Lunsiton Sans - by Nicole Magagnotti Panizza by Prof. Antonino Benincasa

Luniston Sans

Luniston Sans designed by Nicole Magagnotti Panizza

ABC D E

ABCD E FGHI

ABC D E F G H I J K L M ABC D E F G H I J K L M N O P ABCD E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVW ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ

LU N

O IST

abcde

a b c d e fgh i abcdefghijklm abcdefghijklmnop abcdefghijklmnopqrst a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z

UPPERCASE

N O H IJ PQQR M G N H L F K LM NOOP Q E FG J D I K LM N OP C DE H J I P M B K G A BC F GH IJ KL MN O E N A D EF GH IJ KL M NO H IJ L M Z BC D F A BC DE FG GH IJK KL MN A BC DE F GH IJ KL M A BC DE F GH IJ KL A BC DE F GH IJ KL A BC DE F GH IJ A BC DE F GH IJ A BC DE F GH A BC DE F GH A BC DE F G A BC DE F A BC DE F A BC DE A BC DE C ZA A B C D Y X YZ A B C Z B W V W X Y ZA X Y U V A T W X YZ S TU V R Z Q RS T U V W X Y P W O PQ R S T U V W X X Y N O Q S TU V W M R P L MN O Q R S T U V W X K U P N IJ KL M N O P Q R S S T U V W L H IJ O PQ R T UV M K G S N V H J Q L F E FG H I J K L M N O O P Q R S T T U R D C DE F G H I I J K L MM N O P P Q R S T U B K A BC DE F G G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T A BC D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S A BC DE F GH IJ KL MN O PQ RS A BC DE F GH IJ KL MN O PQ A BC DE F GH IJ KL MN O PQ A BC DE F GH IJ KL MN O P A BC DE F GH IJ KL MN O A BC DE F GH IJ KL MN O A BC DE F GH IJ KL MN A BC DE F GH IJ KL MN A BC DE F GH IJ KL M A BC DE F GH IJ KL A BC DE F GH IJ KL E

A B C D F G H I J L M N O Q R S T V W X Y

E K P U Z

S T V W X Z A C DE FG HI IJK L MN O PQ RS T U B Y S R ST UV W X YZ A BC DE FG GH IJK KL MN O PQ RS T R ST UV W X YZ A BC DE F GH IJ KL MN O PQ RS V E N PQQR ST U VW X YZZ A BC D EF GH IJ KL M NO PQ R Q C D T U H IJ W X L O R A F P O PQ RS T UV W XY Z AB BC DE FG H IJK LMMN OP PQ O PQ RS T UV W XY Z A BC DE FG H IJK L MN O P N O Q RS T UV W XY Z A C DE FG H IJK L MN O P B Y S N K G V E N Q M NO P QR ST U VW X YZZ A BC D EF GH IJ KL M NO C D O P T U H J W X L R A F LMMN O PQ RS T UV W XY Z AB C DE FG HI IJK LM N M B Y Z S N K G V E Q L K LM NOOP QR STTU VW X Y Z A BC CD EF GH IJ KL M K LM N OP QR S TU VW X Y Z A B CD EF GH IJ KL J I K LM N OP QR S TU VW X Y Z A B CD EF GH IJ KL J H J W X R A F I H IJK LMMN OP PQ RS TU UV W XY Z AB CD DE FG HI J H IJK L MN O PQ RS T UV W XY Z AB C DE FG HI G H JK L N O E FG HI Q RS T UV W XY Z AB C I P D M G H JK L B C Y Z S T N O G V W E Q F E FG HI JK LM N OP QR S TU V WX Y Z A B CD EF G E FG HI JK LM N OP QR S TU V WX Y Z A B CD EF R S X Y A B F D E I P U D M N K G D EF GH IJ KL M NO PQ R ST UVVW X YZ A BC DE C D O PQ R T U F GH IJ KL M W X YZ A BC DE S E N V Q C B CD EF GH HIJ KL LM NO P QR ST U VW X YZZ A BC D B CD EF G HIJ K LM NO P QR ST U VW X Y Z A BC J C O T A F W Z AB CD DE FG HI JK LM N OP QR RS TU V WX XY Z AAB I P U V M N B K G Y S E Z Y ZA B C C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q Q R S T U V W X Y Z A Y ZA B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z X Y A B W X YZ R ST U D EF GH IJ KL M NO P Z V Q C H L X J O T A F W X R D W XY YZ AB C DE FG HI IJK LMMN OP PQ RS TU UV W XY W X YZ AB C DE FG H IJK L MN O PQ RS T UV W X V W X N O Z AB C DE FG H JK L Q RS T UV W I Y P M B C K G V W X E N Z O PQ RS T UV W A B F GH IJ KL M U V D Y U V W X Y Z ZA B C D E E F G H I J K L M N N O P Q R S S T U V T U W X Y O PQ R T UV A BC D F GH IJ KL M V S E N Z T Q C W S T U V W X Y ZA B C D E F G H H I J K L L M N O P Q R S T U X Y O P T A B F U R D IJ M S R ST UV W X YZ A BC DE FG H IJK KL MN O PQ RS T R ST UV W X YZ A BC DE FG H IJ KL MN O PQ RS Q R T UV W X YZ A C DE FG H IJ L MN O PQ RS B S K G V P Q Q R S T U V W X Y Z ZA B C D E E F G H I J K L M N N O P Q R O P T U Q C D W X H J L R O A F O PQ RS T UV W XYYZ AB C DE FG HI IJK LM N OP Q N O Q RS T UV W X Z AB C DE FG H JK LM N OP P I Y P M B S N K G V Q E M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z ZA B C D E F G H I J K L M N N O O P T U C W X H J L R A F LMMN O PQ RS T UV W XY Z AB CD DE FG HI JK LM N I Y M B S N K G V

lowercase

abcdef ghijklm nopqrst uvwxyz

CHARACTERISTICS

Short t ascender Open aperture: moderate

Ascender: medium

Combination between horizontal and slanted

x-height: medium

baseline Moderate contrast

Flat base, aligned with baseline

Positive diagonal stress: moderate

Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn’t something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn’t get in, and walk through it, step by step. There’s no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That’s the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine. And you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You’ll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others. And once the storm is over you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about. Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn’t something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn’t get in, and walk through it, step by step. There’s no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That’s the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine. And you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You’ll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others. And once the storm is over you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about. Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn’t something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn’t get in, and walk through it, step by step. There’s no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That’s the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine. And you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You’ll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others. And once the storm is over you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about. Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn’t something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn’t get in, and walk through it, step by step. There’s no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That’s the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine. And you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You’ll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others. And once the storm is over you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about. Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn’t something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn’t get in, and walk through it, step by step. There’s no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That’s the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine. And you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You’ll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others. And once the storm is over you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about. Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn’t something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn’t get in, and walk through it, step by step. There’s no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That’s the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine. And you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You’ll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others. And once the storm is over you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about. Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn’t something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn’t get in, and walk through it, step by step. There’s no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That’s the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine. And you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You’ll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others. And once the storm is over you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about. Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn’t something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn’t get in, and walk through it, step by step. There’s no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That’s the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine. And you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You’ll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others. And once the storm is over you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about. Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn’t something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn’t get in, and walk through it, step by step. There’s no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That’s the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine. And you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You’ll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others. And once the storm is over you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about. Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn’t something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn’t get in, and walk through it, step by step. There’s no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense

22 pt

KAFKA ON THE SHORE

14 pt

Haruki Murakami

6/10 pt

same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.

“Lost opportunities, lost possibilities, feel-

“Adults constantly raise the bar on smart

ings we can never get back. That’s part

children, precisely because they’re able to

of what it means to be alive. But inside our

handle it. The children get overwhelmed

heads, at least that’s where I imagine it,

by the tasks in front of them and gradu-

there’s a little room where we store those

ally lose the sort of openness and sense of

memories. A room like the stacks in this li-

accomplishment they innately have. When

brary. And to understand the workings of

they’re treated like that, children start to

our own heart we have to keep on mak-

crawl inside a shell and keep everything in-

ing new reference cards. We have to dust

side. It takes a lot of time and effort to

things off every once in awhile, let in fresh

get them to open up again. Kids’ hearts are

air, change the water in the flower vases. In

malleable, but once they gel it’s hard to get

other words, you’ll live forever in your own

them back the way they were.”

private library.”

NUMERALS

1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0 1 2 3 4 5 67 89 0

CHICAGO

BANGKOK

LAS VEGAS NEW YORK CITY WASHINGTON

STOCKHOLM

PRAGUE

BUDAPEST

TORONTO

CANBERRA OSLO BILBAO LOS ANGELES CAIRO

BORDEAUX

MARRAKECH

LYON

SAN FRANCISCO SAINT PETERSBURG

PHOENIX

SIDNEY ATLANTA

ATHENS

DUBLIN

SINGAPORE

ISTANBUL

PARIS

SEVILLE MIAMI

AMSTERDAM

HOUSTON

MILAN COPENHAGEN MOSCOW

LISBOA

DALLAS

BUENOS AIRES

MEMPHIS

NEW ORLEANS

SAN DIEGO

HAMBURGSANTIAGO OTTAWA

DETROIT

HONG KONG

ROME

TOKYO

SEATTLE

SOFIA

LONDON

PHILADELPHIA MUNICH

37° 46’ 26.299’’ N

SAN FRANCISCO CALIFORNIA

122° 25’ 52.669’’ W

13 pt

Technology can be our best friend, and technology can also be the biggest party pooper of our lives. It interrupts our own story, interrupts our ability to have a thought or a daydream, to imagine something wonderful, because we’re too busy bridging the walk from the cafeteria back to the office on the cell phone.

10 pt

7 pt

aesthetic beyond calligraphy divergent empathy fondness ginger heritage identity

jeopardize kindness lemongrass motion neutral opaque pattern quiet regret

sapphire typeface undertake voyage wanderlust xenophile yellow zealous

“

CREATIVITY is

BREAKING OUT

patterns in order to

That meens, seen and

LOOK

of established

at things in a

SEEING

“

what everybody else has

NO ONE ELSE

has thought.

50 pt - 40 pt - 30 pt - 25 pt - 12 pt - 350 pt

I AM VERY

FONT OF YOU, BECAUSE YOU ARE JUST MY

TYPE .

Faculty of Design and Art Free University of Bolzano - Bozen Typeface designed by Nicole Magagnotti Panizza WUP 18/19 Prof. Antonino Benincasa Gian Marco Favretto Maximilian Boiger Calligraphy Workshop by Mag. Art. Eva Pรถll Font created with Illustrator & Fontself