Daytona Mess

You began your studies at Central Saint Martins in a program focused on fine arts and visual expression. At that time, were you already interested in letterforms or writing systems?

I started my studies at Central Saint Martins in London, in Fine Art, where I was part of the 2D pathway, which focused more on drawing and painting. At that time, I wasn’t yet interested in letterforms or writing systems. However, I already had a strong interest in writing itself. I wrote a lot of poetry and used text extensively in my work, especially handwritten text. I was also already interested in publishing more broadly.

After my time at Central Saint Martins, I decided to pursue a bachelor’s degree followed by a master’s. I entered directly into the second year of the bachelor’s program at ECV Creative Schools & Community in Paris.

It was really a teacher, Marie-Paule Jaulme, whom I credit with introducing me to typography. She was the one who set everything in motion for me. I was initially introduced through lettering, but what it really made me realize is that everything was still left to do. Or rather, that everything had already been done—and precisely because of that, everything remained open to exploration. It allowed me to move away from the idea of formal perfection and instead fully embrace experimentation.

That’s how my practice gradually evolved: first exploring the use of letterforms through posters and editorial work, and then wanting to create my own letterforms in order to express exactly what I wanted to say.

Your typographic work feels very defined today. How did this approach develop?

My approach to type design developed primarily through experimentation rather than through direct influence from type designers. Even though my earliest experiments were based on fonts whose aesthetics I appreciated, I quickly moved toward a more personal practice.

I often worked from tutorials—particularly around pixel fonts—which I would then rework using my own modular systems. At that stage, I was still very influenced by my art studies, with formal ideas I wanted to test.

I have always been fascinated by experimentation. I think it is both extremely useful and necessary—not only for advancing type design, but also for artistic practices more broadly.

My influences come less from type designers and more from visual culture as a whole, especially pop culture: films, music, video games, characters. This entire universe has always been a major source of inspiration for me, particularly in the beginning, when I felt that anything could become a starting point for designing a typeface. That is something that still stays with me today.

You’ve been working under the name Daytona Mess since 2017, referencing the song Daytona Meth by Lana Del Rey. What role does music play in your practice? More broadly, what are your main sources of inspiration today?

Even though I don’t make music—although it’s probably what I would most like to do—it plays an essential role in my work. I listen to music constantly; it’s a continuous presence, almost like a mental background when I draw.

My listening habits are quite varied, but at the moment I’m particularly immersed in video game soundtracks. Music can be a direct source of inspiration: I sometimes start from a lyric, a theme, or even a general atmosphere to design a typeface or a form.

For instance, the design of a serif might be influenced by a specific aesthetic—such as the dwarves in The Lord of the Rings—if I’m listening to that music while working.

Today, my main sources of inspiration remain fairly consistent: music, visual worlds, video games, and series. I’ve been listening to artists like CocoRosie for a long time, but lately I’ve been especially influenced by the soundtracks of games like The Legend of Zelda, The Witcher, and Baldur’s Gate 3.

Anything related to medieval or fantasy aesthetics is particularly inspiring to me right now. Series like Arcane, as well as universes like Cyberpunk 2077, which is one of my favorite games, also feed my imagination.

How do you position yourself in relation to the history of typography and graphic design?

There is one idea that marked me deeply at the beginning of my learning process. I was told that the Roman capitals of Trajan’s Column represented a form of typographic perfection. It was presented as a given. And that idea really stayed with me. I thought that if a form of perfection had already been achieved, then it opened up an immense space—the possibility to do something else. To explore forms that are less expected, less “perfect,” sometimes even deliberately unnecessary or dissonant.

This idea had a strong influence on me. Even though I have since questioned it—thinking that there are probably other forms just as relevant—it still structures the way I think. For example, my typeface Dargon is still influenced by certain proportions derived from Trajan letterforms.

More generally, I don’t consider myself particularly historical in my approach. What interests me more is imagination and the future. I try less to align myself with what has already existed and more to imagine what the alphabet could become.

I am quite convinced that, in a way, everything has already been done—but that this is precisely what makes an infinite number of new combinations possible. That’s where creativity lies for me.

People often ask how I manage to renew my practice or find new forms. In reality, I think it mostly comes from paying attention to the world around us: observing the present in order to better anticipate and imagine the future.

Without falling into cliché, would you still say you’re not anti-historical?

No, I would say it is absolutely necessary to understand the foundations—to know what has been done and how it was done—in order to be able to move beyond those rules.

In my view, it’s impossible to develop an experimental approach to type design without understanding why more classical typography works. Beyond functionality, it’s also important to question notions of quality: why is a form perceived as beautiful, and another not? For example, understanding how to draw good curves also helps you understand how deliberately “imperfect” or deviant curves can produce interesting effects.

For me, the history of graphic design and typography is therefore essential. It’s not just about knowing it, but about understanding it in order to better experiment and explore new forms.

Do you still have a few type designers in mind whose work serves as a reference point?

Even though, as I mentioned, my work is more influenced by pop culture than by type designers in the strict sense, there are still a few figures that stand out. I would say there are two or three key references that come to mind.

The first is Jules Durand, particularly through his project A Tale of Type, which has been a major influence on me.

I also think of the work of the studio Plain Form, with Benjamin Dumont and Lucas Descroix, especially their typeface Ready, which is one of my favorites.

Finally, in a very different and much less experimental register, the typeface Trinité by Bram de Does has also had an important influence on me.

More broadly, I would say that I am influenced more by graphic designers than by type designers strictly speaking. I’m thinking in particular of Baptiste Bernazeau, who also works in type design, as well as Jesse Nyberg and Kristyna Kulikova. Their work—especially in terms of color and composition—directly informs both the letterforms I develop and the way I think about typographic systems.

For my part, I do very little lettering. I tend to think about typefaces as complete systems. Formats such as poster series or editorial work have also had a strong influence on me—they are practices I am particularly drawn to.

Could you tell us about your encounter with Matthieu Salvaggio and how Sichem came to be published by Blaze Type?

I’ve always been quite comfortable with social media, and I’ve always felt the need to share what I do. To me, creating only really becomes meaningful when it can be shared with others—it’s an exchange, a way of feeding each other’s work.

I feel I was very lucky that Matthieu took an interest in some of my work. I’m particularly happy that Sichem caught his attention, because it’s a typeface that means a lot to me.

With Calyx, your first typeface published by BlazeType, one might immediately see references to the 1970s—modular forms, geometric expressiveness, a taste for ornament.

The starting point was actually more botanical. Certain letterforms—especially lowercase t’s—spontaneously reminded me of flowers or leaves. It was only afterward, with some distance, that I realized these forms also echoed aesthetics commonly associated with the 1970s.

That reflects my way of working quite well. I begin by creating, without necessarily theorizing or rationalizing. I don’t immediately think in terms of references or influences. I draw, I experiment, and only afterward do I begin to identify connections—an aesthetic, a song, a video game, a character.

Sometimes I then develop these associations more consciously, but it also happens that I start from a much more defined intention—for example, wanting to design a typeface inspired by a character like Jinx in Arcane, and thinking from the outset about forms or visual dynamics related to that universe.

In the case of Calyx—whose name itself refers to botanical vocabulary—the references to plant forms and to the 1970s emerged progressively, after the initial phase of creation. In a way, that reflects my process quite accurately.

Your work can also be related to a more freeform lettering tradition, particularly transfer lettering, where ornament and composition played a central role.

I would say that any such connection is entirely unconscious in my work. I don’t think about it at all, and I’m not used to working with those kinds of tools. Where I do see a connection, however, is in the way I approach design as a modular system—almost like a construction game, similar to Lego. It’s also an approach I try to pass on, especially to beginner students.

I think this modular logic was my real entry point into type design, and I still see it as the foundation of my practice. Even today, what interests me most is typography as a system. If I didn’t work in that way, I would probably do more lettering. But what feels essential to me is designing letters without knowing in advance how they will be used or combined.

The modular aspect operates through rules and constraints. Would you say that you try to surprise yourself through these systems?

Yes, I would even say that rules and constraints—and the way you navigate or subvert them—are what make experimentation possible.

They are what give richness to the work. Without them, there would be no real questioning, no progression, no research.

I often feel that I feed off these constraints. And when they are not present, I tend to impose them on myself, because without them it becomes much harder to generate new or meaningful forms.

The typefaces you develop clearly belong to the realm of display type. Would you be interested in developing text faces?

Developing text typefaces is something that increasingly interests me, partly because it’s an area I haven’t explored as much. What I find compelling about it is the sheer range of possibilities—it’s an incredibly rich field.

Dargon, which will be released soon, is the text typeface I’ve developed most fully so far. It’s a project that represents me quite closely.

At the moment, I’m also interested in exploring how display typefaces can be adapted for more text-oriented uses. For instance, I’ve started working on more text-friendly versions of Sichem, published by BlazeType.

More broadly, I’m becoming increasingly interested in questions of legibility—not as an end in itself, but as a way of understanding where the boundary lies between readable and unreadable. That helps me better control the expressive typefaces I design, which are often deliberately complex or difficult to read.

Is the formal radicality of your work primarily driven by the pleasure of creation, or is it part of a broader process where these forms could later be simplified or systematized?

It’s both a game and a necessity. I genuinely need to create forms—it’s the mode of expression that suits me best. If it weren’t type design, it might be music or visual art, as it was before. But ultimately, it’s less about pleasure than about necessity. Creating is something I need to do.

What interests me most is exploring the boundary between purely commercial typefaces and more personal, conceptual forms—without necessarily defining them as artistic.

That in-between space is where I feel most at home. A kind of gray zone, neither fully functional nor purely ornamental. In many ways, it reflects the universe I develop, including on my social platforms.

I was thinking about possible extensions toward dingbats, rules, or ornamental systems…

I don’t necessarily see that as part of a broader or strategic process, even though those directions are interesting. What has changed since my art school years—when my work was very conceptual—is that I now work in design, and more specifically in type design. The goal is therefore for these forms to be usable.

Formats such as dingbats or purely ornamental sets sometimes lean too far toward decoration. What I’m looking for instead is that intermediate space: forms that sit at the boundary between usable and unusable.

Isn’t one of the advantages of type design also seeing your work used, adapted, and sometimes reinterpreted by other designers?

It’s a bit complex for me, because the typefaces I design are sometimes quite difficult to use, or even fairly illegible. As a result, I don’t have that many concrete examples of usage to point to.

Even though I agree that, in design, seeing one’s work used is important, I don’t think it is the primary intention that drives my practice. What interests me above all is the system, the design process, and quite simply the act of drawing. I need to produce, to generate forms. Of course, there is also an economic reality—we need to make a living—but that is not what motivates my work in the first place.

In fact, I try to release some of my typefaces as open source, precisely because the commercial aspect is not what interests me most. What I want is to create, to share, and possibly to inspire.

That said, there are still a few uses that have been meaningful to me. For example, my typeface Lithops, published by Velvetyne Type Foundry, was used in an application that catalogs spells from Dungeons & Dragons (5th Edition). That kind of use resonates strongly with my universe. For Dargon, for instance, I would very much like it to be used in video games. That’s the kind of application I aspire to.

Fundamentally, though, use is not an end in itself. It’s a possibility, not an obligation. I position myself very much in that in-between space: my typefaces can be used, but that is not necessarily what I prioritize.

What matters most to me is to produce, to explore, and to allow the work, eventually, to inspire others.

Calyx would lend itself well to an extended version with multiple modules. Is that the kind of development you would be interested in pursuing?

Yes, absolutely. I’ve already started exploring that direction. I’ve worked on more extended versions of Calyx, with variations, particularly in the angles and corners.

The only reason I haven’t pursued it further for now is that Calyx was built according to a fairly specific initial logic, and adapting it would require a thorough reworking of the files. But conceptually, it is a system that lends itself very well to that kind of development.

Do you plan to extend this system to other writing systems that might naturally align with it?

At this stage, I feel I don’t yet have sufficient knowledge to approach other writing systems rigorously. It’s also a matter of time and organization—I already have many projects in progress.

That said, I find Greek and Cyrillic writing systems fascinating, and I would very much like to explore them. But I don’t want to approach them superficially or without proper understanding. I would need to take the time to study them seriously before engaging with them.

The presentation of Sichem evokes both the lightness of hot air balloons and more historical references. What was the actual starting point of the project?

The starting point of Sichem reflects my process quite well, because the idea came to me in a dream. I even think I started working on it immediately upon waking, so as not to forget it.

At that time, I was already absorbing a great deal of visual references—not necessarily identified or named, but accumulated over time. I’ve been collecting images and forms from graphic design, art, and design for many years. I have this kind of internal visual archive. At some point, it seems to have produced something that surfaced in a dream. I remember the word “electric” being present, or something close to it, along with these very geometric, high-contrast forms.

I began by drawing the C, then the E, and from there everything developed. As I worked on these forms, I sensed a kind of flow or movement, which made me think of a hot air balloon. That association then took on a more personal dimension. On my mother’s side, there is a family connection to hot air balloons, and it also made me think of my grandfather, who had passed away shortly before. From that point on, the imagery expanded, and the reference to hot air balloons became more explicit.

But at the origin, there was no conscious reference. It was a very raw, intuitive visual impulse. It’s actually quite difficult for me to explain exactly where these ideas come from—I tend to feel they emerge from a diffuse set of influences rather than from any single identifiable source.

In Sichem, one can observe a dialogue between vertical and rounded forms that recalls certain interwar typefaces. Was this a conscious reference, or more of an intuitive outcome?

I don’t think those references were conscious. At that time, it was more of a general interest rather than something I had deeply studied.

I think I was naturally drawn to these kinds of forms, especially because I’ve always been very interested in contrast. In typography, contrast is a fundamental principle, and the opposition between very thin and thicker forms has always appealed to me.

For me, typography is primarily a matter of black and white—and everything that happens between the two. That contrast is what interests me most. People often speak about “typographic gray,” but that relates more to the perception of text as a whole system. What I focus on is what happens at the level of the letter itself: tensions, oppositions, balances between filled and empty spaces.

When designing Sichem, that was exactly the kind of drawing I had in mind. That said, my tastes have evolved significantly since then, and it’s not necessarily a direction I would pursue today.

Compared to your more recent work, Sichem can appear more restrained, less radical in its formal experimentation.

I would say it was very much a formative project. It reflected exactly the kind of forms I wanted to produce at that time, without overthinking them.

There may also have been a diffuse influence from what I was seeing at the time—especially on platforms like Instagram—but overall, the process was very organic. My work is rarely entirely deliberate in its aesthetic choices, and that is also part of what defines my approach: I don’t try to consciously define a style. I explore different directions, and some of them recur.

In the case of Sichem, for instance, I never consciously thought of it as more restrained or less radical. It is more a reflection of my level of mastery at the time. I had less distance from the tools, less experience, and that inevitably shaped the drawing. Even very concrete factors played a role—for example, I was working on a lower-quality screen than the one I use today, and I think that had a real impact on how I drew the letters.

You mentioned pushing the limits of the software…

The number of points per glyph is a major constraint that I pay close attention to. In Glyphs 3, there is a physical limit beyond which the interface becomes extremely slow, making it unusable and preventing file export.

I am interested in identifying that threshold in order to understand how far I can push the complexity of my glyphs. My aim is to increase the density of the drawing as much as possible, whether for a visually complex result or for structural details that are not immediately visible.

I am also very interested in color and variable fonts, especially variable color fonts. This is still a field that is not well supported by most design software. More broadly, the ability to increase the complexity of a letter—particularly through variability—is what allows me to test and push the limits of the tool.

On your website, you regularly share typographic sketches and experimental work. What happens to these projects? Can we expect new releases soon?

The goal is always to finish typefaces and release them so that people can use them. But personally, I find it quite difficult to complete them, because what interests me most is the act of creation itself and the process behind it. That said, I’m trying to discipline myself to bring more projects to completion.

Dargon will be released soon by TypeTogether, and Ampoule will be published as an open-source project. Dargon took me two years to complete, so I’m now gradually returning to my other projects.

I currently have over a hundred projects in progress, which makes it difficult to decide what to focus on. That said, I would very much like to release a text version of Sichem with Blaze, as well as several other projects. Everything is in progress, and I’m confident that these projects will eventually be released—I just don’t know exactly when.

What place does teaching type design occupy in your schedule and your creative philosophy? Is it something you plan to continue or develop further?

I’ve been teaching since September 2024 at ECV in Paris, where I also studied. I was recommended by Morgane Vantorre to replace her during her year at TypeMedia.

The school appreciated my teaching, and I was asked to continue even after her return. It is quite time-consuming, especially because I tend to invest a lot in it. But it’s also a real exchange, and I often feel that I learn as much as the students do.

My perception of teaching has evolved. At first, I sometimes felt I would rather be drawing. But over time, I’ve come to see it as an essential part of my practice. It’s fascinating to observe how each student responds differently to the same brief.

Today, I see teaching as something I want to continue. It has brought me so much, both in terms of reflection and practice, that I consider it a fundamental component of my work.

Finally, do you see yourself returning to more purely artistic work, combining your typographic practice with your background in visual art?

For my graduation project in 2020, I developed a highly conceptual and editorial universe based on a pantheon built around the history of the letter A, titled A comme Palaios. I have always felt that such a project could find a particularly relevant form in an immersive context—such as a video game, an exhibition, or an installation.

Even today, I would like to further develop the relationship between my artistic practice—painting, figurative or abstract drawing—and typography. I haven’t yet found a precise way to articulate these two dimensions, but the idea remains central.

Installation, in particular, seems to offer a very fertile ground for this kind of exploration. I have begun to explore this direction, although I have not yet fully pursued it. It is nevertheless a path I would like to develop in the future. I have the sense that, at some point in my trajectory, I will need to dedicate myself to it more fully.