The house was four years in the making. Two directions answer it — one drawn from the tree Lena planted, one that refuses to draw anything at all.
The house was four years in the making. Two directions answer it — one drawn from the tree Lena planted, one that refuses to draw anything at all.
The suite does not decorate this event. It is worthy of it.
mist · graphite · lake · concrete · considered · Swiss · precise · quiet · textured · minimal
One display face and one body face carry both worlds. Cormorant Garamond sets the names; Raleway at its lightest weight sets the detail, so the copy reads like a material schedule — precise, unhurried, undecorated.
Nothing changes between World A and World B but the ground it is printed on. The restraint is the point: a house this considered does not need a second typeface to prove it.
The Japanese maple Lena planted the week they broke ground becomes the suite’s single visual gesture — rendered with the precision of a construction detail, never decorated as a motif. The cards are proportioned like bookmarks: tall, narrow, considered. Typography breathes. Everything earns its place the way the concrete casting on the mantelpiece earned its.
The ground stays cold linen throughout, so the maple reads the way a drawing reads on paper rather than the way an illustration sits on a card. German and English are set in the same rhythm, one under the other, separated by a single rule. The LMB monogram closes the card at the foot — small, at the weight of a maker’s mark.
No illustration. The house itself is the image. The suite reads in the vocabulary of construction documents — material schedules, technical precision, the weight of specification. Graphite ground, mist type, the LMB monogram as the only visual mark. A guest holds it and feels the same specific gravity as the house.
Every element is set to a grid a structural engineer would recognise. The detail lines run in small caps at generous letter-spacing, the way a schedule is set. The monogram sits ghosted behind the type at scale, then again at the foot at the size of a stamp — the only two times anything decorative is permitted to appear.
A · Concrete & Maple
B · The First Pour
The maple Lena planted the week they broke ground — drawn as a construction detail, never as ornament.
No illustration at all. The house is the image; the monogram is the only mark permitted on the card.
Only the ground changes — cold linen or graphite. The emotional arrival is completely different.
Reading the briefing, we heard one thing underneath everything else: this is not an evening to show a house. It is the moment a four-year build stops being a site and becomes a home. Whatever went on the invitation had to carry that weight, or it had no business being there.
"The house was four years in the making. So is this invitation."
That line settled the whole project. It is why both worlds refuse decoration, why both are proportioned as keepers rather than announcements, and why the suite does not decorate the evening — it is worthy of it.
You described it as concrete, considered, Swiss, precise. We held those words against the swatches until the colours stopped feeling like choices and started feeling like materials.
You chose Cormorant Garamond. Paired with Raleway at its lightest weight, the body copy reads like a material specification: precise, unhurried, undecorated.
"The Japanese maple that Lena planted the week they broke ground." That is the soul of this event. We drew it as an architect would — not as decoration, but as record of something made.
"Nothing decorative that doesn't serve a purpose." Direction B takes that instruction to its logical end. No motif. Only material and weight.
"If it can double as a bookmark, we have succeeded." Both worlds are built in the proportions of a keeper — tall, narrow, considered. Designed to outlive the evening.
Swiss-German hosts, international guests. Both languages are built into the typographic rhythm — not as a translation of one into the other, but as two voices with equal weight.
Set in the display face and used once per piece, at the foot, at the size of a stamp. In Direction B it is the only visual element on the card.
The First Pour was approved — the material, not the tree. Six pieces carry the specific gravity of the house.
The choice
One typeface, one house, two worlds — and only the ground they are printed on changes. That is the whole decision.
The Japanese maple Lena planted the week they broke ground, drawn with the precision of a construction detail and never decorated as a motif — a drawing on pale linen paper, cards proportioned like bookmarks.
No illustration at all. The house itself is the image, set in the vocabulary of construction documents — material schedules, a structural grid, charcoal ground, the LMB monogram as the only mark.
| A · Concrete & Maple | B · The First Pour | |
|---|---|---|
| Whether anything is drawn | Yes — the maple, once, as record. | No. The refusal to draw is the idea. |
| Ground | Pale linen — the paper a drawing sits on. | Charcoal — the specific gravity of the house. |
| Where the accent goes | Caramel linen, once per piece: the rules and the maple. | Held back; linen type on charcoal does the work. |
| How the copy reads | German and English in one rhythm, separated by a single rule. | Small caps at generous letter-spacing — a material schedule. |
| What it says about the house | Something grew here while it was being built. | This was specified, and then it was poured. |
The Baumanns chose B — the suite was built from it.