Sobremesa with Madeline Odonoghue
A conversation with the artist behind the internet's favorite typography
Welcome to Sobremesa, an interview series featuring some of the most creative people around the world. Each conversation explores the stories, creative processes, and perspectives that inform the artist’s work.
For this edition of Sobremesa, I am talking with Madeline Odonoghue, the Auckland-based artist behind the typefaces all over our Pinterest feeds. In this conversation, we dive deep into the behind-the-scenes of her creative practice, the inspiration behind her iconic typographic styles, and how she embraces imperfection and analog processes in the era of AI and automation.
Meet the artist 🍧
I’m a multidisciplinary designer & artist currently living and working in Auckland (Tāmaki Makaurau), Aotearoa New Zealand. My work explores language, symbols, and hand-made forms, celebrating imperfection, analogue processes, and ideas that feel rooted in something bigger. I make a range of things, from icon packs and fonts to prints, ceramics, short films, and visual research projects.
Some key inspirations are Sister Corita Kent, the 1970s, Nina Simone, early Newport Folk Fest, art galleries, Los Angeles, old cars, folk music, protest language, documentaries, quilting as communication, Badlands (1973), architecture, Apartamento magazine, Georgia O’Keeffe, and peace signs. Essentially forms of visual communication that push against or question the systems around us.
For those discovering your work for the first time, could you share a bit more about the work you do?
I have a background in Fine Arts, majoring in painting, but I taught myself design tools while living in Los Angeles (when I wasn’t able to work under a strict partnership visa). Since then, my practice has become a merging of the two, bringing hand-drawn, organic, analogue processes into digital tools and systems, which I try to make available for others to use when possible.
I make quite a range of things. Drawings, songs, icon-based illustrations, downloadable art prints, but lately I’ve been in what I like to call “fontland”: a place where I make hand-drawn, hand-crafted fonts that can be used and reused by others, ideally on meaningful projects.
I came across your typefaces on Pinterest last year and was immediately inspired by them. I was struck by how familiar they felt. There’s a childlike quality to them. I’d love to know a bit more about what inspires your design work, and how you think about balancing playfulness with intention when you’re creating type.
Being in “fontland” gives me a lot of freedom to play with letters, drawing, and communication in a way that feels quite different from anything else. It’s like creating an idea or a feeling that can be used over and over again to communicate visually, so it really taps into my interest in language as visual communication.
There’s always a balance between being playful and conceptual, while also knowing how to systemise that into a usable design tool with the intention of it being used. That said, some of the best work I’ve made has come from moments that are more fluid, hand-drawn, or messy — ideas that didn’t try to fit a particular style, but ended up having the most impact and resonance.
I find that when I try to make something with too much intention, or become too aware of how things “should” work, baselines, structure, all of that, the work can lose its expressive, childlike quality. It loses its naivety, and with that, some of its feeling, so it becomes less successful for me.
‘The more you know, the harder it can be to hold onto true naivety, and naivety is where the freedom sits.’
It’s that idea that the more you know, the harder it can be to hold onto true naivety, and naivety is where the freedom sits. Much like naive music experimentation, rough recordings, where the beauty lies in the mistakes, the rawness, or a crack in a vocal, for me, playfulness is the starting point, and intention comes after.
In an era of AI and automation, I admire how your practice embraces handmade and slow processes. What does imperfection offer to your work that optimization doesn’t?
I struggle with anything too rigid, clean, or overly gridded. That might be because I don’t come from a traditional design background, so instead I tend to look at systems that are in place and slightly mess with them, so that artful thinking can still exist within them.
I still want things to function, a font still needs to work as a tool, but I want there to be an element of the hand, something human, embedded within it.
