Vestibule
Studio (/)
The honest lobby. States outright that the studio is imagined and invites you in anyway. Every other room is reachable from here.
For: An entry point that doesn't pretend to be anything else.
↝ Process · Notes · Open questions
Map · XIII
A labyrinth with signs.
67b is a speculative journal, which means it can afford to be a little strange. But strange-on-purpose isn't the same as random. This page explains, for each room, what it's for and where it leads next. You can use it as an index, a defence, or just a floorplan.
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No. 01 -
No. 02 Long corridor
Process
If 67b ran real projects, this is the way they might go. It's a speculation about small-studio process, not a claim that this studio has one.
For: A scenario: what might a careful type-and-print process look like?
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No. 03 Display cabinet
Work
Imagined project briefs. Each entry is a speculative what-if — the idea of a book, a catalogue, a signage system. Read it as a brief, not a portfolio.
For: Provocations in the shape of commissions.
↝ Process · Rejected briefs · Notes
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No. 04 Reading room
Notes
Short essays about the craft. The most conventional pages on the site — just opinions, written out.
For: Unhurried writing about typography and print culture.
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No. 05 Workshop
Playground
Live typographic toys that run in the browser. Kinetic letter-spacing sliders, grid overlays, micro-experiments. Play and leave.
For: Typography to move around in, rather than read.
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No. 06 Cabinet
Specimen drawer
Type specimens for non-existent or re-imagined typefaces. Each is a brief argument about what a typeface might want to be.
For: Specimens as speculative design, not as font sales.
↝ Kerning clinic · Work · Playground
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No. 07 Consulting room
Kerning clinic
Interactive pages where you nudge letter pairs. A gentle cure for the feeling that kerning is arbitrary — it isn't, quite.
For: Learning by adjustment, not by reading.
↝ Specimen drawer · Playground · Process
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No. 08 Rubbish bin (sorted)
Rejected briefs
Design briefs the imagined studio turned down, with reasons. An honest look at the trade's boundary conditions.
For: Refusal as a design decision, not as moral performance.
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No. 09 Wordsmiths' closet
Glossary of pretension
The studio's vocabulary, held at arm's length. A joke at the expense of a certain kind of design writing — and ourselves.
For: Naming the tics before they calcify.
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No. 10 Fortune-teller's booth
Aphorism generator
Three word-banks, one button, nonsense on demand. The game reveals how little authority many design aphorisms need to persuade.
For: A tool for noticing how aphorisms are built.
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No. 11 Courtyard
Open questions
The five questions the studio would keep asking. They anchor every other page.
For: Where we come back to breathe.
A note about the labyrinth
Some of the rooms are fanciful on purpose. The aphorism generator is meant to be transparent about how design-maxims are built; the glossary is a joke at our own expense first and the trade's second; the rejected briefs are a way to think about refusal as a designer's tool.
If any of them seems to drift from plain sense, it's usually because we're testing an idea by overstating it. The map is the safety rope: no matter how odd a room gets, you can come back here, find its purpose, and leave.