Louder Than Paper

Every poster we print begins with a single decision about scale, and almost every one of them is wrong the first time. Type that looks monumental on a screen collapses into noise at A1, and type that feels timid in a proof turns deafening once it is pinned to a wall at eye height.

So the studio keeps a rule: set the headline until it no longer fits, then take one word away. What remains has to survive being cropped by the paper's edge — which is the whole point. A letterform cut in half is still legible, and the reader's eye finishes the job with more attention than a comfortable line ever earns.

The accent block does the rest. One flat field of vermilion, never two, placed where the composition is quietest.