During my graduate studies in type design at ECAL (École cantonale d’art de Lausanne, Switzerland), I received a brief to develop a typeface for the graphic identity of an architecture firm in Zurich. The program focused on designing typefaces as a response to design projects, based on the idea that every typeface is born from a need — and its purpose dictates how it looks. As a designer, I build letterforms in response to the brief, listening to the character, context and visual language the project demands.

Although the brief was intended for academic purposes only, it was based on a real studio — an architecture firm for which my professor, Mary Louzan, was designing an identity at the time. We were given access to documentation and visual materials from the project, from which I tried to understand the spirit of the place: industrial-looking structures, yet with a clear emphasis on the human experience within them. From this impression grew the idea of a fusion between a Swiss grotesque — precise, minimalist and structured — and a humanist approach that emphasizes the hand's presence within the letterforms.

For an initial sketch, I took Gill Sans, ran it through several Photoshop filters to “break” the original form, and from there began drawing it anew. This is how the font‘s DNA began to take shape: high contrast, sharp and expressive cuts that sharpen the humanist quality, and tight spacing that creates a dark and intense texture.

When the semester ended, the font — like many academic projects — went into a drawer. But not for long. Shortly afterward, two friends who had started a new studio called ummanu reached out asking for help with logo and identity design. During our conversation, I showed them how the studio's name looked in the typeface I had designed, and before I knew it the font was out of the drawer, open again, and I was editing it together with them to fit their needs. That was the moment I realized there was something here with real potential — a typeface people would actually want to use.

I decided to develop it further into a complete type family that could serve additional projects. Since many of my clients are in Israel, I developed a Hebrew version in parallel. For an elective in the program, I chose Radim Pesko, one of my professors, to mentor the project. Radim is a brilliant type designer with a sensitivity to typographic conventions and a rare ability to know when and how to break them. For the development of the Hebrew version, I was also assisted by Daniel Grumer and Yank Yontef from Fontef Studio. Today, the typeface is in the Fontef library — and from there it is setting out on its journey, appearing in surprising designs and taking on a life of its own.

A few details worth pointing out: with a continuous and dense typographic rhythm in mind, I tried to emphasize sharp angles — for instance in the letter a, which has no “tail” on the right side, unlike most other sans-serif typefaces. In the letter g, the right “ear” is replaced by a straight line, which highlights the geometry of the form. In Hebrew, sharp angles are visible in the letter gimel in the regular version, and especially in the roof of its angular alternate (ss01, for the typographically adventurous). All these elements live alongside letters that are deliberately restrained, as part of the overall balance of the typographic system.

The typeface also has an italic version, which — unlike what is common in grotesque typefaces — is based on the logic of a true italic rather than a simple mechanical slant. You can see this in letters such as a and g, which undergo genuine structural transformation — from two stories to one. This choice allowed me to emphasize angles and give the font a sense of speed, movement and distinction. In Hebrew, the tradition does not include italic as a distinct typographic tool, but in an era of bilingual design, adopting new tools is essential. I therefore applied similar principles to the Hebrew version as well — hoping that designers will embrace italic as an additional asset in their typographic work.

As the typeface approached its public release, the question arose of how to present it on social media and in print. My own instinct was clear: a character set, a text block, a headline demonstrating versatility — the classic approach familiar to type designers. But I also wanted something less predictable, closer to the experience of someone actually using the typeface. So we turned to Amit Ayalon, a close friend and neighbor from a nearby Swiss city, and asked him to design the graphic materials and poster. Amit approached the project without any of the baggage of the type world, and precisely because of that created something stunning, playful and surprising. I couldn't have imagined the directions he proposed, and it was thrilling to see a designer I admire work with my typeface and bring it to life. A secret for those who made it this far: if you purchase the typeface, you'll receive the folded poster Amit designed as a gift.

Neoklass has gone through many iterations, but if there is one quality that defines it, it is decisiveness. Whether in the terminals that end at a straight 90-degree angle, or in the basic forms that compose it — Neoklass has always led me to design with confidence. It was a project that knew what it wanted to be, and as a designer, I simply listened. A quiet dialogue between creator and creation, difficult to explain but unmistakable when it happens.

Special thanks to everyone who accompanied me along the way:
Mary Louzan and Radim Pesko — my professors in the program, for their guidance, support and direction
Yank Yontef and Daniel Grumer — for their consultation, precision and trust
Amit Ayalon — for designing the posters and marketing materials for the typeface.