Louvette Banner includes shorted descenders by default allowing for extra tight leading, while Louvette Text has longer descenders by default to gracefully fill settings with more leading. The longer ones are available as stylistic alternates and grouped in Stylistic Set 03 (SS03), while the extra short descenders are grouped in Stylistic Set 04 (SS04). Louvette’s variable fonts include a descender axis (ytde) so you can change the descenders to any arbitrary length in between long and short as needed. This is particularly handy when you have a collision in a particular setting and don't want to change overall leading for other settings, so you can just change the descender of a single glyph and leave the rest alone.
Hairlines
With the Louvette variable fonts you can adjust the hairline axis (yopq) independently. The is particularly useful if you have light text on a dark background and need to thicken the hairlines to avoid ink from filling in, or on screen for “dark mode” settings.
OpenType features
Case sensitive forms
If you apply all-caps styling to text, an OpenType feature will change the default form of punctuation to one that better fits uppercase letters (CASE feature).
Fractions, superiors, and inferiors
Louvette includes OpenType features to set proper fractions (FRAC, NUMR and DNOM feature), along with superiors (SUPS feature) and inferior numerals (SINF feature).
Stylistic alternates
Louvette includes sets with stylistic alternate glyphs for the terminal of f (SS02, see below).
Ligatures
Louvette includes the standard f ligatures: ff, fi, fl, ffi, ffl
Choreographer and dancer Deborah Hay often says, as a movement directive for performers, “turn your fucking head.” It’s anatomical and literal, but it is also psychological and phenomenological. It’s about what happens to your perception of space and time when you turn your head: to get un-stuck from wherever you think front is, to experience your surroundings, to add dimensionality to your perspective, to avoid tunnel-vision or spacing out.
I think this makes a lot of sense, not just in the studio or onstage, but in the field at large. Looking to the side means not just seeing where I’m going or what’s in front of me, or being in a line of futures and pasts, but remembering to check out who’s with me. Looking to the side means remembering how much information, ideas, and wisdom my contemporaries, colleagues, and collaborators have that I don’t. As we share the same time, all these other perspectives bring what’s happening and what we are doing here into resolution, which makes the paths forward multiply, or the one I’m on feel wider and less lonely.
In the art world, people aren’t encouraged to cite one another’s work that much, as if we should all be claiming originality and individual genius. I don’t believe in either of those things. We are all perceptual sponges. Our bodies are dirty containers through which everything passes and leaves a trace. Our minds are fully populated with arbitrary and curated collections of learned behaviors, patterns, beliefs, and concepts. What falls out when we move, act, speak, and create is not one of ours but all of ours.
The people that are in and around me keep me company when I dance. Especially when I’m alone in the studio, that’s when I see and hear them the most; when I’m groping for tools and support in my practice, when I’m riffing and recognizing what’s in there, when I’m deciding where and how to start. I’m never alone in my bind (mind + body = bind) and thank goodness because it’d probably be boring and awkwardly narcissistic to look inward and find just one coherent thing I could call myself. I think dancers are often acutely aware of our own influences, as self-observation and understanding our patterns are among our most important tools. In this way, turning inward and turning our fucking heads are almost the same thing.
In all of my dances, explicitly or implicitly,
I nod to the many within and out there.
– Eleanor Bauer,
August 2019
Choreographer and dancer Deborah Hay often says, as a movement directive for performers, “turn your fucking head.” It’s anatomical and literal, but it is also psychological and phenomenological. It’s about what happens to your perception of space and time when you turn your head: to get un-stuck from wherever you think front is, to experience your surroundings, to add dimensionality to your perspective, to avoid tunnel-vision or spacing out.
I think this makes a lot of sense, not just in the studio or onstage, but in the field at large. Looking to the side means not just seeing where I’m going or what’s in front of me, or being in a line of futures and pasts, but remembering to check out who’s with me. Looking to the side means remembering how much information, ideas, and wisdom my contemporaries, colleagues, and collaborators have that I don’t. As we share the same time, all these other perspectives bring what’s happening and what we are doing here into resolution, which makes the paths forward multiply, or the one I’m on feel wider and less lonely.
In the art world, people aren’t encouraged to cite one another’s work that much, as if we should all be claiming originality and individual genius. I don’t believe in either of those things. We are all perceptual sponges. Our bodies are dirty containers through which everything passes and leaves a trace. Our minds are fully populated with arbitrary and curated collections of learned behaviors, patterns, beliefs, and concepts. What falls out when we move, act, speak, and create is not one of ours but all of ours.
The people that are in and around me keep me company when I dance. Especially when I’m alone in the studio, that’s when I see and hear them the most; when I’m groping for tools and support in my practice, when I’m riffing and recognizing what’s in there, when I’m deciding where and how to start. I’m never alone in my bind (mind + body = bind) and thank goodness because it’d probably be boring and awkwardly narcissistic to look inward and find just one coherent thing I could call myself. I think dancers are often acutely aware of our own influences, as self-observation and understanding our patterns are among our most important tools. In this way, turning inward and turning our fucking heads are almost the same thing.
In all of my dances, explicitly or implicitly,
I nod to the many within and out there.
– Eleanor Bauer,
August 2019
