Text
Medium
Text
Medium
Text
Medium
Information
Information
Cal.com continues to invest in the Open Source community, including its typographic palette. We wanted to offer the community a UI typeface that satisfied our “service-oriented” look and was complete enough to pair with our brand font design. Introducing three families: Cal Sans UI, Cal Sans Text, Cal Sans Geo. One Variable font.
Every detail is redesigned for readers, product designers, and open source developers, alike. At the same time, it’s a geometric sans serif for tough use cases. It retains its appeal up close, with letters always looking the way users expect. It’s a uniquely warm choice for digital product and running copy. It has more bounce per ounce, but still feels transparent, neutral, and unopinionated.
Cal.com continues to invest in the Open Source community, including its typographic palette. We wanted to offer the community a UI typeface that satisfied our “service-oriented” look and was complete enough to pair with our brand font design. Introducing three families: Cal Sans UI, Cal Sans Text, Cal Sans Geo. One Variable font.
Every detail is redesigned for readers, product designers, and open source developers, alike. At the same time, it’s a geometric sans serif for tough use cases. It retains its appeal up close, with letters always looking the way users expect. It’s a uniquely warm choice for digital product and running copy. It has more bounce per ounce, but still feels transparent, neutral, and unopinionated.
Credits & acknowledgements
Typeface Design and Mastering
WORDMARK, the typographic practice of Mark Davis.
Acknowledgements
Thank you to Peer for commissioning this project. I wanted to also thank Wei Huang for his Open Source “Perfect Glyphs Example File” that is Work Sans dot glyphs. Incredibly helpful, and exhibits genius.
The following people were invaluable to this project, in no specific order, with an undisclosed amount of personal (or impersonal) influence:
Paul Renner
Roger Black, David Berlow, Tobias Frere-Jones, Matthew Carter, Jonathan Hoefler
Hannes Famira, Cara Di Edwardo, Andy Clymer, David Jonathan Ross, Thomas Jockin
Megumi Tanaka for Framer development
Eva Roa my love, WORDMARK COO and resident Python expert and evaGPT terminal; Doriel Jacov
Scott and Lori Davis for the support
Supported languages
Afrikaans • Albanian • Asturian • Asu • Azerbaijani • Basque • Bemba • Bena • Bosnian • Breton • Catalan • Cebuano • Chiga • Colognian • Cornish • Corsican • Croatian • Czech • Danish • Embu • English • Esperanto • Estonian • Faroese • Filipino • Finnish • French • Friulian • Galician • Ganda • German • Gusii • Haitian Creole • Hawaiian • Hungarian • Icelandic • Ido • Igbo • Inari Sami • Indonesian • Interlingua • Irish • Italian • Javanese • Jju • Jola-Fonyi • Kabuverdianu • Kalaallisut • Kalenjin • Kamba • Kikuyu • Kinyarwanda • Latvian • Lithuanian • Lojban • Lower Sorbian • Luo • Luxembourgish • Luyia • Machame • Makhuwa-Meetto • Makonde • Malagasy • Malay • Maltese • Manx • Māori • Mapuche • Marshalleese • Meru • Mohawk • Morisyen • Mvskoke • North Ndebele • North Sámi • Northern Sotho • Norwegian Bokmål • Norwegian Nynorsk • Nyanja • Nyankole • Occitan • Oromo • Pite Sámi • Polish • Portuguese • Quechua • Romanian • Romansh • Rombo • Rundi • Rwa • Samburu • Samoan • Sango • Sangu • Sardinian • Scottish Gaelic • Sena • Serbian • Shambala • Shona • Sicilian • Slovak • Slovenian • Soga • Somali • South Ndebele • Southern Sotho • Spanish • Sundanese • Swahili • Swati • Swedish • Swiss German • Taita • Taroko • Teso • Tongan • Tsonga • Tswana • Turkish • Turkmen • Ume Sámi • Upper Sorbian • Uzbek • Vietnamese • Vunjo • Walloon • Welsh • Wolastoqey • Wolof • Xhosa • Zulu
Credits & acknowledgements
Typeface design, mastering, and variable typeface animations
WORDMARK, the typographic practice of Mark Davis
Acknowledgements
Thank you to Peer and Cal.com for commissioning this project.
The following people were invaluable to this project, in no specific order, with an undisclosed amount of personal (or impersonal) influence:
Paul Renner
Roger Black, David Berlow, Tobias Frere-Jones, Matthew Carter, Jonathan Hoefler
Nina Stössinger, Troy Leinster, Matthew Rechs
Hannes Famira, Cara Di Edwardo, Andy Clymer, David Jonathan Ross, Thomas Jockin
Megumi Tanaka for Framer development and content strategy
Eva Roa my love, WORDMARK COO and resident Python expert and evaGPT terminal; Doriel Jacov
Scott and Lori Davis for the support
Supported languages
Afrikaans • Albanian • Asturian • Asu • Azerbaijani • Basque • Bemba • Bena • Bosnian • Breton • Catalan • Cebuano • Chiga • Colognian • Cornish • Corsican • Croatian • Czech • Danish • Embu • English • Esperanto • Estonian • Faroese • Filipino • Finnish • French • Friulian • Galician • Ganda • German • Gusii • Haitian Creole • Hawaiian • Hungarian • Icelandic • Ido • Igbo • Inari Sami • Indonesian • Interlingua • Irish • Italian • Javanese • Jju • Jola-Fonyi • Kabuverdianu • Kalaallisut • Kalenjin • Kamba • Kikuyu • Kinyarwanda • Latvian • Lithuanian • Lojban • Lower Sorbian • Luo • Luxembourgish • Luyia • Machame • Makhuwa-Meetto • Makonde • Malagasy • Malay • Maltese • Manx • Māori • Mapuche • Marshalleese • Meru • Mohawk • Morisyen • Mvskoke • North Ndebele • North Sámi • Northern Sotho • Norwegian Bokmål • Norwegian Nynorsk • Nyanja • Nyankole • Occitan • Oromo • Pite Sámi • Polish • Portuguese • Quechua • Romanian • Romansh • Rombo • Rundi • Rwa • Samburu • Samoan • Sango • Sangu • Sardinian • Scottish Gaelic • Sena • Serbian • Shambala • Shona • Sicilian • Slovak • Slovenian • Soga • Somali • South Ndebele • Southern Sotho • Spanish • Sundanese • Swahili • Swati • Swedish • Swiss German • Taita • Taroko • Teso • Tongan • Tsonga • Tswana • Turkish • Turkmen • Ume Sámi • Upper Sorbian • Uzbek • Vietnamese • Vunjo • Walloon • Welsh • Wolastoqey • Wolof • Xhosa • Zulu
An open, warm, brand-conscious sans serif.
An open, warm, brand-conscious sans serif.
An open, warm, brand-conscious sans serif.
An open, warm, brand-conscious sans serif.
One typographic voice
One typographic voice
One typographic voice
from banner to button.
from banner to button.
from banner to button.
Drops in clean.
Drops in clean.
Drops in clean.
Just warmer.
Just warmer.
Just warmer.
Geometry and flow,
Geometry and flow,
Geometry and flow,
balanced automatically.
balanced automatically.
balanced automatically.
Made for humans
Made for humans
Like its namesake product, Cal Sans UI, Cal Sans Text, and Cal Sans Geo are easy to use. Every vector placed to automatically balance geometry or flow just right for you.
Like its namesake product, Cal Sans UI, Cal Sans Text, and Cal Sans Geo are easy to use. Every vector placed to automatically balance geometry or flow just right for you.
D
Drawn for performance
Drawn for performance
How do you build successful text? A fully redrawn characterset optimized for Tailwind’s text‑sm and text‑base. For starters, round-shaped letters are slightly squeezed to save space, but still differentiate from square-shaped letters.
How do you build successful text? A fully redrawn characterset optimized for Tailwind’s text‑sm and text‑base. For starters, round-shaped letters are slightly squeezed to save space, but still differentiate from square-shaped letters.
original branding face
legible spaces
lowered x-height
original branding face
open apertures and spacing
lowered x-height
original branding face
legible spaces
lowered x-height
original branding face
legible spaces
lowered x-height
Mal.com
Big apertures for legible letters
Big apertures for legible letters
The acid test for legibility is to simulate the inevitable bad conditions. This separates the beautiful type designs from the dryly functional. I recommend blurring it. This simulates quickly-moving eyes, poor light, a far screen, or degenerative optical conditions.
The acid test for legibility is to simulate the inevitable bad conditions. This separates the beautiful type designs from the dryly functional. I recommend blurring it. This simulates quickly-moving eyes, poor light, a far screen, or degenerative optical conditions.
acted
acted
acted
Make it yours
Make it yours
Remix it. Build on it. Start your own. See something you’d change? Open an issue and let’s talk. Most typographic “edge cases” are just undiscovered use cases.
Remix it. Build on it. Start your own. See something you’d change? Open an issue and let’s talk. Most typographic “edge cases” are just undiscovered use cases.
For any UI worth building
For any UI worth building
Balanced metrics. Caps matched to ascenders. Vertical alignment shared with Inter, Geist, Roboto, Helvetica, SF Pro, and Segoe UI. The warmth is new. The foundation is familiar. 400 components, maintained by Cal, ready for anyone.
Balanced metrics. Caps matched to ascenders. Vertical alignment shared with Inter, Geist, Roboto, Helvetica, SF Pro, and Segoe UI. The warmth is new. The foundation is familiar. 400 components, maintained by Cal, ready for anyone.
Weights
Weights
Cal Sans UI Bold
Cal Sans UI Bold
Cal Sans UI Bold
Cal Sans UI SemiBold
Cal Sans UI SemiBold
Cal Sans UI SemiBold
Cal Sans UI Medium
Cal Sans UI Medium
Cal Sans UI Medium
Cal Sans UI Regular
Cal Sans UI Regular
Cal Sans UI Regular
Cal Sans UI Light
Cal Sans UI Light
Cal Sans UI Light
Cal Sans Text Bold
Cal Sans Text Bold
Cal Sans Text Bold
Cal Sans Text SemiBold
Cal Sans Text SemiBold
Cal Sans Text SemiBold
Cal Sans Text Medium
Cal Sans Text Medium
Cal Sans Text Medium
Cal Sans Text Regular
Cal Sans Text Regular
Cal Sans Text Regular
Cal Sans Text Light
Cal Sans Text Light
Cal Sans Text Light
Cal Sans Geo Bold
Cal Sans Geo Bold
Cal Sans Geo Bold
Cal Sans Geo SemiBold
Cal Sans Geo SemiBold
Cal Sans Geo SemiBold
Cal Sans Geo Medium
Cal Sans Geo Medium
Cal Sans Geo Medium
Cal Sans Geo Regular
Cal Sans Geo Regular
Cal Sans Geo Regular
Cal Sans Geo Light
Cal Sans Geo Light
Cal Sans Geo Light
For every project throughout the universe
For every project throughout the universe
Cal Sans UI is OFL, which means type it, print it, embed it anywhere you please. Free.
Cal Sans UI is OFL, which means type it, print it, embed it anywhere you please. Free.
OpenType Features
OpenType Features
Font features or variants that refer to different glyphs in Cal Sans UI and Cal Sans Text OpenType fonts.
Font features or variants that refer to different glyphs in Cal Sans UI and Cal Sans Text OpenType fonts.
ss01 — Single-story “a”
Fanta
Fanta
ss10 — Futura alternatives
Counter form
Counter form
ss02 — UI “G”
“Golduck,”
“Golduck,”
ss11 — Futura alternatives and ligations
affluent Chai
affluent Chai
ss01 — Single-story “a”
Fanta
ss02 — UI “G”
“Golduck,”
ss10 — Futura alternatives
Counter form
ss11 — Futura alternatives and ligations
affluent Chai
ss01 — Single-story “a”
Fanta
ss02 — UI “G”
“Golduck,”
ss10 — Futura alternatives
Counter form
ss11 — Futura alternatives and ligations
affluent Chai
Emoji & Symbols
⍟■□☑☒✓✗★☆✦✧♡♥✨●○◌◆◇◼▲△▶▷▼▽◀◁⭑⭒•◦▪▫▴▵▸▹▾▿◂◃
⍟■□☑☒✓✗★☆✦✧♡♥✨●○◌◆◇◼▲△▶▷▼▽◀◁⭑⭒•◦▪▫▴▵▸▹▾▿◂◃
⍟■□☑☒✓✗★☆✦✧♡♥✨●○◌◆◇◼▲△▶▷▼▽◀◁⭑⭒•◦▪▫▴▵▸▹▾▿◂◃
Arrows
↑↗→↘↓↙←↖↔↕
↑↗→↘↓↙←↖↔↕
↑↗→↘↓↙←↖↔↕
Cal Sans UI
Light
The ultimate goal of all art is the building! The ornamentation of the building was once the main purpose of the visual arts, and they were considered indispensable parts of the great building. Today, they exist in complacent isolation, from which they can only be salvaged by the purposeful and cooperative endeavours of all artisans. Architects, painters and sculptors must learn a new way of seeing and understanding the composite character of the building, both as a totality and in terms of its parts. Their works will then re-imbue itself with the spirit of architecture, which it lost in salon art. The art schools of old were incapable of producing this unity—and how could they, for art may not be taught. They must return to the workshop. This world of mere drawing and painting of draughtsmen and applied artists must at long last become a world that builds. When a young person who senses within himself a love for creative endeavour begins his career, as in the past, by learning a trade, the unproductive “artist” will no longer be condemned to the imperfect practice of art because his skill is now preserved in craftsmanship, where he may achieve excellence.
The ultimate goal of all art is the building! The ornamentation of the building was once the main purpose of the visual arts, and they were considered indispensable parts of the great building. Today, they exist in complacent isolation, from which they can only be salvaged by the purposeful and cooperative endeavours of all artisans. Architects, painters and sculptors must learn a new way of seeing and understanding the composite character of the building, both as a totality and in terms of its parts. Their works will then re-imbue itself with the spirit of architecture, which it lost in salon art. The art schools of old were incapable of producing this unity—and how could they, for art may not be taught. They must return to the workshop. This world of mere drawing and painting of draughtsmen and applied artists must at long last become a world that builds. When a young person who senses within himself a love for creative endeavour begins his career, as in the past, by learning a trade, the unproductive “artist” will no longer be condemned to the imperfect practice of art because his skill is now preserved in craftsmanship, where he may achieve excellence.
Cal Sans UI
Regular
Architects, sculptors, painters—we all must return to craftsmanship! For there is no such thing as “art by profession.” There is no essential difference between the artist and the artisan. The artist is an exalted artisan. Merciful heaven, in rare moments of illumination beyond man’s will, may allow art to blossom from the works of his hand, but the foundations of proficiency are indispensable to every artist. This is the original source of creative design. So let us therefore create a new guild of craftsmen, free of the divisive class pretensions that endeavoured to raise a prideful barrier between craftsmen and artists! Let us strive for, conceive and create the new building of the future that will unite every discipline, architecture and sculpture and painting, and which will one day rise heavenwards from the million hands of craftsmen as a clear symbol of a new belief to come. The art schools of old were incapable of producing this unity—and how could they, for art may not be taught. They must return to the workshop. This world of mere drawing and painting of draughtsmen and applied artists must at long last become a world that builds.
Architects, sculptors, painters—we all must return to craftsmanship! For there is no such thing as “art by profession.” There is no essential difference between the artist and the artisan. The artist is an exalted artisan. Merciful heaven, in rare moments of illumination beyond man’s will, may allow art to blossom from the works of his hand, but the foundations of proficiency are indispensable to every artist. This is the original source of creative design. So let us therefore create a new guild of craftsmen, free of the divisive class pretensions that endeavoured to raise a prideful barrier between craftsmen and artists! Let us strive for, conceive and create the new building of the future that will unite every discipline, architecture and sculpture and painting, and which will one day rise heavenwards from the million hands of craftsmen as a clear symbol of a new belief to come. The art schools of old were incapable of producing this unity—and how could they, for art may not be taught. They must return to the workshop. This world of mere drawing and painting of draughtsmen and applied artists must at long last become a world that builds.
Cal Sans UI
Medium
When the shadow of the sash appeared on the curtains it was between seven and eight o’clock and then I was in time again, hearing the watch. It was Grandfather’s and when Father gave it to me he said, Quentin, I give you the mausoleum of all hope and desire; it’s rather excruciatingly apt that you will use it to gain the reducto absurdum of all human experience which can fit your individual needs no better than it fitted his or his father’s. I give it to you not that you may remember time, but that you might forget it now and then for a moment and not spend all your breath trying to conquer it. Because no battle is ever won he said. They are not even fought. The field only reveals to man his own folly and despair, and victory is an illusion of philosophers and fools. It was propped against the collar box and I lay listening to it. Hearing it, that is. I don’t suppose anybody ever deliberately listens to a watch or a clock. You don’t have to. You can be oblivious to the sound for a long while, then in a second of ticking it can create in the mind unbroken the long diminishing parade of time you didn’t hear. Like Father said down the long and lonely lightrays you might see Jesus walking, like. And the good Saint Francis that said Little Sister Death, that never had a sister.
When the shadow of the sash appeared on the curtains it was between seven and eight o’clock and then I was in time again, hearing the watch. It was Grandfather’s and when Father gave it to me he said, Quentin, I give you the mausoleum of all hope and desire; it’s rather excruciatingly apt that you will use it to gain the reducto absurdum of all human experience which can fit your individual needs no better than it fitted his or his father’s. I give it to you not that you may remember time, but that you might forget it now and then for a moment and not spend all your breath trying to conquer it. Because no battle is ever won he said. They are not even fought. The field only reveals to man his own folly and despair, and victory is an illusion of philosophers and fools. It was propped against the collar box and I lay listening to it. Hearing it, that is. I don’t suppose anybody ever deliberately listens to a watch or a clock. You don’t have to. You can be oblivious to the sound for a long while, then in a second of ticking it can create in the mind unbroken the long diminishing parade of time you didn’t hear. Like Father said down the long and lonely lightrays you might see Jesus walking, like. And the good Saint Francis that said Little Sister Death, that never had a sister.
Cal Sans UI
SemiBold
A screaming comes across the sky. It has happened before, but there is nothing to compare it to now. It is too late. The Evacuation still proceeds, but it’s all theatre. There are no lights inside the cars. No light anywhere. Above him lift girders old as an iron queen, and glass somewhere far above that would let the light of day through. But it’s night. He’s afraid of the way the glass will fall—soon—it will be a spectacle: the fall of a crystal palace. But coming down in total blackout, without one glint of light, only great invisible crashing. Inside the carriage, which is built on several levels, he sits in velveteen darkness, with nothing to smoke, feeling metal nearer and farther rub and connect, steam escaping in puffs, a vibration in the carriage’s frame, a poising, an uneasiness, all the others pressed in around, feeble ones, second sheep, all out of luck and time: drunks, old veterans still in shock from ordnance 20 years obsolete, hustlers in city clothes, derelicts, exhausted women with more children than it seems could belong to anyone, stacked about among the rest of the things to be carried out to salvation. Only the nearer faces are visible to all, and at that only as half-silvered images in a view finder, green-stained VIP faces remembered behind bulletproof windows speeding through the city
A screaming comes across the sky. It has happened before, but there is nothing to compare it to now. It is too late. The Evacuation still proceeds, but it’s all theatre. There are no lights inside the cars. No light anywhere. Above him lift girders old as an iron queen, and glass somewhere far above that would let the light of day through. But it’s night. He’s afraid of the way the glass will fall—soon—it will be a spectacle: the fall of a crystal palace. But coming down in total blackout, without one glint of light, only great invisible crashing. Inside the carriage, which is built on several levels, he sits in velveteen darkness, with nothing to smoke, feeling metal nearer and farther rub and connect, steam escaping in puffs, a vibration in the carriage’s frame, a poising, an uneasiness, all the others pressed in around, feeble ones, second sheep, all out of luck and time: drunks, old veterans still in shock from ordnance 20 years obsolete, hustlers in city clothes, derelicts, exhausted women with more children than it seems could belong to anyone, stacked about among the rest of the things to be carried out to salvation. Only the nearer faces are visible to all, and at that only as half-silvered images in a view finder, green-stained VIP faces remembered behind bulletproof windows speeding through the city
Cal Sans UI
Bold
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way—in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only. There were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a plain face, on the throne of England; there were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a fair face, on the throne of France. In both countries it was clearer than crystal to the lords of the State preserves of loaves and fishes, that things in general were settled for ever.
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way—in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only. There were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a plain face, on the throne of England; there were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a fair face, on the throne of France. In both countries it was clearer than crystal to the lords of the State preserves of loaves and fishes, that things in general were settled for ever.
Cal Sans UI
Light
TEXT Mode
The ultimate goal of all art is the building! The ornamentation of the building was once the main purpose of the visual arts, and they were considered indispensable parts of the great building. Today, they exist in complacent isolation, from which they can only be salvaged by the purposeful and cooperative endeavours of all artisans. Architects, painters and sculptors must learn a new way of seeing and understanding the composite character of the building, both as a totality and in terms of its parts. Their works will then re-imbue itself with the spirit of architecture, which it lost in salon art. The art schools of old were incapable of producing this unity—and how could they, for art may not be taught. They must return to the workshop. This world of mere drawing and painting of draughtsmen and applied artists must at long last become a world that builds. When a young person who senses within himself a love for creative endeavour begins his career, as in the past, by learning a trade, the unproductive “artist” will no longer be condemned to the imperfect practice of art because his skill is now preserved in craftsmanship, where he may achieve excellence.
The ultimate goal of all art is the building! The ornamentation of the building was once the main purpose of the visual arts, and they were considered indispensable parts of the great building. Today, they exist in complacent isolation, from which they can only be salvaged by the purposeful and cooperative endeavours of all artisans. Architects, painters and sculptors must learn a new way of seeing and understanding the composite character of the building, both as a totality and in terms of its parts. Their works will then re-imbue itself with the spirit of architecture, which it lost in salon art. The art schools of old were incapable of producing this unity—and how could they, for art may not be taught. They must return to the workshop. This world of mere drawing and painting of draughtsmen and applied artists must at long last become a world that builds. When a young person who senses within himself a love for creative endeavour begins his career, as in the past, by learning a trade, the unproductive “artist” will no longer be condemned to the imperfect practice of art because his skill is now preserved in craftsmanship, where he may achieve excellence.
Cal Sans UI
Regular
TEXT Mode
Architects, sculptors, painters—we all must return to craftsmanship! For there is no such thing as “art by profession.” There is no essential difference between the artist and the artisan. The artist is an exalted artisan. Merciful heaven, in rare moments of illumination beyond man’s will, may allow art to blossom from the works of his hand, but the foundations of proficiency are indispensable to every artist. This is the original source of creative design. So let us therefore create a new guild of craftsmen, free of the divisive class pretensions that endeavoured to raise a prideful barrier between craftsmen and artists! Let us strive for, conceive and create the new building of the future that will unite every discipline, architecture and sculpture and painting, and which will one day rise heavenwards from the million hands of craftsmen as a clear symbol of a new belief to come. The art schools of old were incapable of producing this unity—and how could they, for art may not be taught. They must return to the workshop. This world of mere drawing and painting of draughtsmen and applied artists must at long last become a world that builds. When a young person who senses within himself a love for creative endeavour begins his career, as in the past, by learning a trade, the unproductive “artist” will no longer be condemned to the imperfect practice of art because his skill is now preserved in craftsmanship, where he may achieve excellence.
Architects, sculptors, painters—we all must return to craftsmanship! For there is no such thing as “art by profession.” There is no essential difference between the artist and the artisan. The artist is an exalted artisan. Merciful heaven, in rare moments of illumination beyond man’s will, may allow art to blossom from the works of his hand, but the foundations of proficiency are indispensable to every artist. This is the original source of creative design. So let us therefore create a new guild of craftsmen, free of the divisive class pretensions that endeavoured to raise a prideful barrier between craftsmen and artists! Let us strive for, conceive and create the new building of the future that will unite every discipline, architecture and sculpture and painting, and which will one day rise heavenwards from the million hands of craftsmen as a clear symbol of a new belief to come. The art schools of old were incapable of producing this unity—and how could they, for art may not be taught. They must return to the workshop. This world of mere drawing and painting of draughtsmen and applied artists must at long last become a world that builds. When a young person who senses within himself a love for creative endeavour begins his career, as in the past, by learning a trade, the unproductive “artist” will no longer be condemned to the imperfect practice of art because his skill is now preserved in craftsmanship, where he may achieve excellence.
Cal Sans UI
Medium
TEXT Mode
When the shadow of the sash appeared on the curtains it was between seven and eight o’clock and then I was in time again, hearing the watch. It was Grandfather’s and when Father gave it to me he said, Quentin, I give you the mausoleum of all hope and desire; it’s rather excruciatingly apt that you will use it to gain the reducto absurdum of all human experience which can fit your individual needs no better than it fitted his or his father’s. I give it to you not that you may remember time, but that you might forget it now and then for a moment and not spend all your breath trying to conquer it. Because no battle is ever won he said. They are not even fought. The field only reveals to man his own folly and despair, and victory is an illusion of philosophers and fools. It was propped against the collar box and I lay listening to it. Hearing it, that is. I don’t suppose anybody ever deliberately listens to a watch or a clock. You don’t have to. You can be oblivious to the sound for a long while, then in a second of ticking it can create in the mind unbroken the long diminishing parade of time you didn’t hear. Like Father said down the long and lonely lightrays you might see Jesus walking, like. And the good Saint Francis that said Little Sister Death, that never had a sister.
When the shadow of the sash appeared on the curtains it was between seven and eight o’clock and then I was in time again, hearing the watch. It was Grandfather’s and when Father gave it to me he said, Quentin, I give you the mausoleum of all hope and desire; it’s rather excruciatingly apt that you will use it to gain the reducto absurdum of all human experience which can fit your individual needs no better than it fitted his or his father’s. I give it to you not that you may remember time, but that you might forget it now and then for a moment and not spend all your breath trying to conquer it. Because no battle is ever won he said. They are not even fought. The field only reveals to man his own folly and despair, and victory is an illusion of philosophers and fools. It was propped against the collar box and I lay listening to it. Hearing it, that is. I don’t suppose anybody ever deliberately listens to a watch or a clock. You don’t have to. You can be oblivious to the sound for a long while, then in a second of ticking it can create in the mind unbroken the long diminishing parade of time you didn’t hear. Like Father said down the long and lonely lightrays you might see Jesus walking, like. And the good Saint Francis that said Little Sister Death, that never had a sister.
Cal Sans UI
SemiBold
TEXT Mode
A screaming comes across the sky. It has happened before, but there is nothing to compare it to now. It is too late. The Evacuation still proceeds, but it’s all theatre. There are no lights inside the cars. No light anywhere. Above him lift girders old as an iron queen, and glass somewhere far above that would let the light of day through. But it’s night. He’s afraid of the way the glass will fall—soon—it will be a spectacle: the fall of a crystal palace. But coming down in total blackout, without one glint of light, only great invisible crashing. Inside the carriage, which is built on several levels, he sits in velveteen darkness, with nothing to smoke, feeling metal nearer and farther rub and connect, steam escaping in puffs, a vibration in the carriage’s frame, a poising, an uneasiness, all the others pressed in around, feeble ones, second sheep, all out of luck and time: drunks, old veterans still in shock from ordnance 20 years obsolete, hustlers in city clothes, derelicts, exhausted women with more children than it seems could belong to anyone, stacked about among the rest of the things to be carried out to salvation.
A screaming comes across the sky. It has happened before, but there is nothing to compare it to now. It is too late. The Evacuation still proceeds, but it’s all theatre. There are no lights inside the cars. No light anywhere. Above him lift girders old as an iron queen, and glass somewhere far above that would let the light of day through. But it’s night. He’s afraid of the way the glass will fall—soon—it will be a spectacle: the fall of a crystal palace. But coming down in total blackout, without one glint of light, only great invisible crashing. Inside the carriage, which is built on several levels, he sits in velveteen darkness, with nothing to smoke, feeling metal nearer and farther rub and connect, steam escaping in puffs, a vibration in the carriage’s frame, a poising, an uneasiness, all the others pressed in around, feeble ones, second sheep, all out of luck and time: drunks, old veterans still in shock from ordnance 20 years obsolete, hustlers in city clothes, derelicts, exhausted women with more children than it seems could belong to anyone, stacked about among the rest of the things to be carried out to salvation.
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Bold
TEXT Mode
It was the year of Our Lord one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five. Spiritual revelations were conceded to England at that favoured period, as at this. Mrs. Southcott had recently attained her five-and-twentieth blessed birthday, of whom a prophetic private in the Life Guards had heralded the sublime appearance by announcing that arrangements were made for the swallowing up of London and Westminster. Even the Cock-lane ghost had been laid only a round dozen of years, after rapping out its messages, as the spirits of this very year last past (supernaturally deficient in originality) rapped out theirs. Mere messages in the earthly order of events had lately come to the English Crown and People, from a congress of British subjects in America: which, strange to relate, have proved more important to the human race than any communications yet received through any of the chickens of the Cock-lane brood.
It was the year of Our Lord one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five. Spiritual revelations were conceded to England at that favoured period, as at this. Mrs. Southcott had recently attained her five-and-twentieth blessed birthday, of whom a prophetic private in the Life Guards had heralded the sublime appearance by announcing that arrangements were made for the swallowing up of London and Westminster. Even the Cock-lane ghost had been laid only a round dozen of years, after rapping out its messages, as the spirits of this very year last past (supernaturally deficient in originality) rapped out theirs. Mere messages in the earthly order of events had lately come to the English Crown and People, from a congress of British subjects in America: which, strange to relate, have proved more important to the human race than any communications yet received through any of the chickens of the Cock-lane brood.
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Light
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Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself. For Lucy had her work cut out for her. The doors would be taken off their hinges; Rumpelmayer’s men were coming. And then, thought Clarissa Dalloway, what a morning—fresh as if issued to children on a beach. What a lark! What a plunge! For so it had always seemed to her, when, with a little squeak of the hinges, which she could hear now, she had burst open the French windows and plunged at Bourton into the open air. How fresh, how calm, stiller than this of course, the air was in the early morning; like the flap of a wave; the kiss of a wave; chill and sharp and yet (for a girl of eighteen as she then was) solemn, feeling as she did, standing there at the open window, that something awful was about to happen; looking at the flowers, at the trees with the smoke winding off them and the rooks rising, falling; standing and looking until Peter Walsh said, “Musing among the vegetables?”—was that it?—“I prefer men to cauliflowers”—was that it?
Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself. For Lucy had her work cut out for her. The doors would be taken off their hinges; Rumpelmayer’s men were coming. And then, thought Clarissa Dalloway, what a morning—fresh as if issued to children on a beach. What a lark! What a plunge! For so it had always seemed to her, when, with a little squeak of the hinges, which she could hear now, she had burst open the French windows and plunged at Bourton into the open air. How fresh, how calm, stiller than this of course, the air was in the early morning; like the flap of a wave; the kiss of a wave; chill and sharp and yet (for a girl of eighteen as she then was) solemn, feeling as she did, standing there at the open window, that something awful was about to happen; looking at the flowers, at the trees with the smoke winding off them and the rooks rising, falling; standing and looking until Peter Walsh said, “Musing among the vegetables?”—was that it?—“I prefer men to cauliflowers”—was that it?
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Regular
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Das Staatliche Bauhaus in Weimar int durch Vereinigung der ehemaligen Großherzoglich Sächsischen Hochschule für bildende Kunst mit der ehemaligen Großherzoglich Sächsischen Kunstgewerbeschule unter Neuangliediederung einer Abteilung für Baukunst enstanden. Das Bauhaus erstrebt die Sammlung alles künstlerischen Schaffens zur Einheit, die Wiedervereinigung aller werke künstlerischen Disziplinen — Bildhauerei, Malerei, Kunstgewerbe und Handwerk — zu einer neuen Baukunst als deren unablösliehe Bestandteile. Das letzte, wenn auch ferne Ziel des Bauhauses ist das Einheits Kunstwerk — der große Bau — in dem es keine Grenze gibt zwischen monumentaler und dekorativer Kunst.
Das Staatliche Bauhaus in Weimar int durch Vereinigung der ehemaligen Großherzoglich Sächsischen Hochschule für bildende Kunst mit der ehemaligen Großherzoglich Sächsischen Kunstgewerbeschule unter Neuangliediederung einer Abteilung für Baukunst enstanden. Das Bauhaus erstrebt die Sammlung alles künstlerischen Schaffens zur Einheit, die Wiedervereinigung aller werke künstlerischen Disziplinen — Bildhauerei, Malerei, Kunstgewerbe und Handwerk — zu einer neuen Baukunst als deren unablösliehe Bestandteile. Das letzte, wenn auch ferne Ziel des Bauhauses ist das Einheits Kunstwerk — der große Bau — in dem es keine Grenze gibt zwischen monumentaler und dekorativer Kunst.
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Medium
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When the shadow of the sash appeared on the curtains it was between seven and eight o’clock and then I was in time again, hearing the watch. It was Grandfather’s and when Father gave it to me he said, Quentin, I give you the mausoleum of all hope and desire; it’s rather excruciatingly apt that you will use it to gain the reducto absurdum of all human experience which can fit your individual needs no better than it fitted his or his father’s. I give it to you not that you may remember time, but that you might forget it now and then for a moment and not spend all your breath trying to conquer it. Because no battle is ever won he said. They are not even fought. The field only reveals to man his own folly and despair, and victory is an illusion of philosophers and fools. It was propped against the collar box and I lay listening to it. Hearing it, that is. I don’t suppose anybody ever deliberately listens to a watch or a clock. You don’t have to. You can be oblivious to the sound for a long while, then in a second of ticking it can create in the mind unbroken the long diminishing parade of time you didn’t hear. Like Father said down the long and lonely lightrays you might see Jesus walking, like. And the good Saint Francis that said Little Sister Death, that never had a sister.
When the shadow of the sash appeared on the curtains it was between seven and eight o’clock and then I was in time again, hearing the watch. It was Grandfather’s and when Father gave it to me he said, Quentin, I give you the mausoleum of all hope and desire; it’s rather excruciatingly apt that you will use it to gain the reducto absurdum of all human experience which can fit your individual needs no better than it fitted his or his father’s. I give it to you not that you may remember time, but that you might forget it now and then for a moment and not spend all your breath trying to conquer it. Because no battle is ever won he said. They are not even fought. The field only reveals to man his own folly and despair, and victory is an illusion of philosophers and fools. It was propped against the collar box and I lay listening to it. Hearing it, that is. I don’t suppose anybody ever deliberately listens to a watch or a clock. You don’t have to. You can be oblivious to the sound for a long while, then in a second of ticking it can create in the mind unbroken the long diminishing parade of time you didn’t hear. Like Father said down the long and lonely lightrays you might see Jesus walking, like. And the good Saint Francis that said Little Sister Death, that never had a sister.
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SemiBold
GEO Mode
Kunst entsteht oberhalb aller Methoden, sie ist an sich nicht lehrbar, wohl aber das Handwerk., Architekten, Maler, Bildhauer sind Handwerker im Ursinn des Wortes, deshalb wird als unerlaßliche Grundlage für alles bildnerische Schaffen die gründliche handwerkliche Ausbildung aller Studierenden in Werkstätten und auf Probier- und Werk-plätzen gefordert. Die eigenen Werkstätten sollen allmählich ausgebaut, mit fremden Werkstätten Lehrverträge abgeschlossen werden. Die Schule ist die Dienerin der Werkstatt, sie wird eines Tages in ihr aufgehen. Deshalb nicht Lehrer und Schüler im Bauhaus, sondern Meister, Gesellen und Lehrlinge.
Kunst entsteht oberhalb aller Methoden, sie ist an sich nicht lehrbar, wohl aber das Handwerk., Architekten, Maler, Bildhauer sind Handwerker im Ursinn des Wortes, deshalb wird als unerlaßliche Grundlage für alles bildnerische Schaffen die gründliche handwerkliche Ausbildung aller Studierenden in Werkstätten und auf Probier- und Werk-plätzen gefordert. Die eigenen Werkstätten sollen allmählich ausgebaut, mit fremden Werkstätten Lehrverträge abgeschlossen werden. Die Schule ist die Dienerin der Werkstatt, sie wird eines Tages in ihr aufgehen. Deshalb nicht Lehrer und Schüler im Bauhaus, sondern Meister, Gesellen und Lehrlinge.
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Bold
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France, less favoured on the whole as to matters spiritual than her sister of the shield and trident, rolled with exceeding smoothness down hill, making paper money and spending it. Under the guidance of her Christian pastors, she entertained herself, besides, with such humane achievements as sentencing a youth to have his hands cut off, his tongue torn out with pincers, and his body burned alive, because he had not kneeled down in the rain to do honour to a dirty procession of monks which passed within his view, at a distance of some fifty or sixty yards. It is likely enough that, rooted in the woods of France and Norway, there were growing trees, when that sufferer was put to death, already marked by the Woodman, Fate, to come down and be sawn into boards, to make a certain movable framework with a sack and a knife in it, terrible in history. It is likely enough that in the rough outhouses of some tillers of the heavy lands adjacent to Paris, there were sheltered from the weather that very day, rude carts, bespattered with rustic mire, snuffed about by pigs, and roosted in by poultry, which the Farmer, Death, had already set apart to be his tumbrils of the Revolution. But that Woodman and that Farmer, though they work unceasingly, work silently, and no one heard them as they went about with muffled tread: the rather, forasmuch as to entertain any suspicion that they were awake, was to be atheistical and traitorous.
France, less favoured on the whole as to matters spiritual than her sister of the shield and trident, rolled with exceeding smoothness down hill, making paper money and spending it. Under the guidance of her Christian pastors, she entertained herself, besides, with such humane achievements as sentencing a youth to have his hands cut off, his tongue torn out with pincers, and his body burned alive, because he had not kneeled down in the rain to do honour to a dirty procession of monks which passed within his view, at a distance of some fifty or sixty yards. It is likely enough that, rooted in the woods of France and Norway, there were growing trees, when that sufferer was put to death, already marked by the Woodman, Fate, to come down and be sawn into boards, to make a certain movable framework with a sack and a knife in it, terrible in history. It is likely enough that in the rough outhouses of some tillers of the heavy lands adjacent to Paris, there were sheltered from the weather that very day, rude carts, bespattered with rustic mire, snuffed about by pigs, and roosted in by poultry, which the Farmer, Death, had already set apart to be his tumbrils of the Revolution. But that Woodman and that Farmer, though they work unceasingly, work silently, and no one heard them as they went about with muffled tread: the rather, forasmuch as to entertain any suspicion that they were awake, was to be atheistical and traitorous.
Examples
Examples
Creative Direction by Timothy Luke.
Mock brands using Cal Sans UI and Cal Sans Text by Elliott Walker.
Download Cal Sans
Download Cal Sans
Using Cal Sans UI is as easy as downloading & installing the font files.
Includes full glyph set, otf, woff2, and variable font files. Licensed via OFL.
Install Cal Sans via NPM (Recommended)
Install Cal Sans via NPM (Recommended)
Full glyph set, variable features, and font‑feature‑settings baked into Next.js projects.
# using npm
npm install cal-sans-ui
# using yarn
yarn add cal-sans-ui