Protipo helps information designers work smarter. Veronika Burian and José Scaglione’s Protipo type family is an information designer’s toolbox: a low-contrast sans of three text widths with a separate headline family, accompanied by an impressive two-weight icon set, and working with the advanced variable (VAR) font format. From annual reports and wayfinding to front page infographics and poster use, designers consistently turn to the simplicity and starkness of grotesque sans fonts to get their point across. Protipo is made for such environments. When designing information you may start with the headline, which in the case of this family is called Protipo Compact and comes in eight weights. From Hairline to Black, set it large, overlap it, or let it run off the page. Protipo Compact was made to hit hard and attract attention with a different character set and different proportions than the three text fonts. It sets the stage for what’s to come. Great information designers are aces at melding form and function, so we’ve stacked the Protipo family with Narrow, Regular, and Wide versions as a way of organising your information and directing the reader. Each width has seven distinct weights (light to bold) and italics, while maintaining the round-rect shapes of its DNA. Subtle details amplify its place in the typographic universe, like an ‘a’ and ‘e’ that go from solid to supple when italicising, an ‘f’ that gains an italic descender, two versions of the lowercase ‘r’ and ‘l’, and clipped corners on diagonals to keep the tight fit inherent to this kind of design work. Protipo is not meant to be loudmouthed, but stakes its claim through refinement, breadth, and impact. Some changes at first don’t seem substantial, but the Protipo family doesn’t handle text like most in its category. Protipo helps readers find and process data in a clear and unequivocal way and accounts for the complexity involved in rendering large amounts of information while still appealing to aesthetics. Protipo is ideal in all informative situations: apps, infographics, UI, wayfinding, transport, posters, display, and even internet memes. Add to all this the icon sets and upcoming variable font capability, and you’re assured a level of creativity, productivity, and impact on a much greater scale.

Palamecia is a typeface that embodies the very essence of organic design. It is a testament to the power of the creative process, one that is imbued with the spirit of experimentation and the thirst for innovation. Its unique appearance, at first glance reminiscent of a cartoon typeface, is just the beginning of what sets it apart from the competition. Palamecia was designed with a specific purpose in mind—to withstand the rigors of scaling and blurring on a variety of user interface devices. The creators of Palamecia recognized that the legibility of typefaces can be compromised by the impact of pixel scaling, and they set out to design a typeface that would not only overcome this challenge but also thrive in its wake. What makes Palamecia truly exceptional is its design process. Unlike many other typefaces, Palamecia’s designs were not born from pen strokes, but rather from cut-out silhouettes that were meticulously chiseled and chipped away. This unique approach allowed the designers to create a typeface that is both rugged and refined, with a natural aesthetic that seamlessly blends into any interface. The end result is a typeface that is both durable and versatile. Palamecia’s unique design allows it to pierce through any type of display, regardless of resolution, making it an ideal choice for designers and developers who are looking for a typeface that can deliver the goods under any circumstances. In conclusion, Palamecia is a triumph of organic design, a typeface that is as beautiful as it is functional. Its rugged yet refined aesthetic and its ability to withstand the rigors of scaling and blurring make it a must-have for any designer or developer who values both form and function. So why wait? Try Palamecia today and experience the power of organic design for yourself. Most Latin-based European writing systems are supported, including the following languages. Afaan Oromo, Afar, Afrikaans, Albanian, Alsatian, Aromanian, Aymara, Bashkir (Latin), Basque, Belarusian (Latin), Bemba, Bikol, Bosnian, Breton, Cape Verdean, Creole, Catalan, Cebuano, Chamorro, Chavacano, Chichewa, Crimean Tatar (Latin), Croatian, Czech, Danish, Dawan, Dholuo, Dutch, English, Estonian, Faroese, Fijian, Filipino, Finnish, French, Frisian, Friulian, Gagauz (Latin), Galician, Ganda, Genoese, German, Greenlandic, Guadeloupean Creole, Haitian Creole, Hawaiian, Hiligaynon, Hungarian, Icelandic, Ilocano, Indonesian, Irish, Italian, Jamaican, Kaqchikel, Karakalpak (Latin), Kashubian, Kikongo, Kinyarwanda, Kirundi, Kurdish (Latin), Latvian, Lithuanian, Lombard, Low Saxon, Luxembourgish, Maasai, Makhuwa, Malay, Maltese, Māori, Moldovan, Montenegrin, Ndebele, Neapolitan, Norwegian, Novial, Occitan, Ossetian (Latin), Papiamento, Piedmontese, Polish, Portuguese, Quechua, Rarotongan, Romanian, Romansh, Sami, Sango, Saramaccan, Sardinian, Scottish Gaelic, Serbian (Latin), Shona, Sicilian, Silesian, Slovak, Slovenian, Somali, Sorbian, Sotho, Spanish, Swahili, Swazi, Swedish, Tagalog, Tahitian, Tetum, Tongan, Tshiluba, Tsonga, Tswana, Tumbuka, Turkish, Turkmen (Latin), Tuvaluan, Uzbek (Latin), Venetian, Vepsian, Võro, Walloon, Waray-Waray, Wayuu, Welsh, Wolof, Xhosa, Yapese, Zapotec Zulu and Zuni.

Type designers are crazy people. Not crazy in the sense that they think we are Napoleon, but in the sense that the sky can be falling, wars tearing the world apart, disasters splitting the very ground we walk on, plagues circling continents to pick victims randomly, yet we will still perform our ever optimistic task of making some little spot of the world more appealing to the human eye. We ought to be proud of ourselves, I believe. Optimism is hard to come by these days. Regardless of our own personal reasons for doing what we do, the very thing we do is in itself an act of optimism and belief in the inherent beauty that exists within humanity. As recently as ten years ago, I wouldn't have been able to choose the amazing obscure profession I now have, wouldn't have been able to be humbled by the history that falls into my hands and slides in front of my eyes every day, wouldn't have been able to live and work across previously impenetrable cultural lines as I do now, and wouldn't have been able to raise my glass of Malbeck wine to toast every type designer who was before me, is with me, and will be after me. As recently as ten years ago, I wouldn't have been able to mean these words as I wrote them: It’s a small world. Yes, it is a small world, and a wonderfully complex one too. With so much information drowning our senses by the minute, it has become difficult to find clear meaning in almost anything. Something throughout the day is bound to make us feel even smaller in this small world. Most of us find comfort in a routine. Some of us find extended families. But in the end we are all Eleanor Rigbys, lonely on the inside and waiting for a miracle to come. If a miracle can make the world small, another one can perhaps give us meaning. And sometimes a miracle happens for a split second, then gets buried until a crazy type designer finds it. I was on my honeymoon in New York City when I first stumbled upon the letters that eventually started this Affair. A simple, content tourist walking down the streets formerly unknown to me except through pop music and film references. Browsing the shops of the city that made Bob Dylan, Lou Reed, and a thousand other artists. Trying to chase away the tourist mentality, wondering what it would be like to actually live in the city of a billion tiny lights. Tourists don't go to libraries in foreign cities. So I walked into one. Two hours later I wasn't in New York anymore. I wasn't anywhere substantial. I was the crazy type designer at the apex of insanity. La La Land, alphabet heaven, curves and twirls and loops and swashes, ribbons and bows and naked letters. I'm probably not the very first person on this planet to be seduced into starting an Affair while on his honeymoon, but it is something to tease my better half about once in a while. To this day I can't decide if I actually found the worn book, or if the book itself called for me. Its spine was nothing special, sitting on a shelf, tightly flanked by similar spines on either side. Yet it was the only one I picked off that shelf. And I looked at only one page in it before walking to the photocopier and cheating it with an Argentine coin, since I didn't have the American quarter it wanted. That was the beginning. I am now writing this after the Affair is over. And it was an Affair to remember, to pull a phrase. Right now, long after I have drawn and digitized and tested this alphabet, and long after I saw what some of this generation’s type designers saw in it, I have the luxury to speculate on what Affair really is, what made me begin and finish it, what cultural expressions it has, and so on. But in all honesty it wasn't like that. Much like in my Ministry Script experience, I was a driven man, a lover walking the ledge, an infatuated student following the instructions of his teacher while seeing her as a perfect angel. I am not exaggerating when I say that the letters themselves told me how to extend them. I was exploited by an alphabet, and it felt great. Unlike my experience with Ministry Script, where the objective was to push the technology to its limits, this Affair felt like the most natural and casual sequence of processions in the world – my hand following the grid, the grid following what my hand had already done – a circle of creation contained in one square computer cell, then doing it all over again. By contrast, it was the lousiest feeling in the world when I finally reached the conclusion that the Affair was done. What would I do now? Would any commitment I make from now on constitute a betrayal of these past precious months? I'm largely over all that now, of course. I like to think I'm a better man now because of the experience. Affair is an enormous, intricately calligraphic OpenType font based on a 9x9 photocopy of a page from a 1950s lettering book. In any calligraphic font, the global parameters for developing the characters are usually quite volatile and hard to pin down, but in this case it was particularly difficult because the photocopy was too gray and the letters were of different sizes, very intertwined and scan-impossible. So finishing the first few characters in order to establish the global rhythm was quite a long process, after which the work became a unique soothing, numbing routine by which I will always remember this Affair. The result of all the work, at least to the eyes of this crazy designer, is 1950s American lettering with a very Argentine wrapper. My Affair is infused with the spirit of filete, dulce de leche, yerba mate, and Carlos Gardel. Upon finishing the font I was fortunate enough that a few of my colleagues, great type designers and probably much saner than I am, agreed to show me how they envision my Affair in action. The beauty they showed me makes me feel small and yearn for the world to be even smaller now – at least small enough so that my international colleagues and I can meet and exchange stories over a good parrilla. These people, whose kindness is very deserving of my gratitude, and whose beautiful art is very deserving of your appreciation, are in no particular order: Corey Holms, Mariano Lopez Hiriart, Xavier Dupré, Alejandro Ros, Rebecca Alaccari, Laura Meseguer, Neil Summerour, Eduardo Manso, and the Doma group. You can see how they envisioned using Affair in the section of this booklet entitled A Foreign Affair. The rest of this booklet contains all the obligatory technical details that should come with a font this massive. I hope this Affair can bring you as much peace and satisfaction as it brought me, and I hope it can help your imagination soar like mine did when I was doing my duty for beauty.