Typo

Typography is language, but here it refuses to speak. This series draws from the restless energy of David Carson and Neville Brody, two designers who fractured the page and broke the grid, but it pushes further still. Working in Flux — a text-to-image generator that famously struggles with text — Typo embraces spelling mistakes, typographic errors, and accidents. Letters collapse, headlines bleed, alphabets dissolve into pseudo-forms that can no longer be read. QuarkXPress once gave designers control, InDesign gave them polish; Flux gives us chaos. Here that chaos becomes the work. The medium is the message. Don’t mistake legibility for communication.

These images behave like posters, or pages from a publication that does not exist. Some breathe in generous white space, others are crushed by dense noise. Type over-scales, fractures, collides, and collapses into itself. Words emerge but do not resolve: broken English, invented fragments, illegible sentences, and numbers merging with letterforms. We search for meaning because our eyes cannot help it. This is pareidolia applied to text — a compulsion to read where nothing can be read. The page itself becomes a trick, hovering between legibility and nonsense, asking us to look longer than we normally would — in search of meaning.

The works nod toward dyslexia, where letters slip, rotate, or double themselves. Dyslexic readers often describe words as restless, or never still; Typo captures that sensation in visual form. These synthographs are not about failure but transformation, turning weakness into strength. Illegibility is no longer an error to be corrected but a space for invention, beauty, and disobedience. Every page in Typo is both sabotage and design — a reminder that communication is not only what words say, but also what they refuse to say.