The studio in winter light

My studio faces north-east, on the third floor of a building that used to print timetables. In summer the light comes in at six and stays until late. In winter it arrives around nine, low and grey, and by three it is gone.

For years I worked the same hours all year and complained about it from November on. Then a colleague who paints asked me why I was drawing letters under a lamp when there was daylight I was spending on email.

Two kinds of work

Since then I sort the work into two piles. Anything that needs judgement about shape goes into the daylight: drawing, spacing, comparing proofs. Anything that does not goes into the dark: invoices, mail, file preparation, the long tedious work of kerning tables.

It sounds obvious. It took me nine years.

The proof wall

The best hour of the day is the first one. I pin yesterday’s proofs to the wall opposite the window and look at them before doing anything else. In low light, at a distance, the problems show themselves: a letter that is too dark, a curve that turns too late. I mark them with a pencil and fix them while the light lasts.

Summer is for making, winter is for deciding

Over time the pattern spread to the whole year. Summer, with its long days, is when I draw new things. Winter is when I review, cut and finish. A typeface started in June is usually ready in February, not because of a plan, but because that is when I can finally see it clearly.

What I would tell myself

Work with the conditions you have, not the ones you wish for. The light was never the problem. Asking it to be the same every day was.