Berlin Typography

We are delighted to announce that our book, Berlin Typography, is out now from Prestel Verlag.

The book represents the culmination of a five year journey through the streets of Berlin, searching out the city’s finest letterforms from carved stone to cursive neon. Over the course of seven chapters, the book offers a thematic selection of shops, services, restaurants, cinemas, U-Bahn stations, street signs and everything in between, drawn from the extensive archive of the Berlin Typography project.

We honestly couldn’t be happier with the way the book turned out … and we hope you will enjoy reading it as much as we enjoyed making it. At the end of this post there is a small gallery of our book in front of various famous Berlin landmarks. But first:

Here is the info:
Berlin Typography
Prestel Verlag, 2021
Hardcover
176pp, featuring ca. 250 full colour images
Foreword by Christoph Amend

And here is where you can buy it:
Click here if you live in Germany.
Click here if you live in the UK.
Click here if you live in the USA.

Please support your local independent bookshop wherever possible.

A note about the blog

You may have noticed that we haven’t posted very much on this blog of late. Indeed, the last post is from the end of 2019, before the Covid pandemic, before we had even started working on the Berlin Typography book.

We had planned to launch a new website to coincide with the release of the book, but this didn’t happen. It is still in the works but frankly we really have no idea what we’re doing when it comes to web design and so we’ve been putting it off. We still have a lot of blog posts we’d like to publish, and there are still many images from the Berlin Typography image collection that have yet to see the light of day. Hopefully we’ll have more news (and a new website) at some point over the summer.

In the meantime, we’ve been devoting much of our time to an exciting new project on the subject of Plattenbauten in Berlin. Check it out on Twitter if you haven’t already: twitter.com/PlattenbauBLN

And, of course, the Berlin Typography Twitter account is still your one-stop source for Berlin-based signage: twitter.com/Berlin_Type

And now, here are some images:

And so we reach the end of our Colours of Berlin series, which we started back at the beginning of 2019. In the first half of the year we examined the primary colours, starting with yellow, then moving to blue, and on to red. In the second half we looked at the secondary colours with a post on green, followed by a post on orange. For our final post in the series we look at:

In previous posts we have attempted to present the images with a minimum of commentary, but it is worth opening this post with two minor points. Firstly, there seems to be a more prominent lack of terminological agreement regarding the spectrum between red and blue. Where different shades of orange were allowed to pass without comment under the umbrella term ‘orange’, in this particular spectrum one must contend with the specific boundaries between Violet, Indigo, Magenta and the numerous sub-hues between them. We have chosen Purple as the title for this post with the understanding that it is an inexact term. It seemed, on balance, the least inelegant solution.

Secondly, despite the broad definition of purple, it is still the least common colour in Berlin by a considerable margin. If there was a golden age of purple signage, it has long since disappeared and taken most of the evidence of its existence with it.

If you don’t already, you should follow us on Twitter at @Berlin_Type, for your daily dose of typographic goodness from Berlin.

Berlin is a city of villages. Before the twentieth century, the compact Prussian capital was surrounded by dozens of small independent communities such as Schöneberg, Charlottenburg and Zehlendorf. As the main city and the smaller towns began to grow during the industrial revolution, the boundaries between them became indistinct and eventually meaningless. In 1920, the Greater Berlin Act unified the agglomeration of villages into the single metropolitan area that we know today.

Reminders of those once-autonomous villages can be found in the numerous Rathäuser (city halls) dotted throughout the city. Every town had its Rathaus, where the city councillors (Rath, or Rat in German, hence the name) would carry out their administrative duties, and even after Berlin had been merged into a single city, many of the Rathaus buildings remained in use as the seat of borough councils.

Iron, painted gold and fashioned into blackletter, from the Rathaus Lichtenberg.

Iron serifs.

While there were once as many as twenty-three boroughs in Berlin, the most recent reform in 2001 reduced the number to twelve. As a result, a number of Rathaus buildings necessarily fell out of official use as the seat of local government, although most have continued to house civic offices of one form or another.

The former Rathaus Wilmersdorf now contains a Bürgeramt, a gallery and a Volkshochschule.

Entrance to the Bürgeramt at Rathaus Zehlendorf.

Missing counters in this lightbox in front of Rathaus Tempelhof.

Not surprisingly, the quality of Rathaus typography can vary wildly. Some of the halls which no longer function as borough councils have been stripped of all signage relating to their original purpose, and in many of the buildings the signage tend to be highly functional. Yet in Rathaus buildings of an earlier vintage some of the stone inscriptions have survived.

Wilhelm II was here.

Wilhelm II was also in Spandau.

The magnificent, oxidising letters above the entrance to Rathaus Wedding.

A curious swirly inscription above the Rathaus Pankow.

The Rathaus Charlottenburg, the intricately detailed building that dominates the north side of Otto-Suhr-Allee, contains an impressive series of blackletter inscriptions over the windows, but also boasts some magnificent Jugendstil flourishes (including an extraordinary post-box and one of the best porter’s lodges in Berlin).

Every window facing Alt-Lietzow features a different four or five word blackletter inscription.

The best of all possible post-boxes.

Who needs psychedelia when you have Jugendstil.

Reinhardt and Süssenguth were responsible for the inspired insanity of Rathaus Charlottenburg.

Many of Berlin’s current and former city halls are accompanied by a Ratskeller, a pub and restaurant in the vaulted basement of the Rathaus complex where the city councillors of old could relax with a beer or two after a long day of public service. Today most Ratskellers are open to the public and independently operated, and the attendant signs can be reasonably bland … but a handful have retained a typographic link to their illustrious past.

Making the most of an arch.

Call-back to the past.

Gold painted letters.

Old-school Ratskeller typography in seventies lightbox form.

Not even trying.

A rare example of neon at the entrance to the Ratskeller.

Picking up on the general theme of the Rathaus Charlottenburg.

Traditional blackletter for a traditional institution.

If you don’t already, you should follow us on Twitter at @Berlin_Type, for your daily dose of typographic goodness from Berlin.

The colours of Berlin is a bi-monthly series that will run throughout 2019. In the first part of the year we examined the primary colours, starting with yellow, then moving to blue, and on to red. In June we started on the secondary colours with a post on green. And now we are proud to present:

Although the original idea of this series was to display the images without any further commentary, a few words need to be said about the presence of orange in Berlin. Orange was a commonly used colour in the seventies but, unlike other colours that were popular in that decade, orange seems to have fallen most irredeemably out of fashion. Where the other posts in this series have been easy to assemble, we have had to scour the archive to find a respectable number of good images for this one.

Orange signs were already a rarity when the Berlin Typography project started in 2016, and they have only become more scarce in the intervening years. Many of the signs in the gallery below are no longer there. Berlin appears to be on a mission to rid itself of orange, and those efforts are not limited to signage. The wonderful orange tiling that once welcomed visitors to Yorckstraße U-Bahn station have been torn down, and passengers now have only rough concrete walls to distract them from the fumes of meth drifting down the platform. What was so bad about the orange that made someone decide to replace it with nothing?

Fortunately trends come and go, and we can hope that the banishment of orange from Berlin is only temporary. At the moment the colour is perhaps most closely associated with the rubbish bins dotted around the city by BSR, Berlin’s waste management concern. But it will not be too long before orange makes a more pronounced return to the streets of Berlin.

If you don’t already, you should follow us on Twitter at @Berlin_Type, for your daily dose of typographic goodness from Berlin.

In Depth is an occasional series on the Berlin Typography blog celebrating the variety and diversity of typography within a specific geographical location. This week, guest author John Peck goes on a typographical journey down one of Berlin’s most famous streets.

It was once the commercial epicentre of Berlin, a high-end shopping street to rival the Champs-Elysées and a symbol of the city’s astonishing post-war economic recovery. While it may have lost some of its pre-eminence in the early decades of the twenty-first century, the Kurfürstendamm was and remains one of Berlin’s most iconic streets, and in a journey along its 3.5 km length – from Breitscheidplatz at its eastern end to Rathenauplatz in the West – one can trace the history and changing fortunes of the city itself.

The Kurfürstendamm, known to locals simply as the Ku’Damm, started life as the route to the hunting grounds of the Grunewald used by the electors (Kurfürsten) of Brandenburg. When the outlying towns of Charlottenburg and Wilmersdorf were incorporated into the city under the Greater Berlin Act of 1920, it soon became one of the city’s primary nightlife destinations. Although heavily damaged during the war, it rebounded quickly and, with the division of the city into East and West, became the commercial and cultural centre of West Berlin.

Ku’Damm 1978. Photo by Willy Pragher, used under Creative Commons license.

Outside U-Bhf Kurfürstendamm, 1979. Photo by Willy Pragher, used under Creative Commons license.

Its heyday lasted some three decades, but with the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989 the gravitational centre of the city started to drift eastward, toward Friedrichstraße, the newly rebuilt Potsdamer Platz, and the drab area surrounding Hackescher Markt. While the Ku’Damm has retained its reputation as a luxury shopping destination, it has also been subject to the relentless modernisation that has left its mark on so much of Berlin. Local businesses have been supplanted by international chains and, in the process, much of the street’s distinctive, brightly-coloured signage has disappeared in favour of conservative design and standardised branding.

Yet older photos from the Ku’Damm’s golden age reveal whimsical designs, bright colours (often featuring white and light blue), and playful typefaces that include cursive scripts, elegant display faces, and throwbacks to the stylised type of the twenties. The playfulness is all the more surprising given that the street had only recently been devastated by the war; indeed the modern street begins beneath the destroyed spire of the Kaiser-Wilhelm-Gedächtnis-Kirche in Breitscheidplatz.

View towards the Kaiser-Wilhelm-Gedächtnis-Kirche, 1979. Photo by Willy Pragher, used under Creative Commons license.

The bronze inscription on the Kaiser-Wilhelm-Gedächtnis-Kirche tells a grim story, but with some fantastic Umlauts.

For most of the twentieth century, the area around Breitscheidplatz was home to two of the grand cinema palaces of old Berlin. The Marmorhaus, with its marble façade, opened in 1913 and screened many of the most celebrated films of the silent era, including the première of Das Cabinet des Dr Caligari. The Gloria-Palast opened a decade later in the former Romanisches Haus at Ku’Damm 10. While the Marmorhaus was rebuilt after the war – retaining its iconic blue neon sign – the Gloria-Palast moved to a new location next to Breitscheidplatz where, for nearly half a century, it announced itself to the street with one of the brashest and most beautiful cinema signs in Berlin, a three-storey sunburst design inlaid with neon slab-serifs.

Blue neon on blue letters. A classic of the Ku’Damm.

The majestic sunburst of the Gloria Palast, shortly before it was removed.

Both cinemas closed around the turn of the millennium. While the Marmorhaus building was put to new use as a retail space, it managed to retain its iconic blue neon sign. The Gloria building, however, was completely gutted, and in the process both its modern brass railings and its magnificent sign disappeared.

The Gloria Palast sign ended up in a barn in Mecklenburg-Vorpommern … most of the neon was badly damaged.

The divide between the old Ku’Damm and its modern incarnation is nowhere more apparent than at the Kranzler Eck building at the corner of Joachimsthaler Straße where the Kurfürstendamm truly begins. While the upper rotunda and its immediately recognisable neon sign (dating from the late 1950s) still stand, the former Café Kranzler is long gone, and most of the building has been given over to clothing chain Superdry.

The Kranzler Rotunda … the Café Kranzler is, alas, long gone.

The sign may be dwarfed by newer, taller buildings, but it still dominates the intersection at Joachimsthaler Straße.

The neon Z, with crossbar.

Immediately west of Joachimsthaler Straße one finds a mix of historic hotels, tourist restaurants and a huge array of high-end international chains, from Porsche to Prada, Rolex to Apple. It is this stretch that has suffered most from the processes of modernisation, and the number of old signs seems to decline with each passing year. The glass display cases which line the street, once a reliable source of interesting typography, have largely followed suit. Yet there are still a few curiosities to be found. While many of the street-level signs contain the modern logos of familiar luxury brands, old neon can still be glimpsed on the higher levels of some buildings.

The Droste Immobilien building is still there, but the wonderful neon sign seems to have disappeared in the last two years.

The Ku’Damm offices of CCC-Filme … next to it, obscured by trees, is the continuation ‘in aller Welt.’

The neon sign of Berliner Stadtrundfahrt has managed to persevere in the face of rampant modernisation on either side.

This stretch also includes two former consulates. The building at Kurfürstendamm 218, where Chinese restaurant Ho Lin Wah lures patrons with two bright red neon signs, was built on the site of what had been the Chinese consulate between the 1920s and 1941 (and again, briefly, after the war). A few doors down, the Maison de France building at Ku’Damm 211 had a more turbulent history: in 1983, it was the site of a notorious terrorist bombing, carried out by Carlos the Jackal in cooperation with members of the Stasi. The building reopened in 1985 with a ceremony attended, in a display of Franco-German unity, by both François Mitterrand and Helmut Kohl. The Cinema Paris has occupied the building’s ground floor since the fifties, surviving both the Cold War years and the modernisations of the twenty-first century with its red neon sign intact.

One of Ho Lin Wah’s two red neon signs. The other can be found at the end of corridor that leads into the Hof.

The classic modern geometry of the Cinema Paris sign.

The display cases associated with the Cinema Paris have retained their distinctive stencil typography.

After the Ku’Damm reaches Olivaer Platz, the high-end chains begin to disappear – along with the glass display cases – and the clothing shops start to be outnumbered by antiques, art and rug dealers. While there is still an air of affluence, the nature of the shops and their signs have more of a neighbourhood feel. West of Adenauerplatz, the tourists grow scarce and the street continues its journey to the edge of the city as a less-distinguished urban thoroughfare. Yet it is not without its points of interest.

The old Stottrop flagship used to mark the effective end of higher-end clothing on the Ku’Damm. The shop and its sign are now gone.

One of the antiques dealers on the stretch between Olivaerplatz and Adenauer Platz. The shop has since relocated and its signs are sure to disappear before long.

The neon becomes less impressive when one reaches Adenauerplatz.

The Schaubühne building, across from Lehniner Platz, was designed by Erich Mendelsohn in the 1920s. Although it was damaged severely during the war, it reopened in the late 1940s and was taken over by the Schaubühne am Hallesches Ufer in 1981. The white illuminated letters of the sign feel very much at home on the modernist curves of the building. The U-umlaut, in particular, is an interesting construction of two canister-like parts, deeper than they are wide.

The Schaubühne by day…

…and by night.

The mechanics of the U-umlaut.

Shortly afterwards, the Ku’Damm enters the inconspicuous borough of Halensee. Although the street feels far removed from the high-end retail that defines its more famous eastern stretch, it contains two of the more interesting examples of full-building signage in Berlin.

The Söhnges Optiker sign, at the corner Joachim-Friedrich-Straße, features a single eyeball staring intently from the roof of the building onto the street below; the name of the company just beneath it contains an O-umlaut that looks like an overjoyed frog, crowned with a menacing array of pigeon spikes. Each of the letters exudes tremendous personality (especially the capital S, which gets stranger the longer one looks at it), and the free-floating umlaut with its painted-on half-moons is, like that of the Schaubühne, an impressive feat of engineering. On the front of the building, three smaller versions of the eye – one for each floor – flash on and off after dark, performing a rhythmic dance that replicates the blinking of an eye.

The strange script of Söhnges Optiker, complete with pigeon spikes.

Eyes on the side of the building.

Several blocks further west are the former offices of Eduard Winter, an auto dealer bought by Volkswagen in 2009. The ground floor now houses a luxury auto dealership, but the neon-framed painted metal letters remain, traversing the corner of the building in two impressively long rows. The light-blue colour and whimsical typeface belies an impressive amount of behind-the-scenes structural setup, particularly for those letters too narrow to be anchored to the vertical columns of the building at the sides.

The curving façade of the former Eduard Winter auto dealership.

The letters make the building.

From there, the Ku’Damm passes S-Bahnhof Halensee, crosses the no-man’s-land of the Ringbahn, and continues for a few blocks before changing names and entering the quiet Grunewald neighbourhood as a much smaller residential street. Between the small Imbisses and massive furniture stores there is little of typographic interest, yet the grand promenade of the former West Berlin ends in an appropriately surreal fashion, at an inaccessible roundabout with a curious sculpture at its centre. Some see the ‘Beton-Cadillacs’ – a series of cars partially encased in concrete – as a tribute to the auto dealerships that lined the Ku’Damm’s during its glory days; others see it as a bizarre capitalist-Brutalist relic that pleases fans of neither.

The Beton-Cadillacs mark the end of the Ku’Damm.

Nonetheless it is a fitting end to the journey. In travelling from east to west, the Ku’Damm illustrates a history of diminishing fortunes, from cultural hot-spot to indifferent retail strip and from typographic treasure trove to exemplar of contemporary homogenisation. Its glory may be long faded, and the processes of globalism may have brought it that much closer to the shopping streets of every other European capital, but the Kurfürstendamm will always hold a special place in the mythology of Berlin.

The Ku’Damm will survive in one form or another.

John Peck is a Berlin-based writer and printer. He is the editor of Degraded Orbit, a travel, art, and gaming site, and co-founder of Volta Press, a letterpress studio that started in Oakland in 2007 and opened in Berlin in 2017.

If you don’t already, you should follow us on Twitter at @Berlin_Type, for your daily dose of typographic goodness from Berlin.

The colours of Berlin is a bi-monthly series that will run throughout 2019. Where other posts on this blog have attempted to describe typographic trends and phenomena in Berlin, the entries in this series will focus on a particular colour by presenting a collection of images without additional text.

The first three posts examined the primary colours: Red, Yellow and Blue. Today we move onto the secondary colours with a post devoted to…

While the images below are still presented without additional comment, it seemed important to mention that Green is one of the colours  most closely associated with neon. While the colours in the previous blog posts appeared across a range of materials and styles, much of Berlin’s green typography is restricted to the glow of the neon tube. That particular shade of green once dominated the city, but has been disappearing at an alarming rate.

If you don’t already, you should follow us on Twitter at @Berlin_Type, for your daily dose of typographic goodness from Berlin.

Hotels are everywhere. Yet for anyone who lives in a particular city, they can be virtually invisible. This becomes apparent when a visitor to your city asks you for a hotel recommendation. How should you know? You live there. You never have to think about where you’re going to spend the night. Even if, for whatever reason, you can’t spend the night in your own bed, you probably have at least one or two friends with a spare sofa.

When it comes to hotels – as with so many things – Berlin doesn’t quite follow the established pattern of other European cities. In London one would have no problem finding a hotel room, albeit not of the finest quality, within 200 yards of King’s Cross or Paddington Station. The Gares du Nord and Montparnasse in Paris have a concentration of hotels that get marginally nicer the further you get from the station. Even other German cities – Hamburg and Munich for instance – have their own agglomerations of hotels in the vicinity of the Hauptbahnhof.

Rooftop neon.

Is there an obvious hotel district in Berlin? Not really. There is a higher-than-average number to be found in the area around Zoologischer Garten, the former heart of West Berlin. While Zoo is no longer central to Berlin’s inter-city transport network, the tourist allure of Breitscheidplatz and the Kurfürstendamm are enough to keep the city’s iconic old hotels – the Bristol, the InterContinental and the unfortunately-named Hotel California – in business. There are a few prominent hotels around Alexanderplatz and Potsdamer Platz, and several in the heart of Mitte, ranging from the famous Hotel Adlon across from the Brandenburger Tor, to the familiar names one finds in any major city: Hilton, Westin, Sofitel.

But there are hotels everywhere, and if you happen to be in Lichtenrade or Lankwitz or Wittenau, there is probably a place for you to spend the night. Having said that, if you were to ask us here at Berlin Typography HQ for a hotel recommendation, we would have to give it some serious thought. While we could produce a lengthy list of Apothekes and flower shops ranked according to the visual appeal of their signs, many of Berlin’s best hotels do little to distinguish themselves by their typography. The ones that do have interesting signs, especially of the neon variety, aren’t necessarily the ones you would want to stay in.

Hotels are everywhere. Even in Lichtenrade.

Yet if we judge hotels solely on their typographic merit, and not on the experience of spending the night in one of their rooms, there are undeniable gems scattered throughout the city. Not surprisingly the gamut of Berlin’s hotel typography also includes examples of exceptional dullness and questionable judgement, some of which we have included in the following gallery; and while the quirky neon and cursive scripts of the twentieth century are vanishing in the face of elegantly bland chains with unified corporate identities, the charm of the hotel sign hasn’t yet disappeared from the city.

Elegant letters looking down on the Ku’Damm.

Another neon sign from the days when Zoologischer Garten was effectively the central station.

Simple rooftop neon. The name of the hotel is less important than the function.

Two styles, two colours, one swoosh.

Stencil lettering and modernist tiles. This sign also appeared in our blog-post devoted to Schablonenschrift.

The union of functional sans and freehand script.

A detail of the above.

Not all of Berlin’s hotel typography is amazing. But the sign on this side of the hotel…

…is far more interesting than the sign that appears above the front door.

This hotel also has a Panorama Bar, but it’s probably not the one you’ve heard of.

The sign is uninteresting and technically it’s just outside Berlin, but it is included because of the ingenious name.

A more understated variation on the sans-and-script combination.

Hotel typography doesn’t have to be good, it just has to grab your attention from the road…

…or, in some cases, from the train platform.

Hotels are abandoned from time to time.

There is always room for neon.

The imperfect glory of Berlin.

If you don’t already, you should follow us on Twitter at @Berlin_Type, for your daily dose of typographic goodness from Berlin.

The colours of Berlin is a bi-monthly series that will run throughout 2019. Where other posts on this blog have attempted to describe typographic trends and phenomena in Berlin, the entries in this series will focus on a particular colour by presenting a collection of images without additional text. Every city has its full spectrum on display; this is the one that belongs to Berlin.

Our previous posts in the series have looked at Yellow and Blue. Today we complete the cycle of primary colours with…

If you don’t already, you should follow us on Twitter at @Berlin_Type, for your daily dose of typographic goodness from Berlin.

Not everyone in Berlin buys flowers. There are those among us who don’t especially care for baked goods. Some people will go several years without having to fill a prescription. But pretty much everyone wears shoes. With all the sharp cobblestones, bottle-caps, nettles and doggie surprises on the streets of Berlin, shoes are an essential item for all but the most foolhardy.

And where do people in Berlin buy their shoes? The obvious answer is: online. The days of schlepping from shop to shop trying to find the size you need in the style you want has been rendered partially obsolete by the advent of e-commerce, and this is no bad thing. But for those who like to try them on before buying – and especially for those of us whose size is always somehow sold out on the websites – Berlin still has an extensive array of shoe shops on offer.

The major chains are all accounted for. The reassuring blandness of Foot Locker, Deichmann and Sport Scheck, or the boutiques devoted solely to Adidas or Puma will see to the needs of anyone looking for a pair of trainers, while offering a minimum of typographic diversion. The city’s shopping centres contain an equally unremarkable assortment of shops catering to those with a taste for outdoor hiking, those who need something stylish for the weekend, and those who need something vaguely smart for work.

But in Berlin, there is always more.

One of the better known German shoe chains, Leiser, was founded in Berlin and maintained a large office building just outside the Ring near Köllnische Heide. The building is now abandoned, but their iconic logo still sits on top of the building.

Visible from the S-Bahn, the Leiser sign is a landmark of the south-east. The building, alas, is now abandoned and the fate of the sign is unknown.

The Leiser L on the door of the old building.

Remains of the old Leiser logo above the front doors of the old building.

That logo has since been retired in favour of one far less interesting, but examples of the old one – often outlined in neon – can still be spotted around the city.

Examples of the old logo are disappearing. This one, in Charlottenburg, no longer has a shoe shop beneath it.

Although there are still a few independent shoe shops around Berlin, most have long since lost their old neon signs. The two locations of Weser Schuhe in Wittenau are an obvious exception, their beautiful cursive offering an example of that to which all signs should aspire.

The eternal glory of cursive neon: shoe shop edition.

Detail from the other location of Weser Schuhe. Slightly more regular than the other sign, but with a liveliness that most modern signs would struggle to replicate.

Anyone looking for orthopaedic shoes may also be disappointed by the lack of neon signs, although there are still a few hold-outs.

The classic yellow and green combination.

Orthopaedic shoe shops are a good source of A-Umlauts … although this sign has since been replaced.

Things get more interesting – typographically, at least – when one moves away from the shops and begins to explore the small workshops of shoemakers and shoe repairers. Unswayed by trends and largely unchanged by the passage of time, the Schuhmacherei and Schuhreparatur signs of Berlin have a particular charm entirely their own.

A worn example of glass painting, with swoosh.

The capital S, the terminal balls and the reverse ‘t’ give this sign its charm.

More faded paint on glass.

The dodgy kerning and possible misuse of a W as an M only make this sign more endearing.

A strangely compelling cursive.

Unmissable yellow.

Classic cursive neon, with swoosh.

If you don’t already, you should follow us on Twitter at @Berlin_Type, for your daily dose of typographic goodness from Berlin.

The colours of Berlin is a bi-monthly series that will run throughout 2019. Where other posts on this blog have attempted to describe typographic trends and phenomena in Berlin, the entries in this series will focus on a particular colour by presenting a collection of images without additional text. Every city has its full spectrum on display; this is the one that belongs to Berlin.

Following the inaugural post of the series, which looked at Yellow, today we turn our attention to…

If you don’t already, you should follow us on Twitter at @Berlin_Type, for your daily dose of typographic goodness from Berlin.