The New Typography in Scandinavia: Modernist design and print culture 9781350112391, 9781350112421, 9781350112414

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THE NEW TYPOGRAPHY IN SCANDINAVIA

CULTURAL HISTORIES OF DESIGN Series editors: Grace Lees-Maffei of the University of Hertfordshire, UK Kjetil Fallan of the University of Oslo, Norway The Cultural Histories of Design series presents rigorous and original research on the role and significance of design in society and culture, past and present. From a vantage point in the heart of the humanities, the series explores design as the most significant manifestation of modern and contemporary culture. In the series: Modern Asian Design D. J. Huppatz Norman Bel Geddes: American Design Visionary Nicolas P. Maffei Soviet Critical Design: Senezh Studio and the Communist Surround Tom Cubbin Forthcoming titles: Atari Design: Impressions on Coin-Operated Video Game Machines Raiford Guins Open Plan: A Design History of the American Office Jennifer Kaufmann-Buhler Jugendstil Women and the Making of Modern Design Sabine Wieber

THE NEW TYPOGRAPHY IN SCANDINAVIA Modernist design and print culture

TROND KLEVGAARD

BLOOMSBURY VISUAL ARTS Bloomsbury Publishing Plc 50 Bedford Square, London, WC1B 3DP, UK 1385 Broadway, New York, NY 10018, USA BLOOMSBURY, BLOOMSBURY VISUAL ARTS and the Diana logo are trademarks of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc First published in Great Britain 2021 © Trond Klevgaard, 2021 Trond Klevgaard has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as Author of this work. For legal purposes the Acknowledgements on p. xiv constitute an extension of this copyright page. Cover design by Louise Dugdale All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publishers. Bloomsbury Publishing Plc does not have any control over, or responsibility for, any third-party websites referred to or in this book. All internet addresses given in this book were correct at the time of going to press. The author and publisher regret any inconvenience caused if addresses have changed or sites have ceased to exist, but can accept no responsibility for any such changes. Every effort has been made to trace copyright holders of images and to obtain their permission for the use of copyright material. The publisher apologizes for any errors or omissions in copyright acknowledgement and would be grateful if notified of any ­corrections that should be incorporated in future reprints or editions of this book. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Klevgaard, Trond, author. Title: The new typography in Scandinavia: modernist design and print culture / Trond Klevgaard. Description: London; New York: Bloomsbury Visual Arts, 2020. | Series: Cultural histories of design | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2020018732 (print) | LCCN 2020018733 (ebook) | ISBN 9781350112391 (hardback) | ISBN 9781350112407 (epub) | ISBN 9781350112414 (pdf) Subjects: LCSH: Graphic design (Typography)–Scandinavia–History–20th century. | Graphic design (Typography)–Social aspects–Scandinavia–History–20th century. | Printing–Scandinavia–History–20th century. | Printing–Social aspects–Scandinavia–History– 20th century. | Graphic arts–Scandinavia–History–20th century. | Graphic arts– Social aspects–Scandinavia–History–20th century. Classification: LCC Z246 .K568 2020 (print) | LCC Z246 (ebook) | DDC 686.2/209480904–dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020018732 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020018733 ISBN: HB: 978-1-3501-1239-1 ePDF: 978-1-3501-1241-4 eBook: 978-1-3501-1240-7 Series: Cultural Histories of Design Typeset by Deanta Global Publishing Services, Chennai, India To find out more about our authors and books visit www​.bloomsbury​.com and sign up for our newsletters.

To Julian

CONTENTS

List of illustrations  x Acknowledgements  xiv

Introduction  1 Between centre and periphery  3 Domestication networks  4 Framework  6 Structure  7

1 Origins and networks  14 Origins of the New Typography  14 The international spread of words-in-freedom  15 An abstract language of form  18 Constructivism in Germany  19

Scandinavian nodes in the avant-garde network  22 Georg Pauli’s Flamman  24 Flamman’s typography  25

The New Student Society’s publications  31 The New Student Society and constructivism  32

Conclusion  37

PART I  Printing and advertising cultures  41 2 Modification: The printing trade’s versions of the New Typography  43 The New Typography from avant-garde to printing trade  44 Tschichold’s elemental typography  47 Reception in the German printing trade  50 International spread through type samples  52 Reception in the Scandinavian printing trade  54

viiiCONTENTS

The New Typography in Scandinavian printing education  57 Trade journals  58 A modified form of New Typography in Hugo Lagerström’s publications  58 Reflecting modifications in practice: Norsk Boktrykk Kalender 64 Scandinavianism and typographic compromise: Grafisk Revy 67 Educational societies  68 The Graphic Society of Oslo  69 The Compositors’ Technical Cooperative in Copenhagen  70 Trade schools  74 The School for Book Craft in Stockholm  76 The Trade School for Book Craft in Copenhagen  80 Putting the New Typography on the curriculum  83 Conclusion  86

3 Compartmentalization: Cultures and practices of advertising  93 Jobbing print, commercial art and layout  94 Between American and German advertising cultures  96

Discrete professional communication networks  99 The Scandinavian advertising journal network  100 The shock of Modern Publicity and Mise en Page 102

Competing cultures of design and production  107 The jobbing printer  107 The typographic ad  108 The typographic poster  110 The ‘small poster’  113 The commercial artist  114 Resistance towards photography  116 The lay-out man  119 Typophoto between professions  121 The conflict between compositors and lay-out men  125 Conclusion  127

PART II  Printing and society  135 4 Realignment: Functionalism as ideology, style and resistance  137 From elementarism to functionalism  138 The Stockholm Exhibition 1930 as catalyst for functionalist typography  141

From funkis to functional typography  146 The term ‘funkis’ and its changing connotations  146 Funkis typography in practice  148 The economic case for funkis  151 Functional typography  152 Towards the functional book  154

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Anders Billow’s view of the functionalist book  154 Building books for the photographic image  157

The book and the functional tradition  160 Knud V. Engelhardt as pioneer of the functional tradition  161 Typification in Steen Eiler Rasmussen’s Britisk Brugskunst 163 Reading machines and books for everyday use  166 The book for everyday use  169 Conclusion  172

5 Isolation: Future-people and rational consumers  180 The Swedish Cooperative Society: Adopter of ‘wild’ New Typography  181 The Cooperative Society’s advertisements  183

Print designs of the avant-garde left  186 The journal Spektrum between printers  187 Vilhelm Bjerke Petersen: Client at Nordlunde’s printing house  189 The Monde Group: Practitioners of ‘wild’ photomontage  193 From ‘horror vacui’ compositions to didactic photomontage  195

Targeting the young and female vote through ‘wild’ photomontage  199 Kaj Andersson’s Morgonbris  200 The Norwegian Labour Party’s response to Nazi propaganda  205 The photographic poster enters mainstream political culture  207

Conclusion  211

6 Assimilation 217 The New Typography under occupation  217 Occupied Norway  218 Occupied Denmark  219

A new style in neutral Sweden  223 Tradition and progress  225

Conclusion  227

Conclusion  230

Glossary  233 Index  250

ILLUSTRATIONS

Cover image Front cover of Spektrum 2, no.3 (1932). Photograph by the author. Item in the author’s collection Front cover of Acceptera (1931). Photograph by Uppsala University Library. Item held by Uppsala University Library Cover design proposal for Nordisk Boktryckarekonst. Published in Nordisk Boktryckarekonst 29, no.11 (1928), 437. Photograph by the author. Item held by the National Library of Sweden Front cover of Årbok 1930-31 (1932). Photograph by the author. Item held by the National Library of Norway Front cover of Den nya stilens genombrott (1933). Photograph by the author. Item in the author’s collection Front cover of Futurum no.6 (1936). Photograph by the author. Item held by Kungliga Biblioteket, National Library of Sweden

Figures 1.1 1.2 1.3 1.4

F. T. Marinetti: Front cover of Zang Tumb Tumb (1914)  16 Guillaume Apollinaire: ‘Lettre-Océan’, Les Soirées de Paris no. 25 (1914) 17 El Lissitzky: Front cover of Erste Russische Kunstausstellung (1922) 20 László Moholy-Nagy: Title page for Staatliches Bauhaus in Weimar, 1919–1923 (1923) 21 1.5 Amedée Ozenfant: ‘Panégyrique du Vicomte Cyprien-AymardAmour de Viel-Buze’, L’Élan no. 8 (1916) 26 1.6 Amedée Ozenfant: ‘Ô Mânes de Gentle Man’, L’Élan no. 9 (1916) 27 1.7 Yngve Berg: ‘Kolonner Vad Gör Ni?’, Flamman no. 3 (1917) 28 1.8 ‘Hos Pablo Picasso’, Flamman no. 1 (1917) 29 1.9 ‘Åkallan’, Flamman no. 2 (1917) 30 1.10 Flyer for Pressen no. 13 (24 November 1923) 33 1.11 Pressen no. 10 (3 November 1923) 34 1.12 Rudolf Broby-Johansen: Front cover of Kunst (1924) 35

ILLUSTRATIONS

1.13 Rudolf Broby-Johansen: Vertical double-page spread from Kunst (1924) 36 2.1 Jan Tschichold: Front cover of ‘Sonderheft: Elementare Typographie’ (1925) 45 2.2 Jan Tschichold: Double-page spread from ‘Sonderheft: Elementare Typographie’ (1925) 46 2.3 Jan Tschichold: Double-page spread from ‘Sonderheft: Elementare Typographie’ (1925) 48 2.4 Back cover of a type sample for Futura Schmuck (1927) 53 2.5 Cover design proposal for Nordisk Boktryckarekonst (1928) 59 2.6 Cover design proposals for Nordisk Boktryckarekonst (1928) 60 2.7 Cover design proposal for Nordisk Boktryckarekonst (1928) 61 2.8 Front cover of Svensk Grafisk Årsbok 1929  62 2.9 Front cover of Nordisk Boktryckarekonst no. 1 (1934) 64 2.10 Double-page spread from Nordisk Boktryckarekonst no. 2 (1932) 65 2.11 Front cover of Norsk Boktrykk Kalender 1931 66 2.12 Invitation card for a lecture by Ivar S. Olsen at the Graphic Society of Oslo (1933) 70 2.13 Viktor Peterson: Title page for Grafisk Årbog 1935 (1934) 72 2.14 Jan Tschichold: Title page for Typographische Gestaltung (1935) 75 2.15 Front cover of a promotional leaflet for the School for Book Craft in Stockholm (1931) 77 2.16 Karl-Erik Forsberg: Sketch for the typeface Ballong (1931) 78 2.17 Front cover of Den Nya Stilens Genombrott (1933) 80 2.18 Kai Pelt: Front cover of Die Neue Typografie (1936) 82 2.19 Viggo Hasnæs: Title page for Selmars Typografi (1938) 85 3.1 ‘Herr Tom Pilsen Og Vår Nasjonale Selvbevissthet’, Propaganda 1(78) (1932) 104 3.2 ‘Herr Tom Pilsen Og Vår Nasjonale Selvbevissthet’, Propaganda 1(78) (1932) 105 3.3 Front cover of Futurum no. 6 (1936) 106 3.4 Valter Falk: Ad for Arla Mejeri (ca.1931) 109 3.5 Ad for Trio door locks (ca.1930) 110 3.6 Double-page spread from Max Richard Kirste’s Yrkeslære For Settere. Annen Del: Aksidenssats (1935) showing examples of an ‘antiquated’ and a ‘modern’ poster 111 3.7 Jan Tschichold: Double-page spread from Die Neue Typographie (1928) showing a poster for the film Iwan der Schreckliche  112 3.8 Jan Tschichold: Poster for the film Die Hose (1927) 113 3.9 ‘Engh’: Front cover of System no. 1 (1931) 115 3.10 A. M. Cassandre: Étoile du Nord (1927) 118 3.11 Example layout from the book Hur Man Annonserar Med Framgång (1934) 119

xi

xiiILLUSTRATIONS

3.12 Example of finished ad from the book Hur Man Annonserar Med Framgång (1934) 120 3.13 Front cover of Fotografi 1930  122 3.14 László Moholy-Nagy: ‘Dynamik der Gross-stadt’ (1927) 123 3.15 Ad for Karlskrona hats (ca.1935) 124 3.16 Cartoon showing the compositor under attack from the cockerel of advertising (1937) 126 4.1 Front cover of Byggekunst no. 9 (1927) 139 4.2 Front cover of Svenska Slöjdföreningens Tidskrift no. 1 (1929) 140 4.3 Front cover of Stockholmsutställningens Program (1928) 142 4.4 Front cover of Katalog Över Bostadsavdelningen (1930) 144 4.5 Front cover of Acceptera (1931) 145 4.6 Illuminated sign for restaurant ‘Funkis’ (1930) 147 4.7 Advertisement for print equipment suppliers Grafisk Kompani (ca.1930) 150 4.8 Front cover of Årbok 1930–1931 (1932) 151 4.9 Double-page spread from Erich Mendelsohn’s Amerika: Bilderbuch Eines Architekten (1926) 156 4.10 Anders Billow: Double-page spread from Carl Fries’ I Svenska Marker (1930) 158 4.11 Anders Billow: Double-page spread from Svenska Turistföreningens Årsskrift 1932 (1932) 158 4.12 Anders Billow: Front cover of Årets Bilder 1933 (1933) 159 4.13 Knud V. Engelhardt: Page design for Telefon-Haandbogen (1910) 162 4.14 Steen Eiler Rasmussen: Double-page spread from Britisk Brugskunst (1933) 165 4.15 Steen Eiler Rasmussen: Front cover of Britisk Brugskunst (1933) 167 4.16 Double-page spread from Einar Lenning’s Normalformaten (1931) 168 4.17 Front cover of Bogvennen no. 1 (1934) 170 4.18 Double-page spread from Maxim Gorky’s Min Barndom (1933) 171 5.1 Exterior of Konsum store at the Stockholm Exhibition 1930, designed by Eskil Sundahl and Gösta Hedström (1930) 183 5.2 Advertisement for Eve margarine (1930) 185 5.3 Front cover of Spektrum no. 1 (1931) 188 5.4 Front cover of Spektrum no. 1 (1932) 189 5.5 Front cover of Spektrum no. 3 (1932) 190 5.6 Double-page spread from Spektrum no. 2 (1932) 190 5.7 Vilhelm Bjerke Petersen: Front cover of Symboler i Abstrakt Kunst (1933) 192 5.8 Double-page spread from Symboler i Abstrakt Kunst (1933) 193 5.9 Front cover of Forsøgsscenen no. 1 (1929) 194 5.10 Front cover of Forsøgsscenen no. 19 (1931) 196 5.11 Rudolf Broby-Johansen: Front cover of Sovjetruslands 5aarsplan (1931) 197

ILLUSTRATIONS

xiii

5.12 Edvard Heiberg: Front cover of Lønarbejde og Kapital (1932) 198 5.13 ‘12 Marts! Liste A’, poster for the Danish Social Democratic Party, Copenhagen branch (1929) 200 5.14 ‘Saadan Værner Vi Vort Hjem!’, poster for the Danish Social Democratic Party, Copenhagen branch (1929) 201 5.15 Kaj Andersson: Front cover of Morgonbris no. 5 (1931) 202 5.16 Kaj Andersson: Front cover of Morgonbris no. 9 (1932) 204 5.17 El Lissitzky: ‘Russische Ausstellung’, poster for Zurich Museum of Art and Design (1929) 205 5.18 Sverre Ørn-Evensen: ‘Deg Venter Vi På!’, poster for the Norwegian Labour Party’s Women’s Federation (1936) 208 5.19 Karin Ageman and Bror Bjurberg: ‘Framtidsfolket Röstar Med Arbetarepartiet’, poster for the Swedish Social Democratic Party (1936) 209 6.1 Front cover of Norsk Boktrykk Kalender 1943 219 6.2 Henry Thejls: Page design from Asymmetri i Typografi (1943) showing examples of ‘psychologically correct typefaces’ 221 6.3 Henry Thejls: Title page of Asymmetri i Typografi (1943) 222 6.4 Iwan Waloddi Fischerström: Front cover of Nordisk Boktryckarekonst no. 1 (1941) 224

Plates 2.1 2.2 2.3 2.4 2.5 2.6 2.7 3.1 3.2 4.1 4.2 4.3 5.1 5.2 5.3 5.4

Front cover of De Grafiske Fag no. 20 (1928) Front cover of Nordisk Boktryckarekonst no. 1 (1930) Jan Tschichold: Front cover of Grafisk Revy no. 4 (1936) Kai Møller: Front cover of Grafisk Revy no. 1 (1931) Viktor Peterson: Front cover of Grafisk Årbog 1935 (1934) Jan Tschichold: Front cover of Funktionel Typografi (1937) Karl-Erik Forsberg: Sketch for the book cover Hoffmand Familj (1932) Front cover of Rolf Jacobsen’s Jord og Jern (1933) Finn Havrevold: Front cover of Gunnar Larsen’s To Mistenkelige Personer (1933) Sigurd Lewerentz: Supporting poster for the Stockholm Exhibition 1930 (1929) Kai Møller: Portrait of Olav Myre in pictorial typography (1934) Nora Gulbrandsen and Ruth Arnestad Lødrup: Front cover of Brukskunst no. 1 (1932) Poster for Luma lightbulbs (1933) Edvard Heiberg: Front cover of 2 Vær. straks. (1935) Sverre Ørn-Evensen: Front cover of Kvinnene til Sosialismen! (1934) Front cover of ‘Kammerater – Lad Det Nu Være Slut!’, pamphlet for the Danish Conservative People’s Party (1939)

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

The origins of this book can be found in a PhD thesis in History of Design submitted at the Royal College of Art in London. There it benefited from valuable guidance provided by supervisors Jeremy Aynsley, Jane Pavitt and Rick Poynor, as well as from discussions with other students and staff. I want to thank my team at Bloomsbury, Rebecca Barden, Claire Collins and Olivia Davies as well as the editors of the Cultural Histories of Design series, Kjetil Fallan and Grace Lees-Maffei, for giving me the opportunity to turn my thesis into a book, and for their expert advice and assistance in doing so. My employer, Kristiania University College, assisted my improvement of the manuscript by providing the time and funds required to carry out additional research and to cover other costs. I would also like to express a particular sense of gratitude to everyone who has given their permission to reproduce the visual materials which enhance this book, and to all those who have helped me navigate the many archives and libraries used during the research process.

INTRODUCTION

The New Typography in Scandinavia brings together two areas of modern design history usually considered to be separate: the New Typography and Scandinavian design. In doing so it presents work which challenges both canons: a new geography opens up for the history of the New Typography and typography is brought into a history of Scandinavian design. The New Typography is conventionally presented as the modern movement’s manifestation in printed communication, a counterpart to other ‘new’ movements like the neues Bauen (New Building) in architecture or the neues Sehen (New Vision) in photography. It is seen as the project of a small group of avant-garde artists and poets working in Eastern and Central Europe. In graphic design history these artist-designers are usually positioned as pioneers of a new type of graphic communication who, by transcending boundaries of art, printing and advertising, became forerunners of the modern graphic designer. Although Jan Tschichold’s (1902–74) seminal book Die Neue Typographie (The New Typography, 1928) listed the Danes Torben Hansen, Harald Landt Momberg (1896–1975) and ‘others’ in an overview of New Typographers working across Europe,1 Scandinavian work was not included when the first histories of the movement were written towards the end of the 1960s.2 When the narratives of these histories subsequently were taken up into the history of graphic design, no efforts were made to correct this omission.3 Figures like Hansen and Momberg do not feature in histories of Scandinavian design either. Although efforts have been made to complicate and expand the field of Scandinavian design with a small ‘d’ from Scandinavian Design with a large ‘D’,4 the humane interpretation of modernism in industrial and furniture design which celebrated great commercial success following the Design in Scandinavia exhibition’s tour of the United States and Canada in the 1950s, few histories of Scandinavian design pay attention to graphic design,5 fewer still look at typography and almost none discuss the New Typography.6 While a handful of short texts on the history of the New Typography in Scandinavia can be found in Danish, Norwegian and Swedish,7 this is the first text on the subject in English, and the first book-length account published in any language.8 The book discusses numerous examples; many of these will be unfamiliar to the reader, and a large number of reproductions have therefore been included. Several

2The New Typography in Scandinavia

examples have yet to be described by Danish, Norwegian or Swedish graphic design histories, and many others are presented to an English-language audience for the first time. A handful, like the cover of the functionalist manifesto Acceptera (Accept, 1931), are nevertheless fairly well known. Others may be less familiar but were created by designers known from other areas of Scandinavian design, like Sigurd Lewerentz (1885–1975) or Steen Eiler Rasmussen (1898–1990). While the vast majority of examples are of Scandinavian origin, I have also included some designs from further afield in order to provide necessary context. The selection is motivated by a desire to provide the reader with a cross-section of work, one that not only highlights the peaks of achievement but also maps out a wider geography.9 In other words, I would like to communicate a representative understanding of how the New Typography was interpreted in Scandinavia, to discuss both the good and the bad, the workaday and the exceptional. The examples included are therefore not just a collection of so-called gourmet objects.10 Moreover, the selection acknowledges that the New Typography did not maintain a unified expression or purpose, but changed from practitioner to practitioner, over time and between contexts. Instead of a singular New Typography one may, as Patrick Rössler has, talk of multiple New Typographies.11 If categories are to be applied, the examples featured in this book can be said to fall into three kinds. The first is populated by the ‘wild’ versions created by poets and artists in the pursuit of new expressions, in some cases as part of a utopian political project. Examples may include Filippo Tommaso Marinetti’s (1876–1944) Zang Tumb Tumb (1914) or El Lissitzky’s (1890–1941) About Two Squares (1922). The second category is populated by domesticated versions of work from the first category, adapted to suit different commercial practitioners. Examples include Tschichold’s ‘Elementare Typographie’ (Elemental Typography, 1925) or Alfred Tolmer’s (1876–1957) Mise en Page (Layout, 1931) and their faithful reinterpretations. In the third, one finds work which in turn reinterprets the second, sometimes completely, by bringing it yet closer to the values, aesthetics or methods of production associated with a particular practitioner’s culture. Work in this category includes Anders Billow’s (1890–1964) design of Carl Fries’ (1895–1982) book I Svenska Marker (In Swedish Fields, 1930) or Rasmussen’s design of his own Britisk Brugskunst (British Applied Art, 1933). Just as a large and diverse range of examples are discussed in order to paint a broadly conceived and nuanced picture of the New Typography in Scandinavia, the book relays views held by a number of different people representing a variety of different professional and cultural backgrounds. Whereas graphic design surveys tend to privilege the work and theories of the avant-garde,12 this book casts its net wider in order to present a nuanced picture of how and why different types of professionals and practitioners engaged with the New Typography: compositors, commercial artists, lay-out men, architects, artists and poets. These practitioners published their views in trade journals, giving rise to a debate

INTRODUCTION

3

on the New Typography which was particularly lively in the printing trade. Some even constructed their own manifestos or declarations. For instance, the Swedish master printer Hugo Lagerström (1873–1956) proposed a ‘modified form’ of the New Typography. The Danish compositors Viktor Peterson (unknown–1945) and Henry Thejls (1905–81) argued in favour of variations they called ‘constructive design’ and ‘plastic typography’. In Sweden, Billow published a set of nine points explaining how functionalism informed his book design practice. The views expressed by these and other figures have been sourced though a wideranging review of trade journals published during the 1920s, 1930s and 1940s. A glossary containing basic information on the most important of people and journals discussed in the book and suggestions for further reading have been included. It is hoped that this glossary will prove a useful resource to the reader, given that many of the names in this book will be unfamiliar to many.

Between centre and periphery As the history of design has evolved as an academic discipline, calls have been made to expand its focus from responses to modernity in Western Europe to include other concerns and describe other geographies.13 This has in turn led the Eurocentric assumption of modern design diffusing outwards from centre to periphery, from Europe to the rest of the world, to be challenged.14 Seeking to nuance the simplistic binary relationship of centre and periphery, historians have proposed more nuanced models. Guy Julier suggested the idea of a semiperiphery in which countries may interact with or create their own centres.15 In an influential article, Anna Calvera developed Julier’s ideas further and coupled them with the idea of polycentric narratives borrowed from the field of cultural geography to create a structure where ‘the geography of design becomes a crossroads, a puzzle of relationships and exchanges’.16 This book is a response to such calls for an expanded history of design. While Scandinavia is positioned geographically close to centres like London, Paris and Berlin when seen from a global perspective, it is also located on the northern periphery of the European continent. Perhaps as a result of this relative closeness and distance, Scandinavia’s relationship to mainstream narratives of modern architecture, art, design and literature can be seen to fluctuate. As Charlotte Ashby notes in her history Modernism in Scandinavia (2017), the Nordic countries can be seen as being either ‘very close’ or ‘very far’ from the centre depending on the period and field in question.17 In the field of avant-garde studies, Hubert van den Berg has touched upon some of the difficulties in writing about individuals through the lens of a national history. Borders can change and nations can emerge or disappear. People don’t always work where they were born and often don’t remain in the same place

4The New Typography in Scandinavia

throughout their careers.18 Seizing on Kurt Schwitters’ (1887–1948) use of the term ‘übernationalitet’, by which one should understand a total disregard for and transcendence of nationality, van den Berg argues that the practice of writing art history within national frameworks has hindered our understanding of the avantgarde’s supranationality, the very quality which allowed it to exchange styles, texts and ideas so rapidly across borders.19 Drawing upon the rhizome, the image of thought informing the complex structure of Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari’s book Mille Plateaux (A Thousand Plateaus, 1987 [1980]), van den Berg considers the avant-garde to be a fluctuating, omni-directional, self-organizing and non-hierarchical malleable structure without an organized point of entry or exit.20 For van den Berg this structure, or network, is not a ‘“mere” historiographical projection’, but a tangible entity which can be mapped through ‘demonstrable data’ like the collaborations manifest in publications and exhibitions, the memberships of organizations, through correspondence and so on.21 Because the network is not defined by categories like the nation or the biography, he argues that its limits, or borders, can be found not only in places like Turkey or in the northernmost Norwegian county of Finnmark but also within metropolises like Berlin or Paris or Moscow. Its limits can also follow differences between works of art and can even be found within the careers of individual artists.22 Noting that certain parts of the network may be said to be tightly linked, while others barely connected as a result of their different outlooks or long communication lines, van den Berg demonstrates that he does not reject the importance of artistic hubs. Nor does he dispute that practitioners and groups operating in the parts of the network with few nodes and connections may have experienced a degree of isolation. The purpose of viewing the avant-garde as a network is not to deny the importance of such factors. Instead, it is to offer a way of thinking about how actors interact without subscribing to the notion that knowledge, ideas, styles radiate from centre to periphery and which thereby acknowledges the agency held by those operating in the latter territories.

Domestication networks In thinking about how ideas and styles and styles associated with the New Typography spread around the network I have made use of domestication theory. Domestication emerged during the early 1990s in science and technology studies as an alternative to diffusion, which up until then had been the most prominent theory explaining how innovations are communicated over time to participants in a social system.23 According to Everett M. Rogers’s The Diffusion of Innovations (2003 [1962]), social systems are composed of five different adopter types who as part of an ‘innovation-decision process’ have the choice between adopting or

INTRODUCTION

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rejecting the innovation in question. The adopter types, named innovators, early adopters, early majority, late majority and laggards, are classified on a sliding scale of innovativeness ranging from ‘venturesome’ to ‘traditional’.24 A problem with diffusion is that the activity of innovation seems to take place outside and independently of the social system described. The adopters’ role in the process, no matter how venturesome their type, is ultimately passive, in that their only options are to adopt or reject the innovation in question. When applied to history, this dynamic becomes deeply problematic. As J. M. Blaut has observed, the logic of diffusionism creates and reinforces a Eurocentric world view of centre and periphery where the centre is forever active and the periphery always passive.25 In histories of design this dynamic becomes particularly troublesome when applied to modernism, because the avant-garde’s pursuit of originality easily renders them histories of innovation. Stubborn art historical notions of ‘influence’ and the ‘derivative’ serve to maintain the avant-garde’s position in the centre.26 As a result, authors like Jeff Werner have questioned the usefulness of transposing international narratives of modernism to the periphery, claiming it inevitably leaves the modernist work of the province looking ‘like a pale cousin from the countryside’.27 Rather than abandoning examinations of modernism in the periphery, however, it may be fruitful to follow science and technology studies in shifting attention from innovation to use. David Edgerton has argued that this shift has the power to radically reconfigure the history of technology, as it would not only disrupt notions of technological time as mapped onto innovation-based timelines but also alter perceptions of what the most important technologies have been. It would significantly expand the history of technology’s geography from a few select locales and assume a truly global focus.28 It is in thinking about use that scholars in science and technology studies have developed a theory of domestication as an alternative to diffusion. Taking its cue from Bruno Latour’s call to look inside the black box of technology, domestication builds on theories of consumption and everyday life.29 Drawing on the metaphor of taming wild animals, it proposes that consumption is not passive, but an active and creative process, in which users adapt and modify technologies in accordance with their needs, abilities, preferences and circumstances – whether these be practical, social or emotional. Significantly, it is not only the technology or product which changes as a result of this process, but also the user’s own behaviour, feelings, attitudes and environment. As Roger Silverstone, one of the theory’s originators, puts it: ‘Domestication is practice. It involves human agency. It requires effort and culture, and leaves nothing as it is.’30 Originally limited to studies of the household environment, domestication was soon applied to the wider field of everyday life.31 Kjetil Fallan then argued for domestication’s use as a design historical method, and then to study not only products, objects and technologies but also theories, systems, beliefs and ideas.32

6The New Typography in Scandinavia

Domestication has also previously been used to describe the printing trade’s engagement with the New Typography. In Neuer Blick Auf Die Neue Typographie (A New View of the New Typography, 2015), Julia Meer uses this term to describe how the German printing trade actively adopted and modified the New Typography. In doing so, she seeks to criticize those histories which afford the avant-garde a disproportionate amount of attention, and which, more problematically, uncritically reproduce the historical narratives put forward by the avant-gardists themselves.33 While the work and writings of the avant-garde were certainly of great significance, Meer argues their persuasive power alone cannot explain why the German trade chose to engage with the New Typography. Nor could the avant-garde control how the New Typography was interpreted by the trade. To this discussion it should be added that although domestication theory is relatively recent, historians have long been aware of how objects and ideas change through use and between contexts.34 The terms ‘human’ or ‘humanization’ are often used to refer to Scandinavian modernism,35 although terms like ‘synthesis’ and ‘cultivated’ have also been used.36 Occasionally, the term ‘domestication’ has been used as a synonym to taming of the modern, to describe designs associated with the home, or a combination of the two. Writing about American architecture from the 1920s to the 1950s, William H. Jordy understood domestication as the modern movement’s shifting concern ‘from the modern house to the modern house’, a shift enabled by the modification of its early ‘mechanistic appearance’ with vernacular, folkish and regional features. Building on Jordy’s ideas, Jeffrey Meikle has developed what he has called a ‘tentative typology’ of how modernism was domesticated in the United States.37 This consisted of three ‘modes’, or tactics. The first was to place modernity ‘in a historical continuum linking past, present, and future’, allowing it to be seen as part of a gradual evolution rather than a violent rupture.38 The second was to limit modernity to discrete zones, such as the modern city – outside of which the world would remain ‘timelessly whole and reassuringly traditional’.39 The third consisted of incorporating icons of modernism into one’s own environment, thereby neutralizing its threatening, unfamiliar aspects. While Meikle’s typology was developed independently of the work undertaken on domestication in science and technology studies, I believe the two perspectives are similar enough to be used alongside each other.

Framework In line with the considerations around centres, peripheries and domestication networks outlined previously, this book is framed not so much by geography or by national boundaries as by language. The mutual intelligibility of the Scandinavian languages allowed trade literature written in Danish, Swedish or Norwegian

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to be read by Danes, Swedes and Norwegians alike. This mutual intelligibility also enabled pan-Scandinavian initiatives like the compositors’ journal Grafisk Revy (Graphic Review, 1930–6) which published articles in any of the three languages without parallel translation. With this said, differences between the three countries of course remain. My use of the term ‘Scandinavia’ does not suggest the presence of a single homogenous entity.40 What I do claim is that a Scandinavian community of knowledge, enabled by similarities of language and professional culture, existed during this period. Throughout this book I will argue that the New Typography was not simply adopted or rejected in Scandinavia but was actively modified in order to gain acceptance and use. For compositors in particular, the formal language described in Tschichold’s ‘Elementare Typographie’ provided a key point of departure for this process. Tschichold’s text, which is discussed in detail in Chapter 2, provided a link between the New Typography of the avant-garde and that of the printing trade. In the advertising trade, the books Modern Publicity 1930 (1930) and Mise en Page performed a similar function. However, whereas Tschichold’s focus was on constructivism, the focus of the two advertising books was primarily on cubism and art deco. These publications can be described as occupying structural holes. In social network theory, structural holes are described as nodes connecting otherwise separate parts of a network.41 Without these nodes, information would not be able to flow from one part to another of what would otherwise be separate networks.

Structure The book begins by tracing the New Typography’s roots before moving on to a discussion of how the New Typography was domesticated in Scandinavia through a multifaceted set of processes grouped into chapters titled Modification, Compartmentalization, Realignment and Isolation. These four processes relate to the modes described by Meikle. Modification and Realignment put the New Typography into a historical continuum. Modification inserted it into the printing trade’s long-standing educational project of heightening the trade and Realignment redefined functionalism according commonsensical and traditional notions of function in typography. Compartmentalization and Isolation served to limit the New Typography, or aspects of it, to the discreet zones of advertising and cultures of the political left. The four processes are in turn grouped two by two into the Parts ‘Printing and Advertising Cultures’ and ‘Printing in Society’. The former looks at how the New Typography was taken up and affected the work of printers, commercial artists and lay-out men and the latter discusses how the work created by these professionals related to design and political cultures of 1930s Scandinavia. Before concluding, the book also contains a short chapter

8The New Typography in Scandinavia

on how the New Typography was ultimately assimilated by mainstream printing practice during the Second World War. Chapter 1 ‘Origins and networks’ shows how the New Typography emerged from work created by a number of avant-garde groups during the 1910s and 1920s. Although these groups were spread across the European continent, they were connected through a network of personal connections, publications and locales. They shared an interest in creating new ways of reading and new visual languages, either as part of an artistic project or as part of efforts to create a new utopian society. Scandinavian avant-gardists formed part of this network and thereby made contributions to the New Typography’s development, notably through the Swedish painter Georg Pauli’s (1855–1935) art journal Flamman (The Flame, 1917–21) and publications issued by the New Student Society (Det Ny Studentersamfund, DNSS) in Copenhagen. Chapter 2 ‘Modification: The printing trade’s versions of the New Typography’ charts the New Typography’s transition from avant-garde to printing trade practice. It pays particular attention to the domestication efforts of the Educational Union of German Printers and to Tschichold’s ‘Elementare Typographie’ special issue. It then goes on to discuss the New Typography’s reception in Scandinavia and details its incorporation into the printing trade’s educational efforts. It looks at how it was taken up, modified and mediated through trade journal articles, trade school education and the activities hosted by educational societies. The chapter argues that the New Typography was domesticated in order to gain a competitive advantage over rival trades and that it was not simply adopted, but knowingly adapted to suit the abilities, needs and preferences of compositors and master printers. Chapter 3 ‘Compartmentalization: Cultures and practices of advertising’ expands on the former by widening its focus from the printing trade to include other professional groups who designed advertisements: commercial artists and lay-out men. In discussing how and why these groups reacted differently to New Typography, I look at how ideas of advertising differed between professional groups before examining how each was bound to particular methods and to hierarchies of production. The chapter argues that there were pronounced divisions between these different professional groups, and that the exchange of styles and ideas between them were limited even though they all produced printed advertisements. Instead, each group looked to developments within their own professions abroad, as communicated through a set of discrete international journal networks. Chapter 4 ‘Realignment: Functionalism as ideology, style and resistance’ examines how the New Typography interacted with functionalism, the dominant modernist current in 1930s Scandinavia. It considers the Stockholm Exhibition 1930’s role as commissioner and popularizer of functionalism in typography before moving on to look at how the popularized version of functionalism known as funkis was expressed in typography, and at the typographic expressions

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of the Danish response to functionalism, the functional tradition. I argue that functionalism and New Typography were initially seen as separate entities, but they soon meshed, giving rise to the label ‘functionalist typography’. The creation of this new term had a significant effect on the style’s further development as it enabled traditionalists to re-evaluate its merits against commonsensical notions of what was ‘genuinely’ functional in typography. Chapter 5 ‘Isolation: Future-people and rational consumers’ discusses the political associations of the New Typography and photomontage in Scandinavia. Because features like photomontage and kleinschreibung (writing small) did not gain widespread commercial use, it argues that they could be employed particularly effectively in a political context. The chapter discusses how the Swedish Cooperative Society and its advertising agency adopted a version of the New Typography which through its use of kleinschreibung was unique and particularly recognizable in a Swedish context, and how the Social Democratic parties’ youth and women’s groups made strategic use of photomontage in order to appeal to demographics which held more positive views of the Soviet Union than the population at large. Looking at publications associated with avant-gardists like the Danish painter Vilhelm Bjerke Petersen (1909–57), and the circles associated with the journals Spektrum (Spectrum, 1931–5) and Monde (The World, 1928–32), it argues that maintaining a discrete zone for ‘wild’ New Typography was dependent on controlling production, as materials created through a client–practitioner relationship with a printing house were subject to a domesticating influence. The book closes with a short chapter, Chapter 6, titled ‘Assimilation’. This chapter charts how the New Typography was eventually subsumed back into traditional printing practice during the Second World War. The way in which this happened varied according to the different experiences of war. Denmark and Norway both came under German occupation, but conditions in Denmark were not as severe as those in Norway. While further experimentation was therefore not possible in Norway, the New Typography was able to enjoy continued development in Denmark up until around 1943. Sweden remained neutral throughout the war. There the New Typography shed its formal features resulting in a style which like the new empiricism in architecture was guided by the idea of functionalism, but which took its visual cues from historical models.

Notes 1 Jan Tschichold. The New Typography (Berkeley, Los Angeles and London: University of California Press, 2006), p. 60. 2 Eckhard Neumann. Functional Graphic Design in the 20’s (New York: Reinhold, 1967); Herbert Spencer, Pioneers of Modern Typography (London: Lund Humphries, 1969).

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3 Josef Müller-Brockmann. History of Visual Communication (Teufen: Verlag Arthur Niggli, 1971); Philip B. Meggs. A History of Graphic Design (London: Allen Lane, 1983). 4 Kjetil Fallan, ed. Scandinavian Design: Alternative Histories (London and New York: Berg, 2012). 5 Some notable exceptions are: Lars Dybdahl. Dansk Design 1910–1945: Art Deco & Funktionalisme (København: Muséet, 1997); Lars Dybdahl. Dansk Design 19451975: Produktdesign, Grafisk Design, Møbeldesign (København: Borgen, 2006); Hedvig Hedqvist. 1900-2002: Svensk form, Internationell Design (Stockholm: Bokförlaget DN, 2002); Fredrik Wildhagen. Norge i form: Kunsthåndverk og design under industrikulturen (Oslo: J. M. Stenersens Forlag, 1988). The latter title has been reissued with new photography as Fredrik Wildhagen. Formgitt i Norge (Unipub, 2012). 6 New Typography is discussed briefly in Lasse Brunnström’s Swedish Design: A History (London: Bloomsbury Visual Arts, 2018). 7 Torbjørn Eng. ‘“Den nye typografiens” gjennombrudd i Norge’ – 1. Typografi i en revolusjonær tid. Norsk grafia 123, no. 2 (1998): pp. 28–30; ‘“Den nye typografiens” gjennombrudd i Norge’ – 2. Arthur Nelson og bladet Norsk trykk’. Norsk grafia 123, no. 3 (1998): pp. 12–13; Magdalena Gram, ‘När typografin blev “modern”: Om modernismens genombrott i svensk typografi’. Biblis 34 (2006): pp. 51–63; Eli Reimer. ‘Asymmetrisk typografi: Lidt om udviklingen af den asymmetriske formlære’, in Grafisk aarbog, ed. Charles Moegreen, Henry Nielsen and Eli Reimer (København: Dansk typograf-forbund, 1951), pp. 42–81. 8 Some English-language titles admittedly touch on the New Typography as part of larger discussions. See: Erik Dal. Scandinavian Bookmaking in the Twentieth Century (Copenhagen: Christian Ejlers, 1968); Marie-Louise Bowallius. ‘Tradition and Innovation in Swedish Graphic Design 1910-1950’, in Utopia & Reality: Modernity in Sweden 1900–1960, ed. Cecilia Widenheim (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2002), pp. 212–27. 9 John A. Walker. Design History and the History of Design (London: Pluto, 1989), p. 63. 10 Kjetil Fallan. Design History: Understanding Theory and Method (Oxford and New York: Berg, 2010), p. 99. 11 Patrick Rössler. New Typographies: Bauhaus & Beyond. 100 Years Functional Graphic Design in Germany (Göttingen: Wallstein Verlag, 2018). 12 The following privilege discussions of avant-garde work over how the New Typography was applied commercially beyond Jan Tschichold’s publications: Richard Hollis. Graphic Design: A Concise History (London: Thames & Hudson, 1994); Roxane Jubert. Typography and Graphic Design: From Antiquity to the Present (Paris: Flammarion, 2006); Stephen Eskilson. Graphic Design: A New History (London: Laurence King Publishing, 2007); Johanna Drucker and Emily McVarish. Graphic Design History: A Critical Guide (Upper Saddle River: Pearson Prentice Hall, 2008); Patrick Cramsie. The Story of Graphic Design: From the Invention of Writing to the Birth of Digital Design (New York: Abrams, 2010), Philip B. Meggs and Alston W. Purvis. Meggs’ History of Graphic Design. 6th edn (Hoboken: John Wiley & Sons, Inc., 2016). 13 Tony Fry. ‘A Geography of Power: Design History and Marginality’. Design Issues 6, no.1 (1989): pp. 15–30; Jonathan M. Woodham, ‘Local, National and Global:

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Redrawing the Design Historical Map’. Journal of Design History 18, no. 3 (2005): pp. 257–67; Sarah Teasley, Giorgio Riello and Glenn Adamson. ‘Introduction: Towards Global Design History’, in Global Design History, ed. Sarah Teasley, Giorgio Riello and Glenn Adamson (London: Routledge, 2011), pp. 1–10. 14 D. J. Huppatz. ‘Globalizing Design History and Global Design History’. Journal of Design History 28, no. 2 (2015): pp. 182–202. 15 Guy Julier. ‘Re-Drawing the Geography of European Design: The Case of Transitional Countries’. Design Culture. http:​/​/des​​igncu​​lture​​.info​​/revi​​ews​/A​​rticl​​eStas​​h​ /GJR​​eDraw​​​ing19​​97​.pd​f (Accessed 6 September 2017). 16 Anna Calvera. ‘Local, Regional, National, Global and Feedback’. Journal of Design History 18, no. 4 (2005): pp. 373, 375. 17 Charlotte Ashby. Modernism in Scandinavia: Art, Architecture and Design (London, Oxford, New York, New Delhi and Sydney: Bloomsbury Academic, 2017), p. 1. 18 Hubert van den Berg. ‘The Early Twentieth Century Avant-Garde and the Nordic Countries: An Introductory Tour d’horizon’, in A Cultural History of the Avant-Garde in the Nordic Countries 1900–1925, ed. Hubert van den Berg, Iremli Hautamäki, Benedikt Hjartarson, Torben Jelsbak, Rikard Schönström, Per Stoundberg, Tania Ørum and Dorthe Aagesen Dorthe (Amsterdam and New York: Rodopi, 2013), pp. 21–3. 19 Hubert van den Berg. ‘“Übernationalität” der Avantgarde – (Inter-)Nationalität der Forschung. Hinweis auf den internationalen Konstruktivismus in der europäischen Literatur und die Problematik ihrer literaturwissenschaftlichen Erfassung’, in Der Blick vom Wolkenkratzer: Avantgarde – Avantgardekritik – Avantgardeforschung, eds. Wolfgang Asholt and Walter Fähnders (Amsterdam and Atlanta: Brill and Rodopi, 2000), pp. 258–60. 20 For a description of the rhizome, see: Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari. A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia (London and New York: Continuum, 2003), pp. 7–13, 21–5. 21 Hubert van den Berg. ‘Mapping Old Traces of the New: Towards a Historical Topography of Early Twentieth-Century Avant-Garde(s) in the European Cultural Field(s)’. Arcadia – International Journal for Literary Studies 41, no. 2 (2007): p. 343. 22 Ibid., p. 347. 23 Roger Silverstone, Eric Hirsch and David Morley. ‘Information and Communication Technologies and the Moral of the Household’, in Consuming Technologies: Media and Information in Domestic Spaces, eds. Roger Silverstone and Eric Hirsch (London and New York: Routledge, 1992), pp. 15–31. 24 Everett M. Rogers. Diffusion of Innovations. 5th edn (New York, London, Toronto and Sydney: Free Press, 2003), pp. 282–5. 25 J. M. Blaut. The Colonizer’s Model of the World (New York: The Guilford Press, 1993), p. 1. 26 Jonathan Harris. Art History: The Key Concepts (London and New York: Routledge, 2006), pp. 161–3. 27 Jeff Werner. ‘Turnpikes and Blind Alleys: Modernism from the Perspective of the Provinces’, in Utopia & Reality: Modernity in Sweden 1900-1960, ed. Cecilia Widenheim (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2002), p. 99.

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28 David Edgerton, The Shock of the Old: Technology and Global History Since 1900 (London: Profile Books, 2006), pp. ix–xi. 29 For domestication’s theoretical roots, see Leslie Haddon. ‘Domestication Analysis, Objects of Study, and the Centrality of Technologies in Everyday Life’. Canadian Journal of Communication 36, no. 2 (2011): pp. 311–23; Roger Silverstone. ‘Domesticating Domestication: Reflections of the Life of a Concept’, in Domestication of Media and Technology, eds. Thomas Berker, Maren Hartmann, Yves Punie and Katie J. Ward (Maidenhead: Open University Press, 2006), pp. 229–48. Key points of departure include: Jean Baudrillard. ‘Consumer Society’, in Selected Writings, ed. Mark Poster (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1988), pp. 29–56; Michel de Certeau. The Practice of Everyday Life (Berkeley, Los Angeles and London: University of California Press, 1984); Mary Douglas and Baron Isherwood. The World of Goods: Towards an Anthropology of Consumption (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1980); Bruno Latour. Science in Action (Milton Keynes: Open University Press, 1987); Daniel Miller. Material Culture and Mass Consumption (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1987). 30 Silverstone. ‘Domesticating Domestication’, p. 231. 31 Merete Lie and Knut H. Sørensen. ‘Making Technology Our Own? Domesticating Technology into Everyday Life’, in Making Technology Our Own? Domesticating Technology into Everyday Life, eds. Merete Lie and Knut H. Sørensen (Oslo, Stockholm, Copenhagen, Oxford and Boston: Scandinavian University Press, 1996), p. 13. 32 Fallan. Design History, p. 99. 33 Julia Meer. Neuer Blick auf die Neue Typographie: Die Rezeption der Avantgarde in der Fachwelt der 1920er Jahre (Bielefeld: Transcript Verlag, 2015), pp. 9–11, 68–79. 34 Kjetil Fallan. ‘Modern Transformed: The Domestication of Industrial Design Culture in Norway, ca. 1940–1970’ (PhD thesis, Norwegian University of Science and Technology, 2007), p. 130. 35 For an early instance, see: Elizabeth Mock, ed. Built in USA 1932–1944 (New York: The Museum of Modern Art, 1944), pp. 13, 20. 36 Wenche Findal. Mellom tradisjon og modernitet: Ove Bang og den funksjonelle syntese (Oslo: Scandinavian University Press / Universitetsforlaget, 1998); Peter Luthersson. Svensk litterär modernism: En stridsstudie (Stockholm: Atlantis, 2002); p. 208. 37 Jeffrey L. Meikle. ‘Domesticating Modernity: Ambivalence and Appropriation, 1920-40’, in Designing Modernity: The Arts of Reform and Persuasion 1885–1945, ed. Wendy Kaplan (New York: Thames and Hudson, 1995), p. 165. 38 Ibid., 143–4. 39 Ibid. 40 Critical accounts of Scandinavian Design have been putting the very term ‘Scandinavia’ under scrutiny for over a decade, arguing that was primarily a convenient umbrella term used to market Danish, Finnish, Icelandic, Norwegian and Swedish products in foreign markets and only to a lesser degree referred to a unified design culture. See, for instance: Kevin Davies. ‘Marketing Ploy or Democratic Ideal?’ in Scandinavian Design Beyond the Myth: Fifty Years of

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Design from the Nordic Countries, eds. Widar Halén, Widar and Kerstin Wickman (Stockholm: Arvinius Förlag, 2006), pp. 101–10. Perhaps as a reflection of this, it has been observed that more academically rigorous work tends to be written within the national category, whereas the pan-Scandinavian category tends to be populated by coffee table books or catalogues of a promotional or mythologizing nature. See: Kjetil Fallan, Anders V. Munch, Pekka Korvenmaa, Espen Johnsen, Sara Kristofferson and Christiana Zetterlund. ‘A Historiography of Scandinavian Design’, in Scandinavian Design: Alternative Histories, ed. Kjetil Fallan (London and New York: Berg, 2012), pp. 13, 16. 41 Charles Kadushin. Understanding Social Networks: Theories, Concepts and Findings (New York: Oxford University Press, 2012), pp. 29–30.

1 ORIGINS AND NETWORKS

The New Typography developed out of experiments carried out by a small number of avant-garde poets and artists in the 1910s and 1920s. Although the term is perhaps most closely associated with Jan Tschichold’s Die Neue Typographie, it was coined by László Moholy-Nagy (1895–1946) in a short text published in the catalogue for the first Bauhaus exhibition in Weimar in 1923. In order to gain an appreciation of how the New Typography is usually understood, the following traces its origins in avant-garde poetry and painting. Before discussing MoholyNagy’s definition, it therefore looks at how the futurist notion of words-in-freedom was interpreted in typography and how this reverberated in the simultaneous poetry of Guillaume Apollinaire (1880–1918) and in the seemingly unstructured, explosive compositions of Dada. It also examines how the New Typography adopted formal means from the ‘objective’ art practised by the De Stijl group and the suprematists, and how constructivism lent it utilitarian purpose and utopian vision. As stated in the introduction, the avant-garde can be seen as a network. Although limited in number and distributed across the European continent, individual nodes were connected through personal encounters, correspondence and through the publication and exchange of journals. Scandinavian practitioners also played a role in this exchange, notably through the Swedish painter Georg Pauli’s journal Flamman and the publications issued by the New Student Society in Copenhagen, active between the years 1922 and 1924. The second part of this chapter examines Flamman and the New Student Society’s publications’ status as nodes in the avant-garde network and discusses their contribution to the New Typography.

Origins of the New Typography The starting point for the extraordinary decade of experimentation with the printed word which ultimately gave rise to the New Typography can be found in

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the work of Filippo Tommaso Marinetti and the Italian futurists. In the ‘Manifesto of Futurism’, published on the front page of the Parisian newspaper Le Figaro in 1909, Marinetti proposed a programme which celebrated speed, dynamism and war, and which set out to destroy the stifling influence of tradition.1 Seeking to distance himself from his symbolist roots, Marinetti developed a poetic programme which radically broke with linguistic and typographic conventions in order to liberate the expressive potential of language. Syntax was to be destroyed, verbs were to be used only in the infinitive, adjectives, adverbs, punctuation and ‘the “I” in literature’ were all to be abolished. Nouns should be doubled up one after another and images or analogies distributed with ‘a maximum of disorder’.2 The traditional smooth grey pages of the printed book also came under attack. In a manifesto titled ‘Destruction of Syntax – Wireless Imagination – Words-inFreedom’ (1913) Marinetti promised a typographical revolution: My revolution is aimed at the so-called typographical harmony of the page, which is contrary to the flux and reflux, the leaps and bursts of style that run through the page itself. For that reason we will use, in the very same page, three or four colors of ink, or even twenty typefaces if necessary. For example: italics for a series of swift or similar sensations, boldface for the violent onomatopoeias, etc. The typographical revolution and the multicolored variety in the letters I mean I can double the expressive force of words.3 Shortly thereafter, Marinetti put his ideas of a typographical revolution into practice. The book-length poem Zang Tumb Tumb described the siege of Adrianople which he had witnessed as a reporter during the First Balkan War. On the front cover, onomatopoetic interpretations of the sounds of war were integrated into a dynamic typographic composition (Figure 1.1). Words were set in a number of different typefaces, sizes and angles to convey the cacophony and chaos of battle. For instance, a mechanically repetitive ‘tuuumb tuuuum tuuuum tuuuum’ rose from the bottom right-hand corner like bullets flying through the air. The title itself referenced a shell flying through the air (Zang) and its echoing impact (Tumb Tumb). This onomatopoetic typographic approach continued throughout the book’s 159 pages.

The international spread of words-in-freedom The idea of words-in-freedom had a significant impact on avant-garde artists and poets all over Europe. In Paris, Guillaume Apollinaire, whose poetry already made use of appropriated words and phrases in the manner of cubist collage, was moved to consider his poetry’s visual form. Although Apollinaire later developed his own approach to visual poetry by resurrecting the ancient art of picture poem, as made famous in his Calligrammes (1918), the early visual

16The New Typography in Scandinavia

Figure 1.1  F. T. Marinetti: Front cover of Zang Tumb Tumb (1914) © The British Library Board (12331.f.57, front binding). Photograph by the British Library. Item held by the British Library.

poem ‘Lettre-Océan’ (1914) clearly shows a futurist influence (Figure 1.2). The poem’s title referred to a particular kind of message sent by telegraph from ship to ship across the ocean. The telegraphic theme was further emphasized by the inclusion of the acronym ‘TSF’, placed prominently near the centre of the composition. Standing for Transmission Sans Fil, or wireless transmission, this was, as Johanna Drucker has suggested, a nod to Marinetti’s idea of the wireless imagination.4 The visual composition certainly broke with the traditional ideal of the smooth grey page. All the different elements were meant to be taken in simultaneously, rather than in a particular order. To achieve this, text was placed

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Figure 1.2  Guillaume Apollinaire: ‘Lettre-Océan’. Published in Les Soirées de Paris no. 25 (1914): 340–1. Photograph by Bibliothèque nationale de France. Item held by Bibliothèque nationale de France.

according to a schematic logic rather than the conventions of linear top-to-bottom, left-to-right reading. Selected words and phrases, like ‘Mayas’ and ‘mon frère Albert’, were highlighted through the use of bold typefaces. This allowed them to compete for attention with two striking circular devices, the larger of which is meant to depict the Eiffel tower seen from above. Less immediately noticeable elements included a series of wavy rules used to represent water. The text was primarily constructed from fragments of correspondence between Apollinaire in Paris and his brother Albert in Mexico, to which Apollinaire added pieces of onomatopoeia and other elements in order to evoke the two brothers’ physical surroundings.5 Words-in-freedom also informed the typographic work of the Dadaists in Zurich. In the ‘Dada Manifesto 1918’, Tristan Tzara (1896–1963) called for a literature in which ‘every page must explode’.6 This explosive force was reflected in his typographic design. In the third issue of the group’s journal Dada (1917–21), words and phrases were scattered across the page at various angles. Poems and articles were set in a wide variety of typefaces, sizes and alignments giving

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the journal the appearance of having been assembled from multiple sources. Text and illustrations were placed seemingly without adherence to any underlying structure. This gave them the appearance of floating haphazardly around on the sheet. In Germany, Dada found expression in the typographic work of Kurt Schwitters in Hanover and figures like Raoul Hausmann (1886–1971) and John Heartfield (1891–1968) in Berlin. In Die Neue Typographie Jan Tschichold singled out Heartfield’s design for the broadsheet Neue Jugend (New Youth, 1917) as ‘one of the earliest and most significant documents of the New Typography’. According to Tschichold, Neue Jugend was significant because it was the first time a number of formal features associated with the New Typography were used alongside one another. Dynamic typographic contrasts in size, form and colour were used alongside photography, and ‘all kinds of type’ were set at ‘all sorts of angles’.7

An abstract language of form The New Typography also drew upon principles of abstract art and on publications designed by abstract artists. The Dutch De Stijl group used sansserif typefaces and asymmetric layouts for their self-titled journal from the fourth volume onwards in 1921. Bold, plain rules were used structurally but sparingly on back covers and on smaller items like post cards and mailing wrappers. In Russia, suprematism, the extreme form of abstraction introduced by Kazimir Malevich (1879–1935) with works like ‘Black Square’ and ‘Aeroplane Flying’ (both 1915), informed the active use of abstract shapes in El Lissitzky’s graphic work, such as the propaganda poster ‘Beat the Whites With the Red Wedge’ (1919), and the children’s book About Two Squares which bore the subtitle A Suprematist Tale. The New Typography was particularly closely associated with constructivism, so much so that it was sometimes referred to as constructivist typography.8 The term ‘constructivism’ can be traced back to the First Working Group of Constructivists, founded in 1921 by artists Alexander Rodchenko (1891–1956), Varvara Stepanova (1894–1958) and others including the writer and critic Alexei Gan (1887–1942). The October Revolution of 1917 led Russian avantgardists to call for all aspects of life, including morals, philosophy and art, to be recreated according to communist principles. Recasting culture in this way, and thereby freeing it from bourgeois influence, was considered necessary to further the revolution and thereby successfully create a new society populated by a new kind of human.9 Following such sentiments, the First Working Group of Constructivists declared that their task was to find ‘the communistic expression of material structures’.10 Creating art removed from life was now unacceptable and rejected as part of the old, individualistic culture. Instead of engaging in

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such ‘laboratory work’, artists should enter the factories where they could create useful objects of material value to the new society. In time, the call to enter the factories led a number of the group’s members to work on graphic materials like posters, journals and books. Photomontage and photography were quickly established as important characteristics of constructivist graphic design. In Russia, photomontage was pioneered by Gustav Klutsis (1895–1938), who used the technique in the design of propaganda posters. For Klutsis, the photomontage was an overtly political form of agitprop art, uniquely suited to communist society. By combining photographs with slogans, colour and graphic devices, it was possible to achieve a power of expression that was unsurpassed by any other media, apart from cinema. This expressive force relied on the photograph’s particular properties as Klutsis saw them. Not only was the photograph able to depict reality in ‘a manner more truthful, more lifelike, more comprehensible to the masses’ than a hand drawing ever could, but it was also able to do so with absolute precision, capturing moments as visual facts.11 For Rodchenko, the photograph held even greater promise. By taking photographs from totally unexpected viewpoints and positions, the camera’s mechanical eye could be used to strip away painterly notions of perspective. The camera therefore held the potential to revolutionize how the public viewed and experienced their environment.12

Constructivism in Germany Interest in constructivism soon spread westward from Russia. Lissitzky played a crucial role in this process. In 1922, he travelled to Germany, where he positioned himself as a leading spokesman for new Russian art. In Berlin, he published the short-lived journal Veshch/Gegenstand/Objet (Object) with Ilya Ehrenburg (1891–1967) and was involved in arranging the First Russian Art Exhibition at the Van Diemen Gallery, where constructivist art was introduced to a Western audience for the first time. Lissitzky also participated in two important gatherings of avant-garde artists, the Congress of International Progressive Artists in Düsseldorf and the International Congress of Constructivists and Dadaists in Weimar. In Düsseldorf, he co-founded a loose group named the International Faction of Constructivists with Theo van Doesburg (1883–1931) and the abstract film maker Hans Richter (1888–1976). Although Lissitzky thereby appropriated the term ‘constructivism’, he retained his affinity with suprematism. As a result, what came to be considered constructivism in Germany was in fact a hybrid form which combined the visual language of both directions, and in which the revolutionary fervour of the First Working Group of Constructivists was replaced with a more vaguely utopian socialist ideal.13 Lissitzky’s cover design for the First Russian Art Exhibition’s catalogue shows how international constructivism could be expressed in typography (Figure 1.3).

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Figure 1.3  El Lissitzky: Front cover of Erste Russische Kunstausstellung (1922) © The British Library Board (Cup.410.f.119). Photograph by the British Library. Item held by the British Library.

Compared to later works of New Typography, it showed little interest in communicating a message efficiently, and more of an interest in exploring an abstract language of form. Black and grey ink was used in conjunction with the buff unprinted paper surface to construct the appearance of a three-dimensional space. This was in accordance with Lissitzky’s furthering of suprematism, the proun.14 While the use of colour and form lent the composition dynamism and depth, it worked against the rapid transmission of the text. This is particularly evident in the lettering of the word ‘kunst’. Readability was hampered by the application of an unusual K and elongated T and by using alternating colours for each letter, thereby breaking the word up into a set of discrete visual elements.

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The year after Lissitzky introduced constructivism to the avant-garde, László Moholy-Nagy made no lesser a contribution to the New Typography’s development when he championed its uptake at the Bauhaus. Moholy-Nagy, who was associated with Lajos Kassák’s (1887–1967) MA group, had arrived in Berlin from Vienna in 1920 and had become acquainted with constructivism in the German capital. When he was appointed head of the preliminary course in Weimar in 1923, one of his first tasks was overseeing the design of graphic materials for the upcoming First Bauhaus Exhibition which ran from July to September that year. Moholy-Nagy designed the exhibition’s catalogue and commissioned Herbert Bayer (1900–85), then still a student at the Bauhaus, to design the cover. The catalogue contained a number of texts, including one where Moholy-Nagy introduced the term ‘the New Typography’ and sought to define its principles.

Figure 1.4  László Moholy-Nagy: Title page for Staatliches Bauhaus in Weimar, 1919– 1923 (1923). SLUB Dresden, digital​.slub​-dresden​.de​/id477145​469/5 (CC-BY-SA 4.0).

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Here, the New Typography was defined as a ‘simultaneous experience of vision and communication’, in which photography, ‘the new storytelling device of civilization’, was to be combined with new typefaces and brilliant use of colour.15 Clarity and legibility were emphasized as fundamental concerns, and he stressed that formal considerations should not take precedence over the needs of the text: ‘Communication must never be impaired by an a priori aesthetics.’16 While this formulation, and the preference for photographic illustration, reflected constructivist ideals of objectivity and utility, Moholy-Nagy’s formulation of the New Typography retained an aesthetic and expressive dimension. Echoing Marinetti, he encouraged the use of all typefaces, sizes, geometric forms and colours – to be printed uninhibitedly in all directions – in order to arrive at ‘a new language of typography whose elasticity, variability and freshness of typographic composition is exclusively dictated by the inner law of expression and the optical effect’.17 In practice, Moholy-Nagy’s typography was more restrained than the reference to uninhibited use of formal means would suggest. On the title page for the First Bauhaus Exhibition’s catalogue, for instance, type was organized vertically and horizontally, forming a diagonal herringbone pattern (Figure 1.4). The application of colour and form was measured, and clearly intended to support a hierarchy of reading. The word ‘Bauhaus’ was emphasized as the most important element on the page through the use of red in an otherwise monochrome composition and the oversized initial B. Because a linear hatching has been applied to the words ‘Staatliches’ and ‘Weimar’, allowing them to recede into the background, the eye then moves to the dates 1919 and 1923 before finally ending on the publisher’s information at the bottom of the page.

Scandinavian nodes in the avant-garde network One reason futurism was able to spread so rapidly across Europe was its dissemination through the daily press. In publishing his ‘Manifesto of Futurism’, Marinetti used his friendship with Le Figaro stockholder Mohammad El Rashi Pasha to ensure it received prominent placement on the top left of the Parisian newspaper’s front page. This ensured that the heading ‘Le Futurism’ was the first item the reader would see. Marinetti supposedly also delayed the manifesto’s publication from December 1908 to February 1909 to avoid it competing for attention with a major earthquake that was dominating the headlines, thereby maximizing his chances of creating a news event.18 These careful preparations ensured that the manifesto subsequently spread through newspapers all around Europe. For instance, as if echoing the futurist idolization of speed, readers of

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Svenska Dagbladet (The Swedish Daily Paper) were able to read a Swedish translation of the Manifesto of Futurism on the morning of 24 February 1909, only four days after its publication in Le Figaro.19 Arndt Niebisch has argued that the avant-garde used newspapers actively to spread their ideas. The continuous production of manifestos corresponded to the newspapers’ need to generate news at a frequent rate and the often outrageous futurist evenings, or serate futuriste, were used strategically by Marinetti to target press attention in what can be seen as part of a European-wide advertising campaign for the movement.20 Indeed, as Peter Luthersson notes, the Swedish daily press contained several reports of futurist events ending with fist fights, ladies fainting, vegetables thrown and intervention from the police.21 Although such reports did little to spread understanding of futurist art and poetry, they nevertheless spread awareness of futurism among a large part of the populace. More in-depth knowledge could be acquired from the many journals published by the avant-gardists themselves. As detailed in the introduction, these formed an important part of the international avant-garde network. By using a term like ‘network’, it may seem as if I am adopting a recent perspective. However, it should be noted that the avant-gardists themselves also considered their journals to form a network. For instance, the Polish constructivist and New Typographer Henryk Berlewi (1894–1967) wrote that ‘a worldwide network of periodicals has appeared, propagating and arguing for new ideas and new forms’.22 The idea of a network was reinforced by the practice, initiated by Lajos Kassák’s journal MA (1916–26) in October 1922, of including a page listing other like-minded journals. Hubert van den Berg has pointed to a lesser known, but equally instructive instance. When the Belgian avant-garde journal Het Overzicht (The Survey, 1921–25) presented a list of nineteen journals published in eleven different cities, nine different countries and three different continents, they were titled ‘Het netwerk’ (The network).23 Significantly, the editors chose to include the closing remark ‘etc etc’.24 In other words, they acknowledged that the network itself was ever-changing and that it extended far beyond the journals, editors and places of publications listed. Reflecting on why the avant-garde journal network came into existence in the first place, the Italian art historian Maurizio Scudiero has pointed to their need to exchange resources like texts and stereotypes. Scudiero argues that this exchange enabled the avant-garde to spread from metropolises like Berlin, Moscow, Paris and Vienna to smaller towns and centres across Europe.25 While he particularly emphasizes the spread of the avant-garde journal network to Southern Europe and the newly independent nations of Poland, Czechoslovakia and Yugoslavia, the network also extended to Scandinavia. Some of these journals showed interest in typographic experimentation. The most important of these were the Swedish painter Georg Pauli’s Flamman and the polemical newspaper Pressen (The Press, 1923–24), published by the New Student

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Society in Copenhagen. No similar efforts were launched in Norway. However, the Norwegian painter Per Krogh (1889–1965) did publish pieces experimenting with lettering and typography in Flamman, as well as in the Swedish-based futurist Arturo Ciacelli’s (1883–1966) short-lived Ny Konst (New Art, 1915) and in the Danish Klingen (The Blade, 1917–20).26

Georg Pauli’s Flamman Flamman was an art journal primarily intended to bring developments from the Parisian avant-garde to the attention of a Swedish readership. The journal’s editor Georg Pauli had lived in Paris between 1911 and 1914 in order to learn the newest developments in modern art. While in the French capital, Pauli made friends in avant-garde circles and became interested in cubism.27 Although the journal was printed in Swedish, it was available for purchase in France and Germany, through André Lhote (1885–1962) in Paris, Neue Kunst in Munich and Herwarth Walden’s (1879–1941) Der Sturm in Berlin. Flamman’s design was closely and consciously modelled on Amedée Ozenfant’s (1886–1966) journal L´Élan (1915–16). In January 1916, Pauli met with Ozenfant in order to gain permission to reprint texts from L’Élan and to reuse its old stereotypes.28 When he described his future journal later that year, he wrote: ‘A size like that of L’Élan, paper and printing more or less the same.’29 When the first issue of Flamman appeared it was indeed in the same format as L’Élan (300 × 250 mm). Another striking similarity was that the titles of both journals were consistently set in lower-case: l’élan and flamman. Pauli edited Flamman under the motto ‘the art journal should be an artistic gesture’. This stance extended to the journal’s typography for which Pauli promised an eclectic programme. He vowed not only to present ‘new tendencies’ but also to mix these with styles that were already part of the public consciousness.30 Because Flamman was not ‘a book of average type’, with its uniformly designed smooth grey pages, its typography should be judged using completely different measures.31 Once again, L’Élan provided a model to emulate. Its last issues contained typographic experiments Ozenfant labelled ‘psychotype’ and ‘typometrics’. As Ozenfant explained by quoting the writer André Billy (1882–1971), psychotype was ‘an art that consists in making the typographical characters participate in the expression of thought and painting of various moods, no longer as conventional signs, but as signs with their own significance’.32 In his Mémoires (1968) Ozenfant expanded on how he interpreted Billy’s statement. The art of psychotype consisted of choosing typefaces which were able to confirm or strengthen the meaning of a text through their size and shape. Although Ozenfant considered his work to be a continuation of previous typographic

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experiments carried out by the Rétif de la Bretonne (Nicolas-Edme Rétif, 1734– 1806), Mallarmé and Apollinaire, he considered his own approach to be more ambitious. He was particularly dismissive of his contemporary Apollinaire, whom he considered to have mixed typefaces solely in order to achieve amusing or bizarre effects.33 Looking at Ozenfant’s first attempt in creating psychotype, the satirical ‘Panégyrique du Vicomte Cyprien-Aymard-Amour de Viel-Buze’ (1916) (Figure 1.5), his criticism of Apollinaire seems ill-founded. The panegyric, addressed to a fictional conservative patron of the arts, used many more typefaces than Apollinaire’s most typographically complex calligram ‘Lettre-Océan’. In other words, Apollinaire did not mix his typefaces nearly as much as Ozenfant did. Moreover, it can be argued that Ozenfant’s use of the page was less ambitious than Apollinaire’s. Although it was flipped ninety degrees on its side, Ozenfant’s composition remained traditionally arranged along a central axis. While this arrangement may have been applied ironically to mock Viel-Buze’s conservative taste, it nevertheless adhered to traditional printing’s passive use of the page. In contrast, Apollinaire used the paper surface freely and actively to tell the story of the two brothers communicating with one another from opposite parts of the planet. Ozenfant’s later composition ‘Ô Mânes de Gentle Man’ (1916) employed typometrics in addition to psychotype (Figure 1.6). Essentially a form of what would later become known as graphic notation, Ozenfant described it as a method of ‘precise and plastic punctuation’ which allowed poets to depict silences and cadences in their texts proportionate to the length of line.34 The poem was written by Sébastien Voirol (Gustaf Henric Lundquist, 1870–1930), a Swede who settled in Paris around the turn of the century, where he gained employment at the opera. Voirol’s interest in exploring the relationship between poetry and music gained the attention of the international avant-garde when he published a simultaneous interpretation of Igor Stravinsky’s (1882–1971) The Rite of Spring (1913), performed with costumes and choreography at the Galérie Lévesque in 1917.35 Whether Voirol was also involved in the application of typometrics to his poem in L’Élan is not known, however.

Flamman’s typography Both psychotype and typometrics found their way to Flamman. For instance, Yngve Berg’s (1887–1963) piece ‘Kolonner Vad Gör Ni’ (Columns What are You Doing?, 1917) (Figure 1.7) was captioned ‘psychotypographic attempt after French example’. This poem clearly and closely modelled Ozenfant’s panegyric in form as well as content. However, there were also differences between the two poems. Ozenfant used a fictional character to satirize the taste and intelligence of wealthy patrons, while Berg’s poem criticized the tyranny of public taste by

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Figure 1.5  Amedée Ozenfant: ‘Panégyrique du Vicomte Cyprien-Aymard-Amour de Viel-Buze’ (1916) © Amedée Ozenfant / BONO 2020. Published in L´Élan no. 8, 12 January 1916. Photograph by University of Iowa Libraries. Item held by the International Dada Archive, Special Collections, University of Iowa Libraries.

juxtaposing the narratives of two anonymous characters. The first character admired established forms of beauty as expressed in great works from antiquity, the gothic period or Swedish national romanticism. He abhorred signifiers of modernity, like the steel truss Kungsgatan Viaduct which spanned the tracks near Stockholm’s Central Station. In contrast, the second character admired automobiles and aeroplanes and was ‘a child of his own times’.36 While the first character’s views were applauded by public opinion, the second incurred

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Figure 1.6  Amedée Ozenfant: ‘Ô Mânes de Gentle Man’ (1916) © Amedée Ozenfant / BONO 2020. Published in L´Élan no. 9, 12 February 1916. Photograph by University of Iowa Libraries. Item held by the International Dada Archive, Special Collections, University of Iowa Libraries.

its wrath and was stoned for having ‘fallen in love with the wrong era’.37 Needless to say, the reader was invited to sympathize with the second of the two characters. His modernity was visually emphasized through the use of typewriter type, while the first character’s love of bygone eras was highlighted through the use of roman for the word ‘antiquen’ (antiquity) and blackletter type for ‘gotiken’ (the gothic period). These typographic choices contributed to the meaning of the poem. However, other aspects of Berg’s composition merely mimicked Ozenfant’s. Both poems were printed on their side across a double-page spread and arranged on a central axis. The size and style of the hand-drawn illustrations and their integration into the poems’ titles were also similar. Berg even copied details like the bold rule used at the bottom of the page.

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Figure 1.7  Yngve Berg: ‘Kolonner Vad Gör Ni?’. Published in Flamman no. 3 (1917). Photograph by the author. Item held by the National Library of Sweden.

Another example of typography informed by Ozenfant’s experiments was an interview with Pablo Picasso (1881–1973) (Figure 1.8). The text was accompanied by a typometric use of rules, although the plain rules of ‘Ô Mânes de Gentle Man’ were replaced by a mixture of double, dashed and dotted rules. Whether the different kinds of rules were used in a purely decorative manner or in accordance with a visual grammar connoting variations in speed or pitch or other parameters cannot be determined. However, it is clear that the poem was underpinned by a visual logic. As Pauli explained, he set the least important parts of the text in a small size to better emphasize what he considered to be the most important part of the interview, a quote reading ‘The artist is nature’s master, not its slave’.38 Pauli had committed to mix new tendencies with established styles. The latter included what were termed ‘reposes’ – pages composed in a calm traditional style on

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Figure 1.8  ‘Hos Pablo Picasso’. Published in Flamman no. 1 (1917). Photograph by the author. Item held by the National Library of Sweden.

which the eye could rest. Pauli also created parodies, like the mock-prayer ‘Åkallan’ (Invocation, 1917). The prayer called for divine assistance in creating a world where ‘no one believes one style is better than another, but all equally good, and thereby to understand that harmony must prevail in difference and that diversity should reign unanimously’.39 This sentiment clearly reflected Flamman’s visual pluralism. In order to achieve the correct effect, ‘Åkallan’ was set in the blackletter type Psalter-götisk (1905) (Figure 1.9). Although the use of roman letters had steadily increased since their introduction to Sweden some 200 years before, ecclesial literature was slower to adopt roman than other genres were.40 In fact, Psalter-götisk was based on the letters used for printing the Roman Psalter (1457). As Magdalena Gram points out, the choice of typeface was highly appropriate in that it connected Flamman to Swedish incunables like Bartholmäus Ghotan’s Vita Katharine (1487).

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Figure 1.9  ‘Åkallan’. Published in Flamman no. 2 (1917). Photograph by the author. Item held by the National Library of Sweden.

Although Flamman was modelled on L’Élan in many important respects, it was more varied and adventurous than its French counterpart. Ozenfant may have pioneered psychotype and typometrics as typographic forms, but only started using them towards the end of L’Èlan’s print run. The majority of the journal’s pages were therefore relatively conventional. Similarly, it was not until its penultimate issue that any of Apollinaire’s calligrams were published in Les Soirées de Paris (1912–14). Because Flamman was published a few years later, Pauli was able to use typographic developments like psychotype and typometrics from the start. If attention is shifted from innovation to use, as suggested in the introduction, Flamman can be used to put the art historical notion of a hierarchy between original and derivative under scrutiny. If innovation’s level of importance

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as a criterion is lessened, Flamman emerges as a far richer and more interesting body of work than either of the better-known French journals.

The New Student Society’s publications The New Student Society was founded as a socialist alternative to the University of Copenhagen’s existing student society. It was led by the poets Harald Landt Momberg and Rudolf Broby-Johansen (1900–87), who during this period went under the name Rud Broby, and was made up of around twenty students and intellectuals associated with the university. Among the New Student Society’s many publications were Momberg’s and Broby-Johansen’s debut collections Parole (Speech) and Blod (Blood), both published in 1922, the broadsheet Pressen, and Broby-Johansen’s book Kunst (Art, 1924). The New Student Society had numerous links to avant-gardists elsewhere. Some connections were made by Broby-Johansen on travels around Europe. He met Marinetti in Venice in 1923 and travelled to Moscow the following year to meet ‘the Russian futurists’.41 Other connections were made through correspondence. Broby-Johansen later claimed that the New Student Society would send publications to like-minded groups all over Europe and receive these other groups’ publications in return.42 Indeed, it is known that Momberg sent Marinetti a copy of Parole,43 and the New Student Society’s publications can be found listed in journals like De Stijl (1917–32) and Zenit (1921–26) as well as in Jan Tschichold’s book Die Neue Typographie.44 As noted in the introduction, Tschichold’s book included Momberg’s and Pressen’s editor Torben Hansen’s names in a list of New Typographers working across Europe. Momberg’s name can also be found in a typewritten list of intended recipients for Tschichold’s article ‘Noch Eine Neue Schrift’ (Yet a New Script, 1930), so it would seem the two maintained some level of contact over the following years.45 Nevertheless, the strongest connection between the New Student Society and the international avant-garde network went through Herwarth Walden and his Der Sturm (The Storm) enterprise, which comprised a gallery, stage and journal. In their broadsheet Pressen, the New Student Society described their relationship with Walden: We have been in direct contact with Der Sturm from the beginning. Herwarth Walden has hosted several evenings of reading, lectures and music in our premises. Our comrades Rud Broby and Harald Landt Momberg are contributors to the journal Der Sturm, which publishes poetry in all languages. It is the New Student Society which has taken the initiative for the exhibition of Danish painters which is currently on show in Berlin, and which is to tour the world. Books, reproductions and original works of art from Der Sturm are available through the New Student Society.46

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The contact with Walden seems to have resulted from the controversy surrounding Broby-Johansen’s debut collection Blod. The book’s crude language and its violent and sexual themes caused an immediate scandal in Denmark. Within a week of publication, the police raided the New Student Society’s offices and confiscated all the copies they could find, unaware that many had already been smuggled away to Norway.47 The trial for obscenity that followed was a gift to Broby-Johansen. He skilfully turned it into a theatrical media event through which he made his and the New Student Society’s names known to the Danish public.48 It was during this trial that Der Sturm (1910–32) printed two poems from Blod,49 perhaps as an act of moral support, as Torben Jelsbak has suggested.50

The New Student Society and constructivism Following the publication of Blod and Parole, the New Student Society’s output became informed by constructivism. It is possible that they were exposed to this movement through Walden, who visited the group in April 1923 and who returned with a Sturm exhibition featuring work by Moholy-Nagy among others. The group may also have learnt about constructivism through Kurt Schwitters’ Merz (1923– 32) and other journals in the avant-garde network. From the language used in Momberg’s booklet Aktiv Reklame (Active Advertising, 1924), it would seem they were familiar with Lissitzky’s text ‘Topography of Typography’, which that July had been published in the fourth issue of Merz: Pressen’s editorial office professes the new direction in art, which is named constructivism, and which aims to create beauty, order and harmony in all things, and which works with all material not least the typographic. Typography also has its topography, which means to say an intensive use of material and a harmoniously regulated arrangement of the page.51 Aktiv Reklame was also published as a serial in Pressen, which was founded in September 1923 to report on another scandal which had been brewing for the past year. Denmark’s largest bank, the Farmer’s Bank (Landmandsbanken), had collapsed. This led to a fiscal crisis with far-reaching political implications. It emerged that high-profile members of Danish economic and political life, including the Royal House, had been involved in bullish speculation and inside trading.52 A criminal trial and a parliamentary inquest known as the Bank Commission followed. In August 1923, the supreme court concluded and found the bank’s director Emil Glückstad (1875–1923), who had died in custody during the trial, guilty of fraud. Other senior figures at the bank were given large fines. For reasons of national security and stability it was decided to keep the Bank Commission’s report secret. However, it was leaked to the communist Arbejderbladet (The Worker’s Paper, 1921–41) which started publishing excerpts. When the

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authorities banned Arbejderbladet from publishing any further details, the report was passed on to the New Student Society which published the remainder of the report in a pamphlet and set up Pressen to report on future developments. The most striking feature of Pressen’s design was its headlines. Here the intensive use of material described in Aktiv Reklame came into force. Typefaces and sizes were mixed and used alongside heavy rules and oversized punctuation. Sometimes, this was done for visual effect. This can be seen on a single-sheet flyer advertising the issue of the day and its two main stories: a debate surrounding the prohibition of alcohol and compensation for the victims of the Farmers’ Bank collapse (Figure 1.10). The composition made dynamic use of contrasting type sizes while maintaining a sense of balance, by distributing the larger elements on each side of the page, and by breaking the word ‘Landmandbank’ up over four lines so that it visually reflected the word ‘øl’ (beer) which was placed directly above it.

Figure 1.10  Flyer for Pressen no. 13 (24 November 1923). Photograph by the author. Item in the author’s collection.

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At other instances, typographic material was used to create puns and other word play. An example is the heading used for Pressen’s tenth issue: ‘Øksen ligger ved etats roden H.N. Andersen’ (Figure 1.11). At first glance, this appears to read somewhat cryptically as ‘The axe is laid unto the root of the state H. N. Andersen’. However, it would have been apparent to anyone at the time that ØK was the acronym Østasiatisk Kompani, or the East Asiatic Company. This was the largest enterprise in Denmark, and H. N. Andersen (Hans Niels, 1852–1937) was its director. Andersen was repeatedly targeted by Pressen for his role in the scandal, and for having attempted to use his influence to frustrate the Bank Commission’s investigation. The phrase ‘etats roden’, or ‘root of the state’, was a play on words referring to Andersen’s honorific title etatsraad or Councillor of State. Finally, the heading as a whole reworked a verse from Matthew: ‘And

Figure 1.11  Pressen no. 10 (3 November 1923). Photograph by Fotografisk Atelier. Item held by the Royal Danish Library.

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now also the axe is laid unto the root of the trees: therefore every tree which bringeth not forth good fruit is hewn down, and cast into the fire.’53 In other words, Pressen’s complex headline implied that Andersen and the East Asiatic Company would be ‘cut down’ for their involvement in the scandal. The group’s commitment to constructivism and its ties to an international network were also on show in one of its last publications, Broby-Johansen’s small book Kunst. Subtitled Foreign Artworks from S-T-U-R-M, Paris–Berlin–New York, it contained lino-cut reproductions of work by Kassák, Moholy-Nagy, van Doesburg and others alongside the New Student Society’s own Eugène de Sala (1899– 1987), Gunnar Hansen and Gunner Hesselbo. In his manifesto-like foreword, Momberg wrote of the relationship between art and play, between communism and constructivism, and of young people’s task of building a new society: Communist society must be built by the revolutionary youth. To build is to play according to rules. The new artists play with building blocks. As of yet, the new art is a little clumsy, but elemental. It constructs according to simple rules. It is constructivist as communist society is. […] Young communists must be

Figure 1.12  Rudolf Broby-Johansen: Front cover of Kunst (1924) © Urs Broby Johansen 2020. Photograph by the author. Item in the author’s collection.

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constructivists. Communism is order and planning in life. Constructivism is order and planning in art. They are both beauty.54 Kunst’s elemental square format was reinforced by its cover design (Figure 1.12). The top and bottom of the square were delineated by two heavy rules. Broby-Johansen’s name and the title Kunst were aligned against the top rule and letterspaced to match its length. The remaining text elements were arranged in smaller squares and aligned to the ends of the bottom rule. The interior pages were set in two columns of justified roman type, separated by an arrangement of heavy rules intended to show the reader how the book should be read (Figure 1.13). Unusually, the text had been tipped ninety degrees on its side, so that the text columns ran across the gutter from verso to recto. The reason, BrobyJohansen claimed, was to make the book more comfortable to read while lying down in bed.55

Figure 1.13  Rudolf Broby-Johansen: Vertical double-page spread from Kunst (1924) © Urs Broby Johansen 2020. Photograph by the author. Item in the author’s collection.

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Conclusion The New Typography, as Moholy-Nagy defined it, emerged from a rich body of work created by avant-garde poets and artists who in different ways responded to the futurists’ call for the word to be liberated from the smooth grey page of traditional book printing in pursuit of the expressive possibilities of language. The practice of mixing typefaces and sizes and of printing at different angles were carried forward in a literary context by figures like Apollinaire and Ozenfant in Paris, and Dadaists like Tzara in Zurich, Schwitters in Hanover and Hausmann in Berlin. Formal characteristics, including the use of sans-serif typography, plain rules and geometric forms were adopted from the publications and abstract art of the Dutch De Stijl group and Russian suprematists. From constructivism came an interest in photography and, although not mentioned in Moholy-Nagy’s text, a utopian fervour resulting from the New Typography’s incorporation into the project of creating new human beings for the new communist society. Instead of radiating from centre to periphery, the styles and ideas associated with these typographic experiments circulated freely through an international network which spanned across Europe and extended to Scandinavia in the form of Pauli’s Flamman and the New Student Society’s publications. The former, which considered a variety of typographic expressions to be integral to its artistic programme, had ties to Paris, to cubism and to the work of Apollinaire and Ozenfant. The latter had an extensive international network, which included Walden’s Der Sturm enterprise in Berlin as one of its most important nodes, and had adopted constructivism as a means through which to criticize the bourgeoisie and to propagate for a new utopian society. That ideas travelled from, as well as to, Scandinavia is evident from the interest in a French edition of Flamman in Paris and the references to the New Student Society’s publications in De Stijl, Der Sturm, Die Neue Typographie and Zenit. Both Pauli and the New Student Society used typographic styles that had been developed elsewhere. They can therefore be seen, not only as manifestations of a networked avant-garde but also as contributions to a history of avant-garde typography use. Pressen’s typographic form was established from the outset and applied consistently through its run, providing a framework within which its designers could experiment with language and its visual form. Because it was founded a few years after journals like Les Soirées de Paris and L’Élan, Flamman was able to use typographic innovations developed late in the French journals’ runs from the start and stood free to mix these with other typographic approaches. This resulted in a journal which was more visually pluralistic than either of its French counterparts, and which was so from start to finish.

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Notes 1 F. T. Marinetti. ‘The Founding and Manifesto of Futurism’, in Futurism: An Anthology, eds. Lawrence Rainey, Christine Poggi and Laura Wittman (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2009), p. 51. 2 F. T. Marinetti. ‘Technical Manifesto of Futurist Literature’, in Futurism: An Anthology, eds. Lawrence Rainey, Christine Poggi and Laura Wittman (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2009), pp. 121–2. 3 F. T. Marinetti. ‘Destruction of Syntax—Radio Imagination—Words-in-Freedom’, in Futurism: An Anthology, eds. Lawrence Rainey, Christine Poggi and Laura Wittman (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2009), pp. 149–50. 4 Johanna Drucker. The Visible Word: Experimental Typography and Modern Art, 1909–1923 (Chicago and London: The University of Chicago Press, 1994), p. 162. 5 For perhaps the most detailed reading of this much-discussed poem see: Willard Bohn. Reading Apollinaire’s Calligrammes (New York and London: Bloomsbury Academic, 2018), pp. 93–105. 6 Tristan Tzara. ‘Dada Manifesto 1918’, in Modernism: An Anthology, ed. Lawrence Rainey. New edn (Malden, Oxford and Carlton: Blackwell Publishing, 2005), p. 481. 7 Tschichold. The New Typography, p. 56. 8 Karel Teige. ‘Modern Typography (1927)’, in Karel Teige / 1900–1951: L’enfant Terrible of the Czech Modernist Avant-Garde, eds. Eric Dluhosch and Rostislav Švácha (Cambridge, MA and London: MIT Press, 1999), p. 103. 9 Christina Lodder. ‘Constructivism and Productivism in the 1920s’, in Art into Life: Russian Constructivism, 1914–1932, by Jaroslav Andeˇ l et al. (Seattle and New York: The Henry Art Gallery, University of Washington and Rizzoli, 1990), p. 99. 10 Alexander Rodchenko and Varvara Stepanova. ‘Programme of the First Working Group of Constructivists’, in Art in Theory 1900–2000: An Anthology of Changing Ideas, eds. Charles Harrison and Paul Wood. New edn (Blackwell Publishing, 2003), p. 341. 11 Gustav Klutsis. ‘The Photomontage as a New Kind of Agitation Art’, in Gustav Klutsis and Valentina Kulagina: Photography and Montage after Constructivism, by Margarita Tupitsyn (New York and Göttingen: The International Centre of Photography / Steidl Publishers, 2004), pp. 237–40. 12 Alexander Rodchenko. ‘The Paths of Modern Photography’, in Photography in the Modern Era: European Documents and Critical Writings, 1913–1940, ed. Christopher Phillips (New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art / Aperture, 1989), pp. 256–63. 13 Christina Lodder. ‘Art into Life’, in Central European Avant-Gardes: Exchange and Transformation, 1910–1930, ed. Timothy O. Benson (Cambridge, MA and London: Los Angeles County Museum of Art and the MIT Press, 2002), pp. 178–9. 14 El Lissitzky. ‘PROUN: Not World Visions, BUT – World Reality’, in El Lissitzky: Life – Letters – Texts, ed. Sophie Lissitzky-Küppers (New York: Thames & Hudson, 1992), pp. 347–8. 15 László Moholy-Nagy. ‘The New Typography’, in Looking Closer 3: Classic Writings on Graphic Design, eds. Michael Bierut, Jessica Helfand, Steven Heller and Rick Poynor (New York: Allworth Press, 1999), p. 22.

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16 Moholy-Nagy. ‘The New Typography’, p. 21. Emphasis in original. 17 Ibid. 18 Arndt Niebisch. Media Parasites in the Early Avant-Garde: On the Abuse of Technology and Communication. Avant-Gardes in Performance (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012), p. 21. 19 Luthersson. Svensk litterär modernism, p. 67. 20 Niebisch. Media Parasites in the Early Avant-Garde, pp. 19–21. 21 Luthersson. Svensk litterär modernism, pp. 67–71. 22 Henryk Berlewi. ‘The International Exhibition in Düsseldorf’, in Between Worlds: A Sourcebook of Central European Avant-Gardes, 1910-1930, eds. Timothy O. Benson and Éva Forgács (Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 2002), p. 399. 23 van den Berg. ‘The Early Twentieth Century Avant-Garde and the Nordic Countries’, p. 33. 24 ‘Het Netwerk’. Het Overzicht 3, no. 20 (January 1924): p. 136. 25 Maurizio Scudiero. ‘A Transverse Reading of Typography and the Graphic AvantGardes’, in The Avant-Garde Applied (1890–1950) (Madrid: Fundación Juan March, 2012), pp. 165–6. 26 Per Krogh. ‘Futuristisk manifest — Ideogram i rödt og guld’. Ny konst 1, no. 1 (1915): unpaginated; ‘Nervøsitet eller en stille Nat ved Fronten: Skuespil i 1 Akt’. Klingen 1, no. 8 (1918): pp. 6–7; ‘Der sidder en dame i skoven’. Flamman 1, no. 6 (1917): unpaginated. 27 Bengt Lärkner. ‘Det internationella avantgardet och Sverige, 1914–1925’ (PhD thesis, Lunds universitet, 1984), pp. 83–8. 28 Lärkner, ‘Det internationella avantgardet och Sverige’, p. 93. 29 In correspondence to count Fredrik Ulrik Wrangel (1853–29). See: Magdalena Gram, ‘The Art Journal as an Artistic Gesture: An Experiment Named Flamman’. Scandinavian Journal of Design History 3 (1993): pp. 93, 107. 30 ‘Flamman’. Flamman 1, no. 2 (1917): unpaginated. 31 ‘Flamman’. Flamman 1, no. 4 (1917): unpaginated. 32 ‘Psychotypie & Typométrique’. L’Élan 9 (1916): unpaginated. 33 Amédée Ozenfant, Mémoires: 1886–1962 (Paris: Éditions Seghers, 1968), p. 87. 34 Ibid. 35 Ulf Thomas Moberg. Sébastien Voirol – En svensk spindel i det franska kulturlivet (Stockholm: Förlag Strömstare / Cinclus, 2011), p. 15. 36 Yngve Berg. ‘Kolonner vad gör ni?’. Flamman 1, no. 3 (1917): unpaginated. 37 Ibid. 38 ‘Flamman’. Flamman 1, no. 4 (1917): unpaginated. 39 ‘Åkallan’. Flamman 1, no. 4 (1917): unpaginated. 40 Daniel Lindmark. ‘Från fraktur till antikva: Tryckkulturens modernisering i Sverige på 1800-talet’, in Att läsa och att skriva: Två vågor av vardagligt skriftbruk i Norden 1800–2000, ed. Ann-Catrine Edlund (Umeå: Institutionen för språkstudier, 2012), pp. 89–90.

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41 Olav Harsløf. ‘Pressen: Periodisk flyveskrift’, in Leksikon for det 21. århundrede. 26 November 2003. http://www​.leksikon​.org​/art​.php​?n​=4965. 42 Rudolf Broby-Johansen. Sort og rødt: 64 grafiske glimt (København: Gyldendal, 1982), p. 90. 43 Olav Harsløf. ‘Myten om Broby’, in Broby: En central outsider, ed. Olav Harsløf (København: Museum tusculanums forlag, 2000), p. 34. 44 Pressen, Aktiv Reklame, Parole and Kunst are listed in De Stijl 6, no. 8 (1924), pp. 415–16. Pressen, Aktiv Reklame, Parole and Kunst and Blod are listed in Zenit 26/33 (1924). Aktiv Reklame is listed in Die Neue Typographie, pp. 230, 60. 45 Christopher Burke, Active Literature: Jan Tschichold and New Typography (London: Hyphen Press, 2007), p. 130. 46 ‘Der Sturm’. Pressen 1, no. 1 (1923). Reproduced in: Olav Harsløf. Kulturdebat i 20’rne (Medusa, 1976), p. 108. 47 Harsløf. ‘Myten om Broby’, p. 34. 48 For detail on the trial and Broby’s speech in his defence, see: Morten Thing. ‘Den blodige civilisation: Et efterskrift om Blod’, in Blod og forsvarstale for Blod by Rud Broby (København: Politisk Revy, 1988), pp. 49–77. 49 Rud Broby. ‘Digte’. Der Sturm 14, no. 1 (1923): p. 14. 50 Torben Jelsbak. ‘Avant–Garde and Politics: The Case of the New Student Society in Copenhagen 1922–24’, unpaginated. Roskilde, 2011. http:​/​/ruc​​onf​.r​​uc​.dk​​/inde​​x​ .php​​/norl​​it​/no​​rlit2​​011​/s​​chedC​​onf​​/p​​resen​​tatio​​ns. 51 Harald Landt Momberg, Aktiv Reklame: Nye Principer i annonceringens Kunst (Köbenhavn-Kristiania-Berlin: Det Ny Studentersamfunds Forlag, 1924), pp. 8–9. 52 Jelsbak. ‘Avant–Garde and Politics’, unpaginated. 53 King James Bible. Mt 3:10. 54 H. L. M. ‘[Untitled foreword]’, in Kunst: En Introduktion. De udenlandske Kunstværker fra S-T-U-R-M, by Rud Broby, unpaginated (København: D.N.S.S., 1924). 55 Broby-Johansen, Sort og rødt, p. 90.

PART I

PRINTING AND ADVERTISING CULTURES

2 MODIFICATION THE PRINTING TRADE’S VERSIONS OF THE NEW TYPOGRAPHY

The New Typography was introduced to printing trade discourse in 1925 through a special issue of Typographische Mitteilungen (1903–33) titled ‘Elementare Typographie’ and edited by Jan Tschichold. The publication was significant because it connected the networks of the avant-garde with those of the printing trade. To use the language of social network theory, it occupied a structural hole. It was also significant as an example of domestication. For the New Typography to be useful to compositors in a commercial printing house setting, it needed to be modified to better suit their needs, abilities, preferences and circumstances. However, because the examples of avant-garde work Tschichold presented were expressions of a completely alien culture for many printing trade figures, and because his formulations did not in their view go far enough in adapting its principles to printing culture and practice, his ideas were overtly rejected, ignored or modified further. The Educational Union of German Printers (Bildungsverband der deutschen Buchdrucker), which published Typographische Mitteilungen, nevertheless chose to support the New Typography. The Educational Union thought it could provide compositors with a competitive advantage over commercial artists, keep their skills up to date and additionally provide a greater potential for creative expression. Although ‘Elementare Typographie’ made an instant impact in Germany, it was initially ignored in Scandinavia. Only after type samples executed in the new style started appearing from German foundries did Scandinavian printers react. First, they criticized the elemental typography, but soon they started proposing

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ways of modifying its principles in order to integrate it into their daily practice. As in Germany, the New Typography was taken up into the printing trade’s educational programme for reasons of competitiveness, maintenance of skills and creativity. The New Typography was recontextualized from an avant-garde project concerned with creating new ways of reading for a new society to a modernizing reforming force specific to, and defined by, the letterpress industry. The chapter starts with a detailed examination of Tschichold’s ‘Elementare Typographie’ and the role played by the Educational Union of German Printers before moving on to a discussion of how the printing trade’s version of the New Typography spread internationally. The focus then shifts to Scandinavia. A detailed account of how and why the New Typography was taken up into Scandinavian educational efforts begins with a discussion of Scandinavian trade journals, their design and the debates contained within their pages. The chapter continues with an examination of two educational societies associated with the New Typography – the Graphic Society of Oslo (Det grafiske selskap i Oslo) and the Compositors’ Technical Cooperative (Typografernes fagtekniske Samvirke) in Copenhagen. Finally, the New Typography’s integration into trade school teaching at the School for Book Craft (Skolan för Bokhantverk) in Stockholm and the Trade School for Book Craft (Fagskolen for Boghaandværk) in Copenhagen is discussed. Particular attention is paid throughout to modifications made to the New Typography’s theory and formal expression in order to identify specific domestication tactics and to gain an understanding of how these played out in practical terms.

The New Typography from avant-garde to printing trade In 1923 Jan Tschichold visited the First Bauhaus Exhibition in Weimar and was profoundly moved by what he saw there. The experience led him to question the traditionalist training he was receiving in calligraphy and book art at the State Academy of Graphic Arts and Book Trade (Staatliche Akademie für graphische Künste und Buchgewerbe) in Leipzig and to adopt the name ‘Iwan’ in place of his given name ‘Johannes’. ‘Jan’ was adopted later, in order to secure a teaching position at the Master School for Germany’s Printers (Meisterschule für Deutschlands Buchdrucker) in Munich where the communist associations of ‘Iwan’ made the leadership uneasy. Soon after his visit to Weimar, Tschichold began working on the ‘Elementare Typographie’ special issue. Originally, he only intended to focus on the Bauhaus. However, he quickly realized that what he called ‘the New Culture’ was not only being championed by that school but also by ‘a row of non-Bauhaus artists, scientists, technicians from all over the world’.1 He therefore found it necessary to include material from further afield, and then especially from Russia. Tschichold

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had come to consider El Lissitzky the New Typography’s lead practitioner, and most of the visual examples were accordingly of his design. This included several spreads from Lissitzky’s children’s book About Two Squares and his design for Vladimir Mayakovski’s For the Voice (1923) (visible as reproductions in Figures. 2.1 and 2.2) as well as a cover for the American periodical Broom, his personal

Figure 2.1  Jan Tschichold: Front cover of ‘Sonderheft: Elementare Typographie’, Typographische Mitteilungen 22, no. 10 (1925) Reproduced by kind permission of the Tschichold family. Photograph by the author. Item in the author’s collection.

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Figure 2.2  Jan Tschichold: Double-page spread from ‘Sonderheft: Elementare Typographie’, Typographische Mitteilungen 22, no. 10 (1925). Reproduced by kind permission of the Tschichold family. Photograph by the author. Item in the author's collection.

letterhead and an ad for 1925’s Die Kunstismen 1914–1924 (The Isms of Art, 1914–1924). Tschichold also included the work of other non-Bauhaus figures, but to a lesser extent. In addition to some of his own work, Tschichold included two ads by Max Burchartz (1887–1961) and one item each by Molnár Farkas (1897– 1945), Johannes Molzahn (1892–1965) and Kurt Schwitters. Despite the special issue’s shift in focus away from the Bauhaus, the school remained well represented through a selection of work by Herbert Bayer and László Moholy-Nagy. In addition to visual material, the special issue contained four programmatic texts reprinted from avant-garde publications and two texts authored by Tschichold himself. Two of the reprinted texts, the ‘Programme of the First Working Group of Constructivists’ and Natan Altman’s (1889–1970) ‘Elemental Viewpoints’ (Elementare Gesichtspunkte), were translated by Tschichold from Russian especially for the occasion. The other two reprinted texts, Lissitzky and Mart Stam’s (1899–1986) ‘Advertising’ (Die Reklame) and Moholy-Nagy’s ‘Typophoto’, appeared in their original German form. In compiling the special issue Tschichold had evidently oriented himself well among the network of avant-garde journals described in the previous chapter. The reprinted texts were sourced from journals like G (1923–6) and ABC (1924–8). Additionally, De Stijl, MA, Merz and Veshch were all listed in a bibliography titled ‘Journals which fight for the idea this issue is dedicated to’.

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Tschichold’s elemental typography The first of Tschichold’s own texts traced the New Typography’s roots in abstract art, explaining that it was ‘founded on the knowledge imparted by the logically consistent work of Russian suprematism, Dutch neo-plasticism and especially constructivism’.2 Tschichold’s second text was a manifesto titled ‘Elementare Typographie’, like the special issue itself.3 Here Tschichold drew upon his commercial training to distil the theory and practice of avant-garde typography into ten guidelines which could be understood and applied by the average compositor in his day-to-day work (Figures 2.1 and 2.2). He began by stating that ‘the New Typography is oriented toward purpose’, and that it should therefore seek the form which communicates in the briefest, simplest, most urgent manner possible. Breaking with typographic conventions of book printing – the symmetrical arrangements, the ideal of the smooth grey printed surface, and its predilection for the use of initials, vignettes and other ornaments – Tschichold argued for compositions based on logical relationships between parts made visually perceptible through contrasts in size, form and the active use of the white paper surface. These compositions should be restricted to what he defined as typography’s elemental means: letters, numbers, signs and the photographic image. Plain rules and geometric shapes could also be used, but only if they were ‘convincingly grounded in the total construction’ – not as ornamentation. The sans-serif, in all its variations, was defined as the elemental letterform. However, Tschichold did allow the old style roman Mediäval-Antiqua to be used for extended passages of text as none of the sans-serifs available at the time were deemed sufficiently legible. Tschichold also argued in favour of two rationalizing reforms championed by Walter Porstmann (1886–1959), an engineer and government specialist in measurement systems. The first reform was the adoption of DIN (Deutsche Industrienorm) paper formats, and the second was the abolishment of upper-case letters in a practice known as kleinschreibung. Because common nouns, as well as proper nouns and the first word in each sentence are capitalized in German, the issue of capitalization held greater significance in the German-speaking countries than it did elsewhere in Europe. The exception was Denmark. Before a reform was passed in 1948, official orthography called for common nouns to be capitalized there too. In both countries the question of reform was sensitive, because the capitalization of common nouns was seen to express national identity.4 Porstmann made a particularly radical and far-reaching case in his book Sprache und Schrift (Speech and Script, 1920), here the exclusive case use of lower-case formed part of a larger orthographic reform programme which sought to create a more efficient and phonetically accurate written form of German.5 Through his design of the special issue, Tschichold demonstrated how his principles could be put into practice. This was particularly the case for the cover

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(Figure 2.1). The content was arranged in groups which had been placed freely on the page according to a hierarchy of meaning created by contrasting weights and sizes of sans-serif type. As in Moholy-Nagy’s title page for the Staatliches Bauhaus in Weimar catalogue, the viewer’s attention was guided diagonally from the larger elements in the top left corner to the smaller elements at the bottom right corner. Plain rules were used, not as ornamentation, but as active elements used to draw and guide the viewer’s eye, in the case of the journal’s title aided by the use of red as a second colour. The interior pages were most notable for their headings, set in capital letters and underlined by a bold red rule (Figures 2.2 and 2.3). Although defined as the elemental letterform, sans-serif type was limited to the numbering of lists and pages as well as to selected instances of emphasis. This reflected the exception made for roman type in setting of continuous text. The width of text columns varied throughout the issue, as did the placement of the page numbers. According to Christopher Burke, this idiosyncratic handling of the text can be attributed to the fact that the special issue was Tschichold’s first foray into text design and that his typography was therefore understandably ‘a little raw’.6 It should be noted that the ‘Elementare Typographie’ special issue did not just present, or describe, the New Typography in a somehow ‘objective’ manner.

Figure 2.3  Jan Tschichold: Double-page spread from ‘Sonderheft: Elementare Typographie’, Typographische Mitteilungen 22, no. 10 (1925) Reproduced by kind permission of the Tschichold family. Photograph by the author. Item in the author’s collection.

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Through his definition of the New Typography’s means and through his selection of examples, Tschichold presented a particular version and understanding of what the New Typography should be. By defining its formal means of expression so clearly, the ten principles of elemental typography took the form of rules which could either be followed or broken. As such, Tschichold’s approach to the New Typography was very different to that of someone like Schwitters, whose own manifesto began with the explorative advice: ‘Countless rules can be written about typography. The important thing is: never do it the way that someone else did it before you. Or you could say: always do it differently than the others.’7 Although Tschichold emphasized that his principles should not be seen as fixed or conclusive, they were often perceived as such, both by the printing trade and the avant-garde. Herbert Bayer criticized them for being ‘too narrow’, while detractors in the printing trade often jokingly derided them as Tschichold’s ten commandments.8 Tschichold’s choice of examples mirrored his definition of the New Typography as a type of communication oriented towards purpose, based upon logical visual arrangements differentiated by size and form. As Friedrich Friedel has noted, they showed that Tschichold not only positioned his elemental typography against traditional book typography, but also against the work of the futurists and Dadaists who were more interested in exploring the expressive potential of typography than in creating pieces of visual communication characterized by brevity and simplicity.9 Indeed, although the idea of words-in-freedom played an important role in the New Typography’s development, Marinetti freely admitted that he was ‘not greatly worried about being understood by the masses’.10 He even thought it was ‘necessary to forgo being understood’ in order to arrive at what he called the wireless imagination.11 Moreover, the special issue changed the context through which the work featured was perceived. As Victor Margolin has argued, Lissitzky’s About Two Squares originated as an argument for a new way of reading, but its inclusion in ‘Elementare Typographie’ repositioned it as a document supporting a particular formal language.12 Tschichold’s most significant modification may nevertheless have been to soften the radical political stance the New Typography had acquired through contact with constructivism. While Tschichold positioned ‘Elementare Typographie’ as part of a new culture, and argued that it should serve ‘social ends’,13 his translation of the ‘Programme of the First Working Group of Constructivists’ carefully omitted the original work’s reference to ‘scientific communism’.14 As the above has sought to demonstrate, Tschichold’s elemental typography differed from the avant-garde work preceding it in several important ways. It clearly constituted an instance of domestication. Instead of a programme of open-ended exploration, it was now a defined style focusing on urgency of communication rather than expressiveness of language. Moreover, it had become more closely aligned to ideas of modernity, and a somewhat vague notion of social purpose, than to revolutionary communism.

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Reception in the German printing trade Unlike the journals of the avant-garde, the ‘Elementare Typographie’ special issue provoked intense debate in the printing trade. There were several reasons why it was received so differently. The size of the print run was one of them. Typographische Mitteilungen was printed in an edition of around 20,000 copies,15 whereas the editions of avant-garde journals typically did not exceed the low hundreds. Another reason was Typographische Mitteilungen’s distribution. It was sent to the Educational Union of German Printers’ many members rather than to a few other avant-garde groups, individuals and cultural institutions.16 A further reason why ‘Elementare Typographie’ sparked debate, while the avant-garde journals did not, can be attributed to notions of professional identity. Both Tschichold and the special issue can be seen as nodes occupying structural holes, without whom the networks of the avant-garde and printing trade would remain unconnected. Elementare Typographie’s special position as both an avant-garde publication and a printing journal is illustrated by a photograph of ‘contemporary journals’ taken by Hannes Meyer for the Swiss architectural journal Das Werk (The Work, 1914–76).17 The photograph shows the special issue laid out next to twenty-one other journals like Blok (1924–6), De Stijl, Der Sturm, L’Esprit Nouveau (The New Spirit, 1920–5), MA, Merz and Zenit. However, the accompanying text was careful to list ‘Elementare Typographie’ under the heading ‘special issues’, presumably to avoid the reader thinking it was Typographische Mitteilungen itself which had been accepted into this rarefied company. This kind of distinction worked both ways. Although Tschichold moved in avant-garde circles and described himself in correspondence to Lissitzky as a ‘typographic constructivist’, the printing trade still regarded him as one of their own.18 When he arrived in Copenhagen in 1935 to give a series of lectures on the New Typography, he was greeted with the words: ‘Welcome to Denmark, colleague.’19 In her book Neuer Blick Auf Die Neue Typographie, Julia Meer argues that the majority of criticisms of Tschichold’s special issue were linked to ideas of identity. Many compositors opposed the call to break with tradition because the ability to trace their trade back to Gutenberg formed an integral part of their self-image. The extensive training required to work as a compositor lay the foundation for a sense of professional pride and an understanding of good typographic practice. From their perspective, the avant-garde were dilettantes whose work suffered from a lack of technical expertise and low awareness of typographic principles. Tschichold’s calls for rationality, brevity and standardization were criticized on two fronts. On the one hand, they were dismissed as empty phrases and platitudes. On the other hand, the New Typography was criticized for how its values of rationality, brevity, clarity and standardized efficiency found

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expression in practice. For instance, Heinrich Wieynck (1874–1931), a teacher at the State Academy of Applied Art (Staatliche Akademie für Kunstgewerbe) in Dresden, satirized Tschichold’s manifesto, writing: ‘A piece of print is oriented toward purpose when its message can only be read with difficulty.’20 As Paul Renner (1878–1956) would later point out, Moholy-Nagy’s page design for the Staatliches Bauhaus in Weimar catalogue, with its overly long lines of text was one such example.21 Despite these reservations German master printers and compositors saw potential in the New Typography. According to Meer, master printers recognized that it could be used to show that their printing houses kept up to date on aesthetic developments, and compositors thought it offered new creative possibilities and a competitive advantage over commercial artists. From around 1927, Typographische Mitteilungen therefore began to persistently and consistently argue in favour of the New Typography.22 In a lecture entitled ‘Why does the Educational Union Promote the New Typography?’, its chairman Bruno Dreßler (1879–1952) positioned the New Typography as the latest in a long-standing series of efforts to elevate the printing trade. Dreßler argued that the Educational Union’s purpose was to prepare its members for tomorrow’s world by exposing them to technical innovations as well as innovations in the fields of design and business. The New Typography not only gave compositors a competitive advantage over commercial artists but also offered them an increased degree of creative freedom. As Dreßler told his audience, ‘many colleagues [. . .] want more from the job than just to set type, they want to grow and [to] design more’.23 It may be argued that the Educational Union’s emphasis on creative freedom provided compositors with the remit to modify Tschichold’s principles of ‘Elementare Typographie’. In his talk, Dreßler suggested as much, claiming that it was ‘not necessary only to use sans-serif’ when constructing New Typography and that ‘good effects’ could be achieved also by using other kinds of typefaces.24 Indeed, a flip through Typographische Mitteilungen reveals numerous instances of the New Typography set in other typefaces than sansserif in the pages of Typographische Mitteilungen – serifs, ‘fancy’ faces and even the occasional blackletter. Many examples illustrated with pictorial typography and hand-drawn illustration instead of photography or photomontage can also be seen. Moreover, the demand for kleinschreibung was clearly and frequently ignored or only partially adhered to. The subject of lower-case illustrated how compositors not only sympathized with the New Typography’s aims but also preferred to modify what they considered to be its most extreme elements. In 1931, the Educational Union carried out a survey in which members were asked whether they were in favour of the absolute kleinschreibung advocated by Porstmann, a moderate approach retaining capital letters at the beginning of sentences and for proper nouns, or the current official German orthography

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with all nouns capitalized. The results showed that over half of the respondents preferred the second option. As a consequence, the Educational Union adopted a moderate ten-point orthographic reform instead of Porstmann’s more radical vision.25 Domestication tactics, like modifying the typefaces used and adopting a more moderate approach to kleinschreibung, were significant as they made the New Typography acceptable to the moderate mainstream of German printers. An even more important modification was a further change in political focus, which in part had come about from the change in operational context. In the ‘Elementare Typographie’ special issue, Tschichold played down constructivism’s communist associations, but nevertheless argued that it fulfilled a social and cultural purpose. When the New Typography was integrated into the Educational Union of German Printer’s activities, the New Typography’s rather vague politics changed into something more tangible. It no longer concerned itself with creating new human beings, or simply to serve ‘social ends’, but assumed the more pragmatic aim of securing a competitive advantage for the Educational Union’s members and giving them skills they could depend on in the labour market of the future.

International spread through type samples Tschichold’s special issue caused an instant furore among German printers, but in Scandinavia it was initially met with silence. One important reason for this was that the Scandinavian trade press in 1925 consisted almost entirely of publications issued by trade unions or employers’ associations. These focused on organizational matters, reporting on meetings, negotiations and trade disputes. To a lesser extent they also reviewed trade literature, published historical articles on typography, reported on developments in printing technology and noted the arrival of new type samples. The only journal focusing on the visual aspects of typography to appear with any real frequency was the Swedish master printer Hugo Lagerström’s Nordisk Boktryckarekonst (Nordic Printing Art, 1900–61). However, Lagerström did not choose to report on the New Typography at this time. Ever since it was launched in 1900, Nordisk Boktryckarekonst had worked towards the development of a Swedish style in typography. During the 1910s, this was expressed through what became known as ‘Nordic Printing Art Style’. This was characterized by a lack of ornament and the use of heavy roman typefaces like Genzsch Antiqua (1906), or Nordisk Antikva, as it was known in Scandinavia. During the 1920s, the journal’s style moved closer to a typographic equivalent of the neoclassical Swedish Grace which garnered great acclaim at 1925’s International Exposition of Modern Industrial and Decorative Arts in Paris. Thanks to its privileged position, Nordisk Boktryckarekonst was able to suppress any would-be debate following the publication of the ‘Elementare Typographie’ special issue. For many Scandinavian compositors, first contacts with the

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New Typography therefore came through encountering German type samples executed in the new style,26 not by reading the domestic trade press. Following the New Typography’s domestication by the German printing trade, type foundries in the country began producing series of geometric ornaments and reissuing sans-serifs like Reform Grotesk (1904) and Venus Grotesk (1907). Both ornaments and typefaces were advertised as essential for the construction of the New Typography. Sometimes they were marketed alongside each other, in the same type sample, as complementing products. For instance, Bauersche Giesserei prominently showcased Venus Grotesk in a sample for the Futura Schmuck (1927) series of ornaments. Not only were Venus and Futura Schmuck used alongside each other in nearly all the sample compositions, but the back cover also loudly proclaimed that ‘the well-known and famous Bauhaus master L. Moholy-Nagy’ had recently singled out the typeface as that best suited for elemental typography (Figure 2.4).

Figure 2.4  Back cover of a type sample for Futura Schmuck (1927). Photograph by St Bride Library. Item held by St Bride Library.

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The design of the back cover reflected how the New Typography was understood by many in the printing trade at the time, as an exercise in achieving geometric effects. The body text, set in Venus, was arranged into a rectangular shape and integrated in with the geometric Futura ornaments. Ironically, this was precisely the kind of a priori aesthetics Moholy-Nagy objected to in his manifesto of New Typography, discussed in the previous chapter. Moreover, the arrangement was centred on the page, thereby passing up the opportunity to actively use the paper surface, as Tschichold had called for. The Scandinavian printing industry relied heavily on imported type. Although Scandinavian foundries like Berlingska Stilgjuteriet in Sweden, William Simmelkiærs Skriftstøberi in Denmark and Olaf Gulowsen in Norway manufactured type, these were not of their own design. Instead, they produced clones of foreign faces. This lack of a developed domestic type industry meant that Scandinavian compositors were exposed to foreign, and then particularly German, type samples like that for Futura Schmuck. Because type samples were sent to printing houses as marketing pieces, they were able to reach a wider audience than foreign-language trade journals. The lack of language skills and cost of subscription would have dissuaded many compositors from subscribing to foreign journals. As one Danish compositor commented: ‘There really are limits to how many one can subscribe to of those.’27 While type samples were primarily sent out to those with the authority to decide whether a new face would be purchased or not, that is the master printer, or in certain cases perhaps the foreman, they could also be procured by ordinary compositors on request.28

Reception in the Scandinavian printing trade Eighteen months after the publication of Tschichold’s special issue Hugo Lagerström finally found it necessary to speak up in defence of the neoclassical ‘Swedish’ typography he had long promoted, and to issue what he called ‘some words of warning’ against the arriving German type samples which he found ‘strange and highly impersonal and lacking in tradition’.29 According to Lagerström, the New Typography was ‘not at all’ a good model for Swedish typography.30 It was the product of artists, not tradesmen, and the result of ‘theoretical constructions disconnected from tradition’.31 Although Lagerström clearly did not sympathize with the New Typography, he made effort to report on it fairly. Before writing his article, he had familiarized himself with Tschichold’s ‘Elementare Typographie’ special issue, which he used as a basis for explaining ‘the new style’ to his readers. The article even included a translation of Tschichold’s ten-point manifesto, and went so far as to acknowledge that certain aspects, such as its concern for simplicity, clarity, readability and the rejection of ornament, were ‘all [. . .] good typographic rules’.32

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That the New Typography was encountered primarily through type samples, and secondarily through the German trade press – rather than through direct contact with the avant-garde, explains the selection of visual examples accompanying Lagerström’s article. The vast majority of illustrations were taken from various type samples and trade journals. The only examples of avant-garde origin were sourced from the ‘Elementare Typographie’ special issue, whereby they had already entered into the discourse of the printing trade. From 1927 onwards Nordisk Boktryckarekonst ceased to be the sole Scandinavian journal covering visual aspects of typography. De Grafiske Fag (The Graphic Trades, 1918–2012), the paper of Copenhagen’s Master Printers’ Association (Københavns Bogtrykkerforening), was expanded into a journal focusing more closely on visual matters. Erik Levison (1885–1936), a Copenhagen-based retailer of printing equipment, machinery and type, launched the house organ EL (1927–36) – presented as ‘a reliable guide to all technical questions which has or could have practical significance for domestic book craft’.33 Towards the end of the year, Nelsons Magasin For Grafisk Kunst (Nelson’s Magazine for Graphic Art) appeared in Norway. Published by master printer Arthur Nelson (1878–1957), this was the first issue of the journal which would soon be retitled Norsk Trykk (Norwegian Printing, 1927–35). Influenced by these developments, the three Scandinavian countries’ compositors’ unions decided to pool their resources and publish their own journal on visual matters. This was launched in 1930 and given the name Grafisk Revy. Within the space of a few years, the number of journals focusing on the visual aspects of typography had increased significantly. However, the new journals were no more positively inclined to the New Typography than Nordisk Boktryckarekonst was.34 Indeed, other early articles on the New Typography followed the pattern Lagerström had established. Their authors tended to be well-established printing trade figures who were trying to limit the New Typography’s influence, and their articles were full of warnings against potential excesses and misunderstandings. Emil Selmar’s (1854–1934) ‘De Vekslende Typografiske Moder’ (The Changing Typographic Fashions, 1928) was particularly damning.35 He objected to the New Typography’s ahistorical stance as he was concerned that it would drag typography back into the ‘confusion’ of the artistic printing period, and was alarmed by its close association to constructivism and suprematism. Selmar considered constructivism and suprematism to be ‘dysmorphic’ art forms which revelled in ‘the glorification of the deformed’.36 The term ‘dysmorphic’ had been coined by bacteriologist Carl Julius Salomonsen (1847–1924) ten years earlier to describe the cubist collages of Danish artist Vilhelm Lundstrøm (1893–1950). According to Salomonsen, these collages and other examples of modern art were the result of a contagious mental illness which could be understood from the point of view of pathology.37 Like Lagerström’s words of warning, Selmar’s article was predominantly illustrated with examples taken from

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type samples, and the only examples of avant-garde origin were those featured in the ‘Elementare Typographie’ special issue.38 An article by Danish compositor L. Chr. Nielsen (1861–1946) set out a reason why avant-garde work was so poorly represented in printed journals. The article was not illustrated with type samples, but materials produced by branches of the Union of German Printers (Verband der deutschen Buchdrucker) on occasion of its sixtieth anniversary in 1926. Like Lagerström, Nielsen noted that New Typographers were largely artists, and admitted that his examples were ‘not of the most “bona fide”’,39 but claimed he had selected them nevertheless in order to illustrate how ‘this movement is spread over all of Germany and has to no small extent gained friends amongst compositors’.40 If one accepts this justification, one may conclude that the printing trade, not unreasonably, saw their own interpretations of the New Typography as more relevant to their own practice and circumstances than the ‘wild’ New Typography of the avant-garde. De Grafiske Fag may have applied the same rationale as Nielsen when it commissioned the cover for the journal in which Selmar’s article appeared. This was the first trade journal cover in Scandinavia to appear in the New Typography (plate 2.1). Notably, it was not designed by any member of the avant-garde, nor by a Danish compositor. Instead, the task fell to the Genzsch and Heyse type foundry in Hamburg which used the opportunity to feature its recently released typeface Basalt (1926). This decorative typeface was used to set all the text on the cover apart from the initials ‘KBF’, an abbreviation for Københavns Bogtrykkerforening (Copenhagen Master Printer’s Association). The initials were instead created as negative shapes held within a large red square constructed from typographic material. Typographic material was also used for a number of decorative rules, which were used to make the geometric arrangement of the page more clearly visible. While Scandinavia’s dependence on foreign type may have made it particularly susceptible to the influence of German type samples, it should be noted that they also had a profound effect on countries with strong domestic type-founding industries like the United States. Frederic Ehrlich’s early study of the New Typography’s reception in the American printing trade, The New Typography and Modern Layouts (1934), states that it was through looking at type samples, and to a lesser extent through reading trade journal articles, ‘that the general printing industry came to know “what it was all about”’.41 Ehrlich, who worked as a teacher at the New York Printers Association Mechanics’ Institute and Cooper Union, also reproduced several examples from the 1927 Futura Schmuck type sample.42 This reinforces the sense that this type sample was a particularly influential one, even internationally. The fact that type samples played an important role in spreading the New Typography was also acknowledged in Britain. In 1938, the printer Bertram Evans gave a talk on the New Typography to the Royal Society of Arts where he argued that its rapid uptake in Germany was attributable to four factors. These

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were the relatively small size of German printing firms, which made it easier for them to take up new ideas than bigger British firms, the quality of the German trade press, the high standard of German education in the graphic arts and ‘the remarkable specimen books issued by German type founders’.43

The New Typography in Scandinavian printing education The New Typography initially received a hostile reception in Scandinavia. However, it was soon taken up into the printing trade’s educational movement, as it had been in Germany. Scandinavian printers often referred to this educational movement as ‘elevating the trade’. This term was used to describe their efforts to improve the trade’s standing, the quality of its products and the skills and education of its workforce. The movement of ‘elevating the trade’ found expression through the publication of trade journals and other literature, through the work of educational societies and through formal education in trade schools. Much of this work was carried out in the name of the trade’s overall competitiveness, but it was rooted in a sense of professional pride and had a clear interest in the aesthetics of print. Like the German educational movement, its origins could be traced back to the typographic revival which arrived in Scandinavia with the publication of Frederik Hendriksen’s (1847–1938) article ‘Vore Bøgers Udstyrelse’ (The Design of Our Books) on the front page of the Danish newspaper Politiken (Politics) in 1884. A number of initiatives to improve the trade’s quality and standing were launched over the following years. Waldemar Zachrisson (1861–1913) began publishing his annual Boktryckeri-Kalender (Printing Calendar, 1896–1921) and Nordisk Boktryckarekonst started appeared shortly thereafter. In Copenhagen the Trade School for Book Craft opened its doors in 1893, and in Stockholm the School for Book Craft followed in 1903. The late 1920s saw a renewed interest in elevating the trade in Scandinavia. Letterpress printers considered themselves under threat from a number of rival professions – commercial artists, photographers, lithographers and advertisers. If it was to maintain its position in the marketplace, or indeed win back work it had already lost to these competing trades, the letterpress industry needed to heighten professional standards and to ensure its practitioners were as skilled and capable as possible.44 An ever-increasing mechanization posed a threat to the livelihood and creative autonomy of the compositor.45 Realizing that it was impossible to compete with typesetting machines for speed when setting pieces of continuous text, they considered it vital to become more skilled at setting complicated items – like tables, ads and other pieces of jobbing print – if they were to ensure their continued employability.46 This was all the more necessary as the majority of orders were now made up of job, rather than book, work.47

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Following the example set by the Educational Union of German Printers, Scandinavian master printers and compositors identified the New Typography as an answer to the challenges they were facing. By demanding that compositors be able to plan, sketch out and visually judge their work, it offered the prospect of a more highly skilled workforce. To be able to set text in the manner of the future was seen as a way of securing one’s long-term employability.48 For employers, it was important to employ staff capable of working in the new style. This was necessary in order to secure commissions from clients who wanted their printed materials to have a modern appearance. Young compositors were drawn to the New Typography because of the creative autonomy it promised.49 Quite simply, it made the compositor’s job more enjoyable.50 Finally, the excitement generated by the New Typography’s emergence was in itself a motivation to engage with the educational project more widely. According to Charles Moegreen, a teacher at the Trade School for Book Craft in Copenhagen, it ‘roused the individual to work more intensively with the available [typographic] material and thus did its part to heighten the interest for the purely trade-technical’.51 Although many Scandinavian printers saw benefits to the New Typography, they did not unthinkingly adopt it as a new style. Modifications were required for it to be compatible with the demands of the commercial printing house and the aesthetic preferences of master printers and compositors.

Trade journals Trade journals were an important source of information on technical and stylistic matters for compositors, especially as formal educational opportunities were highly limited once they had passed their apprentice exam. In their efforts to keep their readers up to date on the latest developments in the trade, a number of Scandinavian trade journals showed considerable interest in the New Typography in the 1930s, albeit to varying degrees. Although no journal went so far as to single-mindedly promote the style at the expense of all others, the most positively inclined were Nordisk Boktryckarekonst, Svensk Grafisk Årsbok, Norsk Boktrykk Kalender, EL and the pan-Scandinavian Grafisk Revy. These journals applied variations of the New Typography to their designs. Other journals, like Norsk Trykk and De Grafiske Fag, reported on the New Typography, sometimes positively, but stopped short of adopting its formal language.

A modified form of New Typography in Hugo Lagerström’s publications Hugo Lagerström initially opposed the New Typography, as discussed previously in relation to his ‘words of warning’. However, he soon softened his stance and

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began to speak in favour of a modified form. This represented a clear stylistic departure from the Swedish style he had helped develop, but retained many of its underlying values.52 The first steps towards the development of this modified form was a series of four redesign proposals for Nordisk Boktryckarekonst’s cover, published in the journal’s November 1928 issue. Each composition was asymmetrical, printed in solid black and bright red on white paper, and made use of rectangular and square shapes. One of the proposals was set in the sans-serif Mager Grotesk (Figure 2.5), and the remaining three in different serif typefaces: Caslon Antikva (Figure 2.6, verso), Mediæval Antikva (Figure 2.6, recto) and Bodoni Antikva (Figure 2.7). The Mager Grotesk and Bodoni Antikva designs were both based on a two-column grid. By manipulating the amount of letterspacing used, the title of the journal was forced into the grid structure to achieve the desired geometric effect. That only one of the four designs used a sans-serif shows Lagerström remained unconvinced by Tschichold’s endorsement of this

Figure 2.5  Cover design proposal for Nordisk Boktryckarekonst. Published in Nordisk Boktryckarekonst 29, no. 11 (1928): 437. Photograph by the author. Item held by the National Library of Sweden.

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Figure 2.6  Cover design proposals for Nordisk Boktryckarekonst. Published in Nordisk Boktryckarekonst 229, no. 11 (1928): 438–9. Photograph by the author. Item held by the National Library of Sweden.

letterform. Instead, he made use of Tschichold’s concession for continuous text to propose that the typefaces Baskerville, Walbaum and Bodoni like Mediæval should be allowed, because they were also ‘impersonal’ and ‘more constructed than “written by hand”’.53 Despite having published his cover design proposals, Lagerström remained hesitant to fully commit Nordisk Boktryckarekonst to the New Typography. As late as March 1929 he wrote: ‘I am [. . .] still doubtful and for this reason have not decided to apply “the new style” to NB’s design.’54 However, he would soon apply it to another of his publications, albeit in what he described as a ‘modified form’.55 The publication in question was Svensk Grafisk Årsbok (Figure 2.8), and what he meant by a ‘modified form’ was explained during an evening of discussion on the New Typography hosted by the Swedish Association of Master Printers (Svenska Boktryckareföreningen) on 4 April 1929. In his speech, Lagerström claimed the New Typography was unlikely to gain a foothold ‘in its most extreme form’, because the ‘Swedish’ neoclassical style he had helped cultivate over the past twenty years was too deeply rooted for radical change to occur.56 However, he did not think printers should stay true to tradition for its own sake, and acknowledged that formal innovation had been at a standstill for a decade. He therefore declared ‘it is now time to go ahead and try the new phenomenon, “the new style of our times”, and retain the good but reject the bad’.57 As he had repeatedly stated ever since

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Figure 2.7  Cover design proposal for Nordisk Boktryckarekonst. Published in Nordisk Boktryckarekonst 229, no. 11 (1928): 440. Photograph by the author. Item held by the National Library of Sweden.

issuing his ‘words of warning’, Lagerström found simplicity and readability to be praiseworthy values shared both by the Swedish neoclassical style and the New Typography. However, he thought the New Typography was ‘illogical’ in its choice of formal means: the emphasized pursuit of clarity and fitness-for-purpose seems contrary to the placement of lines of type both vertically and diagonally, and the use of heavy lines and points, sharp colours closely placed together etc. often complicates and dissolves the logical context of the text to achieve the desired forceful effect. A heavy rule, a square or a segment of a circle, an obliquely set line of type becomes the main aspect of the composition and the text, the word forms, become a sideshow.58

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Figure 2.8  Front cover of Svensk Grafisk Årsbok 4 (1929). Photograph by the author. Item held by Kungliga Biblioteket, National Library of Sweden

While Lagerström here criticized these formal strategies on the basis of readability, he somewhat paradoxically went on to criticize the exclusive emphasis on the sans-serif for its lack of decorative potential. Lagerström then restated his call for Baskerville, Walbaum and Bodoni to be taken up as acceptable alternatives alongside Mediæval, this time adding Garamond and Caslon to the list. Books could be reformed by refraining from ornamentation, by discontinuing the practice of dropping capitals down into the text at the beginning of chapters and by arranging headings and page numbers asymmetrically. Svensk Grafisk Årsbok clearly showed how Lagerström’s idea of a modified form could be set into practice. The book was designed to a DIN A5 format, featured headings ranged left in bold Bodoni and had body text set in Mediæval.

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Its cover was overtly asymmetric and also set in bold Bodoni. Notably, Lagerström abandoned the a priori aesthetics of his earlier cover design experiments and allowed the type to be set freely with a ragged right edge, rather than to force this into a geometric shape or pattern. Thereby, he resolved previous tensions. The text once again became the main event, and was no longer ‘a sideshow’. When time came to design the next volume of Nordisk Boktryckarekonst, Lagerström applied the same modified form (plate 2.2). He declared that ‘the new style doubtlessly contains new forms of typographic expression worth studying and testing’ and that the journal’s task for the coming year was to work on the ‘refinement’ of its modes of expression.59 Once again he used bold Bodoni in an asymmetrical composition. This time geometric elements like rules were absent altogether, but the journal’s crest was introduced and the buff card of Svensk Grafisk Årsbok replaced by an eggshell blue. The crest was a symbol of Lagerström’s ambition to publish a truly Nordic journal. It integrated Denmark’s, Finland’s, Norway’s and Sweden’s coats of arms into a four-leaf clover shape. The crest had originally been designed by Lagerström’s brother Victor (1864–1948) for Nordisk Boktryckarekonst’s first volume and had been used for the majority of covers ever since. Over the next few years, Nordisk Boktryckarekonst continued its engagement with the New Typography. The journal was colloquially known as ‘NB’, and between 1932 and 1935, this abbreviation was set prominently at a large scale in either a sans- or a slab-serif face on the cover, as can be seen in the design for 1934’s volume where it featured prominently in the top right-hand corner (Figure 2.9). Here was clearly an attempt to communicate in the briefest, simplest, most urgent manner possible. Although ornamentation and broad margins quickly disappeared, and elements like bold page numbers and running headings were introduced, other aspects of the journal’s interior pages were slower to change. Headings were centred until 1932. The use of capitals was never abandoned altogether, although they from 1932 onwards followed the precepts of Lagerström’s modified form of New Typography by being set on the baseline of the first line of text instead of being dropped down. The benefit of this method was likely the time it saved the compositor during composition. An article by Iwan Waloddi Fischerström (1906–94) on educational opportunities abroad is typical of how the majority of text pages looked once these reforms were in place (Figure 2.10). This set-up was only occasionally abandoned, and then mostly to give way to image-driven articles. Lagerström’s modified form was important not only as a lucid theoretical interpretation of the New Typography but also as a form which gained significant exposure through his widely circulated journal and through its remarkably consistent application as a style offered to Bröderna Lagerström’s clients. Other modifications made to the New Typography in Scandinavia were applied less programmatically and were less clearly underpinned by theory. Nevertheless, they show how the New Typography was interpreted in a variety of ways.

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Figure 2.9  Front cover of Nordisk Boktryckarekonst 35, no. 1 (1934). Photograph by the author. Item held by the National Library of Sweden.

Reflecting modifications in practice: Norsk Boktrykk Kalender In 1930 Norsk Boktrykk Kalender announced it was breaking with the past and ‘entering a new epoch’.60 However, while the editors stated that they wanted to move the annual closer to prevailing typographic fashions and satisfy the new age’s demands for simplicity and functionality, they wanted to do so in a way which would not invite criticism.61 This rather tentative stance was reflected in the typographic design. The annual was designed to a DIN B6 format, and the sansserif Erbar Grotesk (1926) was used for the cover and for chapter headings. On the cover (Figure 2.11), a black disk with a red outline worked as an eye-catcher

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Figure 2.10  Double-page spread from Nordisk Boktryckarekonst 33, no. 2 (1932): 58–9. Photograph by the author. Item held by the National Library of Sweden.

drawing attention to the date ‘1931’, from which a black rule guided the viewer down to the title. Arrangements of rules and disks were repeated on the end papers and in conjunction with the headings at the beginning of each chapter. The body text was set without indents in the serif typeface Verona. The choice of typeface may have been a deliberate attempt to stave off criticism. However, it may also simply have reflected how the New Typography was interpreted by the mainstream of Norwegian printers at the time. In one of the annual’s articles, foreman Harald Clausen (1880–1952) provided an updated version of Tschichold’s ‘Elementare Typographie’ manifesto, intended to bring his readers up to speed on how it was currently being interpreted: 1. Type should be of an elemental shape: sans-serif is therefore usable in all variations: light, semibold, bold etc. (This demand is incidentally well underway to being disregarded.) 2. Greatly differing type sizes and type forms without regard to the hitherto reigning aesthetic views. 3. Asymmetric (i.e. non-symmetric) arrangement on the paper surface. But text and title groupings should be in harmony with the unprinted paper surface.

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4. Logical hierarchy and cohesion between the different parts of the composition (title and text groups). 5. In addition to type, only elementary, geometric shapes are used, such as rules, squares, circles and triangles with solid surfaces. 6. Illustrations should preferably be of a rectangular format. 7. Strong, garish colours: orange, red, green, blue.62 Many of Clausen’s points remained recognizable from the ‘Elementare Typographie’ manifesto: the preference for sans-serif type, the use of contrasting sizes of type, the preference for asymmetrical composition, the call for the text to be organized according to a logical hierarchy and the exclusion of any ornament

Figure 2.11  Front cover of Norsk Boktrykk Kalender 1931. Photograph by Torbjørn Eng. Item in Torbjørn Eng's personal collection.

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other than rules or elementary geometric shapes. Others had been modified in one way or another. The demand for sans-serif type was tempered by the statement that this was in the process of being discarded. Clausen argued in favour of asymmetric compositions but thought printed and non-printed areas should be arranged in a harmonious manner. Tschichold, on the other hand, argued for them to be contrasting. Several aspects of Tschichold’s manifesto were missing altogether. This included the basic, but highly important opening statement that ‘the New Typography is oriented towards purpose’, and the following clarification that this purpose is for communication to ‘appear in the briefest, simplest, most urgent form’.63 Similarly, no objection to ornament can be found so long as it was geometric and of a solid surface. Missing were also the calls for DIN paper formats and kleinschreibung. They were likely omitted as irrelevancies. The Norwegian Standards Association adopted DIN formats in 1926 as one of the first national bodies to do so, and the practice of capitalizing common nouns had been long since been abandoned in Norway. The last two of Clausen’s points, describing the image format and type of printing colours used, were of his own creation. The former was likely informed by a functionalist concern for expediency derived from typography’s rectilinear nature. The latter emphasized that the New Typography was associated with a shift in the use of colour. As Arthur Nelson had noted a couple of years earlier, the practice of using muted and harmonious tints and shades associated with neoclassicism had been abandoned. Text was now printed in solid black ink on pure white paper and widespread use was made of unmixed primary and secondary colours, as well as metallic gold and silver inks.64

Scandinavianism and typographic compromise: Grafisk Revy The pan-Scandinavian compositors’ journal Grafisk Revy was modelled on Typographische Mitteilungen. The New Typography was an important topic also for Grafisk Revy, but it did not adopt the same promotional stance as its German counterpart. Its editor Nils Wessel (1866–1940) defended the ‘excesses’ of the avant-garde by recalling a famous line from August Strindberg’s (1849–1912) play Master Olof (1872), fittingly spoken by the character Gert the Printer. When Olof accused him of going too far with his heretical rhetoric, Gert exclaimed: ‘One has to aim at the sky if one wants to hit the forest’s edge.’65 Nevertheless, many of the articles in Grafisk Revy called for some level of constraint or compromise. Viggo Hasnæs stated that the New Typography could be used as a variation alongside traditional typography,66 and Charles Moegreen argued that ‘much points towards a compromise between new and old typography to the benefit of both directions’ as he considered the New Typography to still be

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in the process of development.67 In keeping with the journal’s Scandinavianist profile, no more than two issues were designed and produced by any one union before responsibilities were passed on to the next in turn. The journal’s place of publication thus rotated between the Scandinavian capitals. Each issue featured a different cover, and the internal text pages were redesigned with each hand-over. In a Scandinavian context, Grafisk Revy is also noteworthy because Tschichold was personally involved with the journal’s final pan-Scandinavian issue in 1936. In addition to specifying parts of the issue’s design, he authored its lead article. This concluded: The design of this issue, the examples in this article and most of the ads serve as illustrations to my explanations. May they contribute to spreading the New Typography even further in the Nordic countries.68 Tschichold’s elegant cover design was arranged around an unprinted white square defined to the left and right by the journal’s format, and by a field of repeating blue rules to the top and a single red rule to the bottom (plate 2.3). The journal’s name was placed asymmetrically in upper-case red Bodoni letters onto the field of repeated blue rules. The number of the issue was placed below the red rule and printed in the same typeface and size as the journal’s name but printed in blue. Tschichold’s design was markedly different to Grafisk Revy’s usual cruder, but arguably more impactful, designs. Interestingly, Tschichold’s solution was not entirely well received by his Scandinavian audience. For instance, the Norwegian compositor Rolf Torp (1889–1940), who also worked as a teacher at Oslo Technical Evening School (Oslo Tekniske Aftenskole), characterized it as ‘bloodless’.69 Presumably, Torp would have preferred a cover resembling that used for Grafisk Revy’s first issue in 1931 which he had chosen as the winning entry in a competition hosted by the journal as part of a jury of four (plate 2.4). The Norwegian compositor Kai Møller’s (1907–95) design, with its chunky geometric letters constructed from typographic material, was certainly more forceful in its use of graphic means than Tschichold’s.

Educational societies Apart from a series of short biennial master courses arranged by Nordisk Boktryckarekonst, compositors had no formal educational opportunities once their trade school education had been completed. Printing trade professionals therefore organized themselves in educational societies where they held lectures, organized exhibitions and published technical journals. The first professional groups within the trade to set up such societies were pressmen and machine setters, for whom it was vital to keep up to date on technological developments.70

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During the 1920s and early 1930s, compositors became interested in joining this educational movement, and reached out to the machine operators and machine setters with the aim of setting up new multidisciplinary societies which would serve all professional groups within the printing trade. This led to the founding of the Graphic Society of Oslo in 1929 and the Compositors’ Technical Cooperative in Copenhagen in 1931. In Sweden, further education of compositors took place as part of the wider labour movement project of educating the working classes coordinated through the Workers’ Educational Association (Arbetarnas Bildningsförbund, ABF). Study circles were set up around the country, but these did not assume the same importance to the Swedish trade as the Graphic Society of Oslo and the Compositors’ Technical Cooperative did to the Norwegian and Danish trades.

The Graphic Society of Oslo According to its statutes, the Graphic Society of Oslo’s purpose was ‘to awaken the interest for occupational information amongst its members and champion the reputation and interests of the graphic trades externally’.71 Open to members of all graphic trades, to employers as well as employees, the society was funded by membership fees and could therefore be politically neutral (in that it was not funded through a trade union). The society modelled itself upon the Educational Union of German Printers,72 which, as described earlier in this chapter, played an important role in promoting the New Typography in Germany. By the end of 1931, the board was even able to declare that it was officially affiliated with its German counterpart.73 In its efforts to heighten the printing trade’s professional interest, the Graphic Society of Oslo arranged numerous activities: it hosted lectures, reading groups and exhibitions, it arranged practical courses and it set up a library. Although it was based in Oslo, the society also influenced developments in other parts of Norway. Many of the talks held at the society were subsequently published in one or more trade journals, thereby spreading the ideas discussed to a wider audience. Moreover, it would send slides or arrange lecture visits upon request to other similar ‘graphic societies’ founded elsewhere over the following years.74 The New Typography was frequently debated at the society during the 1930s, when leading figures in the Norwegian printing trade came to give talks on the topic.75 The society’s interest in the New Typography was also reflected by the invitation cards sent out ahead of each meeting.76 These uncredited designs featured asymmetric compositions, more often than not set in sans-serif type, and were usually printed in one colour on buff card. A particularly successful example was that created for a talk given by compositor Ivar S. Olsen on the work completed at a German applied arts school by two of its teachers (Figure 2.12). Unfortunately, neither the name of the school nor the name of the teachers

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Figure 2.12  Invitation card for a lecture by Ivar S. Olsen at the Graphic Society of Oslo (1933). Photograph by Torbjørn Eng. Item in Torbjørn Eng’s personal collection.

was provided on the card. However, it is stated that Olsen brought this work back with him from a study trip made during the summer of 1933. The finely balanced composition is constructed from groups of text which have been assigned visual weight in a hierarchy of importance, from the title to the society’s name and on to the lesser information, demonstrating a solid understanding of the principles of elemental typography. Although this card too is uncredited, it is tempting to think that Olsen designed it himself. Olsen clearly maintained an interest in the New Typography, having submitted a suggestion for a new ‘functionalist’ cover to Norsk Trykk three years before.77

The Compositors’ Technical Cooperative in Copenhagen The Compositors’ Technical Cooperative in Copenhagen resembled the Graphic Society of Oslo in many respects. It held talks, reading groups and set up a library. It was politically neutral and open to members of all the graphic trades, employees as well as employers. Like the Graphic Society of Oslo, it also became officially affiliated with the Educational Union of German Printers. However, unlike its Norwegian counterpart, it also arranged evening courses, and it embarked on a modest publishing activity. Originally only active in Copenhagen, it soon expanded into a national organization.78 In 1934, the Compositors’ Technical Cooperative published Typografisk Årbog 1935 (Typographic Annual 1935), a

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book which showed the organization considered itself closely aligned to the New Typography, albeit in a modified form. The foreword announced: Just as the Compositors’ Technical Cooperative itself is a new creation, a new face in our domestic graphic world, so the annual appears in a design which at several significant points departs from the familiar. Without going to extremes, or letting principal reign supreme, we have sought to let the New Typography’s views and rules shape the design of the book, as far as circumstances would allow.79 This stance informed the annual’s design. The cover and title page were designed by Viktor Peterson as examples of what he termed ‘constructive design’.80 This name referred to a particular theory of layout which he taught on a two-year-long evening course arranged by the Compositors’ Technical Cooperative.81 Rooted in the New Typography, it favoured asymmetrical composition, emphasized clarity of presentation and relied on typographic hierarchies. However, it also relied on a number of formal principles derived from Der Goldene Schnitt im Buchgewerbe (The Golden Section in the Book Trade, 1919). Authored by German trade school teacher Rudolf Engel-Hardt (1886–1968), this book detailed how the golden section could be used to create harmonious relationships of scale, colour and form and described how these relationships could be applied to book design. Although Engel-Hardt’s ideas had little to do with the New Typography, Peterson was able to successfully fuse the two. In Grafisk Teknik (Graphic Technique, 1934–35), Peterson explained his design decisions.82 The title page (Figure 2.13) was made up of two planes: a rectangle (the book’s DIN B6 format, itself based on the golden section) and a parallelogram (the lines of text). The parallelogram shape was chosen to lend a sense of movement to the page. The three lines of text making up this shape were arranged so as to first draw the eye to the title ‘Typografisk årbog 1935’ at the top, then to ‘Typografernes fagtekniske Samvirke’ at the bottom of the page, before finally arriving at the short line in the centre, which read: ‘utgivet af’ (published by). The three different type sizes used corresponded to the relationship five–eight–thirteen of the Fibonacci sequence. Similarly, the spaces between the lines of type were set to five units between top and centre, and eight from the centre to the bottom. The preoccupation with proportions was directly influenced by Engel-Hardt, whose book provided a handy table of type sizes arranged in harmonious sequences. A range of alternatives for groups of two, three or four different sizes was included. A 1936 article on Peterson’s course included a Danish translation of this table, suggesting Peterson used it in his teaching.83 Engel-Hardt’s teachings also informed the various visual balancing acts which were in play. The short line in the centre, printed in the same black ink as the rest of the composition,

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Figure 2.13  Viktor Peterson: Title page for Grafisk Årbog 1935 (1934). Photograph by the author. Item in the author’s collection.

was intended to appear grey optically. This meant it sat harmoniously mid-way in tone between the white paper surface and the black of the other two lines of type. Moreover, the visual weight of the parallelogram was intended to optically balance with the rest of the spread. The cover was designed according to similar considerations of proportion (plate 2.5). The typeface used throughout the book, Fransk Antikva, was overprinted onto numerals created from brass lines and set at an angle to instil a sense of urgency. According to Peterson, a didone had not been chosen for aesthetic or ideological reasons, but as the result of economic considerations. Peterson thought sans- and slab-serif typefaces required an overly generous amount of leading to be sufficiently legible. In turn this necessitated an unnecessary increase in a book’s page count. Peterson’s ‘constructive design’ organized text according to hierarchies of meaning and based its preference of serif over sans-

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serif faces for running text on arguments of economy. Nevertheless, it was a highly aestheticized interpretation of the New Typography. It concerned itself as much with how the formal relationship of elements on the page related to EngelHardt’s ideals of harmony and beauty as with expressing the meaning of the text. The annual was also notable as an example of moderate kleinschreibung adapted to local circumstances. As mentioned earlier in this chapter, Danish orthography called for common nouns to be capitalized, as they still are in German, up until 1948. The New Typography’s call for lower-case therefore resonated more loudly in Denmark than in the other Scandinavian countries, where this practice had long since been abandoned. The annual’s foreword announced that the Compositors’ Technical Cooperative were aligning themselves with a recent call for orthographic reform by Denmark’s Association of Teachers. This was the latest in a long history of similar efforts, traceable back to the work of Rasmus Rask (1787–1832) and N. M. Petersen (Niels Matthias, 1791–1862).84 That they were doing so was also evident from the annual’s design. The cover, title page and text pages were all set using a moderate kleinschreibung in which the first words of each sentence and proper nouns were capitalized, but where common nouns were not. So, although the Compositor’s Technical Cooperative refrained from adopting the absolute kleinschreibung advocated by Porstmann and Tschichold, the design of Typografisk Årbog 1935 shows they were prepared to consciously go against the official Danish orthography of the time. Like Viktor Peterson’s constructive design, the alignment to the proposals put forward by Denmark’s Association of Teachers demonstrates once more how compositors were willing and able to actively adapt the New Typography according to their needs, circumstances and concerns. Many of the lectures hosted by the Compositors’ Technical Cooperative were held by individuals who were not members of the trade, but who had interests in typography or related matters. The cooperative’s bulletin Grafisk Teknik announced several such talks. The advertising man V. J. Clausen spoke about how the printing and advertising trades approached typography differently, likely touching on the different cultures of design and production detailed in Chapter 3. Steen Eiler Rasmussen presented his book Britisk Brugskunst, discussed in Chapter 4 as an example of the functional tradition in typography. Rudolf BrobyJohansen, previously of the New Student Society, gave a talk on photomontage accompanied by a small exhibition which presumably included work created for the publishing house Monde, which he was associated with at the time. The Monde group is discussed in Chapter 5. The talks, and the diversity of speakers, allude to the Compositors’ Technical Cooperative’s position as a hub for a modern Danish typographic design culture. Tschichold himself was also persuaded to address the cooperative. In August 1935, he gave a series of three talks where he presented his latest thinking on the New Typography, soon to be published in the book Typographische

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Gestaltung (Typographic Design, 1935). According to Grafisk Teknik, Tschichold began with a critical overview of typography’s development since William Morris before restating the benefits of the New Typography – claiming it better suited to address key concerns of clarity and readability.85 Various facets of typographic detailing and layout were then discussed in detail, including that which Typographische Gestaltung is best known for – the mixing of type forms for emphasis and contrast. The talks were given in German, with V. J. Clausen acting as translator. Tschichold also arranged a small exhibition of his own work. Each talk was attended by between 400 and 500 people, most of them young compositors.86 While in Copenhagen, Tschichold kept a busy schedule. He visited printing houses as well as the William Simmelkiær type foundry and made deals with local editors and publishers which ensured he would remain an influence on Danish typography for years to come.87 Particularly important in this respect was the sale of Scandinavian translation rights for Typographische Gestaltung to Det Berlingske Bogtrykkeri, from which a Danish edition would eventually appear in 1937 under the name Funktionel Typografi (Functional Typography). The design of the book illustrates some of the practical issues Scandinavian practitioners must have encountered in attempting to create up-to-date work. Tschichold’s design for Typographische Gestaltung’s title page demonstrated how the new principle of type contrast could be put into practice (Figure 2.14). The title was set in Georg Trump’s (1896–1985) recent slab-serif City (ca.1931), Tschichold’s name in a script typeface and the publisher’s information in Bodoni. In contrast, Funktionel Typografi was set at the Danish printing house Det Berlingske Bogtrykkeri with the typefaces available there. The cover design (plate 2.6), which closely corresponded to Typographische Gestaltung’s title page, was therefore set in Clarendon rather than City and Bodoni. A different script face was also used. The interior pages were similarly set in Baskerville rather than in Bodoni. The result was a subtle but noticeable loss of sharpness in the typographic design. Nevertheless, Tschichold was pleased with his visit to Denmark and the progress he could observe there. In an unpublished article on ‘the development of the New Typography in Central European countries’, one can read that his three lectures had ‘proved fruitful, as the Danish trade journal Grafisk Teknik, with its articles and well-thought-out advertisements attests to’.88

Trade schools Given its iconic status, the Bauhaus is probably the school most closely associated with the New Typography in the popular imagination. However, as Christopher Burke has pointed out, the best-known examples of ‘Bauhaus typography’ are official documents and promotional materials created for the

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Figure 2.14  Jan Tschichold: Title page for Typographische Gestaltung (1935). Reproduced by kind permission of the Tschichold family. Photograph by the author. Item held by the National Library of Norway.

school by masters like Bayer, Moholy-Nagy and Joost Schmidt, not student work. Burke argues that while the New Typography was given impetus by the Bauhaus, it was at places like the Master School for Germany’s Printers and the Graphic Trade School (Graphische Berufschule) in Munich, both led by Paul Renner, that it was developed into a widely applicable approach.89 The Master School for Germany’s Printers counted Jan Tschichold and Georg Trump among its staff; however, teaching did not just focus on the New Typography, as Renner did not believe it always provided the best solution to typographic problems. Nevertheless, student work at the Master School for Germany’s Printers shows a high level of proficiency in the New Typography. Although the Munich schools may have been particularly important, the New Typography also found expression at numerous other trade schools across

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Germany, albeit often in a more domesticated form. That this was the case can be seen from the pages of Typographische Mitteilungen, which regularly reproduced examples of student work from all across the country. One such school was the Frankfurt School of Applied Arts.90 There, students received instruction from Philipp Albinus (1884–1957), a compositor whose short primer Grundsätzliches Zur Neuen Typographie (Fundamentals of the New Typography) was published by the Educational Union of German Printers in 1929. The New Typography also found inroads in Scandinavian trade schools. The following focuses on the two largest of these, the School for Book Craft in Stockholm and the Trade School for Book Craft in Copenhagen.

The School for Book Craft in Stockholm Hugo Lagerström had been closely involved with the running of the School for Book Craft in Stockholm ever since it was first founded in 1903. In the 1920s and 1930s he served as superintendent. Although he was not in regular contact with students, he was able to share his interest in the New Typography with them at events like the annual end-of-year celebrations, where he gave talks on the subject on more than one occasion. As can be seen from the cover of a promotional brochure issued in 1931 (Figure 2.15), his presence was undoubtedly felt at the school. Executed in photomontage, a technique described by Tschichold as ‘one of the most significant means of graphic expression in today’s typography and advertising’,91 the cover shows Lagerström’s disembodied head floating protectively over a medley of images depicting various tools of the trade, students working in their class rooms, the school’s display at the Stockholm Exhibition and a statue of Lars Johan Hierta (1801–72), whose memorial foundation had provided the funds required to found the school in the first place. The illustrator Berta Svensson (1892–1963) seems to have exerted a more direct influence on students than Lagerström. Best known for her calligraphic Nobel Prize diplomas, she also worked in a modern sans-serif lettering style during the 1930s. At the School for Book Craft in Stockholm, she taught both forms. Her affinity with the latter can be seen in an advertising card she used during this time in which her name is drawn in geometric sans-serif featuring fashionable elongated ascenders and a ball-and-stick r like the one found in early versions of Paul Renner’s Futura.92 According to Geith Forsberg, it was under Svensson’s leadership that students at the school created work ‘in the new typography’s spirit’.93 One of these students was Karl-Erik Forsberg (1914– 95). He was apprenticed to the publisher Bonnier’s printing house in 1929 and started evening classes at the School for Book Craft in Stockholm the same year. Although Forsberg later became known as a traditionalist calligrapher and type designer, his early work was carried out in a modernist vein. A sketch created

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Figure 2.15  Front cover of a promotional leaflet for the School for Book Craft in Stockholm (1931). Photograph by the author. Item in the author’s collection.

at the school for the book cover ‘Hoffmand Familj’ (Hoffmand Family, 1932) (plate 2.7) for instance, uses geometric shapes in a manner informed by abstract art movements like suprematism and a text set at an angle to instil a sense of urgency. However, that the school promoted a domesticated version of New Typography is suggested by Forsberg’s use of a Bodoni style lettering instead of a sans-serif, and muted hues rather than the pure primary colours associated with abstract art and the Bauhaus. When Forsberg much later looked back on his career, he recalled how he used to borrow German and English trade literature from the school to study at home, and that he through these was exposed to ‘beautiful things, things that did not exist in Sweden’.94 He then started sketching typefaces on his free

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evenings. Fascinated with Paul Renner’s stencil face Futura Black (1929), he set out to achieve ‘a similar startling and challenging effect using only geometric but thick [and] entirely black ascenders and counters’.95 The result was Ballong (Balloon, 1931) (Figure 2.16). The text drawn in pencil beneath the word ‘Ballong’ reads: ‘Powerful colours and advertising type makes the modern piece of print effective.’ Because they were not completed in ink, these letterforms reveal how they were constructed with a compass and ruler unlike Forsberg’s later calligraphic work. The design was offered to Berlingska Stilgjuteriet (Berlingska Type Foundry) with the intention of having it produced as a wooden poster type. Although the proposal was rejected, the foundry encouraged Forsberg to send them any future designs, thus initiating what was to become a long-term relationship between the designer and the foundry.

Figure 2.16  Karl-Erik Forsberg: Sketch for the typeface Ballong (1931) © Geith Forsberg 2020. Photograph by Uppsala University Library. Item held by Uppsala University Library in Karl-Erik Forsberg’s arkiv Acc​.n​r. 1987/17: 1930-talet: no. 25.

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In April 1931, students at the School for Book Craft had a unique opportunity to see a selection of cutting-edge graphic design when former student Iwan Waloddi Fischerström returned to arrange an exhibition of the Ring ‘Neue Werbegestalter’ (Circle of ‘New Advertising Designers’).96 Fischerström had become familiar with the Ring’s work while studying at the Master School for Germany’s Printers. There, he was more closely exposed to continental modernism than other members of the Scandinavian printing trade. As reported in Nordisk Boktryckarekonst, the display included work created for Bochumer Verein by Max Burchartz, Berkel by Paul Schuitema (1897–1973) and Dutch Lufthansa by Piet Zwart (1885–1977). Featured were also a number of type samples designed by Georg Trump for Berthold, presumably including those made for Berthold Grotesk (1928) and own geometric slab-serif City (1930). Jan Tschichold was represented by several of his film posters for the Phoebus Palast cinema as well as other work. The exhibition also featured work by designers who were not members of the ring, but with whom it had an affinity. Included were posters by Otto Baumberger (1889–1961) and Max Bill (1908–1994), book covers by Lissitzky and MoholyNagy, and some work by Ladislav Sutnar (1897–76). Advertising material for the French cosmetics company Bourjois was also on display.97 These may have been the modern compositions created by Studio Deberny Peignot which were running in the pages of French Vogue at the time. During 1931, Fischerström made further effort to share his knowledge of modernist graphic design with his colleagues. He gave a lecture at the Swedish Association of Master Printers’ annual meeting and published a handful of articles illustrated with work by Johannes Canis (1895–1977) and Walter Dexel (1890–1973) in addition to the designers featured in the Ring ‘Neue Werbegestalter’ exhibition.98 Interest in the New Typography was also evident in the books produced for the school’s end-of-year show. It was customary for the School for Book Craft in Stockholm’s students to collectively produce two books for this occasion. One was given to the staff as a gift and the other sold to fund the annual school trip. However, by the end of 1933, it was decided instead to produce a single, larger book to commemorate the school’s thirtieth anniversary. The book contained a collection of Hugo Lagerström’s writings on the New Typography and was titled Den Nya Stilens Genombrott (The New Style’s Breakthrough) (Figure 2.17). The title’s triumphant declaration referred to the acceptance the New Typography had gained within the Swedish printing trade. However, as it was produced at the School for Book Craft in Stockholm by its students, it can also be seen to reflect on the position the New Typography had gained within the school itself. Indeed, Lagerström’s introductory essay claimed the School for Book Craft in Stockholm had played an important part in the New Typography’s development in Sweden, by showing strong interest in both theoretical and practical aspects of ‘the new style’.99 As examples of this interest, Lagerström only referenced his own talks. However, as the events mentioned above have

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Figure 2.17  Front cover of Den Nya Stilens Genombrott (1933). Photograph by the author. Item in the author’s collection.

shown, the school’s engagement with the New Typography was conducted on a wider basis. Moreover, the cover design reinforces the notion that the school taught a domesticated version of the New Typography. While it is safe to assume that the cover was intended as an example of the New Typography given the subject matter, the use of Futura and the fashionable metallic silver ink, its static composition, set predominantly in upper-case, lacks the dynamism associated with the ‘wild’ New Typography of the avant-garde.

The Trade School for Book Craft in Copenhagen During the early 1930s, the New Typography also made inroads at the Trade School for Book Craft in Copenhagen. De Grafiske Fag first reported on its

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presence at 1931’s end-of-year show,100 the first to be held following a major expansion of the school. In order to take on a higher number of apprentices, the Trade School for Book Craft in Copenhagen had moved into new premises.101 Due to the increased number of students, additional teachers were needed, and among the newly appointed were ‘a host of new teachers with completely modern attitudes’.102 Over the next few years, teachers such as Viktor Peterson, Charles Moegreen and Henry Thejls started working at the school.103 The letterpress workshop was upgraded and furnished with new modern cases equipped with new sets of typefaces: Bodoni, Caslon and Futura. Several former students later spoke of the school’s permissive atmosphere as a factor which allowed them to explore the New Typography more freely than they could at their masters’ printing houses. One apprentice, Tage Poulsen, recalled how his teacher gave him ‘the feeling of having free hands’.104 He therefore saved up all the ‘daring funkis designs’ which he didn’t dare propose to the foreman at his place of training for the School for Book Craft.105 Eli Reimer (1916–2001), later known as a type historian and educator, had a similar experience. The compositors at the small printing house he was apprenticed to wanted to experiment with the typography they had been exposed to through Grafisk Revy and other trade literature. When the printing house received an order for a catalogue containing a large number of ads, they saw their chance to set these in the new style. The client, however, was not impressed with the result and complained to the master printer about the ‘extraordinary’ typographic treatment his ads had received.106 As he did not want to lose business, the master printer promptly cracked down on any further such experimentation, threatening his staff by declaring: ‘The next who sets modern will be sacked!’107 As a consequence, Reimer did not start working with the New Typography before attending evening classes at the Trade School for Book Craft. The ideas presented by Tschichold in his three Copenhagen lectures were quickly taken up at the school, as can be seen in work from Henry Thejls’ classes. Thejls had been part of the delegation showing Tschichold around Copenhagen, and in 1936 he received a travel grant to visit Tschichold in Basel to further discuss how the New Typography could be codified for use in trade school teaching. In the autumn following Tschichold’s lecture visit to Copenhagen in 1935, Kai Pelt (1915–63), a student in Henry Thejls’ second-year typesetting class produced a small book showing the extent to which the New Typography was being engaged with at the school. Titled Die Neue Typografie, it was in fact a condensed Danish translation of another Tschichold publication, Typographische Entwurfstechnik (Typographic Layout Technique, 1932). Published much later in English translation as How to Draw Layouts (1991), this was a short practical guide on how to draw layouts aimed at young job setters, covering the topics composition, typographic sketching and letter spacing.

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Whereas Typographische Entwurfstechnik had been set entirely in sans-serif, Pelt used Bodoni for running text and Futura for headings, thereby making use of the type contrasts Tschichold had advocated in his talks only months earlier. The cover (Figure 2.18) was printed on tracing paper. This allowed the book’s table of contents, set over three generously spaced lines on the following page, to subtly shine through. On the copy shown in Figure 2.18, the tracing paper and underlying card misalign, giving the title the appearance of being repeated twice seeing as it was printed in both places. Die Neue Typografie was printed in a short run by one of the school’s machine operator classes, and a special individualized edition was made for the typesetting class. This special edition contained blank sheets of card onto which Thejls pasted each student’s best work.108 The following spring it was time for Pelt to take his apprenticeship exam. The practical part required three different items to be typeset: an eight-page

Figure 2.18  Kai Pelt: Front cover of Die Neue Typografie (1936) © Anne and Peter Pelt, 2020. Photograph by Sissel Bjerrum Fossat / Media Museum. Item held by the Media Museum, Odense City Museums.

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‘book’ comprised of a half-title, a title page and four pages of text with three or four images inserted, a ruled table three or four stories high and a jobbing print assignment. The brief for the latter changed from year to year, but it was always stylistically free. Although it was not stipulated, it was expected that the apprentice would set the book section of the exam in a traditional style – especially the most conservative of its components, the title page. However, Pelt set his exam in the New Typography throughout. This was controversial and would have lasting consequences for teaching at the Trade School for Book Craft. The guidelines used by the awarding body known as the Apprentice Exam Commission (Svendeprøvekommissionen) had been worded prior to the New Typography’s appearance and could not be used to judge the quality of Pelt’s work. Although there was a ‘mood’ in favour of failing Pelt for not having set a traditional title page, the rules didn’t allow for this either. He was therefore grudgingly allowed to pass.109 However, the Commission subsequently revised the guidelines to ensure future candidates would set their title pages symmetrically. Any candidates submitting asymmetric title pages would be failed. As Thejls would later argue, this draconian response led to title pages assuming a particular conservative ‘apprentice exam aesthetic’.110 Apprentices were afraid of failing and therefore reluctant to produce work outside the norm, and the school felt obliged to teach the particular ‘formula’ it knew would result in a pass.111 Nevertheless, New Typography continued to have a presence at the school. In 1937, for instance, Thejls had a small unusual book about the recently deceased German type designer Jacob Erbar (1878–1935) produced there.112 The book was a private print created for a small group of compositors called the Graphic Circle (Grafisk Cirkel) founded the previous year. The book’s text pages were set in Erbar’s own Erbar Grotesk, the first geometric sans-serif released to market. The left-hand pages contained an index listing significant dates in Erbar’s life, while the right-hand pages contained biographical information – set justified with extremely narrow margins. Printed black on an orange card, the book’s text pages were then varnished to give them a shiny surface. While this treatment was noteworthy enough in itself, the cover was quite extraordinary. It consisted of a terrazzo tile onto which a small metal sign containing Erbar’s name was fastened with two screws. The exact placement of the signs, which could be bought from machines found in Copenhagen’s metro stations, varied from copy to copy. According to Thejls, the reason for the unusual choice of material was that he wanted ‘to raise Jacob Erbar a tombstone in miniature’.113

Putting the New Typography on the curriculum In the autumn of 1938, the Trade School for Book Craft underwent its second major reorganization of the decade when it changed from being an evening

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school to a day school. To coincide with the change, a new textbook was developed for use in teaching on the initiative of principal Holger Meyer. Selmars Typografi (1938) was named in honour of Emil Selmar. Just as his textbooks had done decades earlier, the ‘new Selmar’ sought to deal comprehensively with all aspects of the compositor’s profession. However, while Selmar’s own books had been the efforts of a single individual, the new textbook was authored by a group of leading figures in the Danish printing trade including Viggo Hasnæs, Charles Moegreen and C. Volmer Nordlunde (1888–1970). The reason a new textbook was needed, Nordlunde explained in the foreword, was that the New Typography had significantly changed printing practice. Twenty-five years earlier, when the second edition of Selmar’s Typografi (1913) was published, typesetting machines were not yet in widespread use, photographic reproduction had not completely replaced xylography and typography was still set following historical, symmetrical models. Faced with this situation, the New Typography had proved its worth. It had introduced a new design approach which concerned itself solely with making the text as easily intelligible as possible, with the economically beneficial practice of setting type on machines and by making use of the photographic reproduction in composition. Although Jan Tschichold’s views had initially been controversial, and though the New Typography’s outward appearance had changed since the publication of Die Neue Typographie, the developments of the past decade had proved the viability of its underlying principles. It had also changed the demands made of the compositor. While he was now afforded a higher degree of freedom when it came to shaping his designs, he needed to be able to work with a higher degree of independence, have a greater familiarity with ‘rules of harmony’ and possess a greater knowledge of typographic material than was the case in the past.114 Selmars Typografi was intended to equip compositors with the knowledge needed to meet these heightened demands. The book’s two chapters on jobbing print were those most clearly informed by the New Typography. They were written by Viggo Hasnæs, who in 1928 had penned the first positively worded article on the New Typography in Denmark.115 The first chapter was wide-ranging, covering the history of jobbing print from artistic printing through art nouveau and American-style advertising, to elemental typography and the functional typography of Tschichold’s Typographische Gestaltung. It also described the jobbing printers’ workstation and described rules for setting type and creating layouts. The second chapter provided a detailed guide of how to solve a number of different tasks in accordance with the New Typography: ads, letterheads, brochures and advertising cards as well as stock certificates, songs, engagement cards and wine lists. Nordlunde and Christian Petersen’s chapter on book typography was more weighted towards traditional typography, but also explained that features like dropped capitals

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were unsuited to the New Typography and provided two sets of guidance for how to set elements like title pages, headings and page numbers. Hasnæs was also responsible for the book’s design. The title page was a variation of those Tschichold had designed for Typographische Gestaltung and Funktionel Typografi, making use of the, by this point, familiar scheme of type contrasts (Figure 2.19). The pages were laid out as an example of how the New Typography could be used in book design.116 Chapter and section headings of the inner pages were set in Futura bold and running text in Baskerville roman. With Selmars Typografi, the New Typography was formally incorporated into the education of compositors in Denmark.

Figure 2.19  Viggo Hasnæs: Title page for Selmars Typografi (1938). Photograph by the author. Item in the author’s collection.

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Conclusion Jan Tschichold’s ‘Elementare Typographie’ special issue introduced the New Typography to printing trade discourse. In the process, the avantgarde’s concern with exploring the expressive potential of language and the creation of new forms of reading for a new utopian society was recast as a modernizing reform movement specific to the trade. The ‘Elementare Typographie’ manifesto encouraged a stylistic understanding of avant-garde examples and provided a basis from which compositors and master printers could propose further modifications of the New Typography’s formal means in a continuous process of domestication. Having crossed over from the network of the avant-garde to that of the printing trade through the structural hole occupied by ‘Elementare Typographie’, the New Typography spread internationally through the type samples sent out by German foundries to advertise their products. For the printing trade, in Germany as in Scandinavia, the New Typography represented a potential competitive advantage which could be used to win back business from competing trades and secure future employability. In order to perform this task, the New Typography needed to be adapted to the commercial environment of the printing house and the needs and preferences of compositors and master printers. However, whereas German printers were domesticating the work of the avant-garde, Scandinavians were largely domesticating the work of the German printing trade – domesticating the already once domesticated. Nevertheless, the New Typography was integrated into the Scandinavian printing trade’s educational efforts in a critical manner. As Hugo Lagerström put it, they needed to ‘retain the good but reject the bad’. Rather than being promoted single-mindedly, the New Typography was discussed and taught as one approach among others. It found visual expression on the covers of publications like Nordisk Boktryckarekonst, Norsk Boktrykk Kalender and Grafisk Revy, and in work created by apprentices in trade schools. The Compositors’ Technical Cooperative worked particularly intensively to spread knowledge of the New Typography and arranged for Tschichold to come to Copenhagen to deliver a series of lectures in 1935. Following Tschichold’s lectures, the Trade School for Book Craft in Copenhagen published the textbook Selmars Typografi through which the New Typography was officially put on the curriculum alongside traditional typography. Practitioners like Hugo Lagerström, Harald Clausen and Viktor Peterson, all published guidelines making theoretical modifications to Tschichold’s teachings. In their different ways, all these served to bring the New Typography closer to prevailing printing practice. Because Scandinavian printing journals formed a network of knowledge based on the mutual intelligibility of the Danish, Norwegian and Swedish languages, and

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because texts written in other languages were opaque to many compositors due to a lack of language skills, these interpretations were all the more significant. Because the examples of the New Typography discussed in this chapter are firmly grounded in printing culture, I believe they should not be judged through the lens of the avant-garde. Master printers and compositors were not looking to create new form or new human beings; they were interested in determining what benefits the New Typography could offer their trade and how it might be modified to suit their abilities, needs and preferences. While they may be judged by some to hold lesser visual or literary interest than the avant-garde’s, I do not think it should be seen as somehow diminished. They were not ‘misunderstandings’ but examples of an expanded vocabulary of the New Typography adapted to the demands of day-to-day typesetting. Instead of judging it on the basis of form or language, success can be measured against whether the New Typography actually helped master printers and compositors reach the goals they themselves set for it: securing competitiveness for the trade, employability for the individual and increased creative freedom in composition. This question will be addressed in the following chapter.

Notes 1 Iwan Tschichold. ‘Zu den Aufsätzen und Beispielen’, Typographische Mitteilungen 22, no. 10: Sonderheft: Elementare Typographie. Reprint (Mainz: Hermann Schmidt, 1986), p. 212. 2 Burke. Active Literature, p. 193. 3 For an English translation see: Iwan Tschichold. ‘Elemental Typography’, in Active Literature: Jan Tschichold and New Typography, by Christopher Burke (London: Hyphen Press, 2007), p. 311. 4 I have previously compared kleinschreibung in Denmark and Germany, see: Trond Klevgaard. ‘Lower Case in the Flatlands: New Typography and Orthographic Reform in a Danish Printing Calendar’. Visible Language 53, no. 1 (2019): pp. 110–31. 5 Robin Kinross. ‘Large and Small Letters: Authority and Democracy’, in Unjustified Texts: Perspectives on Typography (London: Hyphen Press, 2011), pp. 131–42. 6 Burke. Active Literature, p. 33. 7 Kurt Schwitters. ‘Thesen über Typographie (Theses on Typography)’, in Jan Tschichold and the New Typography: Graphic Design between the World Wars, by Paul Stirton (New York, New Haven and London: Bard Graduate Center and Yale University Press, 2019), pp. 198–9. 8 Burke. Active Literature, p. 14. 9 Friedrich Friedl. ‘Lernen von Jan Tschichold’, in Typographische Mitteilungen 22, no. 10: Sonderheft: Elementare Typographie. Reprint (Mainz: Hermann Schmidt, 1986), pp. 3–4.

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10 Marinetti. ‘Destruction of Syntax – Radio Imagination – Words-in-Freedom’, p. 151. 11 Marinetti. ‘Technical Manifesto of Futurist Literature’, pp. 123–4. 12 Victor Margolin. ‘Narrative Problems of Graphic Design History’, in The Politics of the Artificial: Essays on Design and Design Studies (Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 2002), pp. 192–3. 13 Tschichold. ‘Elemental Typography’, p. 311. 14 Noted in Burke. Active Literature, p. 38. 15 Estimates of the number of copies printed range between 20,000 and 28,000. See: Burke. Active Literature, p. 44. 16 According to Werner Gräff, G, which had a print run of around 2,000 copies, only had a few dozen subscribers. The rest were sent to ‘artists, critics, art libraries, collectors, manufacturers’. See: Peter Brooker. ‘General Introduction: Modernity, Modernisms, Magazines’, in The Oxford Critical and Cultural History of Modernist Magazines. Volume III, Europe 1880–1940. Part I., eds. Sacha Bru, Andrew Thacker, Christian Weikop and Peter Brooker (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), p. 18. 17 Hannes Meyer. ‘Zeitgemässe Zeitschriften’, Das Werk 13, no. 7: Sonderheft die neue Welt (July 1926): pp. 235–6. 18 Letter reproduced in Burke. Active Literature, pp. 41–2. 19 ‘Jan Tschichold’. Grafisk teknik: Meddelelsesblad for Typografernes Fagtekniske Samvirke, Københavns Kreds 2, no. 1 (1935): p. 1. 20 Meer. Neuer Blick auf die Neue Typographie pp. 92, 95–6. 21 Paul Renner. ‘On Modern Typography’. Typography Papers, no. 4 (2000): p. 89. 22 Meer, Neuer Blick auf die Neue Typographie, pp. 179–81. 23 O. L. ‘Warum fördert der Bildungsverband die neue Typographie?’, Typographische Mitteilungen 26, no. 11 (1929): p. 278. 24 Ibid. 25 ‘7. Vertretertag des Bildungsverbandes der deutschen Buchdrucker. Erfurt, 24 bis 26 August 1931’. Typographische Mitteilungen 30, no. 8 (1931): inlay pp. 5, 13. 26 C. Volmer Nordlunde. ‘Den Elementære Typografi’. Nyt Tidsskrift for Kunstindustri 3, no. 4 (1930), p. 56. 27 C. Marhauer. ‘Er ‘Typograf–tidende’ et rigtigt Fagblad?’, Dansk Typograf-tidende 56, no. 44 (1929): unpaginated (front page). 28 Jan Tschichold. Funktionel Typografi (København: Berlingske Bogtrykkeri, 1937), p. 52. 29 Hugo Lagerström. ‘“Elementär typografi” – “Den nya gestaltningen” – “Den nya typografien” – “Den nya stilen”: En kort redogörelse om en aktuell rörelse och några varningsord’. Nordisk boktryckarekonst 28, no. 4 (1927): p. 136. 30 Ibid. 31 Ibid., p. 134. 32 Ibid., p. 135.

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33 ‘Benevolo lectori salutem!’. EL: Teknisk Tidsskrift for de grafiske Fag 1, no. 1 (1927): unpaginated. 34 See for instance: Arthur Nelson. ‘Norsk trykk’. Nelsons magasin for grafisk kunst 1, no. 1 (1927): p. 2. 35 Emil Selmar. ‘De vekslende typografiske Moder’. De grafiske Fag 23, no. 20 (1927–28): pp. 403–16. 36 Ibid., p. 415. 37 Carl Julius Salomonsen. De nyeste Kunstretninger og smitsomme Sindslidelser. 2. oplag (København: Levin & Munkgaards forlag, 1919). 38 Selmar. ‘De vekslende typografiske Moder’, pp. 403–16. 39 L. Chr. Nielsen. ‘En ny typografisk Stil’. De grafiske Fag 23, no. 9 (1927–28): p. 198. 40 Ibid. 41 Frederic Ehrlich. The New Typography & Modern Layouts (London: Chapman & Hall, 1934), p. 35. 42 Ibid., pp. 60–1. 43 Bertram Evans. ‘Modern Typography on the Continent. Lecture III’. Journal of the Royal Society of Art 86, no. 4484 (1938): p. 1175. 44 ‘Den fagl. dygtiggørelse’. Dansk Typograf-tidende 58, no. 28 (1931): unpaginated (front page). 45 S. G. ‘Forening for videre utdannelse i de grafiske fag’. Typografiske meddelelser 50, no. 47 (1925): p. 377. 46 F. P. S. ‘Forening for videre utdannelse i de grafiske fag’. Typografiske meddelelser 50, no. 44 (1925): p. 354. 47 C. Volmer Nordlunde. ‘Fra Morris til den elementære Typografi’. Bogvennen (1930): p. 49. 48 As can be seen in the following early classified ad: ‘Akcidens- og Annonce-sætter, 26 Aar, fortrolig med elementær Typografi’. De grafiske Fag 23, no. 19 (1927). 49 C. Volmer Nordlunde. ‘Elementær Bogtypografi’, in Eftertryk: udsendt paa 75-aars dagen den 15. Juni 1963 af en kreds af venner (København: Nyt nordisk forlag Arnold Busck, 1963), p. 46. 50 Knut Greve. ‘Norsk Brukskunst V: Faktor’. Brukskunst 3, no. 4 (1932): p. 56. 51 Charles Moegreen. ‘Nogle Tanker om den nye Typografi’. Grafisk revy 2, no. 1 (1931): p. 16. 52 Hugo Lagerström. ‘Förtal’. Svensk grafisk årsbok 1929 4 (1929): unpaginated. 53 Lagerström, ‘Elementär typografi’. Nordisk boktryckarekonst 29, no. 11 (1928): p. 435. 54 Reply by Hugo Lagerström in: Oscar Isacson. ‘Nya vindar blåsa’. Nordisk boktryckarekonst 30, no. 3 (1929): p. 100. 55 Lagerström, ‘Förtal’. 56 Hugo Lagerström, ‘Bokstavsformen och den nya stilen’. Svensk grafisk årsbok 1929 4 (1929): p. 41.

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57 Ibid. Emphasis in original. 58 Ibid., pp. 39–40. 59 Hugo Lagerström. ‘Efter trettio år’. Nordisk boktryckarekonst 30, no. 12 (1929): p. 457. 60 Den typografiske forenings fagkomité. ‘Forord’. Norsk boktrykk kalender 1931 11 (1930): unpaginated. 61 Ibid. 62 Harald Clausen. ‘Den nye typografi’. Norsk boktrykk kalender 1931 11 (1930): pp. 51–2. 63 Tschichold. ‘Elemental Typography’, p. 311. 64 Arthur Nelson. ‘Moderne typografi og trykk’. Norsk trykk 3, no. 2 (1929): p. 38. 65 Nils Wessel. ‘Den nya riktningen inom typografien’. Grafisk revy 1, no. 1 (1930): p. 5. Wessel’s words depart slightly from the original, which reads: ‘Sikta mot skyn, och du skall träffa skogsbrynet! (Aim at the clouds and you shall hit the forest’s edge!)’. August Strindberg. Mäster Olof. Skådespel i fem akter (Stockholm: Albert Bonniers förlag, 1912), p. 23. 66 Viggo Hansen. ‘Elementær Typografi – Den nye Variation’. Grafisk revy 1, no. 1 (1930): pp. 13–17. 67 Moegreen. ‘Nogle Tanker om den nye Typografi’, p. 15. 68 Jan Tschichold. ‘Proportionerne i den ny Typografi’. Grafisk revy 6, no. 4 (1936): p. 16. 69 Rolf Torp. ‘Grafisk revy’. Typografiske meddelelser 61 (1936): p. 206. 70 L. S. ‘Faglige foredrag’. Typografiske meddelelser 51 (1926): p. 163; Birger Sønstevold and Bertil Fagerstrøm. Oslo maskinmesterforening 1898–1938 (Oslo, 1938), pp. 48–9. 71 From the society’s statutes as reproduced in: B. Fagerstrøm. ‘Det grafiske selskap i Oslo’. Nordisk boktryckarekonst 34, no. 11 (1933): p. 401. 72 ‘Grafisk samarbeide’. Norsk faktor-tidende 9, no. 5 (1929): p. 40. 73 Styret. ‘Det grafiske selskap i Oslo’. Typografiske meddelelser 56 (1931): p. 387. 74 Fagerstrøm. ‘Det grafiske selskap i Oslo’, p. 401. 75 The titles of all talks held between 1929 and 1949 are listed in: Øyvind Mørch Smith. ‘Foredrag, kåserier og utstillinger’, in Tyve år i det grafiske fags tjeneste: Det grafiske selskap i Oslo, 1929–1949, by Rolf Heiestad (Oslo, 1949), pp. 28–47. 76 Torbjørn Eng. ‘Grafiske møteinvitasjoner på 1930-tallet’. Typografi i Norge. http:​/​/ www​​.typo​​grafi​​.org/​​dokum​​/dgs/​​dgs​_i​​nvita​​sj​one​​r​.htm​l (Accessed 11 July 2015). 77 Arthur Nelson. ‘Moderne typografi’. Norsk Trykk 4, no. 5 (1930): p. 166. 78 K. A. Jørgensen. ‘Typografernes fagtekniske Samvirke’. Grafisk revy 4, no. 1 (1934): pp. 34–6. 79 Redaktionsudvalget. ‘Forord’, in Typografisk årbog 1935 (København: Typografernes fagtekniske Samvirke, 1934), p. 8. 80 Viktor Peterson, ‘Typografien i Aarbogen’. Grafisk teknik: Meddelelsesblad for Typografernes fagtekniske Samvirke, Københavns Kreds 1, no. 7 (1934): p. 55.

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81 For detail on Peterson’s course see: ‘Kursus i konstruktiv formgivning’. Grafisk teknik: Meddelelsesblad for Typografernes fagtekniske Samvirke, Københavns Kreds 2, no. 1 (1935): pp. 2–3; Emanuel Jensen. ‘Typografiens Grundlag: Indtryk fra et Kursus’. Grafisk teknik 1, no. 5 (1936): pp. 54–60. 82 Peterson, ‘Typografien i Aarbogen’, pp. 54–6. 83 Jensen, ‘Typografiens Grundlag: Indtryk fra et Kursus’, p. 57. 84 Klevgaard. ‘Lower Case in the Flatlands’, 110–31. 85 ‘Tschicholds Tre Foredrag’. Grafisk teknik: Meddelelsesblad for Typografernes fagtekniske Samvirke, Københavns Kreds 2, no. 2 (1935): pp. 24–6. 86 N. W. ‘Jan Tschichold i Köpenhamn’. Grafisk revy 5, no. 2 (1935): p. 40. 87 ‘Jan Tschichold Paa Besøg i Grafisk Compagni’. Grafisk nyt: Tekniske Meddelelser for de grafiske Fag 1, no. 1 (1935–36): p. 6; ‘Efter Besøget –’. Grafisk teknik: Meddelelsesblad for Typografernes fagtekniske Samvirke, Københavns Kreds 2, no. 2 (1935): pp. 23, 26–8. 88 From the unpublished article ‘Die Entwicklung der neuen Typographie in den mitteleuropäischen Ländern’ (ca. 1937–38). Reproduced in: Burke, Active Literature, p. 287. 89 Christopher Burke, Paul Renner: The Art of Typography (London: Hyphen Press, 2008), pp. 58–65. 90 More detail on domesticated New Typography in Frankfurt can be found in: Klaus Klemp and Matthias Wagner K, eds., Alles Neu! 100 Jahre Neue Typographie und Neue Grafik in Frankfurt Am Main (Stuttgart: AV Edition, 2016). 91 Tschichold. The New Typography, p. 95. 92 The ball-and-stick r was included in the first Futura type specimen issued towards the end of 1927. See: Burke, Paul Renner, p. 102. 93 Geith Forsberg. Bokstaven & boken: Typsnitt, formgivare och boktryckare genom sexhundra år (Stockholm: Verbum, 2004), p. 242. 94 ‘Äntligen en komplett och äkta Berling för Mac och PC-produktion’. DTP: Design, Typografi, Produktion 1, no. 1 (1992): p. 3. 95 Sten G. Lindberg. Karl-Erik Forsberg : Med bokstaven under 7 decennier (Stockholm: Norstedt, 1994), p. 20. 96 Listed as an official ring exhibition in: Volker Rattemeyer, Dietrich Helms and Konrad Matschke, eds. Ring ‘neue werbegestalter’: Amsterdamer Austellung von 1931 (Museum Wiesbaden, 1990), p. 141. 97 Details on the exhibition are taken from the article: ‘Utställning av modernt reklamtryck’. Nordisk boktryckarekonst 32, no. 4 (1931): p. 142. 98 Iwan Waloddi Fischerström. ‘Reklamen och den moderna typografien’. Svenska boktryckareföreningens meddelanden 36 (1931): pp. 353–5; ‘Fotografiet i reklamens tjänst’. Svensk grafisk årsbok 1931 5 (1931): pp. 49–62; ‘Hur se våra affischer ut? Några iaktagelser för och emot den nya stilen’. Nordisk boktryckarekonst 32, no. 5 (1931): pp. 179–83; ‘Tidsenlig annonssats. Några klargörande begrepp över den moderna typografiens stora verkningsmöjligheter för tidningsannonsen’. Nordisk boktryckarekonst 32, no. 6 (1931): pp. 220–2.

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99 Hugo Lagerström. Den nya stilens genombrott: En samling uttalanden om den nya stilen och dess införande i svenskt typtryck (Stockholm: Skolan för bokhantverk, 1933), p. 27. 100 B. F. ‘Oslo tekniske aftenskoles utstilling av elevarbeider’. Typografiske meddelelser 55 (1930): p. 162; C. R. ‘Den aarlige Udstilling paa Fagskolen’. De grafiske Fag 27, no. 6 (1931–32): p. 110. 101 C. Volmer Nordlunde. Fagskolen for Boghaandværk gennem halvtreds Aar, 1893–1943 (København: Fagskolen for Boghaandværk, 1943), p. 123. 102 Louis Andersen, Egon Camin and Werner Helmert, eds. ‘Typograf-tidende går tæt på uddannelsen’, in Typograf–tidende 100 år: 1874–1974 (København: Dansk Typograf-Forbund, 1974), p. 49. 103 Ibid. 104 Nordlunde. Fagskolen for Boghaandværk gennem halvtreds Aar, p. 196. 105 Ibid., p. 193. 106 Eli Reimer ‘Lærling i trediverne’, in Typografen, bogtrykkeren, læreren Henry Thejls sådan som hans venner oplever ham (Herning: Poul Kristensens forlag, 1980), p. 60. 107 Ibid. 108 Ibid., pp. 62–4. 109 Ibid., 64. 110 Henry Thejls, ‘Titelsats og standardiserede svendeprøver . . .’. De grafiske Fag 37, no. 8 (1941): p. 226. 111 Ibid. 112 Henrik Sejerkilde. ‘“For at højne den faglige kultur . . .” En biografisk bogmosaik om Grafisk cirkel’, in Bogvennen 2003–04, eds. Søren Hansen, Bent Jørgensen and Kristin Wiborg (København: Forening for boghaandværk, 2005), p. 18. 113 Ibid. 114 C. Volmer Nordlunde. ‘Forord’, in Selmars Typografi: Haandbok i Satsteknik, eds. Holger Meyer, C. Volmer Nordlunde, Christian Petersen, Charles Moegreen and Viggo Hasnæs (København: Fagskolen for Boghaandværk, 1938), unpaginated. 115 Viggo Hansen. ‘Elementær Typografi og dens Anvendelse’. De grafiske Fag 25 (1928–29): pp. 307–11. Written by Hasnæs under the name Viggo Hansen, this article contained some of Hasnæs’ own first fledgling examples. 116 C. Volmer Nordlunde and Christian Petersen. ‘Bog- Og Titelsats’, in Selmars Typografi: Haandbok i Satsteknik, eds. Holger Meyer, C. Volmer Nordlunde, Christian Petersen, Charles Moegreen and Viggo Hasnæs (København: Fagskolen for Boghaandværk, 1938), p. 108.

3 COMPARTMENTALIZATION CULTURES AND PRACTICES OF ADVERTISING

In 1932 the Swedish Advertising Association’s biennial publication Svensk Reklam (Swedish Advertising, 1929–44) printed the following statement: The name of the modern, or perhaps one should say the new, typography’s creator is Advertising. Unlike the old traditional book artist, who has had his path clearly marked out for many hundred years, the new man, the advertising artist, is working according to completely new and free lines [. . .]. He has, during the short time he has been active, done more for development and innovation in the graphic trades than what was previously achieved through more than 500 years of fastidious work.1 Clearly the author, Oskar Dahlström, had no doubts about the role the advertising industry had played in creating and spreading the New Typography. However, as previous chapters have demonstrated, it was Georg Pauli’s Flamman and the New Student Society’s publications which had first engaged with the ideas that gave rise to the New Typography in Scandinavia. Moreover, it was master printers and compositors who had first taken it up in a commercial context, not advertisers. Granted, they had not accepted its teachings or aesthetics outright or unthinkingly, but had domesticated it to suit their own needs, abilities, preferences and circumstances. While this entailed some level of modification of the New Typography’s formal principles, printers were not, as Dahlström seems to suggest, resistant to innovation. That Dahlström nevertheless could make such claims raises the question of how terms such as ‘advertising’ and ‘the advertising artist’ should be understood. The following chapter argues that

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advertising, as a category and activity, held different connotations not only for the printing and advertising trades but also for different traditions existing within these trades. Advertising graphics were produced and designed by a number of different practitioners, the most important being job setters, commercial artists and lay-out men. Each of them belonged to a particular advertising tradition, and each worked under a different set of restrictions with regard to reproduction technologies used and their place in the hierarchy of the production process. In turn, these factors influenced attitudes towards the New Typography and determined the degree to which each practitioner type was able and/or willing to engage with it in practice. The chapter begins by looking at the professional culture of each practitioner type before moving on to a discussion of how and why printing and advertising journals treated the New Typography differently. It argues that Scandinavian printing and advertising journals belonged to a set of discrete professional communication networks which were more likely to report on developments occurring within their particular professions or trade abroad than on developments occurring in related trades at home. The chapter’s last section examines how each practitioner type produced printed materials. It also demonstrates how working practices, cultural attitudes and interests of professional self-preservation informed the degree to which it was desirable to engage with the New Typography. The section ends with a discussion of a conflict which took place between compositors and lay-out men towards the end of the 1930s. The question at the root of this conflict was whether the compositor or the lay-out man should be responsible for specifying how ads were composed. As compositors were more heavily invested in the New Typography than lay-out men, the outcome of this conflict was also significant for the New Typography’s further development.

Jobbing print, commercial art and layout For printers, advertising typography was considered a form of ‘jobbing print’. This was a large amorphous category describing any type of printing that was not book printing. In the Scandinavian languages the word for ‘jobbing print’ was rooted in the Latin ‘accidentia’ (accidental), as it was in German, reflecting the category’s original status as sideline business for printers. However, it is worth noting that job work had always formed part of the trade’s business. For instance, the first finished item to leave Gutenberg’s press was not the famous forty-twoline Bible, but an indulgence. Nevertheless, jobbing typography would not take on a noticeable style of its own until the early decades of the nineteenth century, when a host of new and often eccentric display types were developed in England

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and used for posters and handbills. This was followed some decades later with the emergence of artistic printing which arrived in Scandinavia around 1860.2 Figures associated with the typographic revival, like Emil Selmar, would later denounce artistic printing as a confused mishmash of styles. According to him, it was an ‘ornament epidemic’ which raged at the expense of a ‘good’ typography based on traditional letterforms and created with readability in mind.3 Because they were both primarily used in jobbing print and shared formal features like asymmetry, the New Typography and artistic printing were seen as closely related by printers like Selmar. His concern was that the New Typography, like artistic printing before it, would not limit itself to jobbing print but also seek to make intrusions into book typography. Thereby, it threatened to jeopardize what he considered to be the progress made over the intervening years. While Selmar was clearly alarmed by the New Typography’s harmful potential, it should be noted that Tschichold was also opposed to artistic printing and deeply concerned with improving typographic standards, albeit within the framework of a modernist rather than a traditionalist design culture.4 That the New Typography was primarily intended and used for jobbing print is evident from Die Neue Typographie. While roughly half its pages are filled with examples and instructions of how the New Typography can be applied to nineteen different ‘principal typographic categories’, no fewer than eighteen of these are types of jobbing print.5 Moreover, the nineteenth, on ‘the new book’, was markedly different from the others. While the chapters on the eighteen categories of jobbing print contained practical advice on how to best solve the problem at hand according to the principles of the New Typography, the chapter on ‘the new book’ did not. Instead, it offered a discussion of the avant-garde’s experiments with the medium and admitted that no new forms had yet been developed for books like novels and scientific literature. Until such a new form could be found, there was ‘absolutely no need for change,’ as ‘the old bookform is perfectly suitable for this kind of book’.6 While the DIN formats promoted elsewhere in Die Neue Typographie could be used for large books, catalogues and handbooks, Tschichold deemed them unsuitable for novels and other books intended to be held in the hand because they were ‘too wide and therefore uncomfortable’.7 Certain ‘moderations’ could nevertheless be made, particularly in choosing sans-serif or roman type instead of fraktur, and in downplaying book artists’ emphasis on material quality in favour of cheaper materials – thus creating ‘inexpensive books for people, not luxury books for snobs’.8 Although Scandinavian practitioners in time made similar distinctions, they largely overlooked Tschichold’s wide-ranging concessions for the book. Those who took a positive view of the New Typography therefore thought it important to reassure traditionalists that ‘the new style’ had no such intentions of intruding into the book design. This conciliatory stance can be observed, for instance, in the first positively worded article on the New Typography to appear in Denmark.

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The article appeared in De Grafiske Fag in December 1928, around half-a-year after Die Neue Typographie’s publication. However, its author Viggo Hasnæs did not cite the statements made there on the category of the book. Instead, he emphasized comments made by German architect Richard Herre (1885– 1956) in Archiv für Buchgewerbe und Gebrauchsgraphik (Archive for Book Trade and Design, 1922–43). Herre wrote, ‘We [. . .] think that the two directions in typography should not fight each other, but both fight the thoughtless and irresponsible traditional, the poor and irresponsible new.’9 The idea that one should focus less on the opposition between the ‘old’ and the ‘new typography’ and more on the quality of the typography produced was a revelation to Hasnæs. Referring to Herre’s comments, he wrote: It is clear from this statement, that the adherents of the elemental typography take an exceedingly rational point of view, contrary to what is commonly attributed to them. They do not reject the good traditional typography, but equate themselves with it, in other words wish to supplement it, because the elemental typography’s proper field is job setting and not book setting.10 By distancing the menace of the New Typography from the privileged category of the book, Hasnæs sought to alleviate the traditionalists’ gravest concerns. Indeed, the divide between jobbing and book typography, and the view that the New Typography could be used for the former but not the latter, would hold up until ideas of functionalism put them under scrutiny some four years later. However, by then the New Typography had already gained widespread acceptance as a jobbing print style. As early as April 1929, when the results of a competition to set a four-page folder for Nordisk Boktryckarekonst were announced, a sizeable proportion of the entries were said to be informed by the New Typography.11

Between American and German advertising cultures The Scandinavian advertising industry of the 1920s and 1930s was split between the adherents of what was termed ‘German’ advertising ideas on the one hand, and those who subscribed to what was alternately described as ‘American’, ‘modern’ or ‘scientific’ advertising ideas on the other hand. Supporters of the German approach, which was associated with the poster, the power of the iconic image and a belief that advertising’s effectiveness was dependent on its artistic value, primarily worked as commercial artists. Supporters of the American approach, on the other hand, associated with the ad and the emergent field of marketing, belonged to a new group of advertising men made up of strategists, copywriters and lay-out men.

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Although the German ideas dominated well into the 1920s,12 the influence of American advertising became steadily greater from the 1910s onwards. This followed a wider European pattern. In her influential account of the Americanization of European culture in the twentieth century, Victoria de Grazia pinpoints 1927 as the year in which American advertising ‘truly’ arrived in Europe. This was when the leading American advertising agency JWT (J. Walter Thompson) established offices in a number of European cities, including Stockholm and Copenhagen, in fulfilment of its contract to advertise General Motors’ products outside the United States.13 Other American agencies also expanded into Europe during this period. The smaller Erwin, Wasey Co. (later known as Ervaco) had in fact already established its presence in Stockholm and Copenhagen two years earlier, to fulfil its contract to advertise Goodyear Tires.14 However, American advertising ideas had been circulating long before these agencies opened their doors. An important figure in their introduction to Scandinavia was Robert Millar (1878–1960), an Irishman who had settled in Trondheim. In 1909 he was made head of advertising for the Nordenfjeldske Steamship Company (Nordenfjeldske Dampskibselskab, or NFDS), thus reputedly becoming the first individual to use this title in the Nordic countries.15 Millar promoted the American ideas in a number of different ways. He published textbooks and a journal titled Romilla Review (1914–18). In 1914, he founded the American-style Romilla Advertising Club in Trondheim, and in 1918 he was involved in setting up the first Nordic advertising school in Oslo. American advertising appealed to Millar and other Scandinavian advertisers for two main reasons. The first was because it made efforts to heighten the repute and status of the profession. The second was its proclaimed effectiveness. Recognizing the bad reputation advertising had acquired through its willingness to promote patent medicines, false stock certificates and by making other false claims, the leading American advertising journal Printers’ Ink (1888–1967) had proposed what was termed the ‘rotten apple theory’ as long ago as the 1890s. According to the rotten apple theory, false advertising should be avoided because short-term gains were heavily outweighed by the damage caused, not only to the reputation of the client and the advertising agency responsible but also to the advertising industry as a whole.16 From 1911 onwards, these ideas were taken up in organized form through the Associated Advertising Clubs of America and Printers’ Ink’s ‘Truth in Advertising’ campaign.17 Seeking to make advertising more effective, precise and predictable, JWT spearheaded efforts to turn it into a science, efforts which also served to further heighten the profession’s standing. It set up the first agency research department and hired academics like Paul Cherington to develop the new field of marketing, and John B. Watson to conduct studies in behavioural psychology. Agencies began commissioning and conducting interviews and surveys, started compiling statistical data on the population’s purchasing powers and habits, and

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used circulation figures and periodical profiles to determine where a particular advertisement would best be placed. The press ad was the preferred medium for this school of advertising, and then particularly the genre known as ‘salesmanship in print’, or the ‘reason-why’ ad. The idea behind this type of ad can be traced back to an episode often retold in histories of advertising.18 In 1904, freelance copywriter John E. Kennedy (1864–1928) made the assertion that advertising was ‘salesmanship in print’ in conversation with advertising executive Albert D. Lasker (1880–1952).19 Such ads, Kennedy asserted, should not merely grab consumers’ attention and make them aware of the product, but stimulate their interest by explaining its distinctive characteristics and by demonstrating how the particular product in question was better than its competitors. Lasker subsequently took up the formula to great success. Although the copy was frequently rational or even scientific in tone, the argument did not have to appeal to reason alone. As Roland Marchand has put it, the reason-why ad ‘sold the benefit instead of the product: illumination instead of lighting fixtures, prestige instead of automobiles, sex appeal instead of mere soap’.20 The other main influence on Scandinavian advertising, the German approach, differed from the American one in many important respects. Whereas the Americans adopted a scientific approach to increase effectiveness and heighten the profession’s standing, German advertising was guided by the notion of artistic merit. Unlike American advertising, which sought to persuade through written argument, German advertising, both in ads and in the preferred medium of the poster, relied on the power of the image. Following on from the tradition initiated by Lucian Bernhard’s (1883–1972) famous object poster for Priester matches in 1906, text was kept to a minimum.21 As the Danish Advertising Association’s (Dansk Reklame-Forbund) Reklamehaandbogen 1934 (The Advertising Manual 1934) summarized for its intended readership of businessmen: Where American ads are psychological-explanatory, German ads are technically suggestive. American advertising men turn their eyes towards the buyers, German advertising men concern themselves with the product.22 Given its close ties to the poster, it is not surprising that this method of advertising appealed to commercial artists. In Scandinavia these professionals were known simply as ‘tegnere/tecknare’ (draughtsmen), or sometimes more specifically as ‘reklametegnere/reklamtecknare’ (advertising draughtsmen). Commercial artists were therefore foremost among American advertising’s critics.23 However, as explored in the following section, they had fewer opportunities to broadcast their views because the advertising trade press was largely controlled by those advocating the American approach.

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Discrete professional communication networks Like the avant-garde journals described in Chapter 1, trade journals also exchanged resources like articles and stereotypes. However, the connections between trade journals did not form as spontaneously as those between avantgarde journals. While the connections between avant-garde journals can be seen as manifestations of the social networks of the avant-garde, the connections between trade journals were extensions of the pre-established networks underpinning organizations like the International Congress of Master Printers and the International Secretariat of Printers. In The Origins of Graphic Design in America (1997), Ellen Mazur Thomson argues that trade journals function as professional communication networks, defining professions to themselves and to others. Over time, by their choice of subjects and presentation, they reveal either explicitly or implicitly the history of a profession, its changing practices and its relation to the larger culture.24 The importance placed on professional culture can be observed in the Scandinavian trade journals. Reflecting each profession’s culture and relationship to particular reproduction technologies, they were more likely to report on developments within their respective fields abroad than those taking place in related fields at home. Each trade or profession’s journals can therefore be understood as nodes in separate professional communication networks. According to social network theory, propinquity (geographical proximity) and homophily (a continuingly reinforcing similarity in characteristics and attributes) increase the likelihood of two nodes connecting.25 In this case, it would seem that the level of homophily created through a shared professional culture was more important for these journals than the propinquity, or geographical proximity, to nodes belonging to another advertising culture. In the field of printing, the presence of an international network is particularly visible in Grafisk Revy’s case. Although primarily modelled on Typographische Mitteilungen, the journal’s name was consciously chosen to reflect that used for the journals published by the Austrian, Dutch and Yugoslav compositors’ unions.26 However, the connection with foreign journals was just as important for the privately published titles. Nordisk Boktryckarekonst, EL and Nelsons Magasin for Grafisk Kunst (later Norsk Trykk) all declared, in the lead editorials of their first issues, that reporting on developments in the foreign trade press was a key task for their respective journals.27 Moreover, both Scandinavian and international journals were available for viewing at reading rooms and could be borrowed from libraries hosted by trade unions, employers organizations and

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educational societies.28 Educational societies like the Graphic Society of Oslo and the Compositors’ Technical Cooperative in Copenhagen also formed part of this structured network. Not only did they provide library services, as discussed in the previous chapter, but their official affiliation with the Educational Union of German Printers also allowed their members to subscribe to Typographische Mitteilungen, Der Graphische Betrieb (The Graphic Trades, 1926–43) and Archiv für Buchgewerbe at reduced rates.29 As a consequence of its mediation through trade journal networks, the New Typography did not spread in a linear fashion from centre to periphery. Rather, it found its way, independently and at different speeds, to different groups of practitioners through the discreet networks created by and for their own trades or professions. Only rarely did these networks connect. As described in Chapter 2, Scandinavian printing journals did not show interest in the New Typography until its use in German type samples made it impossible to ignore. I do not believe this was because printers were ignorant of the Scandinavian avant-garde work described in Chapter 1, rather it was a conscious choice. Georg Pauli’s Flamman was printed by Bröderna Lagerström, the printing house Hugo Lagerström ran with his brother Carl (1869–1925). Magdalena Gram has claimed Lagerström was intimately involved in the journal’s creation, acting not only as a printer but also as a typographic adviser.30 Even if Lagerström was not as hands-on as Gram suggests, he would surely have been aware that a journal as unusual and elaborate as Flamman was being produced at his printing house. When it comes to Pressen, its circulation reportedly reached as high as 20,000 copies.31 This high print run, combined with press coverage of events like Broby-Johansen’s trial, ensured that the New Student Society and Pressen were known far outside Denmark’s community of artists and poets.

The Scandinavian advertising journal network As a whole, advertising journals reflected an interest in American advertising principles promoted by advertising clubs and national trade associations. This was particularly true of the Danish Advertising Society’s monthly journal Dansk Reklame (Danish Advertising, 1927–77), and the journal which had acted as its unofficial predecessor, Gutenberghus (Gutenberg House, 1924–7). Gutenberghus was published by the advertising agency of the same name, an important proponent of American advertising in Denmark.32 The Norwegian Advertising Association’s Propaganda (1922–40; 1947–60) was also closely aligned with modern advertising ideas. However, the Swedish Advertising Association’s official publication Svensk Reklam was more pluralistic. The freer editorial policy can perhaps be explained by its irregular and infrequent appearance. Instead it was the privately published monthly Tidskrift för

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Affärsekonomi (Journal for Business Economics, 1928–74), which in Sweden worked most intensively to spread the American advertising ideas. The only commercial art journal to appear with any frequency was the Danish Elite (1926–30). This journal was primarily geared towards commercial artists and was concerned with issues of aesthetics and production to a higher degree than the advertising associations’ journals. Elite’s editor Nicolaj Norvil (1880–1956) was himself a commercial artist. Like many of his colleagues, he remained an adherent of the German advertising approach and opposed the new American ideas.33 Despite this German orientation, Elite did not show any great interest in the New Typography. In this respect, Elite was little different to German advertising journals like Die Reklame (Advertising, 1919–33), Gebrauchsgraphik (Commercial Art, 1924–44) and Seidels Reklame (Seidels Advertising, 1913–35).34 When the Danish advertiser Erik Presskorn looked back on the 1930s in 1947, he maintained that while compositors ‘nourished a deep admiration’ for the New Typography, advertising men like himself had been more sceptical.35 Although many advertisers were initially drawn to the possibilities the New Typography offered in terms of creating new forms of expression and thereby a ‘new form of attention-value’, they quickly concluded its teachings were incompatible with those of the American-oriented advertising trade – particularly with regard to the text-driven reason-why ad’s demand for readability.36 There were also other reasons to be wary. In Sweden, Tidskrift för Affärsekonomi initially applauded the Stockholm Exhibition 1930 for choosing to align itself with functionalism, because this lent it a sense of novelty and thereby advertising value. However, after the exhibition opened and functionalism started to popularize as a style, the journal began to urge caution. It now argued that although functionalism had gained a fairly strong position, in Stockholm at least, its meaning and aesthetic was still only understood by a small elite. The broad masses of consumers, those whom the majority advertisements were aimed at, were not yet ready for a functionalist design.37 [Only] when the times and life around us have become so functionalistically imbued that the vast majority of people are disposed toward the new, only then is it advertising’s turn to take it up.38 Until such a time, advertising should speak to the masses using ‘their own words’ and with illustration styles that were familiar to them.39 These views reflected those of early American advertising psychologists like Walter Dill Scott (1869– 1955). Scott argued that advertisements should make simple claims grounded in common experience. Basing himself on the concept of apperception, a term describing the process by which sense is made of a new experience by relating it to past experiences, he wrote: ‘It is very difficult [. . .] to get the public to think

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along a new line, because they cannot connect the new fact with their previous experience, i.e. they cannot apperceive it.’40

The shock of Modern Publicity and Mise en Page While Scandinavian advertising journals were prepared to ignore the discussions on New Typography taking place in the printing trade press described in Chapter 2, they immediately reacted when modernism crept into publications issued by colleagues overseas. The Studio’s Modern Publicity 1930 and Mise en Page were harshly criticized, particularly in Propaganda. Modern Publicity 1930, the first edition of a series of new annuals replacing the previous Posters and Publicity, was described as ‘the most frightening work on advertising we have ever encountered’ containing numerous examples which were ‘disgusting, farfetched and unsound’.41 The ‘frightening’ nature of the examples would have been reinforced by the change of name which suggested the Studio approved of the ads’ modern appearance. It would also have been reinforced by the typographic treatment created by Crawfords (W. S. Crawford Ltd.), one of the leading agencies in Britain, and the foremost proponent of modernism in that country’s advertising. The black cover featured a stark asymmetrical typographic composition using shadowed sans-serif lettering. ‘Publicity’ was set at a forty-five-degree angle and overprinted onto the word ‘modern’, arranged horizontally and printed red, and overprinted in white. The inside pages were set in justified text blocks of Gill Sans, with oversized page numbers placed inside a rectangular device at the outside top of the page. Asymmetric dividing pages furnished with austere sans-serif numerals constructed from typographic material separated the book’s four sections: England, France, Germany and America. In the introduction to the English section, William Crawford (1878–1950) explained his agency’s stance: Advertising is not concerned with people’s past thoughts – it moulds the way they are going to think. Advertising must take the reader as he is at the moment of reading and make of him what he is going to be. Advertising must be contemporary. Each campaign must be a new campaign. Like each new model of a motor-car, it must improve on the last. And it can only improve on the last by throwing away yesterday’s standard of judgement and erecting a new one in its place.42 In other words, Crawford’s view of how advertising should relate to the public’s perceived way of thought stood in diametrical opposition to the ideas promoted by Scott and Tidskrift för Affärsekonomi. However, seen from Propaganda’s perspective, the worst was yet to come. In September 1931, the Studio published the Parisian printer Alfred Tolmer’s manual Mise en Page. The design,

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by Louis Caillaud, drew upon modernist influences, particularly cubism, in the purely stylistic manner which would later be labelled art deco. In terms of production, it featured an unparalleled virtuoso display of different print finishes such as foil, embossing, debossing and full-cover tipped-in pages. The pages featured type set at all manner of angles closely integrated with photographs, photomontages and illustrations. Perhaps recognizing, like the British printer Harold Curwen (1885–1949), that its combination of inventive layouts and technical wizardry made Mise en Page a seductive and ‘most dangerous book’, Propaganda published a scathing review entitled ‘Vogt Dem For Smitte!’ (Beware of Contagion!).43 There the reviewer Tom Pilsen wrote: The manner in which a man solves a lay-out problem reveals a great deal about his character and spiritual habitus. If one is to judge the author by what he has achieved in the book being reviewed here, one would be tempted to conclude that he must be stark raving mad. To flip through the book’s pages is like a tour of the cells of an insane asylum [. . .] If anything is a result of the ‘new hysterics’ activities, then it is this work, which is a good example of how a book should not be.44 Dissenting opinion within the Norwegian trade was also promptly dealt with. When commercial artist Finn Alfsen (1904–95) submitted an article where he defended Crawford and Tolmer, and sarcastically thanked Pilsen for protecting ‘us who live up under the Arctic circle from the more southerly nations’ debauchery and degeneration’, it was Pilsen who had the last laugh.45 Alfsen’s article was given a mocking title ‘Propaganda’s “Moderne” Avdeling’ (Propaganda’s ‘Modern’ Section) and set in a parody modernist style (Figures 3.1–3.2). Text was printed diagonally, horizontally, upside-down and in every other angle. Certain phrases, like the title Mise en Page, were set at a large scale. Geometric ornament and rules were scattered across the page without purpose, and illustrations and type were overprinted in a light blue colour similar to that used in Tolmer’s book. One of the illustrations was a line drawing of A. M. Cassandre’s (1901–68) well-known poster Étoile du Nord (The North Star, 1927), discussed later in this chapter, while another depicting an empty bottle of pilsner (Figure 3.2) was a pun on Pilsen’s name. Needless to say, the design of this ‘modern section’ was a far cry from the traditional compositions Propaganda usually used. I believe the severity of Pilsen’s criticism can be attributed to his realization that modernism’s intrusion into Anglo-American advertising practice was about to make it more difficult to ignore, more so in Norway’s American-oriented trade. This is what took place in Denmark, where Modern Publicity 1930 was greeted cautiously, but not dismissively.46 According to V. J. Clausen, Danish advertisers first dismissed elemental typography as something particularly German and hideous besides, but came to accept it after the American advertising industry

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Figure 3.1  ‘Herr Tom Pilsen Og Vår Nasjonale Selvbevissthet’. Published in Propaganda 1(78) (1932). Photograph by the author. Item held by the National Library of Norway.

took it up and made it significantly more beautiful to their eyes.47 In other words, Danish advertisers were prepared to accept the New Typography, but only after it had been domesticated by the American advertising trade, and only after it was presented as acceptable in the advertising trade’s own network of journals. Views on practice expressed by colleagues abroad and transmitted through an international professional communication network carried more weight than those expressed by rival trades at home. Geography mattered less than professional ties. It would take until 1936 for a Scandinavian advertising journal to engage fully with modernism in advertising. This is when Sven Rygaard (1898–1991), formerly director for Ervaco in Scandinavia, started publishing Futurum (1936–9). In addition to the articles on marketing and strategy one would expect from someone with Rygaard’s ‘American’ background to favour, this large and heavily illustrated

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Figure 3.2  ‘Herr Tom Pilsen Og Vår Nasjonale Selvbevissthet’. Published in Propaganda 1(78) (1932). Photograph by the author. Item held by the National Library of Norway.

journal presented the work of several Swedish commercial artists and provided space for discussions around posters and their artistic merits. Futurum’s subtitle acknowledged this dual focus: ‘A journal for advertising art and advertising knowledge.’ Futurum’s optimistic title was supported on every cover by the slogan ‘advertising builds the future’, which reflected Rygaard’s belief in advertising ‘as an important aide at the service of the business world and society’.48 The journal’s masthead, lettered in the style of a geometric sans-serif, clearly signalled that this stance was aligned with a modernist aesthetic. On its cover, the commitment to modernism was supported by the use of surrealist imagery, photographs with what Rygaard termed ‘Russian perspectives’,49 photomontage, and – in a rare instance – by a purely typographic asymmetrical composition.

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For instance, the sixth issue featured a double exposure by Per Kjellén of the new functionalist Katarina passenger lift (1935), shot at an extreme angle (Figure 3.3). This ‘Russian perspective’ can ultimately be traced back to Alexander Rodchenko. As mentioned in Chapter 1, Rodchenko encouraged photographers to use their cameras to reveal extraordinary viewpoints in order to revolutionize how the public perceived its environment. However, it is doubtful whether Kjellén harboured any such radical political intentions. In Sweden, modern photography was used by parties across the political spectrum by 1935, as will be further discussed in Chapter 5. In this case the use of a ‘Russian perspective’ is better understood as an expression of modernity. Combined with sans-serif typography, it clearly showed that the New Typography had finally gained acceptance also among advertisers.

Figure 3.3  Front cover of Futurum no. 6 (1936). Photograph by the author. Item held by the National Library of Sweden.

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Competing cultures of design and production This section looks at the different types of practitioners responsible for shaping the visual form of advertisements. As previously mentioned, the most important of these were the job setter, who worked in the context of the printing trade, and the commercial artist and lay-out man, who worked within different traditions in the advertising industry. It will be argued that the particular restrictions inherent to these roles, as well as interests of professional self-preservation and cultural attitudes, informed the degree to which they were willing and able to engage with the New Typography. Finally, a conflict between lay-out men and compositors regarding how type should be specified and by whom will be examined in light of its implications for the New Typography’s further development.

The jobbing printer The divide between jobbing and book print was not one merely of differences in aesthetics. Nor was it simply a way of separating the category of the book from other types of print. The two categories were also produced by compositors with different levels of training, book setters and job setters. Setting books was the more straight-forward task. As C. Volmer Nordlunde wrote, all it required of the compositor was ‘to choose a good typeface and treat it correctly’.50 Speed and accuracy were the skills master printers sought from their book setters, and since they were pieceworkers, setting text quickly was also in their own financial interest.51 Job work was more complex and was carried out by more highly trained, often salaried, workers. In his manual on jobbing print, published in 1935, the Norwegian master printer Max Richard Kirste (1887–1948) described the complexity of the job setter’s task: His work is to bear the stamp of his manual skills, his independent and assured will to, and sense of, form and beauty. An informational publication must also show signs of the compositor’s understanding of the text, whilst an advertising publication not only shows the compositor’s skill in creating opportunity for text to be read, but above all to be seen, in which the optical expression immediately catches and captures the eye. With regards to coloured publications the job printer shall show that he is a master in combining colours. In short, he must be able to create an atmosphere in a publication through the use of type and colour.52 An indication of just how demanding Kirste considered the job to be can be found in his proposal for a standardized training programme for Norwegian

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typesetting apprentices. Drafted in 1927, it stated that apprentices should start setting continuous text by the first year of training, but that job setting should not be introduced until the fifth and final year.53 According to Kirste’s 1935 manual, the job setter needed to be exact, have a logical mind, be able to draw and have a sensitivity for form, colour and the characteristics of typefaces. These qualities could be acquired through practical experience and by educating oneself in matters of taste by studying art, design and architecture through visits to museums and art exhibitions, or by studying trade journals and type samples.54 Kirste also recommended the job setter to collect inspirational pieces of print and to keep these carefully sorted by category in designated folders for future reference. That Kirste placed the onus on such further training so emphatically on the individual compositor is testament to the lack of formal training opportunities available to compositors in Scandinavia once they had passed their apprentice exam.

The typographic ad The New Typography was often used in the setting of ads. Writing towards the end of 1930, Arthur Nelson could make the following claim: The new typography is currently going berserk in our ad columns. The compositors gorge themselves in squares, circles and geometric ornaments. The newspapers buy the very latest in the field of type, and we are living through a renaissance which has arguably not been paralleled since the classical age.55 Although ads in journals, and to a lesser extent newspapers, were sometimes specified by a lay-out man, or delivered to the printer as a single integrated stereotype (as will be discussed later in relation to typophoto), they were usually composed by a job setter. Large newspapers, who owned their own presses, would sometimes employ specialist setters who worked solely on their ad pages. Smaller newspapers and journals commissioned a printing house to do this work for them. Valter Falk (1902–80), later known as a foreman at Tidens printing house and as a type historian, worked as a specialist ad setter for the Swedish national paper Dagens Nyheter (Today’s News) during the early years of his career. He gained a reputation as a master of the genre by participating in typesetting competitions arranged by trade journals and circulating his ads to his colleagues through the Professional Circle of Scandinavian Compositors (Skandinaviske Typografers Faglige Ring). Membership of the circle was open to all Scandinavian compositors, and those who were interested were invited to send examples of work to Charles Moegreen of the Trade School for Book Craft in Copenhagen.

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Moegreen would then organize the work into a series of folders, which were sent back out to members with instructions to forward it on to the next member after a certain length of time had passed. Falk seems to have made diligent use of this opportunity to promote himself and his work.56 During the late 1920s and early 1930s, Falk worked in a style clearly influenced by the New Typography. He later claimed to have pioneered the use of Futura in a Swedish daily paper when he set an ad for the lingerie retailer Twilfit (1929) ‘according to the principles of elemental typography’. 57 Falk’s ads were often characterized by the use of letters and words constructed from typographic material. While results in the hands of less skilful compositors were often crude, Falk had the eye and the ability to craft letterforms which balanced with the type used elsewhere in the composition. An example of this can be seen in an ad for Arla Mejeri (Arla Dairy, ca.1931) (Figure 3.4). Working in a genre where the need to grab the viewer’s attention is essential, Falk’s ads were notable for their sense of calm and restraint. This was acknowledged by Arthur Nelson: Falk does not strive to shout loudly with his typography, his is on the contrary calm and balanced, and his ads have the trust-inspiring air which cause them to be read with seriousness and reflection. He is a master in distributing white space, and the typographic letters he builds are used sparingly, and are placed where they should be.58 In contrast, one might cite one of the ads which Nelson observed ‘going berserk’ in the pages of Norway’s largest daily, Aftenposten (The Evening Post), for the Trio brand of door locks (Figure 3.5). While Falk’s ad for Arla Mejeri restricted itself to a single typeface, albeit in three different sizes, the Trio ad employed no fewer than five different typefaces. Moreover, the latter’s use of the extremely heavy rule placed under the word ‘sikkerhetslås’ (safety lock) only served to compete for attention with the oversized T of Trio, thus disturbing the eye’s path around

Figure 3.4  Valter Falk: Ad for Arla Mejeri. Photographed by the author from the reproduction in Norsk Trykk, nos. 5–6 (1931): 122. Item held by the National Library of Norway.

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Figure 3.5  Ad for Trio door locks. Photographed by the author from the reproduction in Norsk Trykk, no. 6 (1930): 201. Item held by the National Library of Norway.

the various groups of text instead of purposefully guiding it. Although the Trio ad arguably demanded the viewer’s attention more forcefully through the use of visually heavy graphic elements than Falk’s ad for Arla Mejeri, it was ultimately less successful as a piece of New Typography. Its composition was not the result of a ‘logical and visual relation between the letters, words and text’, nor was it conceived as a piece of communication in its ‘briefest, simplest, most urgent form’ as Tschichold’s ‘Elementare Typographie’ manifesto prescribed.

The typographic poster Letterpress was only rarely chosen by commercial artists as a medium. However, because having a poster produced by a poster artist was a slower and more expensive process than having one produced by a job printer, there was still a market for the letterpress poster – albeit at the low-end. In a rare article on the letterpress poster, the Danish compositor Karl Karlsson described the attitude held in the printing trade. He claimed that if one wanted to talk to master printers or compositors about posters one would in 99 of 100 occasions meet contempt, a supercilious smile and a shrug of the shoulders, and one is undoubtedly given the impression that it is a subject one considers beneath one’s dignity to busy oneself with. A poster is something one throws together at a tremendous speed, the product is put

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through the machine in the shortest amount of time possible, and the paper is of the poorest quality one can find.59 Whether lithographic posters truly did dominate the market in terms of volume at the expense of letterpress posters is difficult to verify in retrospect, but this was certainly Karlsson’s view. He argued that the New Typography was ‘as created for the poster’ and therefore offered the letterpress industry with a golden opportunity to win back poster work from the competing trades.60 He argued that because the New Typography placed restrictions on typefaces, there was no need for a wide selection of display type. A modern poster printing workshop could be set up relatively cheaply with nothing more than a selection of regular and bold sans and serif typefaces complimented by sets of rules and geometric ornaments. These purely typographic elements could be combined with photography, line etchings or lino cuts. Kirste’s manual on jobbing print also included a section on the typographic poster. This section included an instructive pair of visual examples set using an identical copy (Figure 3.6). This advertised a screening of the film Den Geniale Forbrydelse (The Ingenious Crime) at the newly opened Saga cinema. The centred composition of the traditional poster was captioned as an ‘antiquated,

Figure 3.6  Double-page spread from Max Richard Kirste’s Yrkelære For Settere. Annen Del: Aksidenssats (1935) showing examples of an ‘antiquated’ and a ‘modern’ poster. Photograph by the author. Item held by the National Library of Norway.

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less effective type arrangement’.61 The other was labelled a ‘modern poster with asymmetric typesetting’.62 The ‘modern poster’ bore more than a passing resemblance to one of Jan Tschichold’s posters for the Phoebus Palast cinema in Munich, reproduced in Die Neue Typographie (Figure 3.7). Although Kirste’s ‘posters’ were only intended as examples, it may nevertheless be noted that the condensed sans-serif used in Kirste’s ‘modern poster’ looked decidedly weak compared to Tschichold’s much bolder face. Karlsson may have been correct in claiming it unnecessary for a poster printing workshop set up for the New Typography to stock a variety of ‘fancy’ typefaces. However, it still needed a good selection of sans-serif faces, or to employ compositors skilled enough to cut custom lettering from lino, in order to produce posters with the desired level of impact. The use of pictorial elements in letterpress posters remained a rare practice, particularly at large sizes. While lino cuts in theory could be made by the jobbing printer himself, as Karlsson advocated, the creation of stereotypes or etchings required the assistance of an external reproduction facility for all but the largest printing houses. Moreover, producing stereotypes large enough to cover a significant area of a poster was both expensive and technically challenging. This problem was acknowledged by Tschichold, who himself cleverly integrated relatively small photographs into larger graphic compositions.63 An example can

Figure 3.7  Jan Tschichold: Double-page spread from Die Neue Typographie (1928) showing a poster for the film Iwan der Schreckliche. Reproduced by kind permission of the Tschichold family. Photograph by the author. Item held by the National Library of Norway.

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be seen in another of his Phoebus Palast posters, for the film Die Hose (The Trousers, 1927) (Figure 3.8). Here, the impact of a modestly sized photographic element was enhanced through the use of formal contrasts. The photograph was printed black on white, thereby achieving maximum contrast between dark and light, and isolated within a circular shape contrasting to the straight lines used elsewhere on the poster. At the same time, the photograph was integrated into the composition through a counterbalancing act. The headline ‘die Hose’ was placed on the opposite side of the poster’s diagonal axis and lettered in a form and colour contrasting with that used for the photograph.

The ‘small poster’ Traditionalists were particularly hostile towards dust covers as a typographic category. This was because they were considered an intrusion of advertising upon the book. Rather than being seen as part of the book itself, the dust cover

Figure 3.8  Jan Tschichold: Die Hose (1927), poster for Phoebus Palast cinema. Reproduced by kind permission of the Tschichold family. Photograph by the Merrill C. Berman Collection. Item held by the Merrill C. Berman Collection.

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was likened to a piece of packaging or ‘small poster’ created solely for the book seller’s window display.64 Good taste accordingly required it to be discarded before one had one’s book bound.65 Indeed, many commercial artists worked on both book covers and posters, and applied the same working methods to the ‘small poster’ as they did to the large poster. This dominance notwithstanding, some book covers were nevertheless produced and designed by compositors, many of them working anonymously in printing houses. One such cover, for the Norwegian modernist poet Rolf Jacobsen’s (1907– 94) debut Jord og Jern (Earth and Iron, 1933), is also one of the best-known examples of the New Typography in Norway (plate 3.1).66 Chosen as one of the most beautiful Norwegian books of 1933, it received the following brief characterization from the jury: ‘The narrow format and the powerful Bodoni provide posture for the lines of verse. Excellent cover. The title’s earth-black and minium red stand effectfully against the aluminium board.’67 As the jury pointed out, the often-used combination of black and red can, in this instance, be seen to symbolize the two parts of the book’s title, as red-lead paint was often used to protect iron. Indeed, one of the book’s poems mentions ‘fortresses of iron, painted grey, black and red’.68 By printing these two words in different colours, and setting them within two solid rectangular blocks, the compositor responsible also made explicit their symbolic value as opposing forces, representative of the conflict between nature and technology which was the book’s theme, and which was reflected in its structure. Jord og Jern is divided into two halves, the first consisting of poems about Jacobsen’s experiences of nature and the second on his experiences of the city.

The commercial artist When the first advertising agencies in Scandinavia started appearing from the mid-nineteenth century onwards, they acted solely as brokers of advertising space. It was not until the 1920s that it became commonplace to offer copywriting and marketing services, a development influenced by the American concept of the full-service agency, as exemplified by JWT.69 An exception was Sylvester Hvid’s (1866–1928) pioneering advertising agency in Copenhagen, which had started creating slogans and other copy, visual designs and illustrations as early as 1899.70 Nevertheless, the first generation of professional commercial artists did not appear until around 1915. From their positions as advertising agency employees, freelancers or as heads of their own studios, they worked on posters, book jackets, packaging and other illustration work. As mentioned earlier in this chapter, many commercial artists opposed American advertising ideas. However, while they remained devoted to artistic advertising, those working in a modern style would during the 1930s took their visual cues not from Germany, but from France and, then particularly, from the work of Cassandre.71

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As a result of the differences in production and reproduction methods, commercial artists had more freedom to integrate text and images than jobbing printers did. It is therefore not surprising that their work should, generally speaking, be pictorially led. Nevertheless, examples relying solely on ‘modernist’ lettering can be found, particularly on book jackets and journal covers. These often revelled in effects which were difficult or impossible to achieve with metal type, like exaggerated type forms or ones which gave the appearance of volume. An example of such lettering can be found on a cover of the advertising and business journal System from 1931 (Figure 3.9). The signature ‘Engh’ designed borrowed the language of axonometric projection from architectural drawing to depict the word ‘system’ raised up into the air by an exaggerated Y and T as if it were one of Lissitzky’s constructivist Wolkenbügel, or Cloud Irons, (1924).

Figure 3.9  ‘Engh’: Front cover of System no. 1 (1931). Photograph by Fotografisk Atelier. Item held by the Royal Danish Library.

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Resistance towards photography The commercial artist produced drawn or painted originals using a set of basic tools like those recalled by the Swede Erik Heffner: ‘Pencils and markers, set squares, rulers, brushes and paint tubes. And of course paper and drawing board.’72 To these one must also add the airbrush, favoured by those who like the ‘spray painter’ Anders Beckman were influenced by Cassandre.73 The originals were then made ready for print either photographically, or by a litho artist, who would meticulously re-draw the poster artist’s original, colour by colour, onto stones or zinc plates.74 Copies would then be printed by either traditional lithography or offset lithography. Occasionally designs would be printed gravure, but this was less common as only few Scandinavian printing houses had this capability. Letterpress was rarely chosen by commercial artists as a medium, and they were slow to incorporate photography in their designs. There were many reasons why commercial artists did not use photography more widely. According to Jorunn Veiteberg’s history of the Norwegian poster, one reason was a lack of skilled advertising photographers.75 As will be detailed further, other reasons had to do with production, reproduction and professional culture. The use of photography among commercial artists increased around 1935 when an exhibition of Swedish advertising was held at Stockholm’s national museum. Einar Lenning (1899–1965), who had previously worked as head of advertising for the Stockholm Exhibition 1930, noted that several posters now incorporated photography, often in combination with illustrative or graphic elements. For Lenning, it was vital for a photographic poster to include such additional elements, and thereby colour, in order to compete for attention with the brightly coloured hand-illustrated posters.76 These Swedish developments followed a wider, international tendency in poster design. By the end of the decade, the Studio book Poster Progress (1939), which contained an international survey of posters created during the past five years, declared it a ‘distinct trend in poster design’ that ‘artists assemble material, combining photography and drawn design in some novel or striking arrangement’.77 Posters exhibiting such combinations were included from Britain, France, Italy, Sweden and Switzerland. However, hand-illustrated posters continued to dominate in Scandinavia. Veiteberg claims it was not until the 1950s that photographic illustration became the norm.78 A further explanation for photography’s slow acceptance into the poster medium was that many commercial artists thought it not only inferior to handdrawn illustration in a technical sense but also that it ran counter to progress. Gebrauchsgraphik’s editor H. K. Frenzel (1882–1937) thought photography represented a retrograde step from abstraction back towards realism.79 The London Underground’s Frank Pick (1878–1941) objected for similar reasons. Because of its realism, the photograph offered only ‘a literal representation

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rather than a representation which has passed through the mind and heart of an artist and secured by that process something which it could not otherwise have’.80 Austin Cooper (1890–1964), principal of the Reimann School in London and himself a poster artist, was also critical. Although he made an exception for his colleague Edward McKnight Kauffer (1899–1954), Cooper claimed most photographic posters were ‘dull and often very bad indeed’.81 He declared himself unconvinced as to photography’s role in the future development of the medium. In Sweden, the abstract artist Otto G. Carlsund (1897–1948), who had trained in Paris under Fernand Léger (1881–1955) and worked as a commercial artist upon his return to Sweden,82 expressed similar opinions. In 1936 Carlsund published an article in Futurum reflecting on how the method of illustration affected a poster’s success. Working from the assumption that a poster should communicate its message in the blink of an eye, he considered in turn the photographic image, the naturalistically drawn (or painted) image and the stylized drawn (or painted) image. While he considered the photograph superior to the naturalistically drawn illustration, he found that they both contained too much detail, and because of this they did not result in ‘adequately “striking”’ images.83 He dismissed photomontage as too crass, but was positively inclined towards the photogram – in which he saw potential for advertising photographers to create ‘evocative and saleable’ results.84 However, drawn illustration of either style was preferable to photography because the use of colour could be applied more cheaply and effectively, though results were best if the composition was not too complicated. The most important virtue of this type of illustration, though, was its ability to express visual ideas better than the others. With the stylized illustrative approach, Carlsund claimed that the whole composition is the subject of a speculation the result of which relies on the creativity and imagination of the one who has the assignment. [. . .] The unfettered idea can assume the same expression as a slogan and become a sort of ‘slogan image’.85 According to Carlsund, the master of this form of visual rhetoric was Cassandre, and the premier example of the genre was his poster Étoile du Nord (1927), in which the North Star is expressed through both word and image (Figure 3.10). Cassandre’s poster omitted unnecessary detail and used a dramatic foreshortened perspective and a stylized motif of criss-crossing railway tracks to draw the viewer’s attention from the star in the distance to the text at the bottom of the poster. A more prosaic reason for the resistance towards photography was that it was seen as competition.86 Although commercial artists showed a preference for lithography, they were not tied to any particular reproduction method. However, their practice relied on a hard-earned mastery of hand-drawn illustration. Some

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Figure 3.10  A. M. Cassandre: Étoile du nord (1927). Trademark and copyright: MOURON. CASSANDRE. Lic 2019-25-05-03 www​.cassandre​.fr.

commercial artists, wanting to adopt the modern associations of photographic forms like the photomontage, double exposure or distorted perspective therefore mimicked these techniques with traditional tools like pencils and paints instead of incorporating actual photographic elements in their design.87 Even covers which relied exclusively on lettering received this kind of mock-photographic treatment. This can be seen in Norwegian author and commercial artist Finn Havrevold’s (1905–88) cover for Gunnar Larsen’s true crime novel To Mistenkelige Personer (Two Suspicious Persons) (1933) (plate 3.2). Havrevold’s cover relied on lettering drawn at an attention-grabbling angle, seemingly lit with dramatic chiaroscuro. Only later, after its use by commercial artists became more common, did he begin to include photographic elements in his compositions. Hand-drawn illustration remained his preferred method.

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The lay-out man The lay-out man was a new type of creative professional originating in the United States. Associated with the full-service advertising agency, he was responsible for determining the appearance of the ad. Among other responsibilities, the job required him to commission photographs or illustrations, to liaise with reproduction facilities and to instruct the compositor. An example from the Swedish advertising manual Hur Man Annonserar Med Framgång (How One Advertises Successfully, 1934) illustrates how the lay-out man worked in practice (Figures 3.11 and 3.12). Once the copywriter had finished writing the text, the

Figure 3.11  Example layout from the book Hur Man Annonserar Med Framgång (1934). Photograph by the author. Item in the author’s collection.

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Figure 3.12  Example of finished ad from the book Hur Man Annonserar Med Framgång (1934). Photograph by the author. Item in the author’s collection.

layout could be created. In the case of this ad for the clothes manufacturer Salén, the layout was used to commission a photographer to photograph the model and a commercial artist to letter the headline and draw the star device with the model’s figure repeated inside. Once stereotypes had been created from the photos and illustrations, he would send these along with the layout to the compositor. This particular layout specified which typefaces the compositor should use, Garamond and Futura. According to the manual, this was something those ‘somewhat versed in typography’ can do.88 From this comment one can assume not all lay-out men specified the typography in detail, and that the final design was therefore in some cases created in collaboration with the compositor.

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The lay-out man was not dependent on, or invested in, any particular method of production or reproduction. This freedom played into attitudes towards photography. From the late 1920s onwards, Scandinavian advertising journals published several articles praising this medium as an essentially truthful one which better reflected their ethos of truth in advertising than the ‘subjective’ medium of illustration.89 Due to improvements in the quality of newsprint used in Scandinavia, it became possible to use photography in the daily press around this time. Photographs had already been used in the illustrated press for some time as this was printed on better quality paper, and by gravure or offset rather than by letterpress.90

Typophoto between professions Lay-out men were positively inclined towards photography. However, their attitudes towards the New Typography were less positive and photography was therefore primarily used in American-style reason-why ads. Forms closely associated with the New Typography, like photomontage and typophoto, were rarely used. An exhibition held at Copenhagen’s Museum of Decorative Art (Kunstindustrimuseet) in the autumn of 1930 helps shed light on the situation. Titled Fotografi 1930 (Photography 1930), it was, to all intents and purposes, the German Werkbund’s travelling exhibition Das Lichtbild (The Photograph) under a different name. Reviewers writing for the advertisers of Dansk Reklame and master printers of De Grafiske Fag noted that several exhibits demonstrated a close integration of typography and photography.91 Both reviewers commented on how this practice had not yet caught hold in Denmark and suggested that their readers could benefit studying these items. Fotografi 1930’s catalogue does not reveal which works were on display, but it does list several names associated with the New Typography among the contributors: Walter Cyliax (1899–1945), Walter Dexel, Paul Renner, Sasha Stone (1895–1940) and Karel Teige (1900–51). Additionally, student work created at the Folkwangschule Essen under Max Burchartz, the Frankfurt School of Applied Arts under Willi Baumeister (1889–1955) and the Bauhaus’s photography department was on display. In addition to the items from Das Lichtbild, the exhibition contained a section showing early photography and work by Herman Bente’s (1881–1947) Jonals Co., the first modern advertising photographer’s studio in Denmark.92 Bente had assisted with the exhibition in various ways. For instance, he created the catalogue’s photomontaged cover free of charge. (Figure 3.13).93 The montage was presumably constructed from photos taken by Jonals. As a consequence, it can be seen as an unintentional mosaic of Danish commercial life at the time. The cod’s and cow’s heads point to the importance of agriculture and fishery, and the ship to the importance of its merchant navy. The inclusion of machinery alludes to vain hopes of industrialization, and the car

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Figure 3.13  Front cover of Fotografi 1930 (1930). Photograph by Designmuseum Denmark. Item held by Designmuseum Denmark.

tyre, modern building and scaffolding can be seen as symbols of modernity and progress. A dawning consumerism is also present through the inclusion of a pair of legs with stockings, a bottle of Ramlösa water and a sign for advertisements illuminated by Osram bulbs. In his Bauhaus-book Painting, Photography, Film (1969 [1925]), László Moholy-Nagy defined the close integration of type and image observed at Fotografi 1930 as ‘typophoto’. For Moholy-Nagy typophoto represented both the promise of a technical innovation integrating letterpress and screen printing with photography and platemaking techniques like the electrotype and phototype and the potential for a new kind of visual literature which adopted means pioneered by the illustrated press for all types of books.94 How such a literature might look in practice was illustrated by a screenplay for a film titled Dynamic of the Metropolis (Figure 3.14). Here Moholy-Nagy combined photography, with expressive use

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Figure 3.14  László Moholy-Nagy: ‘Dynamik der Gross-stadt’, in Malerei, Fotografie, Film 2., veränd. Aufl. (1927). Heidelberg University Library, 64 B 68 RES, pp. 122–3.

of typography and graphic elements to create a new kind of non-linear narrative sequence, which in this case was employed to convey the frenetic pace and sensory assault experienced by living in the great city. The term ‘typophoto’ was eventually also taken up by Scandinavian compositors. However, although it continued to describe the close integration of type and image it did so in a narrower technical sense. According to Hugo Lagerström’s son Sten (1904–85), typophoto was a ‘combination between a photographic image and a text, which one has inserted in the image and thus have obtained a stereotype containing both image and text’.95 No reference was made to screen printing or other reproduction methods unfamiliar to the compositor’s everyday practice. Sten Lagerström’s definition appeared in an article on typophoto illustrated with commercial advertisements. The majority of these were executed using the formal language of the New Typography. For instance, an ad for Karlskrona hats (Figure 3.15) combined a photograph of a gloved hand pointing to a hat with Futura type. The word ‘tag’ (take) was placed so that it overlapped the hat and the space between the hat and the pointing finger in order to encourage the act of purchase in the viewer’s mind. However, while such examples shared the New Typography’s formal features, they were far removed from Moholy-Nagy’s attempts to create a new kind of literature. The way Sten Lagerström described typophoto is also indicative of how different professions only engaged with the elements of New Typography relevant

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Figure 3.15  Ad for Karlskrona hats, as reproduced in Svensk Grafisk Årsbok 7 (1935): 48. Photograph by the author. Item in the author’s collection.

for their own practice. The lack of interest in typophoto among compositors can be explained by their lack of influence over the commissioning and production of stereotypes. Moholy-Nagy had envisaged a future where every printing house would have its own reproduction facility, but this was not the reality for Scandinavian compositors. Although lay-out men were free of these restrictions, they were largely opposed to the New Typography’s formal features. Therefore, neither of the two groups held much professional interest in pursuing this aspect of the New Typography, regardless of the positive comments made in relation to Fotografi 1930.

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The conflict between compositors and lay-out men For the lay-out man, some knowledge of photography, typography, illustration and reproduction methods was essential in order to commission work. However, their knowledge of each of these fields could necessarily not be of the same depth as that held by the specialists themselves. The lay-out men’s place in the hierarchy of production nevertheless ensured that they had the power to specify how a design should be typeset. This led to a friction between them and the compositors which was noticeable in all the Scandinavian countries, but nowhere more so than in Denmark. The compositor Aage Wantzin raised concerns about the lay-out men’s activities as early as 1935.96 However, it was not until the Compositors’ Technical Cooperative arranged a large meeting between advertisers and compositors in Copenhagen’s Student Society in October 1937 that matters came to a head. On the face of it, the compositors’ criticism centred on the quality of the layout men’s sketches. The most common problem, and that which most hampered their work, was that the text could not be set as specified because the copy was longer or shorter than the layout indicated. Additionally, stereotypes might be smaller or larger than specified. Depending on the design, or the greatness of the discrepancy, this might in turn affect the outcome. Because it was common to begin setting the text before the stereotypes arrived from the reproduction facility, any deviation from the sketch would not be noticed until late in the process. The lay-out men evidently found these criticisms to be of little consequence. Any small deviations in the length of text or size of stereotype could be dealt with by the compositor,97 and creating an overly detailed layout was seen as a waste of time.98 One reason for the compositors’ annoyance with the lay-out men, and their lack of attention to typographic detail, was that the compositors themselves had increasingly turned to sketching as a way of planning their work. This shift in working practice was necessitated by the New Typography’s more complex approach to composition. Compositors therefore felt they were able to produce layouts of a better quality than those they were given by the lay-out men. To an extent, they were also able to create their own illustrations if needed – whether these be lino cuts or pieces of pictorial typography. However, the conflict between the two groups was more serious than a squabble over who could best approximate type with a soft pencil. In essence, the argument boiled down to which of the two groups was to be responsible for designing print, and whether the jobbing setter was to remain a craftsman or to be relegated to a technician. As the Norwegian compositor K. M. Andresen expressed it: These are our things they are busying themselves with! It should also be the compositors’ job to draw type forms, illustrations, ornaments and vignettes.

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Compositors should decide colours and arrange everything harmoniously and well. In the end, the printing trade is not supposed to consist of setting text by machine, printing text set by machine, and printing [items of] craftmanship appropriated by the commercial artist, the lay-out man and the book artist. [. . .] Trade textbooks may soon begin like the fairy tale books with ‘It was once upon a time . . .’, with regards to our trade as craft.99 Underlying the technical arguments was a fundamental difference in perspective on the compositor’s role. The compositors, naturally perhaps, viewed their own profession as central to the production of advertising print, as it historically had been prior to the arrival of lithography. They considered the new figure of the lay-out man to constitute a threat to their profession, one which threatened to reduce them to ‘mere’ technicians without creative input. The compositors’ anxieties were vividly expressed in the form of a cartoon worn on the compositors’ lapels at the meeting in the Student Society (Figure 3.16). The image shows a compositor, recognizable from his coat and composing stick, being eaten alive by the cockerel of advertising. Unmoved by this dramatic display, the advertiser Erik Presskorn explained that the layout men viewed typography as important, but not any more so than any of the other elements making up an advertisement. Rather, it was ‘just a link in the chain of elements which are present when an advertisement is to be created’.100 More important than any of these constituent parts was creating the right combination of elements for the job. This task required the lay-out man to

Figure 3.16  Cartoon showing the compositor under attack from the cockerel of advertising, cartoon reproduced in Grafisk Teknik 2, no. 9 (1937): 159. Photograph by the author. Item held by the Royal Danish Library.

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consider factors like audience, tone, medium and illustration style. In Presskorn’s opinion, these were decisions compositors did not have the knowledge or experience to make. Presskorn’s comments would have done little to ease the compositors’ concerns. To make matters worse, they had few realistic prospects of changing the situation they found themselves in. Although some printing houses established their own lay-out departments in an effort to see off the new competition,101 the advertising agencies were not about to change their methods to suit the compositors. Amidst the fighting talk were therefore also voices of despondency.102 Some adherents of the New Typography were convinced by the lay-out men’s views. Before the meeting at the Student Society, Kai Pelt, who caused a stir by setting his apprentice exam according to the principles of the New Typography as described in Chapter 2, tried to explain its benefits to the advertisers. In doing so he rather tactlessly criticized their lack of typographic understanding.103 After receiving a fair amount of criticism in return, and perhaps sensing that there was little option but to adapt to the new reality, Pelt was moved into making a complete volte-face. He now concluded that ‘the world of typographic advertising is not for idealists, but for practitioners with a sense for advertising psychology’.104 Advertisements should no longer follow the principles of the New Typography or conform to its ideals of beauty. Their typography should be adapted to the audience and the subject matter, but otherwise only be guided by the client’s wishes and by the purpose of generating sales.

Conclusion In the 1920s and 1930s, printed advertisements could be produced by a number of different professionals in Scandinavia: compositors, commercial artists and lay-out men. Each had their own understanding of what advertising was and should be, and this was shaped by the international professional cultures to which they belonged. Compositors looked back to a centuries-old tradition of jobbing print which had come to its own during the artistic printing era and was now being rejuvenated by the New Typography; commercial artists looked to the German object poster tradition and the contemporary modern styles of French poster art exemplified most vividly by Cassandre, while the newly emerged category of the lay-out man looked to American ideas of scientific advertising. Moreover, each of these professions were served by Scandinavian trade journals which formed nodes in larger discrete networks which only rarely overlapped. They were much more likely to report on developments taking place in their respective professions abroad than those taking place among related professions at home. Ideas of and attitudes towards the New Typography spread through international trade journal networks rather than across professional

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boundaries, regardless of their geographical proximity (propinquity). As the lack of interest in the New Typography displayed by German advertising journals demonstrates, this was not only the case in Scandinavia but a phenomenon also observable in other geographies. In my view, the lack of transfer across professional boundaries highlights problems associated with writing histories framed within the category of the nation rather than the network. To expand on Hubert van den Berg’s image of the avant-garde network, I would argue that the New Typography’s limits could be found not only at the outskirts of Europe, or inside metropolises like Berlin, Paris and Moscow or in the careers of artists, but also within and between professions. Moreover, I would argue that the avant-garde and commercial practitioners each occupied their set of discrete professional networks which were only tenuously linked by nodes occupying structural holes, like the ‘Elementare Typographie’ special issue, Mise en Page or Modern Publicity 1930. Jobbing printers, commercial artists and lay-out men all created their designs with different attitudes, through different means and were predisposed to using different methods of reproduction. They also held different positions in the advertising trade’s commissioning hierarchy. Jobbing printers would work directly with typographic material and print their work using letterpress. Commercial artists would create drawn or painted originals which were usually reproduced lithographically. Lay-out men would sketch out their ideas and then commission compositors, commercial artists, photographers and reproduction facilities to bring their ideas to life. These differences significantly affected attitudes towards the photograph and photomontage. Although the New Typography achieved significant penetration among jobbing printers, particularly for ad setting, they were not in a position to commission photographs or photomontages for their designs. It can be argued that master printers and compositors were less able to domesticate this aspect of the New Typography than others because of the restrictions associated with their role. Because they were more concerned with what they could achieve with typographic material alone, discussions of photography and photomontage played no more than a minor role in printing trade publications. Like jobbing printers, commercial artists were positive towards the use of modern styles. Although this occasionally resulted in pieces of lettering which approached the appearance of the New Typography, it was more commonly expressed through the use of stylized illustration. Commercial artists were hesitant to incorporate photography and photomontage into their designs, as it was seen as a threat to their illustrative skills and went against their sense of professional identity as affischists. Commercial artists only took up photography after it made inroads into trade publications specific to their profession, like Modern Publicity and Mise en Page. In contrast, lay-out men expressed positive attitudes towards photography particularly of the kind that supported their work

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for truth in advertising. However, while they also showed some initial interest in the New Typography, primarily for its novelty value, they quickly found it to be incompatible with their preferred text-heavy format of the reason-why ad. Finally, the conflict between compositors and lay-out men highlights a number of ways in which it was becoming clear by the late 1930s that the New Typography was failing to deliver for the printing trade what its proponents had promised when incorporating it into their educational programme. Despite the calls made for the New Typography to reinvigorate design of the letterpress poster, the trade had not won back areas of work from lithographers and commercial artists. Nor had it prevented the trade losing further responsibilities and the promised increased creative autonomy to the new profession of the layout man. According to Andresen, the lay-out man’s appearance had resulted in the compositor’s role being reduced from that of a craftsman with creative input to a technician faithfully following the designs of others. As part of the project to ‘elevate the trade’, described in the previous chapter, the New Typography can therefore be seen as a failure. It did not succeed in bringing compositors and the trade the competitive advantages they had hoped for.

Notes 1 Oskar Dahlström. ‘Den nya typografiens skapare’. Svensk reklam 4 (1932): p. 77. 2 Hermann Scheibler. Lære- og mønsterbog for typografer: Efter de nyeste kilder bearbeidet og med bidrag fra flere inden- og udenlandske bogtrykkerier (Christiania: Forfatterens Forlag, 1896), pp. 3–4. 3 Selmar. ‘De vekslende typografiske Moder’, p. 405. 4 Although Selmar would not have been able to know this at the time, Tschichold would later in the year express a similarly dismissive attitude to Artistic Printing: Tschichold. The New Typography, pp. 21–3. 5 Tschichold’s categories were: the typographic symbol; the business letterhead; the half letterhead; envelopes without windows; window envelopes; the postcard; the postcard with flap; the business card; the visiting card; advertising matter (slips, cards, leaflets, prospectuses, catalogues); the typo-poster; the pictorial poster; labels; plates and frames; advertisements; the periodical; the newspaper; the illustrated paper; tabular matter; the new book: Ibid., p. 5. 6 Ibid., p. 224. 7 Ibid., p. 227. 8 Ibid., pp. 224, 227. 9 Hansen. ‘Elementær Typografi og dens Anvendelse’, p. 307. Hasnæs’ source is: Richard Herre. ‘Moderne Typographie’. Archiv für Buchgewerbe und Gebrauchsgraphik 64, nos. 5–6: Sonderheft Stuttgart (1927): pp. 29–35. 10 Ibid., p. 307. Emphasis in original.

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11 ‘Resultatet av 30:de årgangens pristävlan för sättare’. Nordisk boktryckarekonst 30, no. 4 (1929): pp.137–40. 12 Max Kjær-Hansen and E. W. Petersen, eds. Reklamehaandbogen 1934 (København: Petersen & Bratvolds bladforlag, 1934), p. 14; Lite Svensk Reklam– historia (Sveriges arkiv för reklam och grafisk design, 2002), p. 8. 13 Victoria de Grazia, Irresistible Empire: America’s Advance through TwentiethCentury Europe (Cambridge, MA and London: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2005), p. 231. 14 Ibid., pp. 201, 232; Morten Bendix Andersen. ‘Sælgere for et amerikansk forbrugsimperium? Studier i amerikaniseringsprocesser i reklamebranchen i Danmark 1920–1965’ (PhD thesis, Syddansk Universitet, 2011), p. 51. 15 Max Kjær-Hansen. ‘Træk af reklamens vilkår 1920–1949’, in Reklamen i det 20. århundredes Danmark, eds. Max Kjær-Hansen and Peter Olufsen (København: Nyt nordisk forlag Arnold Busck, 1974), p. 294. 16 Daniel Pope. The Making of Modern Advertising (New York: Basic Books, 1983), pp. 191–2. 17 For ‘Truth in Advertising’: Ibid., pp. 202–12. 18 See, for instance: Ibid., p. 238. 19 Lasker subsequently took up this formula to great success. The story is frequently retold in histories on advertising. Ibid. 20 Roland Marchand, Advertising the American Dream: Making Way for Modernity, 1920–1940. First Paperback Printing (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1986), p.10. 21 For the differences between American and German advertising, see: Corey Ross, ‘Visions of Prosperity: The Americanization of Advertising in Interwar Germany’, in Selling Modernity: Advertising in Twentieth-Century Germany, eds. Pamela Swett, Jonathan Wiesen and Jonathan Zatlin (Durham and London: Duke University Press, 2007), pp. 52–77. 22 Kjær-Hansen and Petersen. Reklamehaandbogen 1934, p. 36. 23 Andersen. ‘Sælgere for et amerikansk forbrugsimperium?’, p. 70. 24 Ellen Mazur Thomson, The Origins of Graphic Design in America, 1870–1920 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1997), p. 37. 25 Kadushin, Understanding Social Networks, pp. 18–20. 26 As stated in: Redaktionen. ‘Till de skandinaviska kollegerna!’. Grafisk revy 1, no. 1 (1930): p. 1. 27 ‘Anmälan’. Nordisk boktryckarekonst 1, no. 1 (1900): p. 7; Selmar, ‘Benevolo lectori salutem!’, unpaginated; Arthur Nelson ‘Norsk trykk’. Nelsons magasin for grafisk kunst 1, no. 1 (1927): p. 2. 28 See, for instance: ‘Biblioteket’. Grafisk teknik 1, no. 9 (1936): pp. 127–8; ‘Utlandets fackpress’. Grafiskt forum 42, no. 5 (1937): pp. 162–3; ‘Nedenstaaende blade og tidsskrifter er tilgængelige i Københavns bogtrykkerforenings medlems-lokale’. De grafiske Fag 27, no. 5 (1931–2): p. 82. 29 Styret. ‘Det grafiske selskap i Oslo’, p. 387. 30 Gram, ‘The Art Journal as an Artistic Gesture’, p. 100.

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31 Jelsbak. ‘Avant-Garde and Politics’. 32 Andersen, ‘Sælgere for et amerikansk forbrugsimperium?’, pp. 63–70. 33 Kjær-Hansen, ‘Træk af reklamens vilkår 1920–1949’, p. 271. 34 Alston W. Purvis has claimed Tschichold’s ‘Elementare Typographie’ special issue was of marginal concern to journals like Die Reklame and Gebrauchsgraphik, whilst Julia Meer makes the same observation in relation to Seidels Reklame. See: Alston W. Purvis, ‘Tschichold and the New Typography’, in Jan Tschichold: Master Typographer. His Life, Work & Legacy, ed. Cees W. de Jong (London: Thames & Hudson, 2008), p. 40; Meer. Neuer Blick auf die Neue Typographie, p. 12. 35 Charles Moegreen, C. Volmer Nordlunde, Henry Thejls, E. Presskorn and Eli Reimer. ‘Tschicholds March over Alperne’. Grafisk teknik 12, no. 2 (1947–8): p. 53. 36 Ibid., 53. 37 Advertist. ‘Reklamportföljen’. Tidskrift för affärsekonomi 2, no. 1 (1929): p. 21. 38 Advertist. ‘Reklamportföljen’. Tidskrift för affärsekonomi 3, no. 4 (1930): p. 152. 39 Ibid. 40 Walter Dill Scott, The Theory of Advertising (Boston: Small, Maynard, 1903), p. 47. 41 D. A. T. ‘Hysterisk reklame’. Propaganda 8, no.11 (64) (1930): p. 16. 42 William Crawford. ‘Section 1: England’, in Modern Publicity 1930 (London: The Studio Limited, 1930), p. 19. 43 Harold Curwen, ‘The Art of Lay-Out’. The Studio 102 (December 1931): p. 416. 44 Tom Pilsen, ‘Vogt Dem for smitte!’. Propaganda 9, no. 11 (76) (1931): p. 268. 45 Finn Alfsen, ‘Propagandas “moderne” avdeling: Herr Tom Pilsen og vår nasjonale selvbevissthet’. Propaganda 10, no. 1 (78) (1932): p. 11. 46 A. Hvene. ‘Modern Publicity 1930’. Dansk reklame 4, no. 11 (1930): unpaginated. 47 V. J. Clausen. ‘Lidt om Annoncetypografi’. Dansk reklame 5 (1931): p. 11. Emphasis in original. 48 Sven Rygaard. ‘Reklamen bygger framtiden’. Futurum 1, no. 1 (1936): p. 9. 49 Sven Rygaard. ‘Kameran och reklamen: Några reflexioner kring “Fotografiet i annonsen” – Dagens nyheters stora pristävlan för fotografiska annonser’. Futurum 1 (1936): p. 579. 50 Nordlunde. ‘Elementær Bogtypografi’, p. 46. 51 ‘Haandsætteren’. Grafisk teknik 1, no. 3 (1936): p. 25ff. 52 Max Richard Kirste. Håndbok for unge settere. Annen del: Aksidenssats (Oslo: Kirstes boktrykkeri, 1935), p. 14. Emphasis in original. 53 ‘Lærlingenes utdannelse’. Typografiske meddelelser 52, no. 51 (1927): pp. 413– 14; Max Richard Kirste. ‘Veiledning for oplæring av lærlinger i boktrykkerfaget’, in Yrkeslære for settere (Oslo: Yrkesoplæringsrådet for håndverk og industri, 1938), pp. 180–4. 54 Kirste, Håndbok for unge settere. Annen del: Aksidenssats, p. 16. 55 Arthur Nelson. ‘Plagiater, funkis og Aftenpostens nye ansikt’. Norsk trykk 4, no. 6 (1930): p. 199.

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56 Falk’s work was at least included in at least two folders. See: ‘Skandinaviske typografers fagl. ring’. Typografiske meddelelser 56 (1931): pp. 151–2; ‘Skandinaviske Typografers faglige Ring’. Dansk Typograf-tidende 58, no. 22 (1931): p. 88. 57 Valter Falk. Bokstavsformer och typsnitt genom tiderna (Stockholm: Bokförlaget prisma, 1975), p. 99. 58 Arthur Nelson. ‘Moderne typografi’. Norsk trykk 5, nos. 5–6 (1931): p. 122. 59 Karl Karlsson, ‘Plakaten: Forsømmer Bogtrykkerne en taknemlig Opgave?’ De grafiske Fag 28 (1932): p. 105. 60 Ibid., p. 106. 61 Kirste. Håndbok for unge settere. Annen del: Aksidenssats, p. 80. 62 Ibid., p. 81. 63 Tschichold. The New Typography, p. 182. 64 Most eloquently expressed in: Akke Kumlien. ‘Bokomslag eller affisch’. Fabritiana 12 (1938): unpaginated. 65 ‘1930’erne’. Bogvennen (1984–5): p. 30. 66 Reproduced in: Jan Gauguin. Ord symbol bilde: Grafisk design i norsk miljø (Oslo: Kunstindustrimuseet, 1978), p. 8; Einar Økland. Norske bokomslag 1880–1980 (Oslo: Samlaget, 1996); Peter Haars and Tor Bjerkmann, eds. Norske bokomslag: Bokens ansikt i 100 år (Oslo: Press, 2002); Eng. ‘“Den nye typografiens” gjennombrudd i’, no. 3, p. 15. 67 Årets vakreste bøker 1933: Aftenpostens og Norsk trykks bokkunst-bedømmelse (Chr. Schibsteds boktrykkeri, 1934), unpaginated. 68 Rolf Jacobsen. Jord og jern (Oslo: Gyldendal norsk forlag, 1933), p. 70. 69 Max Kjær-Hansen. ‘Den danske reklames kvantitative udvikling’, in Reklamen i det 20. Århundredes Danmark, eds. Max Kjær-Hansen and Peter Olufsen (København: Nyt nordisk forlag Arnold Busck, 1974), p. 89. 70 Ibid. 71 See for instance: Arthur Hald. ‘Sidor av en rund person: Karl-Erik Forsberg om Anders Beckman’, in Anders Beckmans skola 1939–1989, eds. Carl Fredrik Holterman and Cecilia Welin, pp. 15–17. (Stockholm: Sellin & Blomquist, 1989); Lars Dybdahl, Den danske plakat (Valby: Borgen, 1994), p. 28; Jorunn Veiteberg. Den norske plakaten (Oslo: Pax, 1998), pp. 88–94. 72 Lisbet Svengren, Svenska reklamaffischer: En bilderbok om den svenska reklamaffischens historia (Stockholm: Affischeringsföretagens förening, 1986), p. 18. 73 Otto G. Carlsund. ‘Dialog om sprutteknik och diverse’. Futurum 1 (1936): p. 226. 74 For a detailed discussion of the litho artist, albeit in a British context, see: Graham Twemlow, ‘E. McKnight Kauffer: Poster Artist. An Investigation into Poster Design and Production during the Inter-War Period Using E. McKnight Kauffer’s Œuvre as an Example’ (PhD thesis, University of Reading, 2007), pp. 229–62. 75 Veiteberg. Den norske plakaten, p. 100. 76 Einar Lenning. ‘Reklamtryck på museum: Några iakttagelser och reflexioner på utställningen “Svensk reklam i svenskt tryck”’. Grafiskt Forum 40, no. 9 (1935): pp. 279–80.

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77 Tom Purvis, Poster Progress (London: The Studio Ltd, 1939), p. 92. Emphasis in original. 78 Veiteberg, Den norske plakaten, p. 100. 79 H. K. Frenzel, ‘From Utamaro to Cassandre’. Penrose’s Annual: The Process Year Book 36, no. XXXVI (1934): p. 2. 80 Quoted in: Yasuko Suga, The Reimann School (London: Artmonsky Arts, 2013), p. 60. 81 Austin Cooper, Making a Poster (London: The Studio Ltd., 1938), p. 34. 82 The most up-to-date source on Carlsund is: Louise Fogelström, ed. Otto G. Carlsund, 11.12 1897 – 25.7 1948: konstnär, kritiker och utställningsarrangör (Stockholm: Arena, Liljevalchs konsthall, Norrköpings konstmuseum, 2007). 83 Otto G. Carlsund. ‘Låt oss se på affischen’. Futurum 1 (1936): p. 87. 84 Ibid., p. 88. 85 Ibid., p. 89. 86 Suggested in: Veiteberg, Den norske plakaten, p. 101. 87 Kjell Norvin. ‘Historisk oversikt 1880–2001’, in Norske bokomslag: Bokens ansikt i 100 år, eds. Peter Haars and Tor Bjerkmann (Oslo: Press, 2002), pp. 47–8. 88 Tom A. Björklund and Yngve Hedvall. Hur man annonserar med framgång. Tredje fullständigt omarbetade upplagan (Stockholm: Bokförlaget natur och kultur, 1934), p. 143. 89 This argument is presented in the following: Tom Björklund. ‘Kameran i kundvärvningens tjänst’. Tidskrift för affärsekonomi 2, no. 4 (1929): pp. 7–10, 27ff; Mog. ‘Fotografi og reklame’. Dansk reklame 4, no. 10 (1930): pp. 7–9; Harry Ungewitter. ‘Fotografiet i reklamens tjänst’. Svensk reklam 2 (1930): pp. 75–86; Anders Billow. ‘Fotografiens reklamvärde är dess sanningsvärde’. Svensk reklam 3 (1931): pp. 117–48; ‘Fotografiet i reklamen’. System 2, nos. 8–9 (1931): pp. 8–9; Rolf Mortensen. ‘Gi fotografien en chanse’. Propaganda 10, no. 10 (87) (1932): pp. 237ff. 90 Sixten Rönnow. ‘Djuptryckets utveckling och reklamvärde’. Svensk reklam 4 (1932): pp. 45–76. 91 ‘Fotografi 1930: En stor og interessant Udstilling i Kunstindustrimuseet’. De grafiske Fag 26, no. 15 (1930): p. 263; Mog. ‘Fotografi og Reklame’, pp. 7–9. 92 Vilhelm Slomann. Fotografi 1930: International Udstilling samlet af Münchener Werkbund Sommeren 1930 (København: Det danske Kunstindustrimuseum, 1930). 93 Ibid., p. 8. 94 László Moholy-Nagy. Painting, Photography, Film (London: Lund Humphries, 1969), pp. 38–40. 95 Sten Lagerström. ‘Typofoto: En förening av bild och bokstäver’. Svensk grafisk årsbok 7 (1935): p. 60. 96 Aage Wantzin. ‘Tegner og Typograf’. Tegneren 3, no. 3 (1935): pp. 27–9. 97 Ibid., p. 28. 98 Erik Presskorn. ‘Forfusker reklamens folk bogtrykarbejdet?’ Bogtrykkerbladet 16, no. 11 (1937): p. 265.

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99 K. M. Andresen. ‘Hel og allsidig tegneundervisning for typografer’. Grafisk kringsjå 1, no. 7 (1936): pp. 1–4. 100 Presskorn. ‘Forfusker reklamens folk bogtrykarbejdet?’, p. 266. 101 Henry Thejls. ‘Typografi og Layout’. De grafiske Fag 39, no. 2 (1943): p. 62. 102 Aage Wantzin. ‘Hvorfor stagnere?’ Grafisk teknik 2, no. 10 (1937): p. 168. 103 Kai Pelt. ‘Hanegal og typografisk Skitsering’. Grafisk teknik 2, no. 3 (1937): unpaginated. 104 Kai Pelt. ‘Typografisk revy’. Grafisk teknik 2, no. 10 (1937): p. 169. Emphasis in original.

PART II

PRINTING AND SOCIETY

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4 REALIGNMENT FUNCTIONALISM AS IDEOLOGY, STYLE AND RESISTANCE

Functionalism was the dominant modernist current in Scandinavia during the 1930s, and was so pervasive that functionalism and modernism are often considered synonymous terms.1 That functionalism was able to achieve such penetration in Scandinavia can in no small part be attributed to the great popular success of the Stockholm Exhibition 1930. Commonly regarded as representing functionalism’s breakthrough moment in Scandinavia, it drew as many as four million visitors. Although repeat visits must be accounted for, the number is nevertheless remarkably high. Stockholm’s population counted just over five hundred thousand at the time, and Sweden’s just over six million.2 The exhibition’s graphic profile, described in Per G. Råberg’s seminal account as a ‘magnificent propaganda for the New Typography’, would have exposed many ordinary Swedes to this new style for the first time.3 Indeed, as this chapter will show, it was through the exhibition’s commissary-general Gregor Paulsson’s (1889–1977) commissioning of graphic materials from Bröderna Lagerström that the New Typography ceased to be merely the subject of debate for printers and began to gain commercial usage. The Stockholm Exhibition influenced typographic development in a number of sometimes conflicting ways. As in other areas of design, its popular success gave rise to the fashion known as funkis in which functionalism’s stylistic attributes were adopted, but not its underlying principles. In typography, funkis was characterized by the use of visual tropes like pictorial typography, geometric ornaments and text set in justified blocks without concern for the function of the

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text. By popularizing the idea of functionalism, the Stockholm Exhibition also shifted the focus of debate on the New Typography. Discussions had previously centred on the relative merits of the New Typography’s formal means as defined in Jan Tschichold’s ‘Elementare Typographie’ manifesto, but now they began to centre on the question of function. This shift made a host of new interpreta­ tions possible. As the Swedish graphic designer and academic Bror Zachrisson (1906–83) wrote in 1940: ‘The year 1930 marks the breakthrough of the func­ tional outlook. So far, we are agreed. But when it comes to a definition of the nature of function – its aims, in different areas, opinions divide.’4 This chapter will discuss some of the most significant interpretations of functionalism in typography. In the field of jobbing print, the version of New Typography Jan Tschichold presented in his three Copenhagen lectures and book Typographische Gestaltung was heralded by Henry Thejls and other figures in Denmark as an example of a genuinely functional typography, because it did away the ‘misunderstandings’ associated with funkis. In the field of book design, Anders Billow of Nordisk Rotogravyr was inspired to develop a style of a photographically illustrated book attuned to the rotogravure process his employer specialized in. In Denmark, the architect Steen Eiler Rasmussen produced book designs informed by what later became labelled the functional tradition, the identification and reuse of functional forms from objects created in the past. The introduction of the term ‘functionalism’ freed practitioners with a preference for traditional typography from having to defend the ‘old’ typography against the new and enabled them instead to recast elements of their practice as positive contributions towards a modern and ‘truly’ functional typography. In the hands of such practitioners, terms like ‘functional’ and ‘functionalist’ were used as a domestication tactic.

From elementarism to functionalism The term ‘functionalism’ was introduced to Swedish architectural debate by Uno Åhrén’s (1897–1977) seminal article ‘Ruptures’ (1925).5 This article presented Le Corbusier’s (1887–1965) Pavilion de l’Esprit Nouveau as the highlight of the 1925 Paris Exposition and a model to follow for Swedish architects. However, when Lagerström issued his ‘words of warning’ a few years later, he did not describe the New Typography as functionalist. Rather, he used the terms ‘elemental typography’, ‘the new design’, ‘the new style’ and ‘the new typography’.6 In Scandinavia, the first mention of functionalism in relation to typography was made by the Stockholm Exhibition’s head of advertising, Einar Lenning.7 In a review of Pressa, the International Press Exhibition held in 1928 in Cologne, he commented on ‘the so-called elemental typography’, describing it as ‘a sort of parallel phenomenon to the modern “functionalism” in architecture’.8

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Although functionalism and the New Typography were considered two separate movements, there were connections between the two. In January 1927 the Norwegian architectural journal Byggekunst (Architecture, lit. Building Art) traded in a sober centred cover design featuring didone letters and a brick pyramid for one bearing many of the New Typography’s formal characteristics as defined in Tschichold’s ‘Elementare Typographie’ manifesto: asymmetric composition, a logical hierarchy of meaning, sans-serif type and photographic illustration (Figure 4.1). Some of the advertisements printed on the cover were set at an angle, like the one for Ringeriksheller (Ringerike Slate) in the September issue reproduced here. The top story in this issue was the completion of Norway’s first functionalist

Figure 4.1  Front cover of Byggekunst no. 9 (1927). Photograph by the author. Item held by the National Library of Norway.

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building: Lars Backer’s (1892–1930) restaurant Skansen. However, Byggekunst’s redesign received no comment from the printing trade press which as discussed in Chapter 2 remained silent on the New Typography at that point in time. In Sweden, functionalism did not initially align with the New Typography. Instead, it took on other graphic expressions, as can be seen from the 1929 redesign of Svenska Slöjdföreningens Tidskrift (The Swedish Society of Crafts and Design’s Journal, 1905–31) (Figure 4.2). The neoclassical appearance of the journal’s previous volumes was abandoned, not for asymmetry, sans-serif type and heavy rules but for another centred design, albeit one which achieved a significantly higher degree of visual impact. The delicately set Mediæval type and muted hues of previous volumes were replaced by large upper-case fat-

Figure 4.2  Front cover of Svenska Slöjdföreningens Tidskrift no. 1 (1929). Photograph by the author. Item held by the National Library of Sweden.

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face letters. The title was printed in solid black over a gigantic rusty-red numeral signalling the issue number which in turn was printed on a bright yellow card. The new cover design was likely based on that used by the French graphic arts journal Arts et Métiers Graphiques (Graphic Arts and Crafts) between the years 1927 and 1931. It also drew upon Le Corbusier and Ozenfant’s L’Esprit Nouveau. The covers of the latter journal featured the issue number illustrated at a large size, and the former a similar composition and overprinting effect to that used by Svenska Slöjdföreningens Tidskrift. Despite not conforming to the New Typography’s formal characteristics, the new cover was considered appropriate for a functionalist journal. Anders Billow thought the choice of typeface to be fitting because it had first emerged during the Industrial Revolution, a period he considered to have shared the present’s affinity for rational form devoid of decoration.9

The Stockholm Exhibition 1930 as catalyst for functionalist typography That the Stockholm Exhibition 1930 was to be a manifestation of functionalism in art and design was made clear early in its planning stages. On 25 October 1928 Gregor Paulsson, the exhibition’s commissary-general and chairman of the Swedish Society of Crafts and Design, made the first public declaration of the exhibition’s programme. As part of his statement, Paulsson gave his own personal endorsement to functionalism and stated it was both desirable and probable for the exhibition to be influenced by it.10 While Paulsson also stated that it was not for the commissariat to make detailed decisions on the exhibition’s appearance, it soon became apparent that he was willing to go to great lengths to ensure that it adhered to a functionalist sensibility. When the exhibition’s chief architect Gunnar Asplund (1885–1940) presented him with a playful proposal for the exhibition’s design, he refused to support it. Instead, Paulsson promptly took Asplund on a whirlwind tour of European modernist sites. The two men saw the plans for Pressa in Cologne, the remains of Die Wohnung in Stuttgart and visited the Exhibition of Contemporary Culture in Brno. They met with Sigfried Giedion (1888–1968) in Stuttgart and Josef Hoffman (1870–1956) in Vienna. They also travelled to Paris hoping to meet Le Corbusier, but had to ‘settle for’ his cousin and colleague Pierre Jeanneret, as Corbusier was out of town.11 When Asplund subsequently presented a new proposal, Paulsson could note with satisfaction that it was ‘more clearly functionalist’.12 Paulsson may well have taken a similar approach to the exhibition’s graphic materials, leaving the exact detailing up to the practitioner with the understanding that the result should reflect the exhibition’s functionalist profile. Paulsson saw the New Typography as part of a wider functionalist movement. This, he made clear at an evening of debates on the New Typography arranged

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by the Swedish Association of Master Printers in April 1929.13 However, the connection between the two was already evident from the declaration of the Stockholm Exhibition 1930’s programme. Published as a pamphlet as the exhibition’s first official piece of print, it was furnished with a cover executed by Bröderna Lagerström (Figure 4.3). The cover design was executed in accordance with Hugo Lagerström’s modified form of New Typography, described in Chapter 2. The text was divided into three groups according to the function of the text and set asymmetrically in two sizes of Bodoni. The subtitle was separated from the title by a tall and narrow bright red rectangle. When Bröderna Lagerström produced the Stockholm Exhibition 1930’s next piece of print shortly thereafter,

Figure 4.3  Front cover of Stockholmsutställningens Program (1928). Photograph by the author. Item held by the National Library of Sweden.

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a pamphlet titled Program och Bestämmelser (Programme and Regulations), the text was grouped together and arranged below the exhibition’s newly unveiled symbol which replaced the red rectangle. This revised design was subsequently used as a template for the covers of the exhibition’s smaller publications and the title pages of the larger ones. The Stockholm Exhibition 1930’s symbol was a stylized pair of wings designed by the architect Sigurd Lewerentz. Lewerentz was also responsible for several other elements of the exhibition’s graphic appearance. He arranged the logos on Gunnar Asplund’s striking advertising mast, and designed the lettering used throughout the exhibition site.14 Available in upper-case only, these were manufactured in wood and sold to exhibitors by the letter. Lewerentz also designed the exhibition’s two official posters. These shared a colour scheme of black and white lettering set against a bright red background, topped by stripes in the blue and yellow of the Swedish flag. Both posters contained lettering executed by Lewerentz in the style of a geometric sans-serif, but of a different design to that used for the exhibition’s signage. The main poster was a pared-back affair dominated by large-shaded numerals reading ‘1930’ arranged diagonally from bottom left to right. The special poster was more complex (plate 4.1). It featured two maps. One was of the world and the other of Stockholm, with the exhibition ground marked out. Above the maps were nine line drawings representing each their section of the exhibition, labelled in lower-case sansserif: furniture, interiors, housing, books, metalwork, rugs, ceramics, glass and transportation.15 Over this arrangement hovered Lewerentz’s symbol for the exhibition, the stylized pair of wings. This device also featured on most of the exhibition’s graphic materials, on the many banners that hung throughout its grounds, and – most prominently – at the very top of the advertising mast. The exhibition’s smaller items of print continued to be executed in the style developed by Bröderna Lagerström. However, subsequent larger catalogues and guides received covers closely linked to Lewerentz’ posters and signage. They were set in the geometric sans-serif Erbar Grotesk, predominantly in uppercase. Presumably, this was considered a close enough fit to Lewerentz’s custom designs. Many were also characterized by an innovative use of photography. This brought their appearance even closer to the formal principles laid down in Tschichold’s ‘Elementare Typographie’ manifesto. For instance, the official guide’s cover featured an aerial photo fitted into a directional arrow, and the front of the Katalog Över Bostadsavdelningen (Catalogue of the Housing Section) showed various pieces of furniture and fittings, including a horizontal window and a modern kitchen, as well as tables and several chairs, all of them cut out and arranged on a bright yellow background (Figure 4.4). While not officially a Stockholm Exhibition publication, Acceptera is intimately linked to it. Formulated as a defence of the exhibition’s programme,16 it was written collectively by six of the figures involved in shaping its programme and

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Figure 4.4  Front cover of Katalog Över Bostadsavdelningen (1930). Photograph by Uppsala University Library. Item held by Uppsala University Library.

architecture. In addition to Asplund, Paulsson and Åhrén, its authors were architects Wolter Gahn (1890–1985), Sven Markelius (1889–1972) and Eskil Sundahl (1890–1974). The book is so closely associated with the ideology of functionalism in Sweden that it has come to be referred to as its manifesto.17 Its argument was most succinctly stated in its closing statement, parts of which were also printed on the front cover. It urges the reader to accept the reality that exists – only in that way have we any prospect of mastering it, taking it in hand, and altering it to create culture that offers an adaptable tool for life. We have no need for outworn forms from earlier cultures to sustain our self-respect. We cannot tiptoe backward from our own era. Nor

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can we skip past what troubles and confuses us into a utopian future. We can only look reality in the eye and accept it to be able to master it.18 It is not known who designed the book’s cover (Figure 4.5), but it may have been Uno Åhrén. This is at least Anders Åman’s view. According to him, Åhrén claimed to have specified the book’s layout and was ‘probably’ also responsible for the cover design.19 Whoever the designer was, the cover’s formal characteristics diligently corresponded to those prescribed in Tschichold’s ‘Elementare Typographie’ manifesto.20 It employed an asymmetric layout. Photography was preferred to hand-drawn illustration. The text was set entirely in sans-serif type. The block of text containing the authors’ names was set at an angle for emphasis

Figure 4.5  Front cover of Acceptera (1931). Photograph by Uppsala University Library. Item held by Uppsala University Library.

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and to instil a sense of urgency. The title was set entirely in lower-case, in partial fulfilment of the call for kleinschreibung. Extreme variations in size were used for contrast and to create a logical visual relationship between the different groups of type: the title, the authors’ names and the large block of black text containing the excerpt of the book’s stirring closing statement. In light of Acceptera’s significance for functionalism and its close adherence to Tschichold’s principles, its cover design is the clearest expression of an alignment between the two movements in Scandinavia.

From funkis to functional typography In the wake of the Stockholm Exhibition, a popularized form of the New Typography took hold across Scandinavia, primarily in the field of jobbing print. Labelled funkis, it was a Scandinavian version of a popular modern form practised also by compositors elsewhere, under the influence of type foundries’ promotional materials. Tschichold labelled this style of typography as ‘pseudoconstructivism’.21 He considered it to be a misunderstood version of the New Typography resulting from the appropriation of its visual means without any appreciation for its underlying principles. Those committed to functionalism or the New Typography objected to funkis, as it showed only a superficial understanding of the principles which informed the aesthetic associated with functionalism. Following Jan Tschichold’s lectures in Copenhagen, the Danish compositor and trade school teacher Henry Thejls began promoting what he called ‘plastic typography’. Positioned against what he perceived to be the formalism of funkis and concerning itself instead with questions of readability and organization, this typography was essentially a lightly modified version of the style promoted by Tschichold in his Copenhagen lectures and shortly after in his book Typographische Gestaltung. In line with its aims, this approach also gained the label ‘functional typography’.

The term ‘funkis’ and its changing connotations The word ‘funkis’ was derived from the Swedish for functionalism, funktionalism. This method of shortening a word or phrase and adding the suffix ‘–is’ was, and still is, a common feature of Swedish slang which serves the purpose of making long words and phrases sound less formal.22 While its use can be traced back to 1925,23 it gained popularity after the Stockholm Exhibition 1930 opened in May. It was then quickly taken up as a buzzword describing both functionalism and the exhibition itself all over Scandinavia. The sudden popularity was undoubtedly aided by the presence of a restaurant named Funkis in the

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exhibition’s amusement area. The restaurant’s name was projected to the visitors by a large illuminated sign which itself was a piece of funkis typography (Figure 4.6). Not only did it use exaggerated letterforms to attract attention, but the F’s unusually long arm and upper-case S was also used to create a solid rectangular form – thereby achieving a geometric effect. Although initially used only as a popular and informal synonym to functionalism, the term ‘funkis’ soon took on negative connotations.24 This was particularly the case among ideologically invested commentators like Knut Greve (1904– 53), who served as secretary of the Norwegian Foreningen Brukskunst (The Applied Art Association) and as editor of its journal Brukskunst. According to Greve, funkis was functionalism’s ‘distorted image’.25 For him, functionalism represented a new spiritual attitude, a break with historicism and the emergence of a constructive and logical design approach. Funkis, on the other hand, retained all the bad practices of the past, thinly concealed under a veneer of geometric or stylized decor. Such practice was of great concern because it threatened to undermine the public’s understanding of the ‘true’ nature of functionalism. Greve’s comments were made in the context of applied art. However, similar opinions were expressed in the fields of printing and commercial art. At a meeting of the Swedish Association of Master Printers, held in July 1930, art historian Nils

Figure 4.6  Illuminated sign for restaurant ‘Funkis’ (1930). Photographer unknown. ArkDes, 2019. ARKM.1986-104-26.

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G. Wollin (1892–1964) expressed that ‘far from everything which these days is labelled funkis deserves the name’.26 Some years later Elite’s editor Nicolaj Norvil published in-depth considerations around the term’s use in commercial art, concluding that funkis was functionalism taken ‘to its diametric opposition’ having been turned into an empty style.27 Visually, funkis typography relied on any number of characteristics. These included the use of geometric elements and rules for decorative purposes, images and letterforms created from typographic material, geometric or otherwise eccentric display type, and the setting of text in justified blocks for geometric effect. To a lesser extent, the use of full bleed images, framed ads and the practice of setting text in lower-case were also considered to be funkis.28 These practices, adopted from German printing journals and type samples like Futura Schmuck, were criticized for being either time consuming, economically unsound, unfounded, executed at the expense of readability or a combination of all four. That their use therefore constituted ‘un-functional’ practice was argued most comprehensively by the Danish compositor Ole Chr. Sørensen. His detailed and passionate description of funkis typography and its faults is worth quoting at length: It goes without saying that the first attempts in the functionalist style here at home yielded highly misunderstood results. Geometric shapes abounded, set at the most gratuitous places under the name Blickfang (eye-catcher). That which was, is and will be the primary element of a good piece of print: the type, was squeezed into square and oblong groups the readability of which was nil. – The emergence of the so-called Bausteine (building blocks) put wind in the sails of the wild ideas. . . .[. . .] Another and much-used means of achieving ‘impact’ was and is those letters and words, often entire lines, constructed from rules and ornaments. The result in only in a minority of cases an easily readable product, and as such completely contrary to the idea of our age. [. . .] Letterforms and words constructed from rules, Bausteine and suchlike should be banned. The effect is created at the expense of readability. It is time-wasting work.29

Funkis typography in practice Although figures like Wollin, Norvil and Sørensen spoke out against funkis typography, others defended tropes associated with this style like block-setting and pictorial typography. One such voice belonged to the Norwegian master printer Arthur Nelson. Block-setting played a key role in his eccentric understanding of elemental typography. Although the precise meaning of elementarism in the wider field of art and design was admittedly elusive and subject to a host of

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interpretations, they were in Tschichold’s ‘Elementare Typographie’ manifesto defined as consisting of letters, numbers, signs, rules and photography.30 To Nelson, however, ‘elemental’ referred to the ‘primordial’ or ‘ancient geometric system’, terms presumably used to reference Euclid’s Elements.31 In Nelson’s hands, elemental typography became an aesthetic exercise in which justified blocks of text were arranged on the page in order to create geometric effects reminiscent of functionalist architecture.32 According to Nelson, this was a challenging task which demanded taste and experience: It is the material in combination with the arrangement on the plane which constitute the decorative effects. Just as the architect makes his effects out of concrete, steel and glass, places them together in surfaces that appeal to the eye and thereafter paints them in appealing colours, so must the compositor treat his material – choose the type which suits the character of the job at hand, and thereafter piece it together in beautiful planes. And this is not easy. Good taste and assured experience are needed in order to place groups of text on the paper without other rules than to make it beautiful.33 As the Norwegian printing historian Torbjørn Eng has noted, Nelson was happy for lines of text to be padded with additional punctuation, or for uneven word- and letterspacing to be used, in order to create the necessary justified text blocks.34 Examples of both these practices can be seen in advertising cards created by Nelson’s printing house for print industry supplier Grafisk Kompani where such practices were used to achieve a solid justified column of text (Figure 4.7). As can be seen from the silhouette illustration, Nelson also favoured pictorial typography. His journal Norsk Trykk regularly featured small illustrations created this way, both in Nelson’s ‘Modern Typography’ column and on covers and internal pages. The most ambitious examples were the portraits of Norwegian printing trade figures created by Kai Møller for Norsk Trykk’s covers between 1934 and 1935. The first of these covers featured a depiction of the bibliophile Olav Myre (1878– 1954) (plate 4.2), printed in black and gold inks with the red colour of the paper stock providing a third colour used for highlighting the book in Myre’s hand. The portrait of Myre itself was skilfully crafted using Bausteine and rules. Some of the finer detail was likely achieved by filing the typographic material by hand.35 That pictorial typography could be integrated with traditional typography is also clear from its use on Norsk Trykk’s otherwise neoclassical cover, with its centred Caslon type and decorative rules. Exaggerated letterforms, like the ones found on the illuminated sign for the restaurant Funkis, were frequently used in ad setting. In Norway they even found use on the covers of high-profile publications like the annuals issued by the Museum of Decorative Arts in Oslo and the Applied Art Association’s journal Brukskunst. In Brukskunst’s case this was somewhat paradoxical, given Greve’s

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Figure 4.7  Advertisement for print equipment suppliers Grafisk Kompani (ca.1930) as reproduced in Arthur Nelson’s Typografiske Mønstre (1930). Photograph by the author. Item held by the National Library of Norway.

opposition to funkis in other areas of design. The cover was designed by Ruth Arnestad (1902–81) and Nora Guldbrandsen (1894–1978), and was chosen as the winning entry in a competition (plate 4.3).36 Arnestad was a versatile designer who worked in textiles, glass and ceramics, and Nora Gulbrandsen was artistic director at the Porsgrund Porcelain Factory. Their cover design prominently featured the journal’s name curving around a centred yellow design in lower- case geometric sans-serif letters. These letters featured elongated ascenders, descenders and a decorative ball-and-stick r. During the 1930s, this style of lettering was also associated with Porsgrund Porcelain Factory. Versions recreated in typographic material were used for Porsgrund’s ads, and Gulbrandsen used variations on the style for other items such as a trade union banner created for Porsgrund’s workers in 1938.37 A more outlandish example of exaggerated lettering can be found on the cover of the Museum of Decorative Arts’ annual for the years 1930 and 1931. During the 1930s, the museum’s director Thor B. Kielland (1894–1963) commissioned different printing houses in Oslo to design the museum’s annuals, encouraging them to pursue their current interests and to experiment freely.38 For the 1930–1 edition, the Emil Moestue printing house responded to this challenge with a design that prominently featured an unusually designed upper-case letter Å (Figure 4.8).

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Figure 4.8  Front cover of Årbok 1930–1931 (1932). Photograph by the author. Item held by the National Library of Norway.

Not only did the letter slant backwards and feature an unusual reverse stress, but its left stroke stretched diagonally downwards, leading the eye across the page to connect with the museum’s marque. While the composition therefore made some purely visual sense, the letterform itself was clearly an example of funkis.

The economic case for funkis Although funkis was largely concerned with achieving novel visual effects, aspects could be defended on grounds of economy and efficiency. The Danish compositor Karl Karlsson argued in favour of pictorial typography on such grounds. Contrary to the criticism levelled against it by the likes of Ole Chr. Sørensen, Karlsson claimed such compositions could be created in a short amount of time. Because pictorial typography represented an opportunity for the compositor to construct

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images at his workstation, it negated the need to involve an external reproduction facility to create stereotypes. Thereby, it could save the master printer costs. Moreover, Karlsson thought pictorial typography’s ‘primitive, distinctive and concise appearance’ was unique and therefore provided the master printer with a selling point.39 In other words, there were potentially good reasons for why a compositor would choose to create an image from typographic material. The practice should therefore not be dismissed out of hand as a ‘misunderstanding’. Indeed, although Tschichold was no friend of pictorial typography, Karlsson’s arguments around cost and production were similar to those made in Die Neue Typographie on behalf of the ‘typo-symbol’ (a kind of logo made entirely out of typographic material): ‘no block costs, the facility for reduction and enlargement, and the strength inherent in all things whose appearance comes from a technical manufacturing process’.40

Functional typography When Tschichold’s book Typographische Gestaltung was translated into Danish, it was given the title Funktionel Typografi. The choice of title reflected the view, expressed by Viggo Hasnæs, that the variation of the New Typography Tschichold presented in this book and his Copenhagen lectures could not be accused of the formalism of funkis or even the earlier elemental typography, but constituted a ‘genuinely functional typography’ (my emphasis).41 From 1936 onwards, Henry Thejls started promoting a variation of this functional typography under the name ‘plastic typography’, presenting it as an improvement of the New Typography that had gone before.42 According to Thejls, the newly introduced principle of ‘plastic mobility’ allowed type itself to be used as the only decorative feature in composition. It eliminated the need for setting text in justified blocks or making use of eye-catchers. Freed from formalism, typography could now focus on being clear, readable and fit for purpose. Two years after first formulating these ideas, Thejls toured Denmark with the lecture ‘What is New in the New Typography?’ (Hvad Er Det, Der Er Nyt, I Den Ny Typografi?),43 where he explained his insights to local compositors in further detail: Modern typography’s most important doctrine is fitness to purpose. The absolute consideration of the word’s importance as printed message: therefore, readability. Fitness to purpose is the prevailing zeitgeist’s demand of all productions of today – be they houses, furniture, clothes or typography. The traditional understanding of the decorative is as much else a habit; it will be natural to seek the decorative in the purposeful instead of forcing a decorative form through illogical and unreadable treatment of text. ‘Readability’ is, in other words, the concentration of everything new in the New Typography.44

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These aims could be condensed down into one single guiding principle, which Thejls claimed was applicable to all typography: ‘Readability in combination with logical emphasis of meaning’ [emphasis in original].45 Thejls also laid down four formal principles for the construction of plastic typography. They were as follows: 1. Type contrast. Natural eye-catcher placed in the headline with a script diverging strongly from the main typeface used in either form or colour. 2. Contrast derived through use of spacing and margins, expressed through a doubling of spacings as a minimum, in order to give clarity to the three groups’ internal relationship to one another. 3. Contrast derived through divisions of surface, expressed for instance in the relationship of a text block to the format of the paper or width of the text area through a doubling as minimum, either to type area or space. 4. All forms of groups should be geometrically different, in order to achieve liveliness and movement in the composition through these contrasts.46 Thejls’ principles were to a large extent based on the typography advocated by Tschichold in Typographische Gestaltung and his Copenhagen talks: the use of contrasting type forms, the active use of different sizes of white space and the arrangement of text into groups of three.47 However, it also drew on Viktor Peterson’s theory of constructive design, described in Chapter 2. Peterson’s influence was particularly evident in Thejls’ preoccupation with contrasting geometrical forms. A clear illustration of how Thejls’ plastic typography differed from funkis was offered in a special issue of Grafisk Teknik, produced by a group of students attending one of Thejls’ courses.48 Five of them were given the task of writing an article critiquing an outmoded ad from the daily press and to redesign it according to their ideas of ‘how a contemporary ad should look’.49 The young compositors all eagerly criticized the found ad for its use of rules, its ‘purposeless’ eye-catcher and its use of too many typefaces. These features were all considered to damage the ad’s readability, as did the use of upper-case and block-setting. However, the article’s title, ‘An Ad That Appeals to Bad Taste’ (En Annonce Der Appellerer Til Daarlig Smag), suggests they also found the ad less tasteful than the ‘plastic typography’ applied to their redesigns. That the New Typography was driven more by aesthetic and spiritual concerns than by the utilitarianism seemingly implied by terms like ‘functionalism’ or ‘objectivity’ (Sachlichkeit) was openly stated in Typographische Gestaltung: Fitness for purpose and usefulness are prerequisites for good work, but not our only and original purpose. The real value of a work lies in its spiritual intent. And as the new design arises from a new beauty, which ‘is more bound to

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materiality than earlier methods, but has set its goals far beyond’. The feeling for materials and proportions lends the objective work personal value. This feeling can also make it a work of art.50 So, although it was labelled Funktionel Typografi, Tschichold’s typography was not purely utilitarian. It also came with a set of aesthetic values clearly held to be more ‘tasteful’ than funkis by those initiated. Conversely, certain funkis practices, like pictorial typography, could be defended by practitioners like Karlsson on functional and economic grounds.

Towards the functional book The functionalist typography of the Stockholm Exhibition limited itself to posters, covers and signage, and the funkis and functional typography that followed found their main area of use in the fields of ad setting and jobbing print. The Stockholm Exhibition and the ideology of functionalism also had a significant impact on book typography, but this did not manifest itself in terms of style. Rather, functionalism provoked a reassessment of the book’s function as a transmitter of text and images in light of changes in the use of technology, such as the increased use of machine setting and photographic reproduction methods. Attention was also paid to the book’s material qualities. With the introduction of functionalism as a new guiding principle for book production, it finally became possible to challenge visual ideas associated with the typographic revival. In Sweden, Anders Billow, working with rotogravure technology, proposed reforms to better integrate the photographic image. In Denmark, the architect Steen Eiler Rasmussen designed several books in accordance with the approach taken by many architects and designers there, later labelled as the ‘functional tradition’. Einar Lenning and C. Volmer Nordlunde led calls for the simplistic divide between jobbing and book typography to give way for a differentiated approach which took the purpose of each individual book into consideration. Influenced by these debates, and by changes in attitudes to the book in England, the Danish Association for Book Craft (Forening for Boghaandværk) called for the creation of cheap, good-quality books for everyday use.

Anders Billow’s view of the functionalist book Anders Billow holds a prominent position as the foremost proponent of functionalism in Swedish book design. He did not train as a compositor but studied art history at Uppsala University. For the majority of his career, between

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the years 1923 and 1960, he worked as the artistic director of the printing and publishing house Nordisk Rotogravyr (Nordic Rotogravure). He initially worked in a neoclassical style, but his experience of the Stockholm Exhibition 1930 led him to re-evaluate this approach. That summer he guided visitors around the exhibition’s book hall as the Swedish Association of Master Printers’ official representative.51 In contrast to the exhibition’s functionalist architecture and Lewerentz’s graphic profile, the displays here were dominated by works of fine printing.52 Billow was struck by the contrast. He later recalled thinking that ‘functionalism, in the true meaning of the word, was not only suitable for the building of housing’ but also for books – for one now ‘built books with images and reproduction methods that were not invented in the days of Gutenberg’.53 By ‘reproduction methods’, he was referring specifically to the rotogravure technology his printing house specialized in, as one of the only few in Scandinavia to do so. Rotogravure had two distinct advantages over letterpress printing. The first was that costs remained stable despite any variation in the size or number of images, and the second was that it allowed far greater flexibility in page design. To print images by letterpress, one had to order stereotypes, priced by size, from a reproduction company. Depending on the job at hand, they might be ordered especially after consultation with the printer, but more often they would be ordered in advance of any page design work taking place. The client might also want to reuse stereotypes originally made for another job. The compositor would then have to set the design, which sometimes had been sketched out knowing only the measurements of the stereotype, directly in the typographic material. The rotogravure process was very different. Using light tables, layouts were created on sheets of glass onto which text was printed on cellophane, images were printed on celluloid and any other graphic elements were arranged according to a predetermined grid. The finished layout was then engraved onto a copper plate which was then wrapped around a cylinder for rotary printing. While the size or number of images made no difference to the cost, preparing plates was in itself expensive. Rotogravure was therefore only cost-effective for large runs.54 The creative possibilities of rotogravure technology were made obvious to Billow upon seeing the first annual photography issue of Arts et Métiers Graphiques (1930).55 Its pages, full of freely placed, high-quality photographs, had been printed gravure, and as Billow would later remark, ‘one could not avoid thinking that even good photographs in completely ordinary books would be well served by the same generous and well-conceived way of placing images’.56 He realized he did not have to conform to the codes of letterpress printing, which in terms of reproducing images was derived from its need to accommodate the stereotype, but stood free to place these as he wished because in rotogravure printing ‘the whole plate, with both image and text, was so to speak one single giant stereotype’.57

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However, Billow approached his new-found compositional freedom with caution. While it has been argued that the flexibility of rotogravure composition was a key enabling factor behind the highly saturated and dynamic page designs of contemporaneous pictorial magazines like the German ArbeiterIllustrierte-Zeitung or AIZ (Workers’ Illustrated Newspaper, 1921–38) and French Vu (Seen, 1928–40),58 the primary visual influence on Billow’s layouts was the German architect Erich Mendelsohn’s (1887–1953) Amerika: Bilderbuch Eines Architekten (America: An Architect’s Picture Book, 1926).59 Billow admired how the photographs in this book were presented (Figure 4.9). In order to create space between the content contained on either page, and to allow the photographs to be reproduced as large as possible, he began using wide gutters and narrow outer margins like the ones found in Mendelsohn’s book. He also adopted Mendelsohn’s practice of setting captions at a ‘respectful distance’ so they would not compete with the photograph for the viewer’s attention.60 This method of presentation sat well with Billow’s preference for a ‘truthful’ photography.61 His views on photography largely corresponded to those expressed by Sadakichi Hartmann (1867–1944), who in 1904 issued ‘A Plea for a Straight Photography’ in reaction against the artistic photography which was popular at the time. Hartmann’s plea asked photographers to ‘compose the picture which you

Figure 4.9  Double-page spread from Erich Mendelsohn’s Amerika: Bilderbuch Eines Architekten (1926). Photograph by Fotografisk Atelier. Item held by the Royal Danish Library.

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intend to take so well that the negative will be absolutely perfect and in need of no or but slight manipulation’.62 Given Billow’s views, he had little time for ‘unrealistic’ and ‘truthless’ photography such as that associated with the new vision, with its use of extreme angles, optical distortion and techniques like photomontage and the photogram.63 Billow was also opposed to other features associated with the New Typography. He characterized the use of sans-serif type for continuous text as ‘a fashionable error’,64 and as Jan Jönsson has observed, preferred to work instead with Bodoni, Garamond and particularly Baskerville.65 Moreover, Billow thought the proportions of DIN formats were unsuited to book work.66

Building books for the photographic image The first item Billow designed according to his new outlook was zoologist Carl Fries’ picture book I Svenska Marker, which appeared during the autumn of 1930 (Figure 4.10). The many photographs were reproduced as large as possible and were given space on the page because the wide internal margin created distance between it and the text column. Despite it being a ‘functionalist’ book, its typographic appearance was fairly traditional. The beginning of each chapter was signalled by a decorative swash capital and the body text was set in a serif, rather than a sans-serif. Billow went on to design a number of other books according to the same principles. This went on without controversy until he redesigned the Swedish Tourist Association’s annual book for 1932 (Figure 4.11). Because of budgetary restrictions, Billow could not increase the book’s format from that used for previous editions. Therefore, he was only able to make limited changes to the page design. Unable to impose as wide a gutter as he had on I Svenska Marker, Billow had to content himself with effectively inverting the inner and outer margins of the previous design. Although this intervention appears slight to the layman’s eye, it earned him severe criticism from traditionalist figures in the printing trade to whom Billow’s image-centric approach was completely alien. Far from appreciating his concern for the photographic image’s placement on the page, they thought Billow had simply inverted the time-honoured renaissance margins for the sake of novelty. Such follies could be tolerated for books with a limited readership like I Svenska Marker, but because Svenska Turistföreningens Årsskrift was sent out to the association’s 127,000 members, it, therefore, posed a far greater danger to public taste.67 The debate between Billow and his detractors quickly degenerated into personal attacks in what became known as ‘the margin dispute’.68 One outcome of this dis­ pute was that Swedish Best Books of the Year award, Svensk Bokkonst (Swedish Book Art), ignored Svenska Turistföreningens Årsskrift for several years, much to Billow’s chagrin. He would nevertheless have other books accepted. This included other examples designed with ‘inverted margins’ like I Skogen (In the Woods, 1934),

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Figure 4.10  Anders Billow: Double-page spread from Carl Fries’ I Svenska Marker (1930). Photograph by the author. Item in the author’s collection.

Figure 4.11  Anders Billow: Double-page spread from Svenska Turistföreningens Årsskrift 1932 (1932). Photograph by the author. Item in the author’s collection.

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Carl Fries’ follow-up to I Svenska Marker. The Best Books of the Year even accepted designs more recognizably informed by the New Typography, like the Swedish Tourist Association’s Årets Bilder 1933 (Pictures of the Year 1933) (Figure 4.12). The dust jacket was dominated by a photograph by C. G. Rosenberg’s (Carl Gustaf, 1883–1957) of a Swedish flag flying defiantly at a new cabin in the Swedish Sylarna mountains, erected where the previous had been destroyed in a storm. The title was set in Futura and arranged on an otherwise unprinted strip of paper at the bottom of the composition. Although the photograph was in black and white, the blue type and yellow board concealed underneath the dust jacket referenced the colours of the flag, making the composition both a piece of New Typography and a patriotic statement. In 1935, Billow published an article discussing what he believed functionalist typography to be. This concluded with a nine-point programme where he crystallized his views. As previously noted, Billow had previously criticized

Figure 4.12  Anders Billow: Front cover of Årets Bilder 1933 (1933). Photograph by the author. Item in the author’s collection.

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Tschichold for presenting his views in overly theoretical and dogmatic way.69 He was therefore careful to preface his contribution with the disclaimer that they were not ‘Lutheran theses, only some provisional points to support professional discussion in the present time of typographic rupture’.70 Published five years after I Svenska Marker, Billow’s points are indeed better understood as a clarification of his approach, and a defence against the criticism received, than as a manifesto setting out a future direction for book design: 1. Readability and image clarity are the most important qualities in a book. 2. Handleability and durability come next. 3. Demanding reasonable costs is also a primary concern. 4. If the above have been taken into consideration, the most important prerequisites for good book art are at hand; if they have not; the bookartistic work will be in vain. 5. Reforms which significantly increase readability, image clarity, handleability and durability, or which promote the economy of book production, deserve serious consideration. 6. Aesthetic principles which obstruct rationally justified reforms lose their validity insofar they cannot be adapted to new circumstances. 7. As the type area in traditional typography does not make use of more than 40–55 per cent of a book’s paper surface, in a reformed one 55– 75 per cent, margin proportions based on the handwritten renaissance book can no longer be regarded as economically justifiable. 8. As photographic illustration, in order to achieve adequate clarity, often demands a larger format than that allowed for by a text column of the right width, a wider column specifically for images is justified for illustrated books when needed. Traditional margin proportions must then be waived. 9. For books featuring a reformed typographic arrangement, new aesthetic principles naturally apply, the ‘correct’ articulation of which may remain undefined for the time being, whilst, however, one may at the same time dare emphatically claim that reformed typography can be beautiful.71 In line with what he considered a functionalist approach, Billow’s ‘provisional points’ were notably open and free from formal guidance.

The book and the functional tradition Another interpretation of functionalism formed in Denmark through its encounter with the strong rational craft-based design culture already present there. Danish

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architects and designers working in what was later labelled the functional tradition were critical of continental modernism.72 In their view, the modernist desire to break with the past led to a preoccupation with creation of new form and use of new materials at the expense of a functionality which could be addressed equally well, if not better, by using traditional forms or materials.73 In book design, the functional tradition found an advocate in architect Steen Eiler Rasmussen who authored and designed a series of books in the 1930s, including Britisk Brugskunst and En Bog Om Noget Andet (A Book About Something Else, 1940).74

Knud V. Engelhardt as pioneer of the functional tradition The architect Knud V. Engelhardt (1882–1931), who approached the design of everything from homeware to industrial and graphic design with a self-effacing attitude and concern for functionality, came to be seen as an early pioneer of the functional tradition. Although he designed letterforms, like the sans-serifs developed for the Baltic Exhibition in Malmö (1914) and the street signage for Copenhagen’s northern suburb of Gentofte (1927), Engelhardt’s typographic interests mainly centred on what would today be considered aspects of information design: the layout of forms, tables and signage. According to Erik Ellegaard Frederiksen, such work appealed to Engelhardt because his sense of order meant he was fascinated by schematic arrangements. A notable result of this desire to impose order in, and through, typography can be found in Engelhardt’s design for the introductory pages to the 1910 edition of Copenhagen’s telephone directory (Figure 4.13). The page containing the telephone company’s contact details was organized into two columns and used typefaces of contrasting form and size to ensure that the content could be quickly and easily scanned. The names of the company’s various departments were placed in the otherwise empty left-hand column and set in sans-serif type at a far larger size than the body text. The body text was organized into the much wider right-hand side column and set in the serif typeface Plantin. Here the reader could find information like the names, titles and telephone details of individual employees. Names were emphasized in italic, and repetition was avoided by using square brackets to group individuals sharing a telephone. Ellegaard Frederiksen seized on the telephone directory’s use of formal means to position it as a precursor of the New Typography.75 However, although Engelhardt employed a visual language anticipating the New Typography for certain designs, it is important to point out that other typographic works were more conventional in appearance. This was particularly true of his book designs. That there were important differences between Engelhardt and the avant-gardists discussed in Chapter 1 are illustrated by his design of Emil Bønnelycke’s (1893– 1953) futurist work Asfaltens Sange (Songs of the Asphalt, 1918). Bønnelycke’s manuscript specified that the poem ‘Biografteatret’ (The Cinema) should be

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Figure 4.13  Knud V. Engelhardt: Page design for Telefon-Haandbogen (1910). Photograph by Fotografisk Atelier. Item held by the Royal Danish Library.

executed as a kind of picture poem visualizing a cinema screen in a darkened room. This effect could be achieved by using a stereotype to print the text reversed out in white on black and black on white so that the reader was faced with a double-page spread showing a light rectangle representing the cinema screen centred on a dark rectangle in a 1/5 to 4/5 ratio.76 However, Engelhardt’s page design did not take Bønnelycke’s wishes into account. ‘Biografteatret’ was set, like the other poems in the book, in a tall narrow column of justified Plantin type surrounded by generous margins. The heading was set in uppercase letters, and the poem itself commenced with a drop capital. While it can be

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argued that this arrangement worked well as a piece of text design and should therefore be considered functional, it is also clear that it bore no relationship to the New Typography. It is also clear that Engelhardt, for whatever reason, did not grasp the opportunity offered by Bønnelycke to create a piece of avant-garde typography. Although some of Engelhardt’s work shared a visual similarity with the New Typography, it is doubtful whether he had any direct impact on its development in Denmark. It is true that master printer Johan Olsen of Det Berlingske Bogtrykkeri wrote an obituary praising Engelhardt’s work as a precursor of modern typography. However, it is also true that none of the many articles published on the New Typography in trade journals mentioned Engelhardt before his death. Unlike Ellegaard Frederiksen, Olsen did not emphasize Engelhardt’s anticipation of the New Typography’s formal means. On the contrary, he praised Engelhardt’s typography for being ‘clear and logical without seeming cold’ and ‘pleasantly free from the contrived and artificial’ in contrast to the typography of the present day.77 In other words, Olsen may well have been referring to the sort of typography exemplified by Asfaltens Sange and not the one associated with Copenhagen’s telephone directory. While Engelhardt’s work undoubtedly inspired a younger generation of architects including Poul Henningsen (1894–1967) and Steen Eiler Rasmussen, he does not seem to have exerted any direct influence on the Danish printing trade, or informed its views on the New Typography. Naming Engelhardt as a precursor of the New Typography can instead be seen as a domestication tactic falling into the first of Jeffrey Meikle’s three modes, that which places modernity ‘in a historical continuum linking past, present, and future’, allowing it to be seen as part of a gradual evolution rather than a violent rupture.78 Similar tactics were also employed at the time. Vilhelm Slomann (1885–1962), director of the Museum of Decorative Art in Copenhagen, pointed to Hans Christian Andersen’s (1805–75) bed screen and scrap books as precursors of photomontage,79 and the Association for Book-Craft’s journal Bogvennen (The Bibliophile) identified the writer Martin Petersen’s (1863–1934) consistent use of lower-case as an early Danish expression of kleinschreibung.80

Typification in Steen Eiler Rasmussen’s Britisk Brugskunst For Steen Eiler Rasmussen, functionalism represented an expression of a democratic ideal where objects were stripped of ornamentation and signifiers of class and were shaped solely according to their function. This was true also for books. Just as a lamp should not be designed according to stylistic considerations, but to provide good lighting, a book should not be decorated with ornament, but attain its beauty through its printed qualities and be a good tool.81 The last phrase was a reference to furniture designer Kaare Klint (1888–1954).

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Klint thought that furniture should not derive its value from its visual interest, but primarily be good tools, just as Rasmussen thought the book should.82 Klint’s practice was informed by two separate directions of research, both of which were motivated by his interest in the functionality of objects. The first was to study traditions of furniture making, as he did for his Red Chair (1927). This chair was based in part on a Thomas Chippendale (1718–79) design and in part on an anonymously designed eighteenth-century chair. From each Klint took the proportions and constructive details he considered functional and appropriate for a modern chair, leaving out the aspects where the ornamental had outweighed the functional.83 What interested Klint was the way models in the past had solved particular furniture design problems. He considered the furniture created by such traditions as ‘standard types’ which embodied the accumulated knowledge of generations of craftsmen gained through trial and error. The second direction of research saw Klint making pioneering studies of furniture’s proportions in relation to the human body, and in the case of desks, bookshelves and buffet tables, of the objects to be stored within them.84 In 1927 Klint proposed that the Museum of Decorative Art in Copenhagen should stage an exhibition of items ‘new and old, Danish and foreign’ which corresponded to his idea of ‘standard types’.85 Although this did not come to pass, the museum did in 1932 host an exhibition titled Britisk Brugskunst. The exhibition formed part of the major export fair Den Britiske Udstilling (The British Exhibition), which was arranged by the British Department of Overseas Trade and the recently founded Danish–British Association. Curated by Rasmussen under the influence of Klint’s ideas,86 Britisk Brugskunst featured an array of objects considered to have reached a state of timeless perfection through a process of steady artisanal refinement.87 As Rasmussen explained in the accompanying catalogue, they were ‘modern without being modernist, classic without being classicist’.88 The most memorable objects on display were perhaps those arranged over the first spreads of the subsequent Britisk Brugskunst book: a range of balls developed for various British games, billiards, bowls, cricket, croquet, football, golf, lawn tennis, polo, snooker, squash and table tennis – not to forget ‘the mighty medicine ball’ (Figure 4.14).89 Other objects included a wicker basket and chairs, umbrellas and canes, Pear’s soap, Wedgwood tea pots, a tweed suit, a rain coat, jars of honey from Fortnum & Mason and a Thames punt. Although the exhibition was highly successful and largely well received in the press, a recurring criticism was that the items on display were not everyday ones as Rasmussen claimed, but rather luxury objects made for the English upper classes. Most damning in this respect was perhaps the inclusion of a polo saddle, lent to the exhibition by none other than Edward, Prince of Wales (1894–1972).90 While central to Klint’s approach to furniture design, the idea of standard types and of displaying them was not unique to Denmark. The Ewige Formen

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Figure 4.14  Steen Eiler Rasmussen: Double-page spread from Britisk Brugskunst (1933) © Ida Nielsen and Una Canger, 2020. Photograph by the author. Item in the author’s collection.

(Eternal Forms) exhibition, held in the Bavarian National Gallery’s Neue Sammlung (New Collection) in Munich 1931 was another instance, as Britisk Brugskunst’s foreword pointed out.91 According to Joan Campbell’s history of the German Werkbund, this exhibition ‘sought to demonstrate the existence of a “tradition” of modern form by displaying functional objects from the past’.92 The Werkbund’s interest in Typisierung, or the making of industrial types, can be traced back to the ‘Werkbund debates’ of 1914, when Hermann Muthesius (1861–1927) argued in favour of this approach in opposition to Henry van de Velde’s (1863– 1957) emphasis on artistic individualism. Although they were argued to have achieved ‘maximum economy’ through a process of ‘mechanical selection’ rather than through craft tradition, another well-known expression of the idea of standard types were the mass-produced objet-types (object-types) of Purists Charles-Édouard Jeanneret (Le Corbusier) and Amedée Ozenfant. Coincidentally, one of Le Corbusier’s favourite objecttypes was a plain English briar pipe. In his book Towards a New Architecture (1927 [1923]), he used it as the closing image.93 As commented by Reyner Banham, the image of the pipe was ‘offered without explanation or justification, but with the clear implication that this was the standard to which architecture

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should aspire’.94 While no briar pipes were on display at the Britisk Brugskunst exhibition, they would certainly not have been out of place there. Because the exhibition was a resounding popular success, it was decided to commemorate it with the aforementioned Britisk Brugskunst book. It was to be entirely of Rasmussen’s creation. He wrote the text, specified the page design and art-directed the photography. Having complete control, Rasmussen decided on a system where he would write one paragraph for each image included. Every spread could therefore be set up according to the same principles: the paragraph of text was arranged on the left-hand page, and the photograph on the right. Because the lengths of each paragraph – and to a lesser extent each photograph – varied, oversized pagination and drop-caps were used in conjunction with the upper right-hand corner of the photograph to create a consistent rectangular shape which held the various elements together across the double-page spread. The typeface used was Baskerville. This was not only a suitably British choice, but one that held significance for Rasmussen as a sort of ‘standard type’ in itself. In one of his later books, he elaborated on his preference for Caslon and Baskerville, ‘Back then, one understood how to culture type – that is, not only to cultivate the individual letterform, but also their relationship to – and distance from – one another so that they created the clearest and most easily discernible word shapes.’95 The cover was remarkably self-effacing and restrained (Figure 4.15). The only visible element was the title. Both the author’s and the museum’s name were absent, as was any form of ornamentation. The title was set, as the rest of the book, in Baskerville, but here in upper-case and arranged more in line with a modernist sensibility, ranged left, to the extreme top of the page. The buff speckled card it was printed on was testament to Rasmussen’s interest in the materiality of paper.96 Much later he would claim that many of his books did not start with the words, but with the paper and the question of what it could be used for.97 Through the absence of both author’s and museum’s names, the lack of ornamentation and the emphasis on material quality, the cover can be seen to reflect the ideals of the anonymous artisanal ‘standard types’ showcased in the Britisk Brugskunst exhibition.

Reading machines and books for everyday use During the early 1930s, voices within the trade, like Lenning’s and Nordlunde’s, started nuancing the arguments made around the New Typography’s relation to the book. Lenning questioned the commonly perceived division between jobbing and book typography outlined in Chapter 3, as he did not think it represented a ‘rational dividing line between different typographic problems’.98 He argued that a number of types of non-fiction works, like text books, reference books,

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Figure 4.15  Steen Eiler Rasmussen: Front cover of Britisk Brugskunst (1933) © Ida Nielsen and Una Canger, 2020. Photograph by the author. Item in the author’s collection.

statistical works, illustrated books and catalogues, were all ‘in need of [a] new typography’.99 Such books would, according to Lenning, benefit from adopting strategies used in advertising – such as the active use of headings, rules and tables – to make the content as clear and comprehensible as possible. What such a typography might look like in practice can be seen in Lenning’s own book Normalformaten (Standard Formats, 1931) (Figure 4.16). Printed and published by Bröderna Lagerström, it was held by Nordlunde as a model example of how ‘the idea behind Elemental Typography’ should be applied to the book, precisely because it was clearly organized, used bold headings to orient the reader and was free from ‘formalisms’ like the adherence to sans-serif type.100

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Figure 4.16  Double-page spread from Einar Lenning’s Normalformaten (1931). Photograph by the author. Item held by the National Library of Sweden.

However, Lenning did not extend his calls for reform to the novel. This he considered a separate and coherent typographic category. Nordlunde made a similar argument. In an article discussing the New Typography’s impact on the book, he came to the conclusion that there were three basic types of books: works of fiction (or books of continuous text), illustrated books and textbooks. While the two latter categories were open to reform, works of fiction belonged ‘totally and completely to the traditional typography’.101 The reason the novel was not in need of reform, Lenning and Nordlunde agreed, was that it was already functional. In essence, they were arguing that traditional book typography was itself a sort of ‘standard type’. According to Nordlunde: Elemental Typography [. . .] was unable to touch the work of fiction, because it was already functionalist and its form corresponded to the technical requirements to the highest possible degree.102 ‘Technical’ in this context referred not only to the physical process of setting type but also to the manner in which it was arranged, and the typefaces employed. Lenning made similar comments. Describing the pages of a Renaissance book he wrote, ‘These pages from the 1500s would hardly be able to receive a more appealing and purposeful typographic design today.’103

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Whereas Renaissance typography could now be considered functional, the New Typography was labelled ‘un-functional’ and therefore unsuited to the functionalist project. According to its detractors, the New Typography promoted practices that were economically unsound, and which hampered readability. Functionalism in typography meant creating the most economic typography, it was argued.104 To keep costs low, working processes should be as efficient as possible.105 A number of practices associated with the new style should therefore be abandoned.106 Readability also emerged as a key concern in the debate around functionalism. Kirste claimed that ‘the main demand made of all bookwork today is readability. That – and only that – is the book’s most important function.’107 Looking back upon the 1930s at the end of the decade, Bror Zachrisson described the book as a ‘reading machine’,108 thereby adopting the French poet Paul Valéry’s (1871–1945) reformulation of Le Corbusier’s famous statement ‘the house is a machine for living in’.109 Although Tschichold’s ‘Elementare Typographie’ manifesto allowed roman type to be used for setting continuous text, the New Typography’s preference for the sans-serif was criticized in readability terms.110 Nordlunde thought high-profile books like Tschichold’s Die Neue Typographie and Paul Renner’s Mechanisierte Grafik (Mechanised Graphics, 1931) could be held up as deterring examples in this respect.111 Of these, Mechanisierte Grafik was perhaps most instructive, because it demonstrated that even the creator of Futura himself found it necessary to counteract the typeface’s poor readability with an overly generous amount of leading. According to Nordlunde, the result was both uneconomical and monotonous.112

The book for everyday use The Danish Society for Book Craft, previously closely associated with the Danish typographic revival, emerged as an unlikely proponent of functionalist ideas following founder Frederik Hendriksen’s retirement in 1932. It reassessed its aims and devised a ‘new programme’ which manifested itself in a series of initiatives all of which appeared over the course of 1934.113 It founded the Danish Best Books of the Year competition and relaunched the association’s journal Bogvennen (The Bibliophile) in a new ‘functionalist’ design, overseen by a new editor – the illustrator and ceramicist Ebbe Sadolin (1900–82) (Figure 4.17). The cover combined aspects of the New Typography like asymmetry, sansserif type and logical hierarchies of meaning with traditional elements such as hand-drawn illustrations (albeit contained within a perfect square) and an earthy brown background colour. The Society for Book Craft also produced an edition of Maxim Gorky’s (1868–1936) Min Barndom (Childhood, 1933).114 Min Barndom was to serve as a model of the new ideal type of the Brugsbog, or the book for everyday use.

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Figure 4.17  Front cover of Bogvennen no. 1 (1934). Photograph by the Royal Danish Library. Item held by the Royal Danish Library.

Aarets bedste Bøger was modelled on the British Fifty Books of the Year competition, which had been arranged by the First Edition Club since 1929. This was in turn modelled on the American competition of the same name, arranged by the Arts Club since 1906, before being taken over by the American Institute for Graphic Arts (AIGA) in 1922.115 The first Danish exposure to this competition had come in 1932, when the British selections for the years 1930 and 1931 were exhibited as part of Steen Eiler Rasmussen’s Britisk Brugskunst exhibition. For C. Volmer Nordlunde, the point system used to assess the entries into the British competition was of particular interest. The system had been conceived so as to even out the field between expensive luxury editions and cheap books, allowing the jury to arrive at a selection of titles which displayed excellence in typography or other areas of book craft within the monetary constraints of the job. For Nordlunde, this represented the hitherto last stage of a journey in typographic

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development initiated by the private presses. Beginning with the ornate page designs of William Morris at the Kelmscott Press, it had been furthered by the pared-down work of Thomas Cobden-Sanderson at the Doves Press with its emphasis on readability and type forms. In this way, it had moved ‘from the decorative to the purely typographic, from the unimportant to the important’.116 With the Fifty Best Books, typography had progressed yet further, ‘from the Sunday to the everyday, an acknowledgement that each and every book which fulfils its purpose is beautiful’.117 At the end of the decade he would make a similar evolutionary argument about the New Typography, claiming it had been as ‘a kind of sanitation of that book work which had been forced into a form to which it did not fit’.118 The new focus on the brugsbog informed the production of Gorky’s Min Barndom (Figure 4.18). It was intended to show that it was possible to produce a good-quality book at an affordable price, and also sought to address a number of functional concerns related to the materiality of the novel, as can be surmised from the lead article of the redesigned Bogvennen’s first issue, entitled ‘The Functional Book’ (Den Funktionelle Bog). Written by conservative literary critic Hakon Stangerup (1908–76), it criticized Danish book production for not making

Figure 4.18  Double-page spread from Maxim Gorky’s Min Barndom (1933). Photograph by the author. Item held by University of Oslo Library.

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books suited to the practicalities of everyday life.119 In the case of the novel, this should be to be easy to handle, comfortable in the hand and easy to transport – as it was often read on the go. In contrast, a focus on the material qualities associated with fine printing, and a desire to produce books considered to be ‘nice’ by the general public, had led many Danish novels to be published in large ungainly formats using heavy high-quality paper which bulked them up to an unnecessary extent. Stangerup’s description of the functional novel fitted the new edition of Gorky’s Min Barndom perfectly. Printed on light paper in a small format (197 × 126 mm), it was only slightly larger than contemporaneous paperbacks.120 Because it was sent out to members of the Society for Book Craft alongside the issue of Bogvennen where Stangerup’s article appeared, the similarity between his description and Min Barndom would not have been lost on his readers. The understated page design consisted of columns of justified roman type. Each chapter was marked by a simple drop capital and by setting the first few words in small capitals. This design showed once again that a functional book did not need to look functionalist. That British typography continued to be a point of reference was evident also from the binding where a centred composition consisting of the title, the author’s and publisher’s names was printed in Gill Sans, black on cream-coloured paper, with no other ornamentation than an arrangement of blue horizontal rules to the top and bottom of the format.

Conclusion The Stockholm Exhibition 1930 played an important role in promoting functionalism in Scandinavia, not only among designers and architects but also with the wider public. Its visual appearance was shaped by the active role taken by commissary-general Gregor Paulsson to commissioning everything from architecture to graphic materials. It was therefore no coincidence that the first item of typography produced for the exhibition, a small pamphlet containing Paulsson’s talk Stockholmsutställningens Program, was also the first item of commercial New Typography to be created in Scandinavia and provided the blueprint for the modified form Lagerström later theorized in Svensk Grafisk Årsbok 1929. Following Sigurd Lewerentz’s involvement in creating the exhibition’s signage and posters, subsequent graphic materials were used in a style which through its use of elements like sans-serif type and photography lay closer to the ‘wild’ New Typography of the avant-garde. These materials all contributed to the term ‘functionalist typography’ being seen as a synonym to elemental or New Typography. However, it was the cover of Acceptera, published in the wake of the exhibition, which went the furthest in aligning the principles Tschichold set out in 1925 with the functionalist project in Scandinavia.

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Following the Stockholm Exhibition, the popularized version of functionalism known as funkis took hold in typography as in other fields of design. For those ideologically invested in functionalism, funkis was dismissed as a mindless copying of functionalism’s formal features which showed little understanding of its underlying principles. Moreover, it was considered dangerous because such ‘misunderstandings’ held the potential to undermine the functionalist project in the public mind. Certainly, much of what was described as funkis in typography, such as the cover of the Museum of Decorative Art in Oslo’s yearbook, had little value beyond the aesthetic. However, this was not always the case. In particular, pictorial typography could be defended on the grounds that it fulfilled a function. While these compositions may look clumsy or have little artistic value, it held potential as a strategy through which compositors could generate their own image material – without involving practitioners from competing trades. As has been demonstrated in previous chapters, material constraints of production had a substantial impact on the degree to which the compositional freedom of individual practitioners could be maintained. Moreover, winning back trade from competitors and protecting the creative freedom of the compositor were two reasons why the printing trade chose to engage with the New Typography in the first place. On the other hand, the shift in terminology from elemental to functionalist changed the focus of typographic debate. Taken up as a domestication tactic, the vocabulary of functionalism made it possible to criticize Tschichold’s formal principles by referring to self-defined ideas of functionality. Previously, discussions of the New Typography had centred on the relative merits of the formal principles put forth in the ‘Elementare Typographie’ manifesto, how these could be adapted to suit a local context and the danger the New Typography posed to traditional values and practices of printing. Because there was no text codifying functionalist typography, and because the term ‘functionalism’ so clearly broadcast the word ‘function’ from within, this became the new central debating point. However, because interpretations of what was functional varied widely, the debate was subject to what Tim Benton, in a discussion of English architectural criticism, labelled a ‘creeping inclusiveness’ in the definition of function.121 It became possible to criticize Tschichold’s manifesto and other aspects of the New Typography on the grounds that they were ‘un-functional’, ‘exaggerations’ or ‘misunderstandings’ which failed to grasp the ‘true’ nature of functionalism. As a result, those with traditionalist preferences were no longer confined to defending the ‘Old Typography’ against the new ideas, but were able to recast elements of their practice as positive contributions to a modern, functional typography. Another important aspect of this shift was that the alignment with functionalism led to the ‘opaque art theories’ of elementarism being decoupled from the New Typography,122 making it possible to found

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arguments on the basis of ‘common sense’ and ‘practical experience’ – notions relying not only on observation and reasoning like that of Billow and Stangerup, but also on a sense of tradition and history such as those of Klint, Rasmussen and Nordlunde. The change of terminology from elemental to functionalist can therefore be seen to have benefited those with a preference for traditionalist aesthetics, who, while previously on the back foot, were able to gain momentum and increasingly succeed in shaping debate on their own terms.

Notes 1 The following explicitly state functionalism and modernism to be one and the same: Eva Eriksson. ‘The Roots of Modernism in Swedish Architecture’, in Utopia & Reality: Modernity in Sweden 1900–1960, ed. Cecilia Widenheim (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2002), p. 140; Eva Rudberg. ‘Utopia of the Everyday: Swedish and Un-Swedish in the Architecture of Functionalism’, in Utopia & Reality: Modernity in Sweden 1900-1960, ed. Cecilia Widenheim (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2002), p. 150; Jørgen Sestoft. ‘Den nye ånd’, in Nordisk funktionalism, ed. Gunilla Lundahl (Stockholm: Arkitektur förlag, 1980), p. 26. 2 The figure for visitor numbers is taken from: Eva Rudberg. The Stockholm Exhibition 1930: Modernism’s Breakthrough in Swedish Architecture (Stockholm: Stockholmia Förlag, 1999), p. 15. The population figures are taken from the official statistics, according to which the city of Stockholm had a population of 502.203 and Sweden 6.142.191 in 1930. ‘Folkmängd. Översikt. (Tabell 2​.1​.​xls)’. Utrednings- och statistikkontoret (USK), 12 May 2005. http:​/​/www​​.stoc​​kholm​​skall​​ an​.se​​/Soks​​ida​/P​​ost/?​​​nid​=5​​746. 3 Per G. Råberg. Funktionalistisk genombrott: Radikal miljö och miljödebatt i Sverige, 1925–1931. Andra omarbetade upplagan (Stockholm: Kungl. Boktryckeriet P. A. Norstedt & Söner i samarbete med Sveriges Arkitekturmuseum, 1972), p. 171. 4 Bror Zachrisson. ‘Det var alltså inte genom exempel inom det grafiska området, som Stockholmsutställningen berikade dettas former’. Svenska slöjdföreningens tidskrift 36, no. 5 (1940): p. 99. 5 Uno Åhrén. ‘Brytningar’, in Svenska slöjdföreningens årsbok 1925, ed. Gregor Paulsson (Stockholm: Svenska slöjdföreningen, 1925), pp. 7–36. 6 Lagerström. ‘“Elementär typografi” — “Den nya gestaltningen”’, pp. 131–6. 7 According to his own account, Lenning began working in this capacity from 1 July 1928 onwards. Einar Lenning. ‘Bil, 10.: Berättelse över reklamarbetet för Stockholmsutställningen 1930’, in Redogörelse för Stockholmsutställningen 1930, by Gregor Paulsson (Stockholm, 1937), p. 1. 8 Lenning. ‘Pressa – en kulturell världsutställning: Iakttagelser och anteckingar på den internationella pressutställningen i Köln 1928’. Nordisk boktryckarekonst 29, no. 10 (1928): p. 411. 9 Anders Billow. ‘Alfabetet och tidsstilen’. Svenska slöjdföreningens tidskrift 26 (1930): pp. 34–5.

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10 Gregor Paulsson. Stockholmsutställningens program: Föredrag i Svenska slöjdföreningen 25 oktober 1928 (Stockholm: Bröderna Lagerström, 1928). 11 Gregor Paulsson. Upplevt (Stockholm: Natur och kultur, 1974), p. 121. 12 Ibid. 13 Ibid., p. 147. 14 Rudberg. The Stockholm Exhibition 1930, pp. 79–81. 15 In the original these read: möbler, inredningar, bostäder, böcker, metallarbeten, mattor, stenarbeten, glas and samfärdsmedel. 16 For the context around Acceptera’s development, see Lucy Creagh. ‘An Introduction to Acceptera’, in Modern Swedish Design: Three Founding Texts, eds. Lucy Creagh and Helena Kåberg (New York: The Museum of Modern Art, 2008), pp. 130, 133. 17 Anders Åman. ‘Om Acceptera – Efterskrift till 1980 års upplaga’, in Acceptera. Facsimilutgåva av 1931 års upplaga med efterskrift av Anders Åman (Arlöv: Berlings, 1980), p. 200. 18 Gunnar Asplund, Wolter Gahn, Sven Markelius, Gregor Paulsson, Eskil Sundahl and Uno Åhrén. ‘Acceptera’, in Modern Swedish Design: Three Founding Texts, eds. Lucy Creagh and Helena Kåberg (New York: The Museum of Modern Art, 2008), p. 338. 19 Åman. ‘Om Acceptera’, p. 203. 20 Ibid. 21 Tschichold. The New Typography, pp. 81–6. 22 For a discussion of the ‘–is’ suffix and its connotations see: Ulla-Britt Kotsinas. En bok om slang, typ (Stockholm: Norstedts ordbok, 2003), pp. 223–7, 244–5. 23 Rudberg attributes the creation of the word funkis to ‘the columnist Barco’. Rudberg, The Stockholm Exhibition 1930, p. 27. 24 For a consideration of stylistic terms and their use in Norway during this period, see: Randi Gausdal. ‘Noen betraktninger om stilbegreper’, in Art deco, funkis, Scandinavian design, ed. Widar Halén (Oslo: Orfeus, 1996), pp. 34–9. 25 Knut Greve, ‘Funksjonalisme og funkis’. Brukskunst 3, no. 5 (1932): p. 69. 26 ‘Nordiska boktryckaremötet’. Nordisk boktryckarekonst 31, no. 8 (1930): p. 320. 27 Striks. ‘Hvad Er Funkis?’ System 6, no. 3 (1935): p. 56. See also: Norvil. ‘Funkisforvirring: “Moderne” typografi i rigtig og fejlfri anvendelse’. De grafiske Fag 30, no. 9 (1934): pp. 97–100. 28 Nelson. ‘Plagiater, funkis og Aftenpostens nye ansikt’, pp. 199–201. 29 O. Chr. Sørensen, ‘Typografisk funktionalisme og dens Misforstaaelser’. Grafisk revy 5, no. 1 (1934): pp. 23–4. 30 See point 4: Tschichold. ‘Elemental Typography’, p. 311. 31 Nelson. ‘Moderne typografi og trykk’, p. 37; ‘Livet begynner imorgen’. Norsk trykk 3, no. 4 (1929): p. 74. 32 The centrality of block-set text is emphasized repeatedly: Arthur Nelson. ‘En norsk typografi’. Nelsons magasin for grafisk kunst 2, no. 1 (1928): pp. 10–11; ‘Moderne typografi’. Norsk trykk 3, no. 1 (1929): p. 12; ‘Livet begynner imorgen’, p. 74; ‘Vår

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tid og dens smak’. Norsk trykk 4, no. 2 (1930): pp. 41–2; ‘Moderne typografi’. Norsk trykk 7, no. 4 (1933): p. 122. 33 Nelson, ‘Moderne typografi’ (1933). 34 Torbjørn Eng. ‘Arthur Nelson: Den første modernist i norsk grafisk bransje. Del 2’. Norsk grafia 130, no. 6 (2005): p. 18. 35 I thank Kai Møller’s son, Jan Christien Møller, for sharing this observation with me. 36 ‘Fra og til redaktøren’. Brukskunst 3, no. 1 (1932): p. 4. 37 Alf Bøe. Nora Gulbrandsen på Porsgrund (Oslo: C. Huitfeld forlag, 1994), p. 85. 38 Thor Kielland. ‘Forord’, in Årbok 1928–1929 (Oslo: Kunstindustrimuseet i Oslo, 1930), p. 6. 39 Karl Karlsson. ‘Bausteine og billedsats’. De grafiske Fag 28, no. 9 (1932): p. 125. 40 Tschichold. The New Typography, p. 109. 41 Viggo Hasnæs. ‘Tre Foredrag om den ny Typografi’. De grafiske Fag 31, no. 12 (1935): p. 230. 42 Henry Thejls. ‘Kært Barn har mange Navne . . . plastisk Typografi . . . elementær . . . asymmetrisk . . . moderne’. De grafiske Fag 32, no. 6 (1936): pp. 133–6. 43 Thejls first gave this lecture to the Danish Compositors’ Union’s educational committee in Copenhagen on 4 February 1938 and subsequently toured it to several branches around Denmark. Bogtrykkerbladet printed the transcript in three parts: Henry Thejls. ‘1. Afsnit: Kontrastvirkning’. Bogtrykkerbladet, no. 9 (1938): pp. 168–71; ‘2. Afsnit: Fladevirkning’. Bogtrykkerbladet, no. 10 (1938): pp. 178–81; ‘Gruppedannelse . . . 3. og sidste Afsnit af Foredraget: Hvad er det, der er nyt ved den ny Typografi?’ Bogtrykkerbladet, no. 11 (1938): pp. 196–200. 44 Thejls. ‘2. Afsnit: Fladevirkning’, p. 178. 45 Henry Thejls. ‘Moderne Typografi i konfirmationsalderen’. De grafiske Fag 34, no. 3 (1938): p. 103. Emphasis in original. 46 Thejls. ‘Gruppedannelse . . .’, p. 200. Emphasis in original. 47 Tschichold. Funktionel Typografi, pp. 41–4, 54–6. 48 Richard Jørgensen and Magnus Pedersen. ‘Ti stikker Hoderne sammen’. Grafisk teknik 3, no. 2 (1938): pp. 17–18. 49 Ejnar Jonsson, Gert Nielsen, Ove Andreasen, Jens Thaae and O. Holther Christiansen. ‘En Annonce der appellerer til daarlig Smag’. Grafisk teknik 3, no. 2 (1938): p. 27. 50 Jan Tschichold, Typographische Gestaltung (Basel: Benno Schwabe & Co, 1935), p. 80. 51 Jan Jönsson. ‘Läsmaskinen: Aspekter på bild och bok med utgångspunkt i Anders Billows verksamhet 1923-1953’ (PhD thesis, Lunds Universitet, 2008), p. 93. 52 Gram. ‘När typografin blev “modern”’, p. 57. 53 Anders Billow. ‘När sommaren var slut, visste jag att funktionalism i ordets egentliga betydelse inte bara var på sin plats när det gällde att bygga bostäder’. Form 36, no. 5 (1940): p. 98. 54 Details on rotogravure printing taken from: S. H. Steinberg. Five Hundred Years of Printing. New edn, revised by John Trevitt (London and New Castle: The British Library & Oak Knoll Press, 1996), p. 234.

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55 Charles Peignot and A. François Haab, eds. Arts et Métiers Graphiques Paris, no. 16: Numéro spécial consacré a la photographie (15 March 1930). 56 Anders Billow, ‘Den nya bilderbokstypografien. Återblick på ett decennium’. Svensk grafisk årsbok 1941 10 (1941): p. 105. 57 Ibid. 58 For this argument, made in relation to AIZ and Vu respectively, see: Andrés Mario Zervigón, ‘Rotogravure and the Modern Aesthetic of News Reporting’, in Getting the Picture: The Visual Culture of the News, eds. Jason Hill and Vanessa R. Schwartz (London, New Delhi, New York and Sydney: Bloomsbury Academic, 2015), p. 201; Michel Frizot and Cédric De Veigy, Vu: The Story of a Magazine That Made an Era (London: Thames & Hudson, 2009), pp. 9–10. 59 Erich Mendelsohn, Amerika: Bilderbuch eines Architekten (Berlin: Rudolf Mosse Buchverlag, 1926). 60 Billow. ‘Den nya bilderbokstypografien’, p. 105. 61 Jönsson. ‘Läsmaskinen’, pp. 198–201. 62 Sadakichi Hartmann. ‘A Plea for Straight Photography’, in Photography: Essays & Images. Illustrated Readings in the History of Photography, ed. Beaumont Newhall (London: Secker & Warburg, 1981), p. 187. 63 Billow. ‘Fotografiens reklamvärde är dess sanningsvärde’, p. 119. 64 Anders Billow. ‘A Survey of Contemporary Bookmaking: For Scandinavia’, in The Dolphin Number 2 (New York: The Limited Editions Club, 1935), p. 299. 65 Jönsson. ‘Läsmaskinen’, pp. 155–8. 66 Ibid., p. 123. 67 Yngve Hedvall. ‘Den moderna typografien och dess avarter. Inledningsanförande av redaktör Yngve Hedvall vid diskussion i boktryckarklubben den 18 maj 1932’. Nordisk boktryckarekonst 33, no. 6 (1932): p. 213. 68 Jönsson. ‘Läsmaskinen’, pp. 126–30. 69 Anders Billow. ‘Bokkonsten på världsutställning’. Svenska slöjdföreningens tidskrift 24 (1928): pp. 62–3. 70 Anders Billow, ‘Typografisk brytningstid. Relexioner inför 25 utvalda böcker 1934’. Svensk grafisk årsbok 1935 7 (1935): p. 109. 71 Ibid., pp. 109–10. 72 The term ‘functional tradition’ was introduced in a special issue of London’s Architectural Review on the topic published in January 1950. It was introduced to Denmark by Kay Fisker later in the year in the article: ‘Den funktionelle tradition: Spredte indtryk af amerikansk arkitektur’. Arkitekten: Månedshæfte, no. 52 (1950): pp. 69–100. 73 See: Poul Henningsen. ‘Tradition og Modernisme’. Kritisk Revy 2, no. 3 (1927): pp. 30–1; Kaare Klint. ‘Undervisningen i møbeltegning ved Kunstakademiet’. Arkitekten: Maanedshæfte 32, no. 10 (October 1930): pp. 193–224; Steen Eiler Rasmussen. ‘Bauhaus og den danske brugskunst’. Dansk kunsthaandværk 33, nos. 7–8 (1960): pp. 142–9. 74 Steen Eiler Rasmussen. Britisk Brugskunst: Et Udvalg af Billeder fra Udstillingen 1932 i det danske Kunstindustrimuseum (København: Det danske Kunstindustrimuseum, 1933); Steen Eiler Rasmussen. En bog om noget Andet: Læsning til at falde i Søvn på (København: Gyldendalske Boghandel, 1940).

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75 Erik Ellegaard Frederiksen. Knud V. Engelhardt: Arkitekt & bogtrykker, 1882–1931 (København: Forening for boghaandværk & Arkitektens forlag, 1965), p. 85. 76 For more detail on the design of Asfaltens Sange and the poem ‘Biografteatret’, see: Torben Jelsbak. ‘Avantgarde og boghistorie: Emil Bønnelyckes bibliografiske aktivisme’. Lychnos (2010): pp. 250ff. 77 Johan Olsen. ‘Arkitekt Knud V. Engelhardt død’. De grafiske Fag 27, no. 3 (1931– 2): p. 45. 78 Meikle. ‘Domesticating Modernity’, pp. 143–4. 79 Slomann. Fotografi 1930, p. 7. 80 S. S-z. ‘Boganmeldelser: Symbolsk og kubistisk’. Bogvennen (1934): pp. 16–17. 81 Steen Eiler Rasmussen. ‘Bogen som industriprodukt’. Bogvennen (1968): p. 69. 82 Rasmussen. ‘Bauhaus og den danske brugskunst’, p. 145. 83 Klint. ‘Undervisningen i møbeltegning’, pp. 193–5. 84 Rigmor Andersen, Kaare Klint: Møbler (København: Kunstakademiet, 1979), p. 58. 85 Rasmussen, Britisk Brugskunst, p. 5. 86 Olaf Lind claims Klint’s methods represented Rasmussen’s own ideals for the creation of applied art and architecture. See: Olaf Lind, Arkitekten Steen Eiler Rasmussen (København: Nordisk forlag, 2008), p. 83. 87 Steen Eiler Rasmussen. ‘Fører til udstillingen Britisk Brugskunst’. Danbrit 2, nos. 7–9 (1932): p. i. For detail on Rasmussen’s time in London see: Lind. Arkitekten Steen Eiler Rasmussen, pp. 84–5. 88 Rasmussen. ‘Fører til udstillingen Britisk Brugskunst’, p. i. 89 Rasmussen. Britisk Brugskunst, p. 8. 90 Rasmussen. ‘Fører til udstillingen Britisk Brugskunst’, p. vii. 91 Rasmussen. Britisk Brugskunst, p. 5. 92 Joan Campbell. The German Werkbund: The Politics of Reform in the Applied Arts (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1978), p. 218. 93 Le Corbusier. Towards a New Architecture (New York: Dover Publications, 1986), pp. 95, 289. 94 Peter Reyner Banham. Theory and Design in the First Machine Age. 2nd edn (New York: Praeger Publishers, 1970), p. 213. 95 Steen Eiler Rasmussen. ‘Ogsaa et Sovemiddel’, in En Bog om noget andet: Læsning til at falde i søvn på (København: Gyldendalske Boghandel, 1940), p. 22. Emphasis in original. 96 Rasmussen’s interest was likely derived from Danish architecture’s concern with ‘material effects’ as expressed in the influential article: Carl Petersen, ‘Stoflige Virkninger’. Architekten 18 (1919): pp. 253–7. 97 Rasmussen. ‘Bogen som industriprodukt’, p. 68. 98 Einar Lenning. ‘Inför nya typografiska uppgifter. Forts. och slut från föreg. n:r’. Nordisk boktryckarekonst 33, no. 10 (1932): p. 361. 99 Ibid., 362. 100 C. Volmer Nordlunde. ‘Bøger og elementær Typografi’. De grafiske Fag 24, no. 21 (1933): p. 325. Emphasis in original.

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101 Ibid., p. 323. 102 C. Volmer Nordlunde, ‘“Begreppet bok”’. Nordisk boktryckarekonst 36, no. 12 (1935): p. 463. 103 Einar Lenning, ‘Inför nya typografiska uppgifter’. Nordisk boktryckarekonst 33, no. 9 (1932): p. 333. 104 Hedvall. ‘Den moderna typografien och dess avarter’, p. 212. 105 Sørensen. ‘Typografisk funktionalisme og dens misforstaaelser’, p. 22. 106 G. Smith. ‘Den nya stilens ekonomiska konsekvenser’. Nordisk boktryckarekonst 34, no. 1 (1933): pp. 25–9. 107 Max Richard Kirste. ‘Dyptrykk–offset–boktrykk: En kritisk studie’. Norsk boktrykk kalender 1934 14 (1933): p. 70. Emphasis in original. 108 Zachrisson. ‘Det var alltså inte genom exempel . . .’, p. 100. 109 From ‘Les deux vertus d’un livre’, originally published in 1926, and reprinted in Arts et Métiers Graphiques, 1 (15 September 1927): pp. 3–8. 110 Both Lenning and Nordlunde were convinced that serif faces were more readable than both sans- and slab-serif faces. See: C. Volmer Nordlunde. ‘Skrifter og elementær Typografi’. De grafiske Fag 30, no. 1 (1934): p. 6; Lenning. ‘Inför nya typografiska uppgifter’, p. 333. 111 Paul Renner. Mechanisierte Grafik: Schrift, Typo, Foto, Film, Farbe (Berlin: Verlag Hermann Reckendorf, 1930). 112 Nordlunde. ‘Bøger og elementær Typografi’, p. 322. 113 Erik Zahle, ‘[Untitled]’. Bogvennen (1934): p. 20. 114 Maxim Gorki, Min Barndom (København: Henrik Koppels Forlag, 1933). 115 Thomson, The Origins of Graphic Design in America, 1870–1920, pp. 96–7. 116 C. Volmer Nordlunde. ‘Engelske Bøger’. Bogvennen (1934): p. 5. Emphasis in original. 117 Ibid. 118 C. Volmer Nordlunde. ‘Elementær Bogtypografi’. De grafiske Fag 35, no. 10 (1939): p. 293. 119 Hakon Stangerup. ‘Den funktionelle bog’. Bogvennen (1934): pp. 1–2. 120 The Albatross series, launched in 1932, measured 181 × 111 mm. The longrunning Tauchnitz Editions, launched in 1837, used the more squat format 164 × 118 mm. 121 As seen through the lens of Larry L. Ligo’s The Concept of Function in TwentiethCentury Architectural Criticism (1974), with its chapter headings: structural articulation, physical function, psychological function, social function and ‘culturalexistential’ function: See: Tim Benton. ‘The Myth of Function’, in Modernism in Design, ed. Paul Greenhalgh (London: Reaktion Books, 1990), p. 41. 122 As expressed by the Swedish printer Carl Z. Hæggström in the debate on the New Typography arranged by the Swedish Master Printers’ Association: Kg. ‘Den nya stilen. Uppmärksammade diskussioner i Svenska Boktryckareforeningen och Stockholms Faktorsforening’. Nordisk boktryckarekonst 30, no. 4 (1929): p. 152.

5 ISOLATION FUTURE-PEOPLE AND RATIONAL CONSUMERS

A defining feature of Scandinavian politics in the 1930s was social democracy’s ascent to power and the creation of what Marquis Childs famously dubbed a middle way between the extremes of communism and capitalism.1 Although the rise of social democracy did not mean that radical, conservative or reactionary voices were absent from political debate, or even that the Social Democrats themselves were seeking middle ground between communism and capitalism,2 the idea of the middle way and the image of a society based on compromise and consensus have proved resilient and are often linked to the emergence of softened or humanized expressions of modernism in Scandinavia. Peter Luthersson has argued that Swedish literary modernism and social democracy were both reformist movements. According to Luthersson, the former differed from the revolutionary stance of continental futurism and expressionism in ‘more or less’ the same way as the latter did to communism, fascism and Nazism.3 In literature on Scandinavian design, modernism has similarly often been described as having been ‘softened’ or ‘humanized’ as a result of its contact with local craft traditions, resulting in designs characterized by ‘restraint in form and decoration, embodiment of traditional values, unity of form and function, and reliance on natural materials’.4 In turn, this Scandinavian ‘modernism with a human face’ has been linked to ‘capitalism with a benign face’.5 It has also specifically been suggested that debates surrounding the New Typography were ‘muted by a reformist spirit and the ascent of social democracy’.6 While Scandinavia’s relatively stable political climate may have affected the atmosphere of the typographic debate I would argue, as I have done throughout this book, that the domestication processes described had more to do with

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making the New Typography compatible with the cultures and demands of commercial production than with politics. Therefore, this chapter does not look at how social democracy domesticated the New Typography, but at the degree to which it was able to retain the radical political associations of its ‘wild’ form in a political context. Although the political fervour of the New Typography was reduced through its domestication, this process tended to exclude elements which were considered too extreme like kleinschreibung, or which were problematic from a production point of view like photomontage. Because of their exclusion, these aspects of the New Typography can be placed in the second of Jeffrey Meikle’s three modes of domestication, that of limiting modernity to discrete zones. By looking at how the domesticated New Typography of the printing trade fed back into the publications of the avant-garde, the chapter also examines how issues of production and commissioning complicate the reading of political sympathies through graphic materials. The chapter begins by looking at the Swedish Cooperative Society which created a discrete zone for kleinschreibung by incorporating the consistent use of lower-case in a functionalist house style which ranged from factories to ads and packaging. Attention thereafter shifts to a series of publications created by leftist avant-garde artists and poets. It argues that the design of publications like the Danish painter Vilhelm Bjerke Petersen’s book Symboler i Abstrakt Kunst (Symbols in Abstract Art, 1933) and the Swedish literary journal Spektrum were both informed by how their printers interpreted the New Typography. In contrast, the Danish Monde group was able to control the appearance of the photomontaged covers used for their books because they created them themselves. The chapter ends with a discussion of photography and photomontage as used by political parties. It claims that the Norwegian and Swedish social democratic youth and women’s groups carved out discrete zones for photomontage and that they embraced this medium precisely because it retained strong political and utopian associations.

The Swedish Cooperative Society: Adopter of ‘wild’ New Typography Cooperatives are commonly considered to form a third column of the labour movement alongside the trade unions and political parties. Marquis Childs considered the Swedish Cooperative Society (Kooperativa Förbundet) to have played a vital role in the project of controlling capitalism and carving out a middle way between the extremes of capitalism and communism. According to Swedish cultural historian Peder Aléx, the Cooperative Society’s operations were underpinned by ideas of morality, a concern for reducing differences between

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the classes, the protection of peace and democracy and the promotion of modernization and rationalism in society.7 In reflection of the latter two aims, the New Typography formed part of a functionalist house style which from the late 1920s to the mid-1930s extended from architecture and retail design to press ads and packaging. Graphic materials were, above all, characterized by a consistent use of bold lower-case sans-serif type, either on its own or in combination with photography or an ‘objective’ illustration style. The Cooperative Society’s role as a leading promoter of functionalism in Swedish architecture and design has long been acknowledged.8 In 1924 it set up an architectural practice under the leadership of Eskil Sundahl. Their practice was responsible for the design of important early functionalist buildings in Sweden, like the Three Crowns mill on Kvarnholmen (1927) and the Luma lightbulb factory by Hammarbyleden (1929–30), both designed by Artur von Schmalensee (1900– 72).9 Another important task was developing and implementing standards for the Cooperative Society’s chain of Konsum grocery stores and their fittings.10 According to Lisa Brunnström the Cooperative Society’s architectural office clearly aspired to a ‘modern progressive architecture’ when it could specify the design of a Konsum store freely.11 The Konsum stores, designed by Eskil Sundahl and Gösta Hedström (1895–1966) for the Stockholm Exhibition, for instance, was executed in concrete, and featured formal characteristics recognizably derived from Le Corbusier’s ‘Five Points Towards a New Architecture’ (1926): a free floor plan, horizontal window and roof terrace (Figure 5.1).12 However, sometimes it was necessary for the architectural office’s architects to make concessions to societies, predominantly found in the districts, who asked for their stores to take on more traditional appearances.13 Moreover, many stores were housed in existing premises. As a result, the Konsum stores did not conform to a single architectural style. Nevertheless, their appearance was streamlined through the use of standardized graphic materials and signage. In Sweden: The Middle Way (1936), Childs singled out the exterior signs, with their bold lower-case sans-serif letters, as an important component contributing to the ‘distinct appearance’ of the ‘functional’ and ‘smart’ Konsum stores.14 According to Knut Krantz (1891– 1970), director of the Cooperative Society’s advertising department, the reason lower-case was used on everything from signs to posters and print ads was because it was easier to read.15 However, it clearly also helped the Cooperative Society and its Konsum stores to achieve a high level of recognition. The Swedish Cooperative Society had a large network of stores which sold to non-members and members alike. It therefore placed a greater emphasis on advertising than cooperatives societies in other countries who sold mainly to their own members and who consequentially thought advertising an unneccessary expense. Moreover, many cooperators thought advertising immoral. This view was also initially held within the Swedish Cooperative Society but was overcome by the time the advertising department was set up in the mid-1920s.16 Because the

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Figure 5.1  Exterior of Konsum store at the Stockholm Exhibition 1930, designed by Eskil Sundahl and Gösta Hedström (1930). Photographer unknown. ArkDes, 2019. ARKM.1976-107-0499.

Cooperative Society considered advertising as a part of its efforts to educate its members, advertisements took on a rational rather than a selling tone.17 These were aimed at an ideal figure described by Aléx as the rational consumer. This figure was a housewife who made all her purchases on a rational basis and was never swayed by desire. Her purchases were always made in cash and never on credit, as credit was considered a corruptive force on both individuals and on society.18 The Cooperative Society and the figure of the rational consumer thereby played an important role in creating ‘the people’s home’, the Swedish vision for a social democratic society described by party leader Per Albin Hansson (1885–1946) in a famous 1928 speech.19 Although employed as a metaphor for society as a whole, the home would indeed play an important role in making this vision a reality. As Helena Mattsson has argued, the Social Democrats’ decision to erase class structures through consumption, rather than by socializing the means of production, recast the home as ‘the locus for the production of a new society and its citizens’.20

The Cooperative Society’s advertisements The Cooperative Society used their own factories to break cartels and bring down prices of important goods. Many advertisements therefore emphasized

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the savings consumers could make by shopping at Konsum. Others focused on promoting the Cooperative Society’s own products, like Luma light bulbs. The Luma bulbs were priced so low that it was seen as unnecessary to emphasize this selling point. Instead, they were marketed as quality products, and as a great scientific achievement for the Cooperative Society.21 In a 1933 poster, for instance, the Luma light bulb was rendered in a highly realistic and seemingly objective illustration style commensurate with its status as an object of scientific precision (plate 5.1). The headline ‘LUMA even better light’ emphasized the light bulb’s quality, and the style of the geometric sans-serif letters mirrored the objective formal language of the illustration. The use of upper-case for the brand name Luma may seem inconsistent with the Cooperative Society’s commitment to kleinschreibung. However, this was no accident. The name Luma was consistently rendered in upper-case on all materials, from ads and packaging to the large illuminated sign on top of the Luma factory. Other Cooperative Society brands, like Eve margarine, received the same treatment. Because material was otherwise set in lower-case, this was an effective way of communicating the Cooperative Society’s brand names to the customer. The use of bold lower-case sans-serif also characterized Konsum’s print ads (Figure 5.2). Nils Willner (1890–1939), cash manager of Konsum in Stockholm, wrote the copy for many of these. According to Krantz, he was ‘particularly sensitive to the new tendencies’, in other words to functionalism, and therefore wanted his ads to be read quickly and produced cheaply.22 The copy took the form of concise and occasionally curious or humorous formulations like ‘din aptit ger bonden lön’ (your appetite pays the farmer’s wages) or the rhyming ‘svensk gris är värd sitt pris’ (swedish pork is worth its price). In the case of the ad featured here, the copy reads ‘small nuggets of gold for the household reserve from EVE margarine 1:30 kg’. Because the resulting ads seldom contained more than six lines of text, they became known as ‘the six-line ads’.23 Text was ranged left and set at size large enough for it to stand out from the surrounding editorial content. The style was so unique in Sweden that ads were sometimes run without including the Cooperative Society’s or Konsum’s marques, and on occasion without mentioning their names. The six-line ad style was also applied to posters used inside the Konsum stores and in their display windows. Unlike the ads, which invariably were printed in the same black ink used for the publications they appeared in, the posters were printed in a range of different colours. The style was also adopted for one of the Cooperative Society’s best-known early posters, Harry Bernmark’s (1900–61) ‘gör pengarna dryga – köp i konsum’ (1931). The composition was identical to the print ads and in-store posters. However, Bernmark gave the text a three-dimensional appearance and applied a golden colour which made them stand out from a background in cobalt blue like stacks of coins. The advertising department’s director Knut Krantz also came up with ideas for posters. These

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Figure 5.2  Advertisement for Eve margarine as printed in Morgonbris 26, no. 8 (1930): 16. Photograph by KvinnSam, Gothenburg University Library. Item held by KvinnSam, Gothenburg University Library.

were executed by commercial artists like Bernmark, but also by studios specializing in advertising photography, like Herman Bergne’s (1899–1983) Ateljé Bergne and Gunnar Sjöblom’s Kommersiell Foto. The photography was often executed in an ‘objective’ style and paired with the same bold lower-case sansserif type used elsewhere. This combination of formal features meant they were both instantly recognizable as items of New Typography and as Cooperative Society posters. This section has argued that the Cooperative Society and its chain of Konsum stores applied a house style based on the principles of the New Typography as laid out in Tschichold’s ‘Elementare Typographie’ special issue. Consistent use

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of a bold sans-serif typeface, kleinschreibung and an ‘objective’ photographic style alongside functionalist architecture and shop fittings consciously projected an image of a moral, rational, modern, functionalist organization which sought to reach out to ‘the rational consumer’. That this was the intention can be seen in the promotional film Vi Har Melodin (We Have the Melody, 1936), where we are invited to follow Erik and Gunn, a newly married couple who along with a few other lucky cooperators have won a prize to tour the Cooperative’s various sites by plane. Towards the end of the film they fly in over Stockholm. Erik points out the window: ‘Oh, look there. There’s the cooperative headquarters. And the new Katarina Lift.’ ‘How funkis it all looks’, Gunn replies admiringly. ‘Of course’, says Erik, ‘the entire corporation is funkis.’24

Print designs of the avant-garde left Understanding the production process and the relationship between the compositor and the client is vital if we are to accurately judge how the political (or other) views of a particular individual or group are reflected in their printed materials. Many avant-gardists in 1930s Scandinavia were on the political left, whether they engaged in communist activism or held a more general leftist sympathy. However, whereas the Swedish Cooperative Society was able to control visual output through its advertising agency and architectural practice, such individuals and groups required the services of professionals in the graphic trades in order to produce their printed materials. Literature on the New Typography sometimes touches on tensions in the client–practitioner relationship between avant-gardists and printers. For instance, Robin Kinross notes that avant-gardists lacked the necessary knowledge of print production needed to precisely specify their designs and claims they therefore were ‘at the mercy of often insensitive printers’.25 There are of course also stories of ‘friendly’ or ‘sympathetic’ printers assisting in the creation of works like Fortunato Depero’s (1892–1960) Depero Futurista (1927), or Theo van Doesburg, Kurt Schwitters and Käthe Steinitz’s Die Scheuche (1925).26 However, such printers are portrayed as the exception to the rule and are rarely credited with playing an active or creative role in creating the work in question.27 The following explores the ongoing and reciprocal process of domestication by examining the degree to which the modified versions of the New Typography discussed in the earlier chapters fed back into Scandinavian avant-garde practice. It argues that the visual appearance of typographically based work, like the Swedish literary and cultural journal Spektrum and the Danish painter Vilhelm Bjerke Petersen’s book Symboler i Abstrakt Kunst (Symbols in Abstract Art) (1933), was shaped as much by the printers of these works, Bröderna Lagerström and Nordlundes Bogtrykkeri, as by the avant-gardists themselves.

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On the other hand, more image-driven work like the photomontaged covers of the Danish Monde group’s books were created by the avant-gardists unaided. These were therefore not affected by the domesticating dynamic present in the client–practitioner relationship.

The journal Spektrum between printers Spektrum was one of the most important avant-garde journals in early 1930s Sweden. While primarily focused on literature, it also discussed topics like architecture, film, music and psychoanalysis. Politically, the journal can be placed on the radical left. Founders Karin Boye (1900–41), Erik Mesterton (1903–2004) and Josef Riwkin (1909–65) all had backgrounds from Clarté, the party-politically independent ‘International of the Mind’ founded after the First World War by French author Henri Barbusse (1873–1935). Clarté worked to unite socialist intellectuals from around the world in support of pacifism, internationalism and communism.28 According to Johan Svedjedal, Spektrum’s political and literary stance can nevertheless be described using Peter Luthersson’s idea of a ‘cultivated’ Swedish modernism which, while radical in a Swedish context, spoke only in whispers compared to continental Dada or futurism.29 Svedjedal argues the same can be said for the journal’s design. Its typography signalled modernism through an alignment to ‘the Bauhaus style’ but at the same time it was ‘graphically pretty tame’ in comparison to futurist and Dadaist journals on the continent.30 Establishing the person or persons responsible for Spektrum’s design is not an easy task. No design credits are provided and none of the editors were visual artists. Svedjedal nevertheless attributes the first issue’s cover design to Riwkin.31 On one hand, this does not seem unreasonable in that Riwkin was the person most closely involved in the day-to-day running of the journal. However, Riwkin was by his own admission inexperienced when it came to printing. For instance, he later recalled that the group chose a format for the journal’s second issue for aesthetic reasons without being aware of how this impacted on the cost of production.32 While Riwkin and the others would undoubtedly have held views as to how the journal should look and instructed the compositor accordingly, it seems unlikely that they would have specified any finer points of detailing given their lack of technical expertise. In turn, this would have given the compositor the opportunity to determine aspects of the design. After the first two issues, printers changed from the Reinhold Eriksson printing house to Bröderna Lagerström. As Lena Johannesson has argued, the change led to a greater consistency in the journal’s design.33 The first two issues appeared in different formats and cover designs. The first cover contained the date and issue number, set in a single line of sans-serif type below the journal’s masthead (Figure 5.3). On the second, the single line of type was replaced with

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Figure 5.3  Front cover of Spektrum 1, no. 1 (1931). Photograph by the author. Item in the author’s collection.

a list of contents set in a decorative sans-serif, and a series of small abstract illustrations by Otto G. Carlsund (Figure 5.4). The date was now set in Bodoni and placed directly under the masthead. The increased format was made visible by the decision to retain the rule which had wrapped itself around the edge of the previous issue at the same size and position. Besides the masthead, this rule was the only graphic element carried forward from the first cover design to the second. When Bröderna Lagerström took over production, it was decided to keep the larger format, the masthead, rule and list of contents (Figure 5.5). However, a single bold sans-serif typeface replaced the awkward combination of typefaces used by Reinhold Eriksson. Interior pages were also standardized. Headings were set in the same bold sans-serif used for the cover, and text was set in Lagerström’s favoured Mediæval. This can be seen, for instance, in the opening spread of Spektrum’s major contribution to Swedish literary modernism:

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Figure 5.4  Front cover of Spektrum 2, no. 1 (1932). Photograph by the author. Item in the author’s collection.

Boye and Mesterton’s translation of T. S. Eliot’s (1888–1965) The Waste Land (1922) (Figure 5.6). The layout was also characterized by an active use of typographic material to make the different parts of this long poem visible and more easily navigable.

Vilhelm Bjerke Petersen: Client at Nordlunde’s printing house Another avant-gardist who benefited from a close relation with his printer was the Bauhaus-educated Danish painter Vilhelm Bjerke Petersen. While not a party member, he identified as a ‘fervent communist’.34 Bjerke Petersen considered his work to perform a revolutionary function as part of a project to create the new human beings who in turn would create a new world.35 After returning to Copenhagen from Dessau in 1931, he initially painted in an abstract style

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Figure 5.5  Front cover of Spektrum 2, no. 3 (1932). Photograph by the author. Item in the author’s collection.

Figure 5.6  Double-page spread from Spektrum 2, no. 2 (1932). Photograph by the author. Item in the author’s collection.

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informed by the work of Bauhaus masters Wassily Kandinsky (1866–1944) and Paul Klee (1879–1940). However, he would soon move towards surrealism. In addition to his art practice, Bjerke Petersen worked to spread ideas of modern art around Scandinavia through a series of books and journals, all of them executed in versions of the New Typography. Bjerke Petersen would have played an active role in specifying the designs of his publications. His personal interest in the New Typography is evident from the hand-drawn covers he made for his books, like his first publication Symboler i Abstrakt Kunst (Symbols in Abstract Art, 1933). Like the book’s content, the cover was informed by Bjerke Petersen’s recent experiences at the Bauhaus (Figure 5.7). Geometric sans-serif letters were integrated into a composition of abstract forms, arranged according to the visual grammar learnt from Kandinsky and Klee, and which was now being passed on to a Scandinavian audience.36 At the Bauhaus Bjerke Petersen would surely also have been exposed to kleinschreibung. As mentioned in Chapter 3, common nouns were capitalized in Danish up until 1948, as they still are in German. The call for a single alphabet would therefore have resonated with Bjerke Petersen. Although he marked the beginnings of sentences with an upper-case letter in some of his publications, he never capitalized common nouns, and wrote letters in lower-case. Symboler i Abstrakt Kunst’s cover demonstrates Bjerke Petersen’s personal interest in the New Typography. However, it also reveals a lack of training in commercial art. The letterforms are poorly constructed, with awkward joins and uneven stroke weights. In contrast, the book’s contents were expertly set in a refined and understated domesticated version of the New Typography (Figure 5.8). Printed at Nordlundes Bogtrykkeri, it was set entirely in lower-case. Text pages were set in a single size of serif type, justified and without indents. Headers were ranged left and differentiated discreetly in bold. The only elements set at a larger size were the asymmetric title page and the numbering used for the book’s illustrations. Given Bjerke Petersen’s lack of typographical expertise it seems unlikely that he specified this design in detail. I believe the compositor, or master printer C. Volmer Nordlunde, played an active role in its creation. The bibliophile journal Bogvennen attributed the work to Nordlunde, giving him the following glowing review: He has laid the book out very simply, with an even nobility which appeals to us now in this year. Several details are extremely well thought-out and finely calculated – note the page numbers, the drawings’ signatures and not least the image captions, crackingly well done and yet utterly unpretentious. One entertains no doubt, that this printer has learnt the best of German ‘elemental typography’ and of English tradition and has then recast it all to Danish.37 In other words, Bogvennen credited Nordlunde not only with the design of Symboler i Abstrakt Kunst but also with the creation of a particularly Danish

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Figure 5.7  Vilhelm Bjerke Petersen: Front cover of Symboler i Abstrakt Kunst (1933) © Vilhelm Bjerke Petersen / BONO, 2020. Photograph by the author. Item in the author’s collection.

version of the New Typography which fused its ‘wild’ German expression with what Steen Eiler Rasmussen termed the ‘cultured’ typography of the English reform of printing movement. That even a publication directed by a genuine Bauhäusler like Bjerke Petersen should make use of a domesticated New Typography shows that the relationship between avant-gardists and printers didn’t necessarily conform to the diffusionist view of active innovators and passive adopters. Printers like C. Volmer Nordlunde and Hugo Lagerström had developed their own understanding of what the New Typography was and should be, and were able to bring this to the table. As commercial actors, they were less concerned with ideology than with the quality of their craft. As one ad for Bröderna Lagerström proclaimed: ‘Traditional or modern: Always the same good quality print.’38 Given this pragmatic stance, it is not surprising that such printers were willing and capable of producing items of the New Typography which

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Figure 5.8  Double-page spread from Symboler i Abstrakt Kunst (1933). Photograph by the author. Item in the author’s collection.

visually lay closer to the ‘wild’ originals of the avant-garde than to the versions advocated in trade journals, if prompted to do so by a client. However, they did so without abandoning their ideas of good printing. The result was typographic designs which were ‘wild’ in a commercial context, but tame compared to avantgarde work elsewhere.

The Monde Group: Practitioners of ‘wild’ photomontage The Monde group was founded in 1928 by Rudolf Broby-Johansen and other radical Danish intellectuals, many of them recruited from the University of Copenhagen. The group’s name was derived from their publication of a local edition of Henri Barbusse’s newspaper Monde (1928–35). It was only a small organization. Membership never exceeded more than around thirty, and its finances were precarious.39 Nevertheless, the Monde group was able to exert a substantial influence on Danish cultural life through its publications and through a policy of entryism. The design of the Danish Monde had little to do with the New Typography. Rather, it took its visual cues from the French mother paper. The group’s poor finances also had implications on production and design. The link to French Monde provided an important source of free images. After their use, stereotypes

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were sent from Paris to Copenhagen.40 If none of the stereotypes available were deemed suitable for a given article, the group would not commission new ones. Instead, they would cut their own illustrations in linoleum to keep costs down. On the few occasions Broby decided that an illustration should be in colour, it was painted by hand to avoid paying the printer for an additional colour.41 Although Danish Monde did not draw upon the New Typography, other publications produced by the organizations controlled or influenced by the Monde group did. The best example is perhaps Forsøgsscenen (The Experimental Stage, 1929–31), the member’s magazine of the theatre and cinema club of the same name. While symmetrical, the cover design used for the journal’s first thirteen issues was considered an example of elemental typography (Figure 5.9).42 The

Figure 5.9  Front cover of Forsøgsscenen no. 1 (1929). Photograph by Fotografisk Atelier. Item held by the Royal Danish Library.

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text was set in the sans-serif Breite Halbfette Grotesk and arranged around the extremes of the page. The lower part of the composition was separated from the rest by two heavy horizontal rules, creating a large white space in the centre of the design. A photograph or illustration relating to the current production or screening was placed into this space. The composition was arguably intended as a piece of pictorial typography – a stage on which the photograph or illustration could ‘perform’. Internal pages featured headings set in a widely spaced sans-serif, and bold oversized page numbers. One page always featured the current programme. Unlike the other pages, this was set as an asymmetrical composition. The Experimental Stage, and particularly its cinema club, proved to be a popular success. After its first year in operation the stage claimed to have over 1,000 members.43 Paradoxically, this level of success would help spell the stage’s end. The Communist Party of Denmark, or DKP (Danmarks Kommunistiske Parti), came to realize that film screenings had value as a propaganda tool. By establishing a Danish subsidiary of Willi Münzenberg’s (1889–1940) organization Weltfilm (World Film), DKP managed to gain control of the Experimental Stage’s distribution channel, and it set up a competing cinema club known as the Association for Film Culture (Forening for Filmskultur).44 Along with the arrival of talking pictures, which required equipment it could not afford to rent, these interventions conspired to disturb the Experimental Stage’s momentum. In October 1930 a number of the original artistic direction therefore left.45 Changes in Forsøgsscenen’s cover designs coincided with the change in circumstances. Though around half of the subsequent designs can be said to be variations on what had gone before, the composition of the very last issue (no.19, May 1931) stood out (Figure 5.10). It is not known who designed this cover, but it was a particularly accomplished work. Its elements were precisely arranged according to a grid structure and a clear hierarchy of four different type sizes had been imposed to order the information and to guide the viewer’s eye. To instil a sense of urgency, the entire composition had been angled twenty-five degrees on the page. Moreover, several elements – including the two film strips and parts of the text – had been allowed to bleed off the page. The right angle created by the two film strips was used to frame the magazine’s title, the name of the main feature Jørgensfesten (St. Jorgen’s Day, dir. Yakov Protazanov, 1930) and several smaller pieces of text. These smaller pieces of text were clippings from the daily press. A rare amount of interest had been shown in this Soviet film as it was based on Harald Bergstedt’s (1877–1965) Danish novel of the same name and because this ‘Danish’ film had initially fallen foul of the censors.

From ‘horror vacui’ compositions to didactic photomontage In October 1930 the Monde group established a publishing house. The group created many of the covers for these books themselves in photomontage.

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Figure 5.10  Front cover of Forsøgsscenen no. 19 (1931). Photograph by Fotografisk Atelier. Item held by the Royal Danish Library.

These were assembled from images cut from magazines and combined with hand-drawn lettering and, occasionally, other illustrated elements. The originals were then photographed and usually reproduced as a two-colour print in either offset or gravure. Because the covers were produced in this way, the group was able to control their appearance as far as their skills would allow without any domesticating input from graphic trade professionals. Early designs, like the anthology Sovjetruslands 5aarsplan (Soviet Russia’s 5-Year-Plan, 1931) (Figure 5.11), were packed with a large number of images filling the format and featured rough lettering which had clearly been drawn by hand. While the images were thematically linked to the title, they did not communicate a precise message. Rather, the use of montage served to signal modernity and an affinity with the Soviet Union.

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Figure 5.11  Rudolf Broby-Johansen: Front cover of Sovjetruslands 5aarsplan (1931) © Urs Broby Johansen 2020. Photograph by Fotografisk Atelier. Item held by the Royal Danish Library.

Later examples were more precise in the use of imagery and in visual execution. Many of these were designed by the Norwegian-born architect Edvard Heiberg (1897–1958). Heiberg joined the group in the autumn of 1930 after returning from the Bauhaus Dessau, where he had served briefly as a master in architecture under Hannes Meyer. Heiberg’s first cover design for Monde’s publishing house was for an edition of Karl Marx’s 1849 work Wage Labour and Capital, titled Lønarbejde og Kapital (1932) (Figure 5.12). Whereas Broby’s lettering on Sovjetruslands 5aarsplan was highly expressive and clearly handdrawn, Heiberg’s was constructed and resembled typography. Heiberg’s use of imagery was also more didactic and precise than Broby’s. The title Lønarbejde og Kapital was mirrored visually by the juxtaposition of the flat-capped worker

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with the pay check with the suited businessman with the automobile. In other words, the cover design was calculated and measured, both in visual execution and its communication of a precise message. Heiberg’s approach was informed by his previous experience as co-editor of Kritisk Revy, the journal which pioneered the use of photomontage in Scandinavia. He also drew upon John Heartfield’s work for the German communist press. The Monde group were regular readers of AIZ and made their admiration for Heartfield clear in a publication on photomontage, appearing in a series on ‘social art’. The introductory essay noted that Heartfield used ‘only few image parts in his montages’ and claimed he had created ‘a photographic art, which

Figure 5.12  Edvard Heiberg: Front cover of Lønarbejde og Kapital (1932) © Jakob Heiberg, 2020. Photograph by the author. Item in the author's collection.

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not only analyses, but is dialectic, necessarily forces us to think, something the Dadaists also did, but which goes further, as it finishes the thought with quite a definitive perception’.46 One of Heiberg’s most complex photomontages was created for the cover of his own book 2 Vær. straks (2 Rooms Immediately, 1935) (plate 5.2). A photograph of dilapidated working-class housing from Copenhagen’s Nørrebro area was overlaid onto type set in the style of a classified ad, describing some of the desired conveniences: ‘Central heating, Hot water. Shower. Sink. Tiles and spacious rooms.’ The implication was that these modest demands were not being met by the existing housing stock. The ad’s headline, which was also the title of the book, looked like it had been underlined by hand to indicate that someone had taken note of it. Finally, a mask was shown floating between the reader and this composition. Onto this mask was printed an image of Arne Jacobsen’s (1902–71) newly completed Bellavista complex (1934) in Gentofte, to the north of Copenhagen. In the book Heiberg argued that only a minority of such new modern developments were being built for the group most in need of housing: the working classes. Funkis had become a style used by the upper classes to display their modern taste and as a ‘discreet way of showing that one has one’s wallet in order’.47 In other words, Heiberg’s cover argued that discussions around functionalism’s aesthetic blinded the architectural profession (the most probable readership of this title) from engaging with social issues of housing.

Targeting the young and female vote through ‘wild’ photomontage The use of photomontage in Scandinavian political campaigning was largely limited to particular groups within the Social Democratic parties. The first example of use was from 1929, when the Copenhagen branch of the Social Democratic Party of Denmark commissioned a pair of posters from the Bergenholz advertising agency for that year’s local election.48 One featured a photograph of a worker, set against a red background, making a socialist clenched fist salute (Figure 5.13). The photograph was accompanied by hand-drawn lettering and a large exclamation mark to add to the sense of urgency. The other poster contained a montage of four faces and a large hand holding a pencil, once again set against a red background (Figure 5.14). Each of the faces represented a different ‘type’ the party wanted to reach out to. Clockwise from the top left, these were as follows: the civil servant, women, the average man and the worker.49 From these different groups the hand is emerged to put a cross next to ‘List A’ for the Social Democrats. Because the party was working purposefully to widen its electoral base at this time, from

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Figure 5.13  ‘12 Marts! Liste A’, poster for the Danish Social Democratic Party, Copenhagen branch (1929). Photograph by the Workers Museum. Item held by the Workers Museum.

its working-class origins to a wider demographic,50 the two posters can be seen as representing the party’s past and future electorate. However, they would not prove typical for the Social Democrats. In Denmark, as in Norway and Sweden, the Social Democratic parties were anxious not to alienate new potential voters and were therefore hesitant to use photomontage in their materials. The majority of posters created for national elections were hand-illustrated according to the commercial art conventions discussed in Chapter 3. The use of photomontage was largely limited to the parties’ women’s and youth groups.

Kaj Andersson’s Morgonbris That photomontage would gain prominent usage by the Social Democratic Women in Sweden (Sveriges Socialdemokratiska Kvinnoförbund, SSK), was

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Figure 5.14  ‘Saadan Værner Vi Vort Hjem!’, poster for the Danish Social Democratic Party, Copenhagen branch (1929). Photograph by the Workers Museum. Item held by the Workers Museum.

in no small part attributable to Kaj Andersson (1897–1991). Andersson was affiliated with its journal Morgonbris (Morning Breeze, 1904–92, 1998–ongoing) from 1931 to 1936, from December 1932 as editor. Prior to joining Morgonbris, she had briefly coedited the left leaning cultural paper Fönstret (The Window, 1930–6). After this, she was given the opportunity to edit a special issue of the social–liberal women’s paper Tidevarvet (The Epoch) entitled ‘Vi Kvinnor  i Fabriken’ (‘We Women in the Factory’).51 According to Per Schwanbom’s biography of Andersson, this was the first time she was able to attend to all aspects of a publication. In addition to the journalistic work of writing articles and conducting interviews, she selected her own co-workers, procured ads from trade unions and attended to the layout of the special issue’s pages which was illustrated with large photographs. The front page was dominated by an

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image of a young female worker from Stockholm’s Tobacco Factory (Stockholms Tobaksfabrik), behind whom was montaged an image of tall factory chimneys. The special issue of Tidevarvet was followed by a commission to edit 1931’s May Day issue of Morgonbris, the Social Democratic Women in Sweden’s journal (Figure 5.15). The resulting issue decisively broke with the journal’s previous designs. Andersson rejected editor Signe Vessmann’s proposal of using a Käthe Kollwitz drawing for the front cover, choosing instead to have a group of women of all different ages photographed. Like the photographs used in Tidevarvet, the composition was clearly informed by the heroic depictions of workers found in Soviet models. However, while the caption ‘Hän Mot En Ny Tid’ (The Way Towards A New Age) recalls some of the obligatory optimism of such works, the women appear less triumphal

Figure 5.15  Kaj Andersson: Front cover of Morgonbris 27, no. 5 (1931) © Silvia Hagberg, 2020. Photograph by KvinnSam, Gothenburg University Library. Item held by KvinnSam, Gothenburg University Library.

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than many of their Soviet counterparts. Nevertheless, Andersson would later recall her images for Tidevarvet as being ‘inspired by Russian poster art, which flourished then’.52 Moreover, she claimed that her redesign of Morgonbris was ‘stimulated [. . .] by some avant-garde films with their harshly contrasting black and white effect’ and Anders Billow’s design of Carl Fries’ I Svenska Marker, discussed in Chapter 4.53 Whether Andersson was aware of the Soviet women’s journals Rabotnitsa (Female-worker) and Krestianka (Female-peasant), both of which made extensive use of photography and montage, is unknown.54 The Scandinavian communist parties made almost no use of photomontage in their campaign materials. The Communist Party of Denmark was the only one to do so when it used images from 1931’s violent unemployment demonstrations in Nakskov on their poster for the national election of 1932. In this respect, the Scandinavian situation was very different to that in Germany, for instance, where only the KPD had used photomontage at the time the first Danish posters appeared.55 Andersson’s May Day issue of Morgonbris was the first printed at Bröderna Lagerström, who from this issue onwards became its regular printer at the expense of Arbetarnas Tryckeri (The Workers’ Printing House). Bröderna Lagerström’s involvement meant that Morgonbris’ typography corresponded closely to Hugo Lagerström’s modified form of New Typography, described in Chapter 2. Bold upper-case Bodoni was used for the masthead, which from 1932 onwards was set in lower-case. Headings were set in either Bodoni, Erbar Grotesk or Breite Halbfette Grotesk, and Mediæval was used for running text. However, when asked to comment on the design, Lagerström did not focus on the journal’s visual attributes but on the technical advances that made its production possible. Morgonbris was set by machine, which allowed thinner and sharper letterforms to be used for running text. Improved presses made it easier to fill the journal with many, and large, illustrations. Improved paper stocks made it possible to print images as well as text on uncoated paper.56 In other words, Morgonbris was not only modern in appearance but also technically advanced. Eva Åsén Ekstrand has identified how formal or thematic aspects of photographs and montages originating in publications such as Vu and AIZ were reinterpreted to suit Swedish circumstances when applied to Morgonbris’ covers.57 A particularly memorable example was that which was also used as a poster for 1932’s national election (Figure 5.16). Its image was clearly derived from El Lissitzky’s poster for the Russian Exhibition held in Zurich three years earlier (Figure 5.17). The powerful motif of a boy and girl fused together, gazing expectantly and open mouthed into the future with the letters USSR running across their conjoined forehead, symbolized the equal roles genders were to play in the new, utopian society which was being created in Russia. As mentioned in the section on constructivism in Chapter 1, and the discussion around Per Kjellén’s photograph for Futurum in Chapter 3, the low camera angle used is

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Figure 5.16  Kaj Andersson: Front cover of Morgonbris 27, no. 9 (1932) © Silvia Hagberg, 2020. Photograph by KvinnSam, Gothenburg University Library. Item held by KvinnSam, Gothenburg University Library.

a trope originating with Alexander Rodchenko. Rodchenko wanted to use the camera’s ‘mechanical eye’ to strip away Western notions of perspective as part of a project to re-educate the socialist individual.58 His argument was that ‘in order to accustom people to seeing from new viewpoints it is essential to take photographs of everyday, familiar subjects from completely unexpected vantage points and in completely unexpected positions’.59 However, the Swedish poster was not a thoughtless copy. It sensitively appropriated the fused eye motif into a local context. While Lissitzky’s poster shows the figures floating above the Russian Exhibition’s architecture in the dream-like soft tones of the gravure print, the Swedish one shows them set over a functionalist housing development. This, along with the accompanying text, sees Lissitzky’s boy and girl reconceived as a young couple situated in the

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Figure 5.17  El Lissitzky: ‘Russische Ausstellung’, poster for Zurich Museum of Art and Design (1929). Photograph by Zurich University of the Arts (ZHdK), Museum for Design Zurich. Item held by Zurich University of the Arts (ZHdK), Museum for Design Zurich.

realities of family life, rather than the dream of a utopian society, something their tight-lipped determination and the crisp image quality attest to.60 This is entirely in accord with Acceptera’s closing statement which, as discussed in Chapter 4, also rejected the utopian dream in favour of ‘looking reality in the eye’.

The Norwegian Labour Party’s response to Nazi propaganda The events of 1933, when Adolf Hitler’s National Socialists came to power in Germany, had an immediate impact on Scandinavian politics and approaches

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to visual design. That year a national election was held in Norway. Following the Nazis’ example, the newly founded fascist party National Unity (Nasjonal Samling, or NS), introduced propaganda elements such as the sun cross (or St. Olav’s cross), uniforms and salutes to Norwegian political campaigning.61 A photographic poster featuring party leader Vidkun Quisling’s (1887–1945) portrait also formed part of the campaign. This was the first time a party leader’s portrait had been used for a poster in Scandinavia. The precedent was also here set by the Nazis, who had used Hitler’s portrait on an election poster the previous year.62 Although National Unity was only ever a marginal force in Norway during the 1930s, failing to gain any mandates in either of the national elections they participated in (1933 and 1936), their 1933 campaign had a profound effect. The advertising journal Propaganda judged it to be the best of all the efforts that year, and the Norwegian Labour Party took particular note of the methods used.63 Leading Labour Party members were unnerved by the Nazis’ rapid rise to power in Germany, a fact they largely put down to the ‘excellent use of propaganda’.64 Naturally, they didn’t want the same scenario to repeat itself in Norway. Ahead of the following year’s local elections, the Labour Party therefore reassessed and intensified its propaganda efforts.65 Unlike National Unity, where the appearance of graphic materials was controlled by its head of propaganda Walter Fyrst (1901–93) in accordance with the fascist ‘leader-principle’,66 the Labour Party relied on local groups to create their own materials. Spreading the new ideas to party members was therefore crucial. To this end the party published a special issue of its periodical Det 20de Århundre (The 20th Century) devoted to propaganda.67 Its educational division, the Workers’ Educational Society (Arbeidernes Opplysningsforbund, AOF), also created an agitprop manual which was distributed to local elected representatives.68 The manual was edited by Håkon Lie (1905–2009), who was also head of the Workers’ Educational Society. It contained chapters written by Lie and other senior party members on various aspects of campaigning. One of these chapters, authored by commercial artist and photographer Thor Wiborg (1903–85), contained guidance on commissioning and creating posters and other printed materials.69 The Norwegian Labour Party’s new approach to propaganda was informed by theories proposed in Sergej Tschachotin’s (1883–1973) book Trepil Mod Hagekors (Three Arrows Against the Swastika, 1933). Tschachotin was a Russian émigré who had worked on propaganda for the Iron Front – a militant organization affiliated with the Social Democratic Party of Germany (SPD). In 1933, he fled to Denmark, where he briefly became a member of the Danish Social Democrats.70 In Trepil Mod Hagekors he detailed his work in Germany, where had argued that the SPD should learn from the Nazis’ propaganda success and emulate their methods by focusing on emotional rather than rational appeal. To this end, he invented the ‘three arrows’ symbol which could be used to cross out the swastika in a ‘battle of symbols’.71

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Writing in a pamphlet titled ‘Om Bruken av Hammermerket’ (On the Use of the Hammer Mark), Lie argued that the three arrows symbol had been introduced too late in Germany because by that time ‘the National Socialists had already flooded the country with their symbol’.72 The Norwegian Labour Party therefore urgently needed a symbol of its own, and had chosen the hammer. For Lie, the hammer was a good symbol because it was associated with labour on the one hand, and a historical use as a weapon on the other: ‘The hammer mark shows our willingness to engage in struggle, our willingness to strike when needed. But more than this it shows our willingness to work and build!’73 Lill-Ann Jensen, a writer on the Norwegian labour movement, has suggested there was also another possible reason for the choice of symbol. At this point in time, the Soviet Union was still highly regarded by many Labour Party sympathizers. As such, the similarity between ‘the hammer marque’ and ‘the hammer and sickle’ may be the result of an attempt to jostle for position, and thereby votes, with the Norwegian Communist Party as the foremost communicator of Soviet ideas.74 Jensen’s observation points to a significant difference between the German and Norwegian political contexts. Tschachotin had refrained from using the hammer and sickle precisely because he thought its associations with communism would lead the majority of Social Democrats to reject it.75 As part of the increased focus on propaganda, the Labour Party made a concerted effort to reach out to women. Although some twenty years had passed since Norway granted women suffrage in 1913, as the first Scandinavian country to do so, the party considered that there was a lack of participation in political life among women resulting from a lack of education on political matters. In 1934, the Workers’ Educational Society therefore established a women’s committee.76 Many of the committee’s printed materials were designed by Sverre Ørn-Evensen (1905–68). Ørn-Evensen had trained as a compositor, but also worked as a journalist and illustrator, and was closely connected to the trade union movement.77 His involvement began already with the committee’s first publication, Johanne Reutz’s Kvinnene til Socialismen! (Women to Socialism!, 1934) (plate 5.3). Ørn-Evensen’s cover design depicted a young woman, set against a solid red background, shouting out to the viewer with her hand held to her mouth. The title was lettered in a particular style of expressive sans-serif advocated by Wiborg in the agitprop manual, and arranged so that it seemed to reverberate from the woman’s mouth.

The photographic poster enters mainstream political culture In 1936 national elections were held in both Norway and Sweden. In Norway, photography and montage were used with the exception of commercial artist

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Alf Ellingsen’s (1900–68) anti-war poster ‘Nei!’ (No!), largely restricted to ØrnEvensen’s posters and election materials for the party’s women’s and youth groups. A well-known example is Ørn-Evensen’s poster ‘Deg Venter Vi På!’ (We Are Waiting For You!) (Figure 5.18). Here, portraits of smiling women of different ages were montaged into a dynamic composition and paired with lettering executed in a handwritten style, presumably to instil a sense of personal connection (Figure 5.18). The use of photography and photomontage in Norway remained restricted to the Labour Party and was carried out almost entirely by artists who shared the party’s political aims. The exception was, once again, Ellingsen whose political sympathies were with the Conservatives.78

Figure 5.18  Sverre Ørn-Evensen: ‘Deg Venter Vi På!’, poster for the Norwegian Labour Party’s Women’s Federation (1936) © the Norwegian Labour Party, 2020. Photograph by the Norwegian Labour Movement Archives and Library. Item held by the Norwegian Labour Movement Archives and Library.

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In Sweden, where the trend towards incorporating these techniques into modern commercial art practice had been most pronounced, the situation was different. Although Kaj Andersson continued to produce materials for the Social Democratic Women in Sweden as editor of Morgonbris, photography and montage were now taken up by a number of different parties who turned to professional commercial artists, rather than their own activists, to create their promotional materials. This was even the case in arguably the most evocative poster designed for the Swedish Social Democratic Party that year, ‘Framtidsfolket Röstar Med Arbetarepartiet’ (The Future-People Vote With the Labour Party) (Figure 5.19), which was created by Karin Ageman (1899–1950)

Figure 5.19  Karin Ageman and Bror Bjurberg: ‘Framtidsfolket Röstar Med Arbetarepartiet’, poster for the Swedish Social Democratic Party (1936). Photograph by the National Library of Sweden. Item held by the National Library of Sweden.

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and Bror Bjurberg (1902–92). The poster once again revisited the motif used by Lissitzky for the Russian Exhibition in Zürich. This time, the young man and woman were no longer fused, but individuals looking each their way into the future. Ageman was a commercial artist working at the Esselte advertising agency in Stockholm at the time. For the 1936 election she also produced posters for the main opposition party, the conservative Swedish Unity (Svensk Samling). One of these posters, ‘For Kyrka Och Kristen Tro’ (For Church and Christianity), was photographically based and shared many formal characteristics with the poster created for the Swedish Social Democratic Party. Both feature a male and female figure set against a free-flowing airbrushed area of colour and also share similar styles of lettering. However, their photographic styles differed. The young figures in the social democratic poster are brightly lit, like the avantgarde films which had impressed Kaj Andersson, and shot using the previously discussed constructivist trope of the low camera angle. Seen alongside the poster’s headline, the woman’s smile and the man’s confident expression, these elements combine to convey a sense of assured optimism in the future of the social democratic movement. The figures in the Swedish Unity poster on the other hand, presumably a grandmother and her grandson representing tradition being carried forward, were shot at eye-height using naturalistic lighting. An illustration of a church further served to create a naturalistic impression by providing a sense of depth and perspective. Lastly, the muted, almost resigned, expressions lent the poster a strange and somewhat disconcerting air. Perhaps it was meant to convey the threat Conservatives felt their values were under from the Social Democrats. A number of the party’s leaflets also made use of photography in a modern commercial art style. Swedish Unity was attempting to reverse a decade-long decline in votes, by investing much more heavily in its propaganda efforts than it did previously.79 In fact, it commissioned a higher number of photographic leaflets of the campaign than any other party. Despite these efforts the election proved another failure for them.80 Swedish Unity were not the only non-socialist party to choose the new photographic commercial art aesthetic for their posters and other materials. The Liberal People’s Party (Folkpartiet) commissioned a series of slick photographic posters for their campaign from Anders Beckman. As demonstrated in Chapter 3, photography had by this point been taken up as part of the modern style used by commercial artists. That conservative and liberal parties were willing to have materials produced using a photographic rhetoric originating with the radical groups within the labour movement, and ultimately in the Soviet Union, shows how integrated and depoliticized the use of photomontage and unusual camera angles had become in Swedish advertising work. The last national elections to be held in Norway and Sweden before the Second World War were in 1936. While neutral Sweden held two elections

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during the war, a government of national unity served throughout this period and campaigning was limited.81 Denmark held one more election, in 1939. However, there is no evidence of photography being taken up by the political parties on a large scale in this election. The most notable photographic contribution was a flyer issued by the Conservative People’s Party (Det Konservative Folkeparti) (plate 5.4). The flyer consciously adopted the verbal and visual rhetoric of the left in order to appeal to the working classes. The focus on unemployment and use of loaded terms like ‘comrades’ is matched by an asymmetric sans-serif design and a young man posing with the clenched fist of labour movement struggle. This was the same clenched fist used by the Danish Social Democratic Party when it introduced the photograph to Scandinavian political campaigning ten years earlier.82 The Social Democratic parties in Scandinavia were able to adapt the visual language, and the associations they wanted this to evoke, to different types of audiences. This section has argued the use of photography and photomontage in Scandinavian political graphics was largely the preserve of social democratic women’s and youth groups. Daniela Büchten has noted that the future Norwegian labour politician and diplomat Dag Bryn (1909–91) in 1934 commented that young people were an important target group for the Norwegian Labour Party. Büchten argues that the prevalence of young people in the party’s propaganda was therefore no coincidence, as ‘they symbolize at once the hope for the future and the development of a new socialist human being’.83 To this it may be added that the prominence of women, and the willingness of women’s groups to pioneer the use of photomontage in Scandinavian political graphics, was no coincidence either. In her call for women to join the socialist cause, Reutz contrasted the differing views of women held by the Nazis and Soviets. Whereas the former saw men as only soldiers and women as nothing more than breeding stock, the latter’s views, which promoted complete equality in political, social and economic terms, were considered ‘so modern and liberated’ that they would ‘stand as a model for all cultured states in the future’.84 Considering the deep admiration for the Soviet achievements and the associated hopes of achieving a similar level of gender equality held under a Labour Party government against the backdrop of the heightened tensions following the Nazis rise to power in 1933, it is not surprising that it was the women’s groups which turned most readily to photomontage with its Soviet associations.

Conclusion This chapter has discussed how the New Typography was used by individuals, groups and organizations of the political left: the Swedish Cooperative Society, avant-gardists like Vilhelm Bjerke Petersen and the circles around Spektrum

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and Monde as well as the Social Democratic parties and their youth and women’s groups. It has shown how printing houses like Bröderna Lagerström and Nordlundes Bogtrykkeri were able to significantly affect the designs of publications like Spektrum and Symboler i Abstrakt Kunst. Encouraged by their avant-garde clients, these printers applied versions of the New Typography which lay closer to its ‘wild’ origins than those used for most of their commercial work. However, they did not completely abandon their ideas of what a domesticated New Typography should be. The result was designs which can be considered ‘wild’ in a Scandinavian commercial context but also quite tame in relation to avant-garde work produced elsewhere. While text could not be typeset without the assistance of a compositor and a printing house, photomontages could easily be created by the avantgardists themselves. Because photomontages were little used in a commercial context while being easy to produce, the Monde group were able to create a discrete zone for this medium in Denmark. Used on the covers of their books, photomontage was able to retain its communist associations. In Norway and Sweden, photomontage similarly occupied a discrete zone in the materials created for the Social Democratic parties’ youth and women’s groups. By being limited to a discrete zone, the medium was uniquely suitable for those groups of the Social Democratic parties who wished to appeal to voter groups holding more positive associations to the Soviet Union than the population at large. Women, in the form of the ‘rational consumer’, were also the intended audience for the ads and graphic materials created by the Swedish Cooperative Society. Through the application of its functionalist house style, the Cooperative Society created a discrete zone for kleinschreibung in Sweden to the extent that the use of bold lower-case sans-serif typography eliminated the need for identifying elements like the society’s name or graphic marque to be used. Given the importance ascribed to the Cooperative Society by Marquis Childs in terms of forging a middle way between communism and capitalism, it seems particularly noteworthy that this organization did not seek to significantly modify the New Typography, but on the contrary, incorporated it in its ‘wild’ form.

Notes 1 Marquis Childs. Sweden: The Middle Way (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1936), p. 21. Although Childs largely focused on Sweden, as he considered it the better example, his book also includes discussions of Danish and Norwegian developments. 2 The Norwegian Social Democrat Finn Moe (1902–71) claimed Childs’ perspective was ‘based upon a series of illusions’, and that ‘socialists in Sweden, in Denmark and in Norway do not believe [. . .] a compromise between capitalism and socialism

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is possible’. See: Finn Moe. Does Norwegian Labour Seek the Middle Way? L.I.D. Pamphlet Series (New York: The League for Industrial Democracy, 1937), pp. 3, 10. 3 Luthersson. Svensk litterär modernism, p. 208. 4 David Revere McFadden. ‘Scandinavian Modern: A Century in Profile’, in Scandinavian Modern Design 1880–1980, ed. David Revere McFadden (New York: Harry N. Abrams, 1982), pp. 13–14. 5 Jeremy Aynsley. Nationalism and Internationalism: Design in the 20th Century (Victoria & Albert Museum, 1993), p. 42. 6 Gram. ‘När typografin blev “modern”’, p. 60. 7 Peder Aléx. Den rationella konsumenten: KF som folkuppfostrare 1899–1939 (Stockholm & Stehag: B. Österlings Bokförlag & Symposion, 1994), p. 115. 8 Råberg. Funktionalistisk genombrott. 2nd edn, pp. 62–3. 9 Lisa Brunnström. Den rationella fabriken: Om funktionalismens rötter (Umeå: Dokuma, 1990), pp. 190–200. 10 For more on this aspect of the architectural practice’s activity, see: Lisa Brunnström. Det svenska folkhemsbygget: Om Kooperativa förbundets arkitektkontor (Stockholm: Arkitektur förlag, 2004), pp. 177–205. 11 Ibid., p. 49. 12 Le Corbusier. ‘Five Points Towards a New Architecture (1926)’, in Programs and Manifestos on 20th-Century Architecture, ed. Ulrich Conrads (Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 1971), pp. 99–101. 13 Brunnström. Det svenska folkhemsbygget, pp. 53–5. 14 Childs. Sweden, p. 14. 15 ‘2:dra kvartalets bästa annons, reklamtryck, affisch’. Tidskrift För Affärsekonomi 4, no. 12 (1931): p. 605. 16 This is asserted by Maurtiz Bonow in the article ‘How Swedish Co-operatives Advertise – and Why’, which appeared in October 1938’s edition of Printers’ Ink. The article is reprinted in: Knut Krantz and Gunnar Ryberger, eds. Co-op reklam i Sverige under ett kvarts sekel: Annonser, affischer, plakat, broschyrer, varumärken, förpackningar, firmanamn, utställningar, skyltningar m.m. (Kooperativa förbundet bokförlag, 1955), pp. 43–8. 17 Elin Gardeström. Reklam och propaganda under svenskt 1930-tal. Södertörn Academic Studies 74 (Huddinge: Södertörns Högskola, 2018), pp. 126, 134. 18 Aléx. Den rationella konsumenten, p.143–4. 19 Per Albin Hansson. ‘Folkhemmet, Medborgarhemmet’, in Demokrati: Tal Och Uppsatser (Stockholm: Tiden, 1935), pp. 19–32. Hansson here co-opted the term ‘people’s home’, which had previously been used by conservative political scientists like Rudolf Kjellén (1864–1922). 20 Helena Mattsson. ‘Designing the Reasonable Consumer: Standardisation and Personalisation in Swedish Functionalism’, in Swedish Modernism: Architecture, Consumption and the Welfare State, eds. Helena Mattsson and Sven-Olov Wallenstein (Black Dog Publishing, 2010), pp. 74–99, 79. 21 Gardeström. Reklam och propaganda, p. 138. 22 Krantz and Ryberger. Co-op reklam, p. 6.

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23 For details on Willner and ‘the six-line ad’: Ibid., pp. 82–3. 24 From 26 mins: ‘Vi Har Melodin’. Filmarkivet. http:​/​/www​​.film​​arkiv​​et​.se​​/sv​/F​​ilm/?​​mov​ ie​​id​=59​9 (Accessed 25 May 2016). 25 Robin Kinross. ‘Introduction to the English-Language Edition’, in The New Typography, by Jan Tschichold (Berkeley, Los Angeles and London: University of California Press, 2006), pp. xv–xliv, xvii. 26 Burke. Active Literature, pp. 48, 130. 27 This is, for instance, the case in Steinitz’ account of Paul Vogt’s work on Die Scheuche. See: Richard Hollis. ‘The Avant-Garde: Reproducing Ideas’, in A Machine for Communicating: Around the Avant-Garde Idea of New Typography, eds. Paulina Kurz-Maj and Daniel Muzyczuk (Łódź: Muzeum Sztuki, 2015), p. 53. 28 Announced by Barbusse in Humanité, 10 May 1919. Quoted in: Nicole Racine. ‘The Clarté Movement in France 1919–21’. Journal of Contemporary History 2, no. 2 (1967): p. 200. 29 Johan Svedjedal. Spektrum: Den svenska drömmen. Tidskrift och förlag i 1930– talets kultur. E-book (Stockholm: Wahlström & Widstrand, 2011), pp. 41–2. 30 Ibid., pp. 64–5. 31 Ibid., p. 64. 32 Ibid., p. 425. 33 Lena Johannesson. ‘Funkis utan hus: Om den grafiska funktionalismen och arbetarrörelsens publicistiska formspråk’, in Arbetarrörelse och arbetarkultur: Bild och självbild, eds. Lena Johannesson, Ulrika Kjellmann and Birgitta Skarin Frykman. (Stockholm: Carlsson, 2007), pp. 302–6. 34 Gitte Tandrup. Zigzag Mod Solen: Udviklingslinjer i Vilhelm Bjerke Petersens Billeder og Skrifter (Aarhus: Aarhus Universitetsforlag, 1998), p. 112. 35 See, for instance: Vilhelm Bjerke Petersen. Surrealismen: Livsanskuelse. Livsutfoldelse. Kunst (København: Illums bog–afdeling, 1934), pp. 68–9. 36 For a reading of the symbolism behind the use of lines on this cover, see: Tandrup, Zigzag mod solen, p. 49. 37 S. S-z. ‘Boganmeldelser: Symbolsk og kubistisk’, p. 16. 38 ‘Traditionsbundet eller modernt’. Svensk reklam 4 (1932): unpaginated. 39 The money received from subscriptions did not cover print costs and issues therefore made a loss when the group was unable to cover the deficit with advertising income and single copy sales. They relied on loans, donations and membership fees to keep afloat See: Olav Harsløf. Mondegruppen: Kampen om kunsten og socialismen i Danmark 1928–32 (København: Museum tusclulanums forlag & Københavns universitet, 1997), pp. 232, 237. 40 Ibid., p. 170. 41 Ibid., p. 569. 42 Captioned as such in: ‘108 Trykprøver’. De grafiske Fag 26, Jubilæums-nummer (October 1930): p. 48. 43 ‘Et Aars Arbejde’. Forsøgsscenen 2, no. 12 (April 1930).

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44 Morten Thing. Kommunismens kultur: DKP og de intellektuelle 1918–1960 (København: Tiderne skifter, 1993), p. 734. 45 Michael Fjeldsøe. Kulturradikalismens musikk (København: Det kongelige bibliotek & Museum tusculanums forlag, 2013), p. 168. 46 ‘Fotomontage som politisk Kunst’, in Fotomontage. Social Kunst 8 (Oslo & København: Fram forlag & Mondes forlag, 1932), unpaginated. 47 Edvard Heiberg. 2 Vær. straks (København: Mondes forlag under medvirkning af sosialistisk arkitektgruppe, 1935), p. 6. 48 In Sweden too, the first use of photomontage in political campaign materials would be made by the Social Democrats for a local election. This was Ivar Starkenberg’s (1886–1947) poster ‘Spår efter 10 års arbetarestyre’ (Traces of Ten Years Labour Rule, 1931). 49 ‘Moderne Agitation’. Dansk reklame 3 (1929): unpaginated. 50 Mariann Brandt, Jan Graulund and Dorthe Wendt. Socialdemokratisk agitation & propaganda i mellemkrigstiden: En undersøgelse af den fremvoksende socialdemokratiske agitation og propaganda i 20’erne og 30’erne med henblik på dens betydning for den faglige, kulturelle og parlamentariske udvikling (Århus: Forlaget skansen, 1979), pp. i, 50. 51 Tidevarvet 9, no. 7: Med bilaga, Vi kvinnor i fabriken (14 February 1931). 52 Quoted in: Per Schwanbom. Hon gjorde tidningar med själ: Publicisten Kaj Andersson. (Stockholm: Per Schwanbom, 2003), p. 28. 53 Eva Ekstrand. ‘Kaj Anderssons Morgonbris. Kvinnopress, trettiotal och längtan efter fri tid’ (PhD thesis, Umeå University, Department of Culture and Media, 2002), p. 72. 54 For a discussion of these two journals, see: Katerina Romanenko. ‘Photomontage for the Masses: The Soviet Periodical Press of the 1930s’. Design Issues 26, no. 1 (2010): pp. 29–39. 55 At least to judge by the survey: Rainer Schoch, Klaus Wolbert, Reiner Diederich and Richard Grübling. Politische Plakate der weimarer Republik: 1918–1933 (Darmstadt: Hessisches Landesmuseum, 1980). 56 Hugo Lagerström. ‘Morgonbris och den moderna typografin’. Morgonbris 30, no. 11 (1934): p. 23. 57 Eva Åsén Ekstrand. ‘Fotomontaget som politiskt vapen: Kaj Andersson i trettiotalets “Morgonbris”’, in Nya röster: Svenska kvinnotidskrifter under 150 år (Möklinta: Gidlund, 2014), pp. 113ff. 58 ‘Mechanical eye’ is a phrase borrowed from the film director Dziga Vertov. On Rodchenko’s ideas on perspective and angles in photography see: Christina Lodder. Russian Constructivism (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1983), pp. 202–3. 59 Rodchenko. ‘The Paths of Modern Photography’, p. 261. 60 That the couple’s facial expressions can be seen in this light is claimed in: Ekstrand. ‘Fotomontaget som politiskt vapen’, p. 124. 61 Hans Fredrik Dahl. ‘Parti og plakat under NS–regimet’, in Parti og plakat: NS 1933–1945, eds. Tom B. Jensen and Hans Fredrik Dahl. Ny forøket utgave (Oslo: Historisk forlag, 2005), p. 8.

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62 Kjell Norvin. ‘Plakaten som propaganda’, in Parti og plakat: NS 1933–1945, eds. Tom B. Jensen, Hans Fredrik Dahl. Ny forøket utgave (Oslo: Historisk forlag, 2005), p.26 63 Dahl. ‘Parti og plakat under NS-regimet’, p. 8. 64 Håkon Lie. ‘Om bruken av hammermerket’, in Håndbok i agitasjon og propaganda (Oslo: Arbeidernes oplysningsforbund, 1934), p. 3. 65 Lill-Ann Jensen. ‘I hammerens tegn: Nye agitasjons- og propagandaformer i norsk arbeiderbevegelse på 1930-tallet’. Arbeiderhistorie (2002): p. 107. 66 Propagandasjefen. ‘Den nye arbeidsdag’. Førerbladet: Praktisk og teoretisk tidsskrift for N.S. tillidsmenn 2 (February 1934): p. 5. 67 Det 20nde århundre, no. 6 (June 1934). 68 Håkon Lie, ed. Håndbok i agitasjon og propaganda (Oslo: Arbeidernes oplysningsforbund, 1934). The manual was republished for the 1936 and 1938 elections, and a revised edition appeared in 1946. 69 Thor Wiborg. ‘Plakater og trykksaker’, in Håndbok i agitasjon og propaganda, ed. Håkon Lie (Oslo: Arbeidernes oplysningsforbund, 1934), pp. 90–115. 70 Brandt et al. Socialdemokratisk agitation & propaganda, pp. 189–95. 71 Sergei Tschachotin. Trepil mod hagekors (København: Frem–forlag, 1933). 72 Lie. ‘Om bruken av hammermerket’, p. 2. 73 Ibid., p. 4. 74 Jensen. ‘I hammerens tegn’, pp. 101–19. 75 Tschachotin. Trepil mod hagekors, p. 14. 76 ‘Arbeiderkvinner – Fram for Frihet!’. Typografiske meddelelser 59 (1934): pp. 384–5. 77 Daniela Büchten, ed. Propaganda! Russian and Norwegian Posters 1920-1939 (Oslo: Nasjonalbiblioteket & Press, 2013), p. 50. 78 Jorunn Veiteberg. Reklamekunstneren Alf Ellingsen (Oslo: Samlaget, 1988), p. 66. 79 Johan Westrin. Den moderata bilden (Stockholm: Ekerlids förlag, 2008), p. 41. 80 Judging by what has been preserved in the National Library of Sweden’s ephemera collection. 81 Westrin. Den moderata bilden, pp. 47–8. 82 ‘Kammerater’ translates literally as ‘friends’, but is here clearly used in the Socialist sense. 83 Büchten. Propaganda!, p. 214. 84 Johanne Reutz. Kvinnene til sosialismen! (Arbeidernes opplysningsforbunds kvinnekomité, 1934), pp. 6, 23.

6 ASSIMILATION

This final short chapter looks at what happened to the New Typography in Scandinavia during the Second World War. On 9 April 1940 Germany launched an attack on Denmark and Norway. The Danish campaign was over in a matter of hours, while battles in Norway continued for two months. Both countries remained under Nazi occupation until the end of the war. However, the nature of occupation differed. While Denmark enjoyed the relative freedom of being ruled as a ‘model protectorate’, Norway suffered harsher conditions. Although the New Typography eventually lost ground completely in both countries, Danish printers were initially able to develop it further, resulting in a late flourish in the shape of Henry Thejls’ textbook Asymmetri i Typografi (Asymmetry in Typography, 1943). Sweden stayed neutral throughout the war, and typographic development was therefore able to continue uninterrupted. As such, Sweden provides a comparative instance to neutral Switzerland, where the New Typography was developed into the international typographic style, also known simply as ‘Swiss typography’. In Sweden, the New Typography developed along other lines, resulting in a style which like, the new empiricism in architecture, was guided by the philosophy of functionalism but took its visual cues from historical models.

The New Typography under occupation After they came to power in Germany in 1933, the Nazis accelerated a process of Gleichschaltung. The term translates literally as ‘making same’, but is perhaps better understood as ‘cultural alignment’.1 As part of the Gleichschaltung process, party members were inserted into leadership positions where they adapted the organization’s policy to reflect that of the party. For instance, the Educational Union of German Printers was taken over and integrated into the Nazi trade union, the German Labour Front (Deutsche Arbeitsfront). In turn this led to the closure of Typographische Mitteilungen. The New Typography was, like other expressions of modernism, labelled ‘degenerate’ and was considered

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an example of ‘cultural bolshevism’. Fraktur was declared the German type, or Volksschrift. As a result of persecution, leading New Typographers like Heartfield, Moholy-Nagy, Schwitters and Tschichold fled into exile. Many of those who remained, like Renner and Willi Baumeister, were prevented from carrying on with their work and entered a state of ‘inner emigration’.2 According to Hans Peter Willberg, most compositors adapted to the new rules. As a result, German typography quickly became associated with fraktur, centred compositions and ‘curly ornamentation’.3 However, this does not mean that all printed materials were set in blackletter after 1933. Even materials produced for the National Socialists themselves varied in style.4 Herbert Bayer was allowed to continue practicing modernist design, for instance.5 While Bayer’s case has been held up as an exception,6 materials reproduced in Patrick Rössler’s book New Typographies: Bauhaus and Beyond (2018) show this was not necessarily so.7 To further complicate the picture, fraktur was banned by the Nazis in 1941, whereupon roman was made the new standard letter. The official reason for this u-turn was the discovery that fraktur was not a German letter after all but had been created by Jews. This claim had no historical foundation. It is now widely agreed that the real reason for changing from fraktur to roman was that people living in nations now occupied by the Nazis were unaccustomed to the blackletter type, and therefore had difficulty reading it. In order to exercise their power efficiently, it was necessary for the Nazis to use type forms which could be understood internationally.8

Occupied Norway In Norway, Vidkun Quisling’s (1887–1945) puppet regime imposed a Gleichschaltung-like process known as Nazification. Cultural institutions had new leaders appointed and were used actively to promote Nazi ideals.9 For instance, the National Gallery in Oslo held an exhibition titled Kunst og Ukunst (Art and Un-art) in 1942, modelled on the notorious degenerate art exhibition held in Munich in 1937. Newspapers were taken over, shut down or made subject to censorship.10 Trade unions were dissolved and replaced with Nazified versions known as rikslaug (national guilds). Paper rationing was imposed on newspapers and journals. In March 1942, it was announced that the amount of paper used was to be reduced by half. Six months later the allowance was reduced by a further third. This led to a reduction in page count and print run. It also affected typographic design. Seeking to maintain the amount of content offered to the reader, text was often set solid, in small type sizes and with small margins. Ads were reduced in size and the country’s largest paper, Aftenposten, banned the use of ornaments and frames because they took up unnecessary space on the page.11 Under such harsh material conditions

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Figure 6.1  Front cover of Norsk Boktrykk Kalender 1943. Photograph by the author. Item held by the Norwegian National Library.

and restrictive political reality, it was difficult for the New Typography to thrive. Even so, examples can be found. Although its text pages were unremarkable, the cover and title page of Norsk Boktrykk Kalender’s 1943 edition featured asymmetric ragged right typography, set in lower-case sans-serif (Figure 6.1).

Occupied Denmark In Denmark, the experience of occupation was less severe, at least until the Germans introduced martial law following the August Uprising of 1943. Before this, Denmark was ruled as a German ‘model protectorate’ under which its

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institutions were allowed to continue managing internal affairs with relatively little interference. This relative freedom extended to the cultural sphere. Modernist artists, such as those associated with the Helhesten (Hell-Horse) group like Asger Jorn (1914–73), were allowed to practice, exhibit and publish. The Helhesten group’s self-titled journal, published between 1941 and 1944, openly discussed Danish and international modernism alongside ‘low’ and popular art forms.12 Up until 1943, press censorship was carried out by the Danish authorities and was relatively lenient. Nevertheless, the Danish government had as early as 1934 started restricting criticism of Nazism and fascism in the press in fear of upsetting ‘the good relationship with our southerly neighbour’.13 Following Hitler’s attack on the Soviet Union in 1941, the Communist Party of Denmark was banned, and its paper Arbejderbladet closed. While conditions in Denmark were less severe than elsewhere, the population was only too aware that they could worsen at any time. As the Helhesten group wrote to the Museum of Modern Art in New York after the war, ‘No one during the occupation knew if and when actual persecution might be effectuated.’14 The uncertainty of the political climate meant it was prudent to be cautious, and this led to self-censorship and the destruction of dangerous items. For instance, Broby-Johansen recalled that he prepared himself for potential searches by burning books and journals he thought might incriminate him in the eyes of the Nazis. Of his complete AIZ collection, he only dared keep the few pages he could fit into a hiding place under the roof tiles.15 Despite the unstable situation, and perhaps aided by the relatively permissive situation in Denmark during the first years of occupation, 1943 saw the publication of Henry Thejls’ textbook Asymmetri i Typografi. This book brought together key aspects of the New Typography’s development in Denmark over the past fifteen years. Divided into five sections it covered issues of typographic detailing, Thejls’ own ‘plastic typography’, Rudolf Engel-Hardt’s ideas of harmony, type contrasts and Wilhelm Ostwald’s (1853–1932) colour theory. The latter had been taught at the Compositors’ Technical Cooperative from its founding in 1931. A final section contained a series of examples designed by compositor Paul Schmidt. However, a change of attitude towards the New Typography was evident in the title. In naming his book Asymmetri i Typografi, Thejls anticipated Ruari McLean’s reasoning for choosing Asymmetric Typography as the title for his 1967 English translation of Tschichold’s Typographische Gestaltung: that ‘all typography must be either asymmetrical or symmetrical’, and that both were ‘perfectly good’.16 Indeed, Thejls had declared asymmetric and symmetric approaches equally valid the previous year, claiming that ‘a one-sided interpretation of the profession to one of these positions is false and harmful towards a natural development’.17 Looking back after the Second World War, Thejls stated that the extreme interpretations of the New Typography were discarded at a relatively early stage in Denmark, ‘in favour of a functional typography more affected by Danish mentality’. According to Thejls, Danish compositors ‘extracted the good elements and let the unusable

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lie. We have to a higher degree come to distinguish between a symmetrical and an asymmetrical typography’.18 Asymmetri i Typography was also notable for a marked change in attitude towards typefaces. In Typographische Gestaltung Tschichold advocated mixing ‘impersonal’ typefaces for emphasis and contrast, a principle Thejls incorporated into his own formulation of ‘plastic typography’. However, Thejls now argued that typefaces should be chosen because they were ‘psychologically correct’. By this term Thejls was referring to what Dutch type historian G. W. Ovink had recently described as ‘atmosphere value’,19 and what Bror Zachrisson would later call ‘congeniality’20 – the degree to which the typeface’s associations matched the subject matter. For instance, Thejls thought it obvious ‘that a Bernhard Script type is not suitable for headings in powerful and masculine ads [. . .] and it is just

Figure 6.2  Henry Thejls: Page design from Asymmetri i Typografi (1943) showing examples of ‘psychologically correct typefaces’. Photograph by the author. Item in the author’s collection.

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as obvious that heavy, slightly lumbering, typefaces are not suitable for elegant and feminine pieces of print’.21 To emphasize his point, Thejls included a series of words set in an appropriate typeface (Figure 6.2). From top to bottom, these read coal, iron, architect, concrete, funkis, glass, neon and Osram (the German lightbulb brand). Coal (kul) was set in a bold sans-serif to express ‘the primitive black effect of a lump of coal’, while shaded letters were an ‘obvious’ choice to advertise light as represented by Osram bulbs. It is notable that Asymmetry i Typografi made no use of sans-serif type, other than in a few examples. Headings were set in a slab-serif or Bauersche Giesserei’s recent script face Legende (Legend, 1937). The copy text was set in roman. These were all combined in the asymmetric composition used for the book’s title page (Figure 6.3). Perhaps Thejls had come to share his former student Kai Pelt’s view that ‘the world of typographic advertising is not for idealists, but for practitioners with a sense for advertising psychology’.22

Figure 6.3  Henry Thejls: Title page of Asymmetri i Typografi (1943). Photograph by the author. Item in the author’s collection.

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A new style in neutral Sweden Sweden stayed neutral throughout the Second World War. Even so, typographic development was affected. With borders closed and postal connections under strain, foreign journals became increasingly difficult to acquire.23 The international exchange of ideas, information and styles which had occurred through the various trade journal networks discussed in this book was thereby brought to a halt. The journals that did make it through were mostly German ones and were clearly affected by rationing.24 Moreover, interest in the New Typography had faded during the late 1930s. From 1937 onwards, the covers of Nordisk Boktryckarekonst show an increased interest in hand-lettering and subsequently also in symmetrical compositions. Examples of work influenced by the New Typography at the School for Book Craft also became steadily fewer, and by 1941 they had disappeared altogether. Students at the School for Book Craft in Stockholm were instead more interested in following an aesthetic promoted by the newly founded School for Book and Advertising Art (Skolan för Bok- och Reklamkonst). This was a small institution led by Jewish émigré Hugo Steiner-Prag (1880–1945). He arrived in Sweden from his native Prague, to which he had returned after his position at the State Academy of Graphic Arts and Book Trade in Leipzig was terminated in 1933. When the Nazis occupied Czechoslovakia, he was once again forced to flee. Steiner-Prag was the sole teacher at the School for Book and Advertising Art, and students received private tuition in lettering and calligraphy from him in German.25 Upon seeing the work displayed at the school’s first end-of-year show in 1940, Lagerström commented that its focus on the letterform was a ‘particularly striking’ feature, suggesting what the students had produced under Steiner-Prag’s tutelage represented a stylistic departure.26 The increased interest in lettering and historical letterforms was noticeable also outside the trade schools, perhaps aided by a 1939 exhibition of English art and design at Liljevalchs Konsthall in Stockholm which included displays by the Curwen Press, the Nonesuch Press and the Society of Scribes and Illuminators.27 It was clear to Lagerström that a new style of typography was emerging in Sweden, driven forward by a new generation of compositors. Their typography was characterized by an increased concern for production values and the selection of the appropriate typeface. This change of focus was most noticeable for book covers, many of which were purely typographic. However, great care was also taken to choose text faces which suited the book’s content, format and purpose. Through the study of historical models, the new generation had been influenced to return to symmetrical compositions with page designs featuring traditionally designed margins and text areas. Rather than making use of type contrasts, they preferred to work with a single typeface – preferably roman – and the variations offered by the use of different type sizes, upper- and lower-case letters and a suitable italic.28

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Although the School for Book and Advertising Art offered training in both jobbing print and book art, it is clear that the new-found interest in letterforms related to an increased interest in the category of the book.29 This is particularly evident in Nordisk Boktryckarekonst’s cover for 1941. Iwan Waloddi Fischerström’s handlettered design reflects the prevailing interest in calligraphic letterforms, and the return to symmetrical composition. Declared as an example of how the roman majuscule, or square capital, could be used for a modern piece of print, its most conspicuous element of the design is the massive emphasis given to ‘bok’ (book): the first compound of the word ‘boktryckarekonst’ (printing, or literally: ‘book printing art’) (Figure 6.4).30 This treatment leaves little doubt as to which category of print the trade now considered to be the most important.

Figure 6.4  Iwan Waloddi Fischerström: Front cover of Nordisk Boktryckarekonst 42, no. 1 (1941). Photograph by the author. Item held by the National Library of Sweden.

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Tradition and progress Despite the traditional features, Lagerström did not consider the new Swedish style to constitute a reversion to the neoclassical typography of the 1910s and 1920s. Historical models were used as a source of inspiration with a far greater freedom than it had back then, he argued, and the typography was planned with a better understanding of functional concerns. The lessons learnt through fifteen years of engagement with the New Typography had not been forgotten. In fact, Lagerström argued that the new Swedish style of the late 1930s and the early 1940s was the result of a developmental process in which the best features of the New Typography had been extracted and amalgamated with those of traditional printing practice. By comparing the typographic style of 1930 with that of 1942, one could see ‘an example of a new style’s development from its first breakthrough to a form well thought out and crystallized by practice’.31 That Lagerström considered Swedish typography to have progressed through the New Typography to a further stage of development is further emphasized by his reaction to seeing early examples of the international typographic style a few years later. With reference to work created by Emil Ruder’s (1914–70) students at the Basel Vocational School (Allgemeine Gewerbeschule Basel), he wrote: It is strange that modern Switzerland is taking up a style, which returns to a bygone age, even more so as the functionalism that emerged in 1925 was far from complete in its design. It is a revival of a typographic style, which we in Sweden have left long ago.32 Because the international typographic style aligned itself with modernism and the new, and the Swedish style aligned itself with historical models and thereby tradition, Lagerström’s position may seem paradoxical today. However, in the years immediately following the Second World War, modernism was in crisis, in printing as in the wider field of architecture and design. To many it looked an exhausted project, and there was little indication of a revival.33 It was not just in Sweden that interest in the New Typography had faded in the years before the war. This was the case in Switzerland too. According to Richard Hollis, ideas of modernist typography were only kept alive there during the Second World War by artists associated with the Allianz group, like Max Bill and Richard Paul Lohse (1902–88).34 Like Nordisk Boktryckarekonst, the Swiss compositors’ union’s trade journal Typographische Monatsblätter (Typographic Monthly) had shown considerable interest in the New Typography during the early 1930s. However, as the decade wore on, it too began to re-adopt traditional design features. Symmetrical compositions replaced asymmetrical ones, sans-serifs were abandoned in favour of roman and on occasion even blackletter type, and wood cuts and hand-drawn illustrations, once again found use.35

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Graphic design histories tend not to explore the post-war crisis in modernism. Instead they emphasize the continuity between the New Typography of the interwar period and the international typographic style of the 1950s and 1960s. To the extent the point of crisis is discussed, it is with reference to the dispute between Max Bill and Jan Tschichold who are positioned as spokesmen for modernism and traditionalism, respectively.36 No interest is shown in Swedish developments, and how the divide illustrated by the Bill-Tschichold dispute played out into the wider printing trade is only alluded to in passing. For instance, Richard Hollis’ Graphic Design: A Concise History (1994) reveals that Ruder ‘was puzzled that this work [the new typography] was considered obsolete’ but does not explain which groups or individuals might hold such views. Tschichold’s typography after 1938 is sometimes described as new traditionalism, a term he introduced to describe the work of the English reform of printing movement associated with The Fleuron and figures like Stanley Morison (1889–1967) and Beatrice Warde (1900–69).37 Although similarities can be found in the visual characteristics of the new Swedish style and new traditionalism, their intellectual histories were markedly different. The New Typography found greater resistance in England than it did in Sweden. Whereas the work of the reform of printing movement can be described as modern in the sense that it made use of contemporaneously revived typefaces and modern methods of production, it was positioned against modernism as practiced on the continent. As discussed in previous chapters, Swedish printers were also critical of modernist ‘excesses’. Nevertheless, they engaged with the New Typography and modified it to suit their purposes. By the early 1940s this ongoing process of domestication led them to believe that the New Typography was a developmental stage they had moved through. Historical models were still relevant, so long as they were applied according to ideas of functionalism.38 A parallel development can be found in Swedish architecture and the domesticated form of modernism known as the new empiricism.39 This name was coined by the Architectural Review to describe the new Swedish style which did not reject the principles of functionalism, but sought to ‘humanize’ its aesthetic and approach technical aspects from a purportedly rational point of view rather than a stylistic or ‘schematic’ basis.40 According to Swedish architectural historian Eva Rudberg, the new empiricism preferred solutions that were cheaper, more accessible or more suited to the Swedish environment than those commonly associated with the functionalist aesthetic derived from Le Corbusier’s ‘Five Points Towards a New Architecture’ (1926). Corbusier’s points called for buildings to be constructed on pilotis to lift them up off the street, to have free ground plans in order to enable easy reorganization of partitions, free façades separated from structural function, horizontal windows to allow equal light for each room and roof gardens to replace the space claimed on the ground.41 The new empiricism, on the other hand, rejected horizontal

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windows in favour of fewer and smaller windows to help preserve heat and make the buildings cheaper to run, and pitched roofs were preferred to flatroof gardens as they were considered better able to combat leaks, facilitate run-off and withstand the weight of snow. More important than these outward characteristics, however, was approaching each project in a ‘truly’ objective manner and taking psychological factors into account. This included applying a more humanized aesthetic than that commonly associated with functionalist architecture through stronger use of colour and by replacing concrete with traditional materials like wood and brick.42 Indeed, Hugo Lagerström himself noted parallels between the new Swedish style in typography and developments in architecture, by referring to an article by Gotthard Johansson describing new tendencies among younger architects to make use of ‘romantic–traditional elements’ in a style of ‘softened functionalism’.43

Conclusion Although the Nazis did not repress modernism in typography totally and although the experiences of the Second World War varied between the three Scandinavian countries, the New Typography was not able to survive in Denmark, Norway or Sweden, given the exceptional conditions endured. In Norway, where rationing and oppression was the most severe, typography was frequently reduced to its most utilitarian and economical forms. In Denmark, conditions were, for the first half of the war at least, more favourable and this allowed for the publication of a book such as Henry Thejls’ Asymmetri i Typografi. While the appearance of a textbook on the New Typography during wartime occupation is extraordinary, it also signalled its complete depoliticization, from a method of recasting society to a question of whether type should be centred or placed freely on the page. During the final years of the war, even this form of the New Typography seems to have lost ground, and compositors instead started looking to traditional methods of composition. In Sweden too, compositors looked to historical models. Here, this shift was framed as a further development towards functionalism rather than a retreat from it. This counterintuitive argument can be seen as the final stage in a process of realignment which can be traced back to the Stockholm Exhibition 1930, in which only the idea of functionalism was preserved and none of its formal characteristics.

Notes 1 Jeremy Aynsley. Graphic Design in Germany 1890-1945 (London: Thames & Hudson, 2000), p. 188. 2 Burke. Paul Renner, p. 151; Stephanie Barron. ‘European Artists in Exile: A Reading between the Lines’, in Exiles Emigres: The Flight of European Artists from Hitler, ed.

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Stephanie Barron (Los Angeles and New York: Los Angeles County Museum of Art and Harry N. Abrams, 1997), p. 14. 3 Hans Peter Willberg. ‘Fraktur and Nationalism’, in Blackletter: Type and National Identity, eds. Peter Bain and Paul Shaw (New York: The Cooper Union for the Advancement of Science and Art, 1998), p. 44. 4 Aynsley. Graphic Design in Germany, p. 189. 5 For a case study of Bayer’s work during this period, see: Ibid., pp. 198–211. 6 Paul Stirton. Jan Tschichold and the New Typography: Graphic Design between the World Wars (New York, New Haven and London: Bard Graduate Center and Yale University Press, 2019), p. 166. 7 Rössler. New Typographies, pp. 194–209. 8 Willberg. ‘Fraktur and Nationalism’, pp. 47–9. 9 Hans Fredrik Dahl. ‘Kulturpolitikken i Norge under NS-staten’, in Proceedings: Den andra nordiska konferensen för kulturpolitisk forskning Borås augusti 2005, eds. Anders Frenander and Inga Lalloo (Borås: Högskolan i Borås & Centrum för kulturpolitisk forskning, 2005). 10 Hans Luihn. De illegale avisene: Den frie, hemmelige pressen i Norge under okkupasjonen (Oslo & Bergen: Universitetsforlaget, 1960), pp. 6–8. 11 B. Fagerström. ‘Tidningstypografi i krigstid’. Nordisk boktryckarekonst 43, no. 8 (1942): pp. 299–301. 12 Kerry Greaves. The Danish Avant-Garde and World War II: The Helhesten Collective (New York and London: Routledge, 2019), p. 81. 13 Hans Hertel. ‘Det belejrede og det besatte åndsliv: Kulturkampen omkring fascisme og nazisme i dansk litteratur, presse og kulturdebatt 1920–45’, in Fra mellemkrigstid til efterkrigstid: Festskrift til Hans Kirchhoff og Henrik S. Nissen på 65-årsdagen oktober 1998, eds. Henrik Dethlefsen and Henrik Lundbak (København: Museum tusculanums forlag & Københavns universitet, 1998), p. 42. 14 Letter from the group to the Museum of Modern Art in New York. Quoted in: Greaves. The Danish Avant-Garde and World War II, p. xxii. 15 Broby-Johansen. Sort og rødt, p. 109. 16 Ruari McLean. ‘Translator’s Foreword’, in Asymmetric Typography, by Jan Tschichold (London and Toronto: Faber and Faber / Cooper & Beatty, 1967), p. 10. 17 Henry Thejls. ‘Symmetri / Asymmetri’, in Grafisk Aarbog, eds. Svend Johansen, Fredrik Hjort and Henry Thejls (København: Dansk typograf-forbund, 1942), p. 128. 18 Moegreen, et al. ‘Tschicholds March over Alperne’, p. 52. 19 G. W. Ovink. Legibility, Atmosphere Value & Forms of Printing Types (Leiden: Sijthoff, 1938). 20 Bror Zachrisson. Studies in the Legibility of Printed Text (Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1965), p. 76. 21 Henry Thejls. Asymmetri i Typografi (København: Dansk typograf-forbund, 1943), p. 31. 22 Pelt. ‘Typografisk Revy’, p. 169. 23 For Denmark, see: ‘Impulser fra en rejse’. Grafisk teknik 7, no. 5 (1942): p. 122. That a similar situation applied in Sweden is evident from: ‘Aktuell tysk typografi’. Nordisk boktryckarekonst 43, no. 5 (1942): p. 179.

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24 ‘Aktuell tysk typografi’, p. 179. 25 Skolan för bok- och reklamkonst i Stockholm (Stockholm: Victor Pettersons bokindustriaktiebolag, 1939). 26 H. L. ‘Skolan för bok- och reklamkonst’. Nordisk boktryckarekonst 41, no. 5 (1940): p. 194. 27 Bror Zachrisson. ‘Engelsk typografi: Utställning i Liljevalchs konsthall av engelsk konst och konsthantverk’. Grafiskt forum 44, no. 5 (1939): pp. 131–6. 28 Hugo Lagerström. ‘Den nya typografien: Iakttagelser och reflexioner’. Nordisk boktryckarekonst 43, no. 3 (1942): pp. 85–7. 29 Skolan för bok- och reklamkonst i Stockholm, p. 3. 30 Iwan Fischerström. ‘Om konsten att texta: Några randanteckningar’. Nordisk boktryckarekonst 41, no. 9 (1940): p. 326. 31 Lagerström. ‘Den nya typografien’, p. 87. 32 H. L. ‘“Die baseler Richtung”: En ny, säregen typografisk tendens’. Nordisk boktryckarekonst 48, no. 3 (1947): pp. 98–9. 33 George H. Marcus. Functionalist Design: An Ongoing History (Munich and New York: Prestel-Verlag, 1995), p. 130. 34 Richard Hollis. Swiss Graphic Design: The Origins and Growth of an International Style, 1920–1965 (London: Laurence King Publishing, 2006), p. 119. 35 Ibid., p. 99. 36 English-language translations of these texts pertaining to the Bill-Tschichold dispute can be found in: Typography Papers, no. 4 (2000). The original German texts are reprinted along with a valuable introductory essay in: Hans Rudolf Bosshard. Der Typografiestreit in der Moderne: Max Bill kontra Jan Tschichold (Zürich: Niggli, 2012). The dispute is also mentioned in the following surveys: Cramsie. The Story of Graphic Design, pp. 216, 244–5; Eskilson. Graphic Design: A History, pp. 288–90; Hollis. Graphic Design, p. 130. 37 Jan Tschichold. ‘New Typography’, in Circle: International Survey of Constructive Art, eds. J. L. Martin, Ben Nicholson and N. Gabo (London: Faber and Faber, 1971), pp. 249–55. 38 See: Bror Zachrisson. Functionalism and Traditionalism: Reflections on Problems of Current Interest in the Printing Industry (London: London School of Printing, 1947). 39 ‘The New Empiricism: Sweden’s Latest Style’. Architectural Review CI, no. 606 (1947): p. 199. 40 Ibid. 41 Corbusier. ‘Five Points towards a New Architecture’. 42 Rudberg. ‘Utopia of the Everyday’, pp. 166–70. 43 Quoted in: H. L. ‘En ny tidsstil’. Nordisk boktryckarekonst 43, no. 8 (1942): p. 277.

CONCLUSION

This book has traced the New Typography’s path in Scandinavia, from early avantgarde experiments through to the last contributions made by compositors during the Second World War in Denmark and Sweden. In so doing I have discussed a range of visual examples and theoretical contributions made by a host of Scandinavian practitioners previously unknown to histories of graphic design. The purpose of the book has not only been to expand the geography of the New Typography but also to widen the focus of scholarship in this field from a handful of exceptional individuals to the wider community of practitioners working, often anonymously, across the graphic trades. Thereby, it adds to an emerging body of work seeking a more nuanced understanding of this multifaceted movement. In doing so, I have focused both on the design cultures of these practitioners and on the interaction of these design cultures with cultural currents in society as a whole, viewing the New Typography as a transformative force which not only worked on the culture and practice of practitioners but also through their practice onto society. Publications issued by artists and poets, like Flamman, Pressen, Forsøgsscenen and Spektrum, and materials associated with functionalist architects like Acceptera, all employed versions of the New Typography which lay close to the ‘wild’ originals of the avant-garde. However, these publications did not act as arenas for debates or pronouncements on typography. Mediation was instead conducted through printing journals like De Grafiske Fag, Grafisk Revy, Nordisk Boktryckarekonst and Norsk Trykk. With the exception of Norsk Trykk, these journals, and others besides, used the New Typography in their designs. However, the version of the New Typography used was a domesticated form adapted to suit the abilities, needs and preferences of the commercial printing practice. Domesticated versions of the New Typography also found its expression at trade schools like the School for Book Craft in Stockholm and the Trade School for Book Craft in Copenhagen. It was also discussed and taught by educational societies like the Graphic Society of Oslo and the Compositors’ Technical Cooperative in Copenhagen. As outlined in the introduction, domestication was formulated as an alternative to the innovation-centric theory of diffusion which offers its adopters only a

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binary choice between the adoption and rejection of a technology. Focused on usage rather than innovation, domestication is interested in examining how users actively adapt or modify technologies to make them suit their everyday lives. This book has discussed a number of specific modifications made both to the theory and practice of the New Typography. The most important of these were Hugo Lagerström’s ‘modified form’ – used for the design of Svensk Grafisk Årsbok 1929 and many subsequent publications, Viktor Peterson’s theory of constructive design – which reconciled Tschichold and Rudolf Engel-Hardt’s opposing approaches to typography and was applied to Typografisk Årbog 1935 and Anders Billow’s nine ‘provisional points’ of reformed book design – which retrospectively explained the rationale behind his designs for rotogravure of I Svenska Marker and Svenska Turistföreningens Årsskrift 1932. While compositors and master printers showed the greatest interest in domesticating the New Typography, significant modifications were made also by practitioners from outside the printing trade. Steen Eiler Rasmussen’s design of Britisk Brugskunst was a significant example of functionalism’s realignment away from the typography associated with Tschichold’s ‘Elementare Typographie’ towards the functional tradition, a realignment which made it possible to argue in favour of traditional aesthetics on the grounds of their functionality. Kaj Andersson clearly adapted formal and thematic aspects from international models, like Lissitzky’s poster for the 1929 Russische Ausstellung in Zurich, to suit her message and context, in this case of following Acceptera’s call to ‘look reality in the eye’. I have also paid close attention to the technological and material constraints which applied to practitioners working in the printing and advertising industry, arguing that these are important factors to take into account when explaining why certain adaptations were made and others not. For instance, the reason compositors and commercial artists tended not to make use of photography and photomontage was that platemaking was not part of the compositor’s role and commercial artists were invested heavily in their illustrative skills. Compositors were less able to domesticate this aspect of New Typography and commercial artists, who considered hand-illustrated posters superior to photographic ones, did not think there was any reason to do so. An understanding of such restrictions also allows for a different appreciation of pictorial typography than is the norm. Often dismissed as funkis or ‘pseudo-constructivism’, pictorial typography was one of the few ways in which compositors could create their own images. Rather than a ‘misunderstanding’ of New Typography’s theory and formal principles, it can be seen as a rational effort made by compositors to gain advantage over their competitors and have creative autonomy over the production process. In offering a framework for thinking about how and why the New Typography was taken up by practitioners in the graphic trades, domestication offers a way of addressing one of the problems identified in the introduction: that work produced

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in the province – to once again use Jeff Werner’s words – stands in danger of looking like a ‘pale cousin from the countryside’ when compared to that of the avant-garde. I would argue that comparisons made between avant-garde work and domesticated versions on aesthetic grounds seem not only unfair but also, more importantly, of limited value. Without appreciating that commercial applications of the New Typography were created with a different purpose, under different circumstances and under different constraints, such comparisons can only offer a limited understanding of the respective works’ merits. It is clear from the numerous examples cited previously that the adaptations made by commercial practitioners to the New Typography were underpinned by rational and coherent arguments. They were certainly not bound by the binary, diffusionist choice of either ‘adopting’ or ‘rejecting’ the new ideas. Nor were the resulting adaptations ‘misunderstandings’. While the aim in many cases was to reconcile the New Typography with existing practice or professional culture, this action does not need to be interpreted as an expression of resistance on ideological grounds. It can also be understood as an active effort to adapt New Typography’s theory to the practicalities of everyday working environments and the restrictions inherent to the professional role in question. By affording commercial practitioners an active voice, rather than casting them as passive ‘adopters’, and by broadening the conventional understanding of what New Typography was and what purpose it fulfilled, it is possible to arrive at a better understanding of this typographic style’s significance for a larger group of people, working in a range of different contexts and locations.

GLOSSARY

Journals The following provides a brief description of the Scandinavian journals and newspapers mentioned in this book. Aftenposten (The Evening Post, founded 1860) Independent conservative newspaper founded by Christian Schibsted. Published in Oslo, Aftenposten was and is Norway’s largest daily newspaper by circulation. The paper was Nazified during the Second World War. Arbejderbladet (The Workers’ Paper, 1921–41) The official newspaper of the Communist Party of Denmark (Danmarks Kommunistiske Parti, DKP). Initially a weekly paper, it appeared daily from 1934 onwards. In 1941 the party was banned, and the paper was forced to close. Bogvennen (The Bibliophile, founded 1890) The long-running annual publication of the Danish Association for Book Craft. During the 1930s it adopted a cover and layout informed by the New Typography as part of a revitalization programme launched by Ebbe Sadolin, who had assumed responsibilities as editor following founder Fredrik Hendriksen’s (1847–1938) retirement. Further reading: Paul Philippe Peronard. ‘Bogvennen i 1930erne’. Bogvennen (1980): pp. 5–16. Boktryckeri-Kalender (Printing Calendar, 1892–1921) The first Scandinavian printing periodical. Published by Gothenburg-based master printer Waldemar Zachrisson. The frequency of publication varied, but up until 1906 it appeared annually or biennially. Stylistically, it was associated with the typographic revival and jugend. Brukskunst (Applied Art, 1931–4) Journal published by the Norwegian Applied Art Association, edited by Knut Greve. Brukskunst served to mediate the Applied Art Association’s modernist design ideals and the layout of the journal itself was informed by the New Typography.

234Glossary

Dagens Nyheter (Today’s News, founded 1864) Independent Liberal newspaper founded in Stockholm by Rudolf Wall. Between the two World Wars it was one of the largest daily newspapers in Sweden by circulation. During the early 1930s Dagens Nyheter employed Valter Falk as an ad setter. Dansk Reklame (Danish Advertising, 1927–45) The official mouthpiece of the Danish Advertising Association, Dansk Reklame was edited by Max Kjær-Hansen between the years 1927 and 1936, Ejler Alkjær in the period 1937–41 and Knud Meister from 1941 to 1945. Published in Copenhagen, the journal was closely aligned with American advertising ideas. It carried occasional features on Danish and international commercial art but did not deal much with typography. De Grafiske Fag (The Graphic Trades, 1918–2012) Long-running trade journal published by Copenhagen’s Master Printers’ Association and the Reproduction Facilities’ Principal Association, later also in collaboration with other associations. De Grafiske Fag was the first trade journal to feature a cover in the New Typography (vol. 23, no. 20), and provided an arena for C. Volmer Nordlunde’s writings on the topic. Also notable for occasional covers in photomontage by Steen Hinrichsen (1897–1955), a former fine printer who developed an interest in photography. EL (1927–36) The initials E. L. stand for Erik Levison (1885–1936). Levison was a Copenhagenbased retailer of printing equipment, machinery and type, for whom EL functioned as a promotional vehicle. For its first three years, the journal was edited by Emil Selmar under whom it had a neoclassical appearance. The appearance of an issue executed in New Typography in October 1930 coincided with Selmar’s departure as editor; however, further examples were not forthcoming until 1933 when Erik Levison took over as editor from C. M. Kampmann. By this point the journal was evidently experiencing some difficulties as it had started appearing irregularly. Nevertheless, each of the remaining five issues received a different modern typographic treatment, with the front cover of 1935’s issue exhibiting the arguably most refined of these solutions. Although the business Erik Levison had built carried on trading after his death in 1936, the journal folded. Elite (1926–30) Elite was a Danish trade journal devoted to commercial art, published in Copenhagen by Nicolaj Norvil. Modelled in part on Die Deutsche Elite (The German Elite), a Berlin-based fashion journal published between 1924 and 1930 by Hermann von Eelking (1887–1970), it drew upon the German traditions of commercial art. From around 1928, Elite’s focus shifted from commercial art

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towards advertising and industry. This new focus was carried forward in System (1930–5), the journal which succeeded Elite. Flamman (The Flame, 1917–21) Art journal published by the Swedish painter Georg Pauli, closely modelled on Amedée Ozenfant’s L’Élan (1915–16). Notable for its experimental approach to typography and for bringing Ozenfant’s ideas of psychotype and typometrics to a Scandinavian audience. The journal was printed by Bröderna Lagerström. Further reading: Magdalena Gram. ‘The Art Journal as an Artistic Gesture: An Experiment Named Flamman’. Scandinavian Journal of Design History 3 (1993): pp. 85–108. Fönstret (The Window, 1930–6) Weekly cultural paper founded by Kaj Andersson and Bernhard Greitz, both formerly of the Swedish Social Democratic Party’s daily paper Social-Demokraten. Fönstret featured an innovative mix of articles on the arts with articles on social issues such as housing, sexual health and critiques of the criminal justice system. Its pages found space for contributions by modernist poets associated with the anthology 5 Unga (The Young 5), as well as the Clartéist poet Karin Boye, and functionalist architects like Sven Markelius and Uno Åhrén. Fönstret was also noteworthy for its modern appearance. The masthead was lettered in lower-case using a tightly spaced geometrical sans-serif, for which the ‘negative’ overlaps were rendered using the unprinted surface of the newsprint. The cover illustrations were, particularly for the first few volumes, often photographic and arranged so that they bled off the page. Headlines were set in a mixture of typefaces to attract the viewer’s attention. Andersson left the paper after only nine issues, while Greitz left in 1932. After Greitz’s departure, the paper’s frequency reduced to monthly publication and in 1936 it folded. Futurum (1936–41) This large format, heavily illustrated journal combined articles on marketing and strategy with features on Swedish commercial artists and in-depth visual analysis of selected ads. The journal’s subtitle ‘advertising builds the future’ reflected Stockholm-based publisher Sven Rygaard’s belief in advertising as a positive force which could be used not only to further the aims of business but also to create a better society. The forward-looking stance was reflected in the journal’s modern appearance. The journal’s lower-case masthead was lettered in the style of a geometric sans-serif, layouts were asymmetric, headings were set in sansserif and illustrations were frequently photographic. Grafisk Revy (Graphic Review, 1930–40) This trade journal was co-published by the three Scandinavian compositors’ trade unions. Edited by Nils Wessel, it was modelled on journals devoted to visual matters published by compositors’ unions elsewhere such as

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Typographische Mitteilungen and a range of journals all of which were named ‘Graphic Review’ in their respective languages. Because production moved between the Scandinavian capitals and printing houses, and because some covers were decided through competitions, the journal’s appearance was pluralistic. The last issue of the last volume was designed by Jan Tschichold. In 1936 the Danish compositors decided to break with Grafisk Revy and instead publish their own journal, Grafisk Teknik (Graphic Technique). The Norwegian compositors followed suit by launching Grafisk Kringsjå (Graphic Overview) as a supplement to their paper Typografiske Meddelelser (Typographic Messages). Wessel was therefore left to resume publication of a purely Swedish Grafisk Revy from 1937 until his death in 1940. This featured some attractive and elegant examples of the New Typography, particularly in terms of cover designs, but the loss of the Danish contingent in particular left it editorially listless compared to its predecessor. Grafisk Teknik (Graphic Technique, 1934–49) Strictly speaking, two separate journals were published consecutively under the name Grafisk Teknik. The first was a modest octavo format bulletin published by the Copenhagen branch of the Compositors’ Technical Cooperative between the years 1934 and 1935, and the second was a lavish monthly trade journal published by the Danish Compositors’ Union from 1936 to 1949. However, the latter can also be considered a continuation of the former. After the success of Jan Tschichold’s 1935 lecture visit to Copenhagen, the Danish Compositors’ Union decided to centralize its educational efforts under the newly created post of Education Secretary and to publish a new monthly journal. Svend Johansen, who had edited the Compositors’ Technical Cooperative’s bulletin was chosen as Education Secretary and continued his work as editor for the new Grafisk Teknik. The trade journal Grafisk Teknik provided an arena for debate around visual and technical matters including the New Typography. Visually it was modern, but pluralistic. Gutenberghus (Gutenberg House, 1924–7) House organ of the Gutenberghus advertising agency in Copenhagen. Closely aligned to American advertising ideals. Helhesten (The Hell-Horse, 1941–4) Art journal published by the Helhesten group, which was comprised of Ejler Bille, Henry Heerup, Asger Jorn and others. The journal is significant as a manifestation of avant-garde activity under German occupation and as a link between Danish reception of avant-garde art before the Second World War and the work of the post-war groups CoBrA and Situationist International. Further reading: Kerry Greaves. The Danish Avant-Garde and World War II: The Helhesten Collective (New York and London: Routledge, 2019).

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Klingen (The Blade, 1917–20) Exclusive art journal published in Copenhagen by the ceramicist Axel Salto. With contributions by Emil Bønnelycke, Poul Henningsen and Tom Kristensen, Vilhelm Lundstrøm and others, it is considered a significant publication in the history of Danish modernism. The journal was inspired by Georg Pauli’s Flamman, but did not display the same adventurous attitude towards typography. An exception can be found in Per Krogh’s ‘Nervøsitet Eller En Stille Nat Ved Fronten. Skuespil I 1 Akt’, which appeared in the eighth issue of the first volume, and in Bønnelycke’s picture poem ‘New York’, which appeared in the ninth issue of the second volume. However, Bønnelycke’s poem was lettered, not constructed from moveable type. Further reading: Torben Jelsbak. ‘Det levende kunstblad: Tidsskriftet Klingen (1917–20) mellem modernisme og avantgarde’. Danske studier 101. bind, no. Niende Række 5. Bind (2006): pp. 128–60. Kritisk Revy (Critical Review, 1926–8) Architectural journal published by Poul Henningsen seen as a key mediator of functionalism in Scandinavia. Continental modernism, the Danish bourgeoisie and Arkitekten (The Architect), the official mouthpiece of the Danish Association of Architects which was edited by Steen Eiler Rasmussen, were all criticized in equal measure, guided by a notion of ‘criticism’ and with a sardonic sense of humour. Visually, Kritisk Revy drew upon Dada and pioneered the use of photomontage in Scandinavia. Further reading: Lars Dybdahl. ‘“Ansigtet imod den lykkeligere fremtid”  tidsskriftet Kritisk revy (1926-28)’, in Nordisk funktionalisme 1925– 1950: 15 foredrag fra det nordiske seminar afholdt juni 1985 på Det danske kunstindustrimuseum, ed. Mirjam Gelfer-Jørgensen (København: Nordisk forum for formgivningshistorie, 1986), pp. 31–7; Torben Jelsbak. ‘Arbejdshypotesen om en menneskehed: Tidsskriftet Kritisk revy mellem avantgarde og populærkultur’. Danske studier, no. 106 (2011): 111–33. Monde (The World, 1928–32) A Danish version of Henri Barbusse’s Clartéist paper of the same name. Monde was published by a group of Danish leftist intellectuals centred around Rudolf Broby-Johansen. Further reading: Olav Harsløf. Mondegruppen: Kampen om kunsten og socialismen i Danmark 1928–32 (København: Museum tusculanums forlag & Københavns universitet, 1997). Morgonbris (Morning Breeze, founded 1904) Long-running mouthpiece for S-kvinnor (Social Democratic Women in Sweden), the organization previously known as Sveriges Socialdemokratiska Kvinnoförbund (Sweden’s Social Democratic Women’s Union). Under Kaj Andersson’s editorship, between the years 1931 and 1936, Morgonbris made prominent use of photography and photomontage. It also appeared in a modern, asymmetric layout with bold sans-serif or Bodoni headings in line with Hugo Lagerström’s modified form of the

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New Typography. During this period the journal was printed at Bröderna Lagerström. Further reading: Eva Åsén Ekstrand. ‘Fotomontaget som politiskt vapen: Kaj Andersson i trettiotalets “Morgonbris”’, in Nya röster: Svenska kvinnotidskrifter under 150 år, ed. Anna Nordenstam (Möklinta: Gidlund, 2014), pp. 107–34. Nordisk Boktryckarekonst (Nordic Printing Art, 1900–61) Nordisk Boktryckarekonst was the first Scandinavian monthly printing journal, founded by brothers Carl and Hugo Lagerström of the Bröderna Lagerström printing house in Stockholm. While it was likely most widely read in Sweden the journal was from the outset imagined as an expressly pan-Nordic journal. After Carl Lagerström’s death in 1925 Hugo Lagerström edited the journal on his own up until 1936 when he passed on duties to his son Sten. Sten Lagerström continued editing the journal until it merged with the Swedish Association of Master Printers’ journal Grafiskt Forum (Graphic Forum, 1935–96). From 1927 Nordisk Boktryckarekonst devoted significant attention to the New Typography, eventually taking a promotional stance from 1930 onwards. Norsk Boktrykk Kalender (Norwegian Printing Calendar, 1918–70) Norsk Boktrykk Kalender was an annual published by the Oslo Typographic Society (Oslo Typografiske Forening), modelled on continental forebears like the Deutscher Buchdrucker-Kalender (1904–33). During the 1930s a number of the annual’s editions contained articles dealing with the New Typography. Notable editions in terms of typographic design include the anonymously designed 1931 edition which was the first to use the formal language of the New Typography. Lars A. Olaussen’s design for the 1932 design went further still. Berthold Grotesk was used throughout, with the cover, title page and headings set in lower-case. The 1934 edition used the recently released geometric slab-serif Memphis throughout, the 1938 edition featured a photomontaged cover design created by compositor Heinrich Wolff, and for the cover of the 1939 edition sans-serif lettering designed by Albert Jærn (1893–1949) was printed on silver card. Norsk Trykk (Norwegian Printing, 1927–35) Norwegian printing journal published by master printer Arthur Nelson. The first issues appeared under the name Nelsons Magasin for Grafisk Kunst (Nelson’s Magazine for Graphic Art). Although Norsk Trykk played an important role in spreading interest in the New Typography in Norway, the journal did not adopt it. The closest Norsk Trykk came to changing its typographic appearance was when Ivar S. Olsen, a compositor working at Nelson’s printing house, submitted a cover design proposal to the journal’s regular column ‘Modern Typography’. However, although Nelson commented positively on the funkis proposal he eventually opted against. Further reading: Torbjørn Eng. ‘“Den nye typografiens” gjennombrudd i Norge – 2. Arthur Nelson og bladet Norsk trykk’. Norsk grafia 123, no. 3 (1998): pp. 12–13.

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Ny Konst (New Art, 1915) Art journal published by Stockholm-based Italian futurist Arturo Ciacelli which folded after its first issue. Politiken (Politics, founded 1884) Daily newspaper founded in Copenhagen by Hermann Meyer Bing, Edvard Brandes and Viggo Hørup as a mouthpiece for the Danish Liberal Party Venstre (Left). In the period between the two World Wars, Politiken was a leading forum for political and cultural debate in Denmark. Pressen (The Press, 1923–4) A polemical broadsheet published by the New Student Society in the wake of the Landmandsbank scandal. Notable for its typographic design which drew upon Dada and constructivism. Listed in the bibliography of Jan Tschichold’s Die Neue Typographie (1928). In 1924 the Communist Party of Denmark wanted to use Pressen for its national election campaign leading the New Student Society to split and two parallel editions of Pressen to appear. Both editions folded soon after the elections. Propaganda (1922–40, 1947–60) Small format trade journal published by the Norwegian Advertising Association. Strongly opposed to the New Typography. From 1941 to 1946 the journal appeared under the name Norsk Reklame (Norwegian Advertising). Romilla Review (1914–18) Published in Trondheim, Romilla Review was the first Scandinavian advertising journal. The name Ro–Milla is an abbreviation of Robert Millar. Millar was the journal’s founder, editor and a pioneer of modern advertising in Scandinavia. Spektrum (Spectrum, 1931–5) Literary and cultural journal published by Josef Riwkin, Erik Mesterton and Karin Boye. Perhaps the most significant little magazine published in Sweden during the 1930s. Further reading: Johan Svedjedal. Spektrum: Den svenska drömmen. Tidskrift och förlag i 1930–talets kultur. E-Book (Stockholm: Wahlström & Widstrand, 2011). Svensk Grafisk Årsbok (Swedish Graphic Annual, 1924–72) Biennial publication issued by Bröderna Lagerström. Edited by Hugo Lagerström between 1924 and 1935, and by Sten Lagerström from 1937. The 1929 edition is notable for introducing Hugo Lagerström’s idea of a modified form of New Typography. Svensk Reklam (Swedish Advertising, 1929–44) Biennial publication issued by Svenska Reklamförbundet (The Swedish Advertising Association). More open to modernism than the publications issued

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by the Danish and Norwegian advertising associations, Dansk Reklame and Propaganda. Svenska Slöjdföreningens Tidskrift (The Swedish Society of Crafts and Design’s Journal, 1905–31) Mouthpiece of the Swedish Society of Crafts and Design. Published quarterly 1905–20, monthly 1921–2 and every other month 1923–31. Preceded by Meddelanden Från Svenska Slöjdföreningen (1884–1904) (News from the Swedish Society of Crafts and Design) and succeeded in 1931 by Form. Focused largely on crafts and industrial design, but contained occasional articles on typography, many of them authored by Anders Billow. Tidevarvet (The Epoch, 1923–36) Weekly Liberal and feminist newspaper founded by five women known as the Fogelstad group: Honorine Hermelin, Kerstin Hesselgren, Ada Nilsson, Elisabeth Tamm and Elin Wägner. Kaj Andersson guest edited issue seven, volume nine. Tidskrift för Affärsekonomi (Journal for Business Economics, 1928–74) This long-running journal was subtitled ‘organ for industrial organization, office organization, accounting, sales and advertising’. As such, advertising was only one of many issues covered. Nevertheless, the journal contained regular columns on the best current posters and ads in addition to occasional features on visual design.

People Due to the large number of people mentioned in this book, it has been necessary to make a selection of those judged to be the most prominent. Only Scandinavians have been included. Karin Ageman (1899–1950) Swedish modern commercial artist. Employed at Esselte in the period 1928– 36. Ran her own studio from 1936 onwards. From 1945 she taught advertising and book art at Konstfackskolan. Member of Swedish Poster Artists (Svenska AFFisch Tecknare, SAFFT). Uno Åhrén (1897–1977) Swedish architect and prominent proponent of functionalism. Editor of the Swedish architectural journal Byggmästaren between 1929 and 1932 and coauthor of Acceptera. Member of CIAM. Further reading: Eva Rudberg, Uno Åhrén: En foregangsman Inom 1900-talets arkitektur och samhallsplanering (Stockholm: Byggforskningsrådet, 1981).

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Kaj Andersson (1897–1991) Karin ‘Kaj’ Matilda Andersson was a Swedish journalist associated with the Swedish Social Democratic Party. As editor of the journals Fönstret and Morgonbris she championed the use of modernist typography and photography. Further reading: Per Schwanbom: Hon gjorde tidningar med själ: Publicisten Kaj Andersson (Stockholm: Per Schwanbom, 2003). Anders Beckman (1907–67) Perhaps the most prominent modern commercial artist in Sweden in the 1930s. Founder and principal of the Beckmans school in Stockholm. Head of Swedish Poster Artists (SAFFT), and member of AGI. Further reading: Sten Lagerström and Bertil Nydahl, eds. Design Anders Beckman (Stockholm: Forum, 1957). Harry Bernmark (1900–61) Swedish modern commercial artist. During the 1930s he worked extensively for the Swedish Cooperative Society’s advertising agency Svea, and for Esselte. Anders Billow (1890–1964) Swedish book designer educated as an art historian at Uppsala University. Employed at Norstedts publishing house in the period 1921–3 after which he became an artistic director at the printer and publisher Nordisk Rotogravyr. Billow became closely associated with the New Typography in Sweden, where his designs for photographically illustrated books where considered an expression of functionalism in print. Further reading: Jan Jönsson. ‘Läsmaskinen: Aspekter på bild och bok med utgångspunkt i Anders Billows verksamhet 1923–1953’ (PhD thesis, Lunds universitet, 2008). Vilhelm Bjerke Petersen (1909–57) Danish modernist painter educated at the Bauhaus Dessau under Paul Klee and Wassily Kandinsky. He issued a series of publications all of which made use of the New Typography, including the books Symboler i Abstrakt Kunst (Symbols in Abstract Art, 1933), Surrealismen (Surrealism, 1934), Konkret Kunst (Concrete Art, 1956) and the journals Linien (The Line, 1934–5), Konkretion (Concretion, 1935–6) and Unge Skandinaviske Kunstnere (Young Scandinavian Artists, 1935–9). Further reading: Gitte Tandrup. Zigzag mod solen: Udviklingslinjer i Vilhelm Bjerke Petersens billeder og skrifter (Aarhus: Aarhus universitetsforlag, 1998). Emil Bønnelycke (1893–1953) Danish poet who published futurist literature and picture poems. His most notable works are perhaps the novel Spartanerne (The Spartans, 1919) and the wordless poem ‘Berlin’ (1918). Further reading: Torben Jelsbak. ‘Avantgarde og boghistorie: Emil Bønnelyckes bibliografiske aktivisme’. Lychnos (2010): pp. 73–111.

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Rudolf Broby-Johansen (1900–87) Danish poet, photomonteur, art historian and communist activist who during the 1920s worked under the name Rud Broby. Associated with the New Student Society (1922–4) and the Monde group (1928–32). While he earned a reputation as an enfant terrible with early work like the poetry collection Blod (Blood, 1922), he later gained popular acclaim through art historical works like Hverdagskunst – Verdenskunst (Everyday Art – World Art, 1941). Further reading: Olav Harsløf, ed. Broby – En central outsider (København: Museum tusculanums forlag, 2000). Otto G. Carlsund (1897–1948) Swedish modernist painter and art critic. Based in Paris in the years 1924–30 where he trained at the Académie Moderne under Fernand Léger and became a founder member of the Art Concret group alongside Theo van Doesburg and others. Carlsund arranged a pioneering exhibition of abstract art in the grounds of the Stockholm Exhibition 1930 titled AC. From 1931 onwards he worked mainly as an art critic. Further reading: Louise Fogelström, ed. Otto G. Carlsund: Konstnär, kritiker och utställningsarrangör (Stockholm: Arena, Linjevalchs konsthall and Norrköpings konstmuseum, 2007). Harald Clausen (1880–1952) Norwegian compositor. Foreman at the Mallingske printing house in Oslo. Author of Lærebok i Typografi (Typographic Manual, 1927) and editor of the foremen’s bulletin Norsk Faktor-Tidende (Norwegian Foremen’s Times) between 1921 and 1935. Translated Jan Tschichold’s ‘Elementare Typographie’ manifesto into Norwegian (Norsk faktortidende vol.10, no.3) and provided a modified version of the same for Norsk Boktrykk Kalender’s 1931 edition. Knud V. Engelhardt (1882–1931) Knud Valdemar Engelhardt was educated at the Danish Royal Academy of Fine Arts in Copenhagen and used the dual title ‘architect and master printer’. He worked on a wide range of products, of which the 1910 tram design for Copenhagen Railways is perhaps the best known. However, Engelhardt also designed letterforms, printed materials and public signage. He is considered a pioneer of the industrial design profession in Denmark. Further reading: Erik Ellegaard Frederiksen. Knud V. Engelhardt: Arkitekt & bogtrykker, 1882–1931 (København: Forening for boghaandværk & Arkitektens forlag, 1965). Valter Falk (1902–80) Swedish compositor. Educated at Svenska Slöjdföreningens school in Gothenburg and at the Wezäta printing house. Ad setter at Dagens Nyheter and Åhlén & Åkerlund in the period 1926–35, where worked under the influence of the New Typography. Foreman at Tidens printing house from 1935. Author of the type history Bokstavsformer Och Typsnitt Genom Tiderna (Stockholm: Bokförlaget Prisma, 1975).

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Iwan Waloddi Fischerström (1906–94) Swedish compositor. Educated at the Master School for Germany’s Printers in Munich in the period 1927–30. Worked as a commercial artist at Åhlén & Åkerlund (1931–3), rising to head of studio in 1933. From 1941 he served as artistic director at the Bonniers publishing house. Fischerström promoted the New Typography through a series of articles published in the Swedish trade press during the early 1930s and through an exhibition of the Ring ‘Neue Werbegestalter’ held in 1931 at the School for Book Craft in Stockholm. Karl-Erik Forsberg (1914–95) Swedish compositor, calligrapher and type designer. Educated at the School for Book Craft in Stockholm (1929–31), the School for Book and Advertising Art (1938–41) and the Basel Vocational School (1946–7). He worked as artistic director at Almqvist & Wiksell between 1942 and 1950, and at the Norstedts publishing house during the 1950s. From 1959 Forsberg worked from his own studio. While Forsberg is best remembered for his serif typeface Berling (1952) and as a traditionalist calligrapher, he worked in a style informed by the New Typography during his early career. Further reading: Sten G. Lindberg. Karl-Erik Forsberg: Med bokstaven under 7 decennier (Stockholm: Norstedt, 1994); Åsa Henningson, ed. Bokstavskonst: Karl-Erik Forsberg 100 år (Uppsala: Uppsala universitetsbibliotek, 2014). Knut Greve (1904–53) Norwegian art historian. Promoter of functionalism in industrial and interior design. Secretary of the Applied Art Association and editor of its journal Brukskunst in the period 1932–42. Nora Gulbrandsen (1894–1978) Norwegian modern designer best known for her ceramic work. Artistic director at the Porsgrund Porcelain Factory, 1929–45. Further reading: Alf Bøe. Nora Gulbrandsen på Porsgrund (Oslo: C. Huitfeld forlag, 1994). Viggo Hasnæs (dates unknown) Danish compositor and foreman at the Bianco Luno printing house in Copenhagen. Co-author and designer of the manual Selmars Typografi (Selmar’s Typography, 1938). Finn Havrevold (1905–88) Norwegian modern commercial artist and author. During the 1930s he worked as a freelancer, mainly for the Aschehoug publishing house in Oslo. Edvard Heiberg (1897–1958) Norwegian-born architect, critic and photomonteur who lived and worked in Denmark for most of his life. He was an early and prominent proponent of functionalism in Denmark who served briefly as master in architecture at the

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Bauhaus Dessau under Hannes Meyer in 1930. Heiberg was on the editorial boards of several radical journals including Kritisk Revy (Critical Review, 1926–8), Plan (1932–5), AAndehullet (The Blowhole, 1933–4) and Kulturkampen (Culture War, 1935–8). He was a member of the Communist Party of Denmark, the Monde group and CIAM. Further reading: Leif Leer Sørensen. Edvard Heiberg og dansk funktionalisme: En arkitekt og hans samtid (København: Arkitektens forlag, 2000). Max Richard Kirste (1887–1948) German-born Norwegian master printer. Proprietor of Kirstes Boktrykkeri, one of the leading printing houses in Norway, founded in 1908. Kirste wrote extensively for the trade journals Nordisk Trykkeri-Tidende (Nordic Printing Times) and Norsk Boktrykk Kalender (Norwegian Printing Annual). He also authored Yrkeslære for Unge Settere (Manual for Young Compositors), published as two parts in 1929 and 1935, and Yrkeslære for Settere (Curriculum for Compositors, 1938). Kaare Klint (1888–1954) Prominent modern furniture designer and teacher at the Danish Royal Academy of Fine Arts in Copenhagen. Further reading: Rigmor Andersen. Kaare Klint: Møbler (København: Kunstakademiet, 1979). Knut Krantz (1891–1970) Swedish advertiser. During the early 1930s he was involved in the creation of a functionalist house style for the Swedish Cooperative Society through the commissioning of materials making use of sans-serif typography, modern photography and modern commercial art styles. Further reading: Gunnar Krantz. Kooperatören: En dokumentärserie om annonsbyrån Svea (Malmö: Gunnar Krantz/Seriekonst, 2016). Hugo Lagerström (1873–1956) Swedish editor and master printer. He was director of the leading Stockholm printing house Bröderna Lagerström, founded with his brother Carl in 1903, between the years 1906 and 1944. Lagerström authored numerous articles and books on printing and typography and edited the journals Nordisk Boktryckarekonst (Nordic Printing Art) and Svensk Grafisk Årsbok (Swedish Graphic Annual) between the years 1900–36 and 1924–35, respectively. Lagerström was a co-founder of the School for Book Craft in Stockholm, and closely involved in its running in the period 1906–34. Lagerström was also actively involved in a number of Swedish organizations, holding senior positions in the Swedish Society of Crafts and Design, the Swedish Master Printers’ Association and the Book Craft Association. Further reading: Alf Liedholm. ‘Från jugend til funktionalism: Hugo Lagerström som pionjär inom svensk bokkonst’, in Biblis 1963–1964 (Stockholm: Föreningen för bokhantverk, 1964), pp. 90–117.

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Einar Lenning (1899–1965) Swedish advertiser. Head of advertising for the Stockholm Exhibition 1930. Authored books on typography, colour theory and standardization for the School for Book Craft. Principal of Lennings Byrå för Typografisk Reklam (Lenning’s Agency for Typographic Advertising) during the 1930s, later employed at the advertising agency Svenska Telegrambyrån (Swedish Telegram Agency). Sigurd Lewerentz (1885–1975) Swedish architect who during his early career collaborated with Gunnar Asplund on projects like the Woodland Cemetery and the Stockholm Exhibition 1930. He later turned away from architecture for a number of years before returning to the profession. Lewerentz maintained an interest in designing letterforms throughout his career. He was responsible for the geometric sans- serif lettering used at the Stockholm Exhibition and designed the exhibition’s posters. Further reading: Janne Ahlin. Sigurd Lewerentz: Architect, 1885–1975 (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1987). Charles Moegreen (dates unknown) Danish compositor and teacher at the Trade School for Book Craft in Copenhagen. Organizer of the Professional Circle of Scandinavian Compositors (Skandinaviske Typografers Faglige Ring). Moegreen authored numerous articles and books on typography. He also translated Jan Tschichold’s Typographische Gestaltung into Danish, giving it the title Funktionel Typografi. Kai Møller (1907–95) Danish-born Norwegian compositor and master printer. Møller held a particular interest in pictorial typography, expressed through a series of portraits published on the covers of Norsk Trykk between the years 1934 and 1935. In 1928 Norsk Trykk lists him as working at Ekspresstrykkeriet in Oslo. In 1939 Møller moved to the town of Drammen and founded a printing house where he printed illegal newspapers during the Second World War. Harald Landt Momberg (1896–1975) Danish poet, journalist and communist. Momberg was a leading member of the New Student Society, for which he authored the pamphlet Aktiv Reklame (Active Advertising, 1924) which explained the constructivist design approach taken by the society’s broadsheet Pressen (The Press). As a poet, Momberg is best known for the radical debut collection Parole (1922). During the early 1920s he made a living as a freelance journalist. From 1926 he abandoned poetry for fulltime employment at Berlingske Tidende. Arthur Nelson (1878–1957) Norwegian master printer and editor of Norsk Trykk (Norwegian Printing). He founded the printing house Arthur Nelson A/S in 1923, following several years spent

246Glossary

working as a compositor in the United States. In 1933 he founded Norwegian’s most beautiful books exhibition with the newspaper Aftenposten. Nelson served as head (rikslaugsmester) of the Nazified Norwegian Printers’ National Guild between the years 1941 and 1943. Although his understanding of the New Typography was at times idiosyncratic, his journal Norsk Trykk nevertheless played a crucial role in its mediation in Norway. Further reading: Torbjørn Eng. ‘Boktrykker Arthur Nelsons vei gjennom stilhistorien – 1. Fra “Den frie retning” til klassisk typografi’. Norsk grafia 130, no. 5 (2005): 14–17; ‘Arthur Nelson: Den første modernist i norsk grafisk bransje. Del 2.’ Norsk grafia 130, no. 6 (2005): 16–19. L. Chr. Nielsen (1861–1946) Ludvig Christian Nielsen was a Danish compositor and trade unionist. He was a frequent contributor of historical and political articles to journals such as De Grafiske Fag, Grafisk Revy and Nordisk Boktryckarekonst. C. Volmer Nordlunde (1888–1970) Carl Volmer Nordlunde was a Danish master printer. Educated at the Royal Academy of Art and Design (Königliche Kunstakademie und Kunstgewerbeschule) in Leipzig, 1909–10. Nordlunde worked as a compositor for a number of years at J. Jørgensen & Co before he founded his own printing house, Nordlundes Bogtrykkeri, in 1927. Honorary member of the Double Crown Club from 1947. Nordlunde wrote several balanced articles discussing the strengths and shortcomings of both traditional and New Typography. Further reading: Jan Eskildsen. C. Volmer Nordlunde: Danmarks store bogtrykker (København: Forlaget grafisk litteratur & Forening for boghaandværk, 2004). Nicolaj Norvil (1880–1956) Danish commercial artist originally known as Nicolaj Sofus Nielsen. The name ‘Norvil’ was adopted from around 1910. From around the same time, Norvil was employed as head of the advertising department at Dansk Reproduksjonsanstalt (Danish Reproduction Facility). In 1911 he published the satirical illustrated paper Kaviar with Orla Boch, Axel Breidahl and Georg Tormer. Between 1926 and 1930 he published the trade journal Elite. He was also involved in publishing Elite’s successor System (1930–4). Johan Olsen (1886–1946) Danish master printer. Trained as an apprentice in Leipzig. Returned to Denmark where he worked as a foreman at several printing houses in the period 1909–10. Head of Det Berlingske Bogtrykkeri from 1925. Sverre Ørn-Evensen (1880–1956) Norwegian compositor, photomonteur and social democrat. Ørn-Evensen worked for the Norwegian Labour Party throughout his career and was particularly involved in creating materials for its women’s and youth groups.

GLOSSARY

247

Georg Pauli (1855–1935) Swedish painter. Pauli originally worked in a neoclassical style informed by the great renaissance masters but adopted a moderate cubist style in later life. He was resident in Paris in the period 1911–14 to learn from the most recent developments in painting and took lessons from André Lhote in 1912. Between 1917 and 1921 he published Flamman (The Flame) which provided Sweden a link to Parisian developments, and which was notable for its experimental attitude to typography. Further reading: Ingrid Böhn-Jullander: Georg Pauli: Konstnär, författare, debattör (Stockholm: Arena, 1994). Gregor Paulsson (1889–1977) Swedish art historian and notable promoter of functionalism. Paulsson began his career at the National Museum (1913–24) before becoming chairman of the Swedish Society of Crafts and Design (1920–34). He then moved on to Uppsala University, where he was professor of art history (1934–56). Paulsson also served as commissary-general for the Stockholm Exhibition 1930 and was one of Acceptera’s co-authors. Further reading: Gregor Paulsson. Upplevt (Stockholm: Natur och kultur, 1974). Kai Pelt (1915–63) Danish compositor. Apprenticed to Henry Thejls at Gutenberghus in Copenhagen. Later he became foreman at the same establishment. In his early career he was a forceful proponent of the New Typography, but he later moderated his views. Pelt was a member of Grafisk Cirkel (Graphic Circle). Viktor Peterson (unknown–1945) Swedish-born Danish compositor and teacher. He taught an evening course in ‘constructive design’ at the Compositors’ Technical Cooperative and was employed as a teacher at the Trade School for Book Craft in Copenhagen from 1935 onwards. Peterson was a member of Grafisk Cirkel. As a compositor, he worked at Gutenberghus. Steen Eiler Rasmussen (1898–1990) Danish architect and critic. He edited the Danish architects’ journal Architekten in the period 1927–32, after which he authored and designed several books on architecture and design in line with the idea of a functional tradition. These include Britisk Brugskunst (British Applied Art, 1933), London (1934), Billedbog Fra En Kinarejse (Picture-book From a Trip to China, 1935) and En Bog Om Noget Andet (A Book About Something Else, 1940). Further reading: Olaf Lind. Arkitekten Steen Eiler Rasmussen (København: Nordisk forlag, 2008). Eli Reimer (1916–2001) Danish compositor and teacher at the Graphic Arts Institute of Denmark (Den Grafiske Højskole).

248Glossary

Josef Riwkin (1909–65) Russian-born writer, translator and publisher. He was the driving force behind the radical cultural journal Spektrum and the associated publishing venture of the same name, both of which were instrumental in introducing modernist authors to a Swedish audience. Riwkin was a member of Clarté. In 1939 he emigrated to the United States where he stayed until he relocated to Paris after the Second World War. Further reading: Carl Olof Sommar. ‘Josef Riwkin: lite bättre än sitt rykte’. Bokvännen 43, no. 2 (1988): 27–33. Sven Rygaard (1898–1991) Swedish advertiser who started out at Svenska Telegrambyrån (1923–5) before becoming Ervaco’s director for Scandinavia and subsequently managing director of the Gumælius advertising agency in 1931. From 1936 to 1939 he published the modern advertising journal Futurum. From 1939 onwards Rygaard ran his own advertising agency. Emil Selmar (1854–1934) Danish compositor and teacher originally known under the name Emil Sørensen. He worked as a foreman at Berlingske Tidende (1897–1920) and as a teacher at the Trade School for Book Craft in Copenhagen (1893–1919). Selmar authored the manuals Vejledning I Praktisk Typografi (Guidance in Practical Typography, 1891) and Typografi (1913) both of which were known by compositors as ‘Selmar’s Typography’. Selmar’s view of typography was informed by the typographic revival, and he was therefore deeply critical of the New Typography. Further reading: Typografernes læremester Emil Selmar (København: Fagskolen for boghaandværk, 1954). Berta Svensson (1882–1963) Swedish painter, illustrator, calligrapher and teacher known as Bertha SvenssonPiehl from 1928 after marriage to architect Conrad Piehl. She taught lettering at the School for Book Craft in Stockholm. Henry Thejls (1905–81) Danish compositor and teacher who played a key role in mediating the New Typography in Denmark. Thejls became a foreman at Gutenberghus at a young age and shortly thereafter, in 1930, he also started working as a teacher at the Trade School for Book Craft in Copenhagen. In addition to his post at the trade school, Thejls educated compositors through correspondence courses and lecture tours arranged by the Danish Compositors’ Union. Thejls also authored numerous articles and books on typography including Asymmetri i Typografi (Asymmetric Typography, 1943). Thejls also edited the Danish type foundry Grafisk Compagni’s house organ Grafisk Nyt (Graphic News, 1935–43). He was a member of the Compositors’ Technical Cooperative and Grafisk Cirkel. In 1946 he became ‘technical’ director of J. H. Schultz, the oldest printing house

GLOSSARY

249

in Denmark and in 1956 he set up his own printing house. Further reading: Poul Jeppesen, Eli Reimer and Bent Rohde. Typografen, bogtrykkeren, læreren Henry Thejls sådan som hans venner oplever ham (Herning: Poul Kristensens forlag, 1980). Nils Wessel (1866–1940) Swedish compositor, editor and trade unionist. Wessel was secretary general of the Swedish Compositors’ Union from 1907. In this capacity he travelled as the Swedish representative to congresses and meetings. Between 1907 and 1910 Wessel was also secretary general of the anarchistic and revolutionary ‘Ungsocialisterna’ (Young Socialists) party, formed at this time following a split in the Social Democratic Party. Over the course of his career he edited a number of papers and journals including Brand, Folkbladet, Svensk Typograf-Tidning and Grafisk Revy. He also wrote a number of books on the history of the Swedish Compositors’ Union and its individual chapters around Sweden. Bror Zachrisson (1906–83) Swedish graphic designer and academic. Educated at Carnegie Institute of Technology in Pittsburgh. Zachrisson worked at Esselte (1932–5) and Victor Petersons Boktryckeri (VePe) (1935–43) before becoming principal of Grafiska Institutet in 1943. Zachrisson published several books and articles on typography including his doctoral thesis Studies in the Legibility of Printed Text (Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1965).

INDEX

Acceptera  2, 143, 172, 230 cover design  145–6 and Kaj Andersson  205, 231 Aftenposten  109, 218 Ageman, Karin  209–10 Åhrén, Uno  138, 144–5 AIZ, see Arbeiter-Illustrierte-Zeitung Aktiv Reklame  32–3 Andersson, Kaj  200–4, 209–10, 231 Andresen, K. M.  125, 129 AOF, see Workers’ Educational Society Apollinaire, Guillaume  14 Les Soirées de Paris  17, 30, 37 ‘Lettre-Océan’  15, 17, 25 Arbeidernes Oplysningsforbund, see Workers’ Educational Society Arbeiter-Illustrierte-Zeitung  156, 198, 203, 220 Arbejderbladet  32–3, 220 Archiv für Buchgewerbe und Gebrauchsgraphik  96, 100 artistic printing  55, 84, 95, 127 Arts et Métiers Graphiques  141, 155 Asplund, Gunnar  141, 143–4 avant-garde network international nodes  8, 14, 23, 46, 50, 86 Scandinavian nodes  8, 14, 31–2, 35, 86 structure  4, 128

Ballong  78 Barbusse, Henri  187, 193 Baskerville  60, 62, 74, 85, 157, 166 Bauersche Giesserei  53, 222 Bauhaus  53, 187, 218 and Bjerke Petersen  189, 191–2 and ‘Elementare Typographie’  44, 46, 48, 51 first exhibition and catalogue  14, 21–2, 44, 48, 51 and Heiberg  197 relationship to photography and typophoto  121–2 relationship to trade schools  74–5, 77 Bayer, Herbert  21, 46, 49, 75, 218 Beckman, Anders  116, 210 Berg, Yngve  25, 27–8 Berlingska Stilgjuteriet  54, 78 Bernmark, Harry  184–5 Bildungsverband der deutschen Buchdrucker, see Educational Union of German Printers Bill, Max  79, 225–6 Billow, Anders  141, 174 I Svenska Marker  2, 157–9, 203, 231 provisional points for reformed book design  3, 160, 231 rotogravure  138, 154–5 Svenska Turistföreningens Årsskrift  157–8, 231 views on photography  156–7

INDEX

Bjerke Petersen, Vilhelm  9, 189, 191 Symboler i Abstrakt Kunst  181, 186, 191–3, 211–12 Bodoni  59–60, 62–3, 68, 74, 77, 81–2, 114, 142, 157, 188, 203 Bogvennen  163, 169–72, 191 Boktryckeri-Kalender  57 Bønnelycke, Emil  161–3 book for everyday use  169, 171 Breite Halbfette Grotesk  195, 203 Broby-Johansen, Rudolf  220 Blod  31–2, 100 Kunst  31, 35–6 Monde  193–4 New Student Society  31, 100 photomontage  73, 197 Brugsbog, see book for everyday use Brukskunst  147, 149 Burchartz, Max  46, 79, 121 Burke, Christopher  48, 74–5 Carlsund, Otto G.  117, 188 Caslon  59, 62, 81, 149, 166 Cassandre, A. M.  103, 114, 116–18, 127 centre and periphery  3–6, 37, 100 Childs, Marquis, see middle way City  74, 79 Clartéism  187 Clausen, Harald  65–7, 86 Clausen, V. J.  73–4, 103 communism  186–7, 189, 198, 207, 212 and the middle way  180–1, 212 and the New Student Society  32, 35–6 and Russian constructivism  18–19, 37, 49, 52 and Tschichold  44, 49, 52 Communist Party of Denmark  195, 203, 220

251

Compositors’ Technical Cooperative  44, 125, 220 activities  71, 73, 86, 230 founding and purpose  69–70, 73, 100 constructivism  14, 22–3, 37, 49, 55, 115, see also First Working Group of the Constructivists; pseudo-constructivism international constructivism  19, 21 and the New Student Society  32, 35, 36 and photography  19, 37, 203, 210 and Tschichold  7, 47, 49, 50, 52 Corbusier  138, 141, 165, 169 ‘Five Points Towards A New Architecture’  182, 226 Crawford, William  102, 103 cubism  7, 15, 24, 37, 55, 103 Dada  14, 17–19, 37, 49, 187, 199 Dagens Nyheter  108 Danish Advertising Association  98, 100 Danish Association for Book Craft  154, 163 Danmarks Kommunistiske Parti, see Communist Party of Denmark Dansk Reklame  100, 121 Dansk Reklame-Forening, see Danish Advertising Association De grafiske Fag  55–6, 80, 121 trade journal network  55, 58, 96, 230 Der Sturm gallery  24, 31–2, 37 journal  31–2, 37, 50 De Stijl group  14, 18, 37 journal  31, 37, 46, 50

252INDEX

Det Berlingske Bogtrykkeri  74, 163 Det grafiske selskap i Oslo, see Graphic Society of Oslo Det Norske Arbeiderparti, see Norwegian Labour Party Det Ny Studentersamfund, see New Student Society Deutsche Industrienorm  47, 62, 64, 67, 71, 95, 157 Deutscher Werkbund, see German Werkbund DIN, see Deutsche Industrienorm diffusion  4–5, 192, 230, 232 discrete professional communication networks  8, 94, 99, 100, 104, 127 DKP, see Communist Party of Denmark DNA, see Norwegian Labour Party DNSS, see New Student Society Doesburg, Theo van  19, 35, 186 domestication  138, 173, 196, 212 in German printing  43–4, 49, 52–3, 86 and the middle way  180–1, 212 reciprocality  186–7, 191–2, 212 in Scandinavian advertising  93, 104, 128 in Scandinavian printing  43–4, 76–7, 80, 86, 128, 226, 230–2 theoretical framework  2, 4–9 Educational Union of German Printers  8, 43–4, 50–2, 76, 217 Scandinavian connections  58, 69–70, 100 EL  55, 58, 99 Elite  101, 148 Ellegaard Frederiksen, Erik  161, 163

Engelhardt, Knud V.  161–3 Engel-Hardt, Rudolf  71, 73, 220, 231 Erbar Grotesk  64, 83, 143, 203 Ervaco, see Erwin, Wasey Co. Erwin, Wasey Co.  97, 104 Fagskolen For Boghaandværk, see Trade School for Book Craft in Copenhagen Falk, Valter  108–10 First Working Group of the Constructivists  18–19, 46, 49 Fischerström, Iwan Waloddi  63, 79, 224 Flamman  100, 230 ‘Åkallan’  29–30 avant-garde network  8, 14, 23–4, 30–1, 37, 93 ‘Hos Pablo Picasso’  28–9 ‘Kolonner Vad Gör Ni?’  25–8 relation to L’Élan (see Ozenfant) Fönstret  201 Forening for Boghaandværk, see Danish Association for Book Craft Forsberg, Karl-Erik  76–8 Forsøgsscenen  194–6, 230 Fotografi 1930  121–2, 124 Frankfurt School of Applied Arts  76, 121 functional tradition  9, 73, 138, 154, 160–1, 231 funkis  8, 81, 137–8, 186, 199, 222, 231 economic argument  151–2 examples  147, 149–51, 173 relation to Funktionel Typografi  152–4 term and origins  146–8 visual characteristics  148–9

INDEX

Futura  76, 80–2, 85, 109, 120, 123, 159, 169 Futura Black  78 Futura Schmuck  53–4, 56, 148 Futurism, see also Marinetti, Filippo Tommaso avant-garde network  22–4, 31 domesticated futurism  161, 180, 186–7 and ‘Elementare Typographie’  49 and Moholy-Nagy’s ‘Die neue Typographie’  22 Futurum  104–6, 117, 203 Garamond  62, 120, 157 Gebrauchsgraphik  101, 116 German Werkbund  121, 165 Grafisk Cirkel, see Graphic Circle Grafisk Revy and New Typography  67–8, 81, 86 trade journal network  7, 55, 58, 86, 99, 230 Grafisk Teknik  71, 73–4, 126, 153 Gram, Magdalena  29, 100 Graphic Circle  83 Graphic Society of Oslo  44, 69–70, 100, 230 Greve, Knut  147, 149 Gulbrandsen, Nora  150 Gutenberghus  100 Hasnæs, Viggo  67, 84–5, 96, 152 Havrevold, Finn  118 Heartfield, John  18, 198, 218 Heiberg, Edvard  197–9 Helhesten  220 Hollis, Richard  225–6 international typographic style  217, 225–6

253

J. Walter Thompson  97, 114 JWT, see J. Walter Thompson Karlsson, Karl  110–12, 151–2, 154 Kassák, Lajos  21, 23, 35 Kirste, Max Richard  107–8, 111–12, 169 kleinschreibung  9, 51, 67, 181, 203, 219 Danish orthography  73, 163, 191 funkis  148, 150 Porstmann’s Sprache Und Schrift  47 Stockholm Exhibition 1930  143, 146 Swedish Cooperative Society  182, 184–6, 212 Klingen  24 Klint, Kaare  163–4, 174 Kooperativa Forbundet, see Swedish Cooperative Society Krantz, Knut  182, 184 Kritisk Revy  198 Lagerström, Hugo Assimilation  223–5, 227 Bröderna Lagerström and client relations  63, 141, 187–9, 192–3, 212 and Flamman  100 and Morgonbris  203–4 and Normalformaten  167 and Spektrum  186–90, 192–3, 212 and the Stockholm Exhibition  137–8, 142–3, 172 modified form  3, 58–64, 86, 142, 172, 203, 231 as applied to Nordisk Boktryck­ arekonst  59–61, 63–5 as applied to Svensk Grafisk Årsbok  60, 62–3

254INDEX

and the School for Book Craft in Stockholm  76, 79 words of warning  54–6, 58, 61, 138 Lenning, Einar  116, 138, 154, 166–8 L’Esprit Nouveau  50, 141 Lewerentz, Sigurd  2, 143, 155, 172 Lissitzky  18, 32, 79, 115 About Two Squares  2, 18, 45, 49 and ‘Elementare Typographie’  45–6, 49–50 international constructivism  19–21 poster for the Russian Exhibition in Zurich  203–5, 210, 231 Veshch  19, 46 Luthersson, Peter  23, 180, 187 MA group  21 journal  23, 46, 50 Marinetti, Filippo Tommaso  2, 15–16, 22–3, 31, 49 wireless imagination  15–16, 49 words-in-freedom  14–15, 17, 37, 49 Zang Tumb Tumb  2–3, 16 Master School for Germany’s Printers  44, 75, 79 Mediæval (Mediäval) Antikva  47, 59–60, 62, 140, 188, 203 Meer, Julia  6, 50–1 Meikle, Jeffrey discrete zones  6, 9, 181, 212 three modes of domestication  6–7, 163, 181 Meisterschule für Deutschlands Buchdrucker, see Master School for Germany’s Printers

Meyer, Hannes  50, 197 middle way  180–2, 212 Min Barndom  169, 171–2 Mise en Page  2, 7, 102–3, 128 Modern Publicity 1930  7, 102–3, 128 Moegreen, Charles  58, 67, 81, 84, 108–9 Moholy-Nagy, László  53–4, 75, 79, 218 Der Sturm and the New Student Society  32, 35 ‘Die neue Typographie’  14, 22, 37 a priori aesthetics  22, 54, 63 and ‘Elementare Typographie’  46, 48 First Bauhaus exhibition and catalogue  14, 21–2, 48, 51 typophoto  46, 108, 121–4 Møller, Kai  68, 149 Momberg, Harald Landt  1, 31–2, 35 Monde group  73, 181, 187, 193–5, 198, 212 journal  9, 193–4, 212 Morgonbris  185, 200–4, 209 Museum of Decorative Art in Copenhagen  121, 163–4 Museum of Decorative Art in Oslo  149–50, 173 Nazism  180, 205–6, 211, 220, 223, 227 Gleichschaltung  217, 218 Nelson, Arthur  67, 108–10 Nelsons Magasin for Grafisk Kunst  55, 99 Norsk Trykk and funkis  148–50 and Olsen cover design proposal  70 and the trade journal network  55, 58, 99, 230

INDEX

new empiricism  9, 217, 226 new human beings  18, 37, 52, 87, 189 New Student Society  73 avant-garde network  8, 14, 23, 31–2, 37, 93 Kunst  31, 35–6 Pressen  23, 31–5, 37, 100, 230 new traditionalism  226 New Typographies  2, 218 Nielsen, L. Chr.  56 Nordisk Boktryckarekonst  68, 79, 96, see also Lagerström, Hugo trade journal network  52, 55, 57–8, 86, 99, 230 Nordlunde, C. Volmer Selmars Typografi  84 Symboler i Abstrakt Kunst  186, 189, 191–2, 212 views on book design  107, 154, 166–70, 174 Norsk Boktrykk Kalender  58, 64, 66, 86, 219 Norvil, Nicolaj  101, 148 Norwegian Advertising Association  100–1 Norwegian Labour Party  200, 205–9, 211 Ny konst  24 objectivity  14, 22, 48, 153–4, 182, 184–6, 227 Olsen, Ivar S.  69–70 Olsen, Johan  163 Ørn-Evensen, Sverre  207–8 Ozenfant, Amedée  141, 165 L’Élan  24–7, 30, 37 psychotype  24–5, 30 typometrics  24–5, 28, 30 Pauli, Georg  8, 14, 23–4, 28–30, 37, 93, 100

255

Paulsson, Gregor  137, 141, 144, 172 Pelt, Kai  81–3, 127, 222 Peterson, Viktor  81, 86 constructive design  3, 71–3, 153, 231 Pilsen, Tom  103–5 Politiken  57 Porstmann, Walter  47, 51–2, 73 Pressa, International Press Exhibition  138, 141 Presskorn, Erik  101, 126–7 Professional Circle of Scandinavian Compositors  108 Propaganda  100, 102–5, 206 pseudo-constructivism  146, 231 Rasmussen, Steen Eiler  138, 154, 192 Britisk Brugskunst book  2, 73, 161, 163–7, 231 Britisk Brugskunst exhibition and standard types  164–6, 170, 174 readability  20, 54, 74, 95, 171 criticisms of funkis  146, 148, 153 importance to functional typography  152–3, 160 opposition to sans-serif  61–2, 101, 169 reason-why ad  98, 101, 121, 129 Reimer, Eli  81 Renner, Paul  51, 75–6, 78, 121, 169, 218 Ring ‘Neue Werbegestalter’  79 Riwkin, Josef  187 Rodchenko, Alexander  18–19, 106, 204 Romilla Review  97 Rygaard, Sven  104–5

256INDEX

Sadolin, Ebbe  169 salesmanship in print, see reasonwhy ad SAP, see Swedish Social Democratic Party School for Book and Advertising Art  223–4 School for Book Craft in Stockholm  44, 57, 76–7, 79, 223, 230 Schwitters, Kurt  4, 18, 37, 186, 218 and ‘Elementare Typographie’  46, 49 Merz  32, 46, 50 Selmar, Emil  55–6, 84, 95 Selmars Typografi  84–6 simultaneous  14, 16, 22, 25 Skandinaviske Typografers Faglige Ring, see Professional Circle of Scandinavian Compositors Skolan för Bokhantverk, see School for Book Craft in Stockholm Skolan för Bok-och Reklamkonst, see School for Book and Advertising Art social democracy  180, 183, 199, 211, 212 Social Democratic Party of Denmark  199–200, 206, 211 social democratic youth and women’s groups  9, 181, 199–200, 202, 209, 211–12 Socialdemokratiet, see Social Democratic Party of Denmark social network theory homophily  99 propinquity  99, 128 structural holes  7, 43, 50, 86, 128

Sørensen, Ole Chr.  148, 151 Spektrum  9, 181, 186–90, 211–12, 230 standard types  164–6, 168 Stockholm Exhibition 1930  76, 116, 138 Acceptera  143–6 and functionalism  8, 101, 137–8, 141, 155, 172–3, 227 and funkis  146, 173 impact on Billow  154–5 printed materials  142–3, 154 and the Swedish Cooperative Society  182–3 Sundahl, Eskil  144, 182 suprematism  14, 18–20, 37, 47, 55, 77 Svenska Boktryckareföreningen, see Swedish Association of Master Printers Svenska Reklamförbundet, see Swedish Advertising Association Svenska Slöjdföreningens Tidskrift  140, 141 Svensk Grafisk Årsbok  58, 60, 62–3, 172, 231 Svensk Reklam  93, 100 Svensson, Berta  76 Sveriges Socialdemokratiska Arbetareparti, see Swedish Social Democratic Party Swedish Advertising Association  93, 100–1 Swedish Association of Master Printers  60, 79, 142, 147, 155 Swedish Cooperative Society  9, 181–6, 211–12 Konsum  182–5 six-line ad  184

INDEX

Swedish Social Democratic Party  183, 200, 209–10 Swiss typography, see international typographic style Thejls, Henry  81–3, 138 Asymmetri i Typografi  217, 220–2, 227 plastic typography  3, 146, 152–3, 220–1 Tidevarvet  201–3 Tidskrift för Affärsekonomi  100–2 trade journal network  8, 50, 86, 99, 100, 127, 223 Trade School for Book Craft in Copenhagen  44, 76, 230 founding  57, 80–1 Selmars Typografi  83–6 teachers and students  58, 81–2, 108 Trump, Georg  74, 75, 79 truth in advertising  97, 121, 129 Tschachotin, Sergej  206, 207 Tschichold, Jan  50, 110, 160, 218, 226 Copenhagen lectures  73–4, 81–2, 146, 152–3 Die neue Typographie  14, 18, 84 and book design  95–6, 169 and the New Student Society  1, 31, 37 and poster design  112–13 and the typo-symbol  152 ‘Elementare Typographie’ manifesto  47, 49, 138, 149, 173, 169 as applied to Byggekunst  139 as applied to Falk’s designs  109–10

257

as applied to the Stockholm Exhibition’s printed materials  143, 145–6 as applied to the Swedish Cooperative Society house style  185 Harald Clausen’s version  65–7 ‘Elementare Typographie’ special issue design  45, 48 reception in Germany  8, 43–4, 50–2, 86 reception in Scandinavia  7–8, 52, 54–6, 59–60, 86 selection of articles and examples  44–6, 48–9, 55 structural holes  2, 43, 128 Funktionel Typografi  74, 85, 152, 154 Grafisk Revy  68 trade schools  75–6, 79, 81–2, 84–6 Typographische Entwurfstechnik  81, 82 Typographische Gestaltung  74–5, 84–5, 138, 146, 152–3, 220–1 Typografernes fagtekniske Samvirke, see Compositors’ Technical Cooperative Typografisk Årbog 1935  70–3, 231 Typographische Mitteilungen  51, 67, 76, 99, 100, 217 and ‘Elementare Typographie’  43, 45–6, 48, 50–1 van den Berg, Hubert  3–4, 23, 128 Venus Grotesk  53–4 Vu  156, 203

258INDEX

Walbaum  60, 62 Walden, Herwarth  24, 31–2, 37 Werner, Jeff  5, 232 Wessel, Nils  67 Wiborg, Thor  206–7

Workers’ Educational Society  206–7 Zachrisson, Bror  138, 169, 221 Zachrisson, Waldemar  57 Zenit  31, 37, 50

Plate 2.1  Front cover of De Grafiske Fag 15, no. 20 (1928). Photograph by the author. Item held by the Danish Association for Graphic Communication & Media (Grakom).

Plate 2.2  Front cover of Nordisk Boktryckarekonst 31, no. 1 (1930). Photograph by the author. Item held by the National Library of Sweden.



Plate 2.3  Jan Tschichold: Front cover of Grafisk Revy no. 4 (1936). Reproduced by kind permission of the Tschichold family. Photograph by the author. Item held by the National Library of Norway.

Plate 2.4  Kai Møller: Front cover of Grafisk Revy no. 1 (1931) © Jan Christien Møller 2020. Photograph by the author. Item held by the National Library of Norway.

Plate 2.5  Viktor Peterson: Front cover of Grafisk Årbog 1935 (1934). Photograph by the author. Item in the author’s collection.

Plate 2.6  Jan Tschichold: Front cover of Funktionel Typografi (1937). Reproduced by kind permission of the Tschichold family. Photograph by the author. Item in the author’s collection.

Plate 2.7  Karl-Erik Forsberg: Sketch for the book cover Hoffmand Familj (1932) © Geith Forsberg 2020. Photograph by Uppsala University Library. Item held by Uppsala University Library in Karl-Erik Forsberg’s arkiv Acc​.n​r. 1987/17: 1930-talet: no. 19.

Plate 3.1  Front cover of Rolf Jacobsen’s Jord og Jern (1933). Photograph by the author. Item held by the National Library of Norway.

Plate 3.2  Finn Havrevold: Front cover of Gunnar Larsen’s To Mistenkelige Personer (1933) © Finn Havrevold / BONO, 2020. Photograph by the National Library of Norway. Item held by the National Library of Norway.

Plate 4.1  Sigurd Lewerentz: Supporting (secondary) poster for the Stockholm Exhibition 1930 (1929) © AM 1973-05-11550, Sigurd Lewerentz Collection, ArkDes.

Plate 4.2  Kai Møller: Portrait of Olav Myre in pictorial typography. Cover illustration for Norsk Trykk no. 1 (1934) © Jan Christien Møller 2020. Photograph by the author. Item held by the National Library of Norway.

Plate 4.3  Nora Gulbrandsen and Ruth Arnestad Lødrup: Front cover of Brukskunst no. 1 (1932) © Nora Gulbrandsen and Ruth Arnestad Lødrup / BONO, 2020. Photograph by the author. Item held by the National Library of Norway.

Plate 5.1  Poster for Luma lightbulbs (1933). Photograph by the National Library of Sweden. Item held by the National Library of Sweden.

Plate 5.2  Edvard Heiberg: Front cover of 2 Vær. straks. (1935) © Jakob Heiberg, 2020. Photograph by the author. Item in the author’s collection.

Plate 5.3  Sverre Ørn-Evensen: Front cover of Kvinnene til Sosialismen! (1934) © The Norwegian Labour Party, 2020. Photograph by the author. Item in the author’s collection.

Plate 5.4  ‘Kammerater – lad det nu være slut! Stem for mere Arbejde! Stem Konservativt’, front cover of pamphlet for Det Konservative Folkeparti (1939). Photograph by The Royal Danish Library. Item held by The Royal Danish Library.