage in a discussion on modern typography and only take note of its shortcomings, except, that is, if one were to believe that modern type arrangement consisted of nothing but shortcomings. This can scarcely be presumed.
In actual fact we all share the same worries. We too are disconcerted by the gimmickry to be found in script creation and in typography. We too reject the denigrating of letters and typeset to mere blots and grey patches. The art of typesetting is a utilitarian art which first and foremost services a specific purpose. As long as the laws governing ease of text legibility and comprehensibility are not fulfilled, it is futile to rhapsodise over form or art.
Modernism, namely the fact – in many cases still incomprehensible to us – that battle cries going back for decades have prevailed, poses us with problems. The decline of craftsmanship frequently presents itself in a modern guise, and it is up to us to uncover it. Nor are such concerns exclusive to our own profession. Fine arts as well as applied arts have all been assailed by the modern wave. Scarcely a furniture shop omits to promote its modern creations. ‘The New Direction’ is eating its way into all sectors of human co-existence. Finding itself no longer able to distinguish between modern and modern, the poor public can often only be pitied.
However, we are not prepared on account of this to take flight from the domains of contemporary design and escape into a world of void space, a world bereft of problems. All the more is the pleasant obligation now incumbent upon us to learn to distinguish the genuine from the bogus, and to direct our scrutiny to the essential. We are well aware that the manifesto age is over. Now is not the time to demonstrate, now is the time to work. It is a matter of implementing insights which have been gained and of their refinement — which means, however, working for years with painstaking attention to detail and without any hope of gaining the spotlight.
From the certainty that Grotesque caters to a genuine contemporary need stems the onus to create the optimum Grotesque typeface, and moreover one which is well suited for printing.
We need typefaces which do not take up too much space, which are economical and which are sufficiently robust to be able to deal with moulding, embossing and large print-runs. We also need once and for all typefaces with a suitable width, that is to say with a proper lateral set width, so that, whatever the sequence, a flawless image will always be the result.
What we can dispense with are typefaces with pseudo-manual irregularities, or those so-called ‘character’ typefaces which might reflect the emotional disposition of the artist but are not suitable for universal application. Nor do we have the slightest need for the spontaneity of handwriting in printed lettering. Writing and printing are subject to different jurisdictions and we do not appreciate the two realms being blurred. We would be happy to finally see Grotesque letters having proper differentiations in stroke thickness.
We do not have the least presumption of achieving compact typefaces or even block effects by means of Grotesque letters. It is in the attempt to allow a printed typeface to develop freely without constraint that we see one of the most valuable dictates of modern type arrangement. We strive for the greatest possible harmony between form and function. Once legibility has been guaranteed we can tackle the form which a print assignment will assume. We have free rein over the available working space without being constrained by any mandatory schema such as that of symmetry. What matters is maintaining the right proportion between printed and unprinted areas, ensuring that shades of grey and point sizes are correctly gradated, and finally arranging all elements satisfactorily.
But without the typesetter’s love for his work, these are all but idle sentiments, all but empty words...