MORR Café

The wordmark is drawn from scratch — no typeface adapted, no existing letterforms borrowed. Each character is built to a shared stroke weight and geometric logic: the M on two forward-leaning diagonals, the O a perfect circle. The consistency of line is what makes the name read without effort. At the sizes it appears most — on a cup, on a counter sign, at the foot of a menu — the mark holds as a single unit.

The R came from looking at Devanagari, the script used to write Nepali. The character र shares a structural logic with the Latin R — a vertical stem, an enclosed counter, a descending leg — but the proportions differ, and the leg terminates at an angle that is not quite Western. That angle is in the Morr R. It isn't marked or explained anywhere in the identity. The mark reads as a wordmark first. What it carries stays in the letterform.

Black and white was not a convenience — it was a commitment. The identity needed to project the same qualities the café does: directness, confidence, an absence of anything superfluous. Colour would have introduced hierarchy between the two founding cultures; the absence of it places them on equal ground. The palette is a statement about what Morr is, made visible before a single dish is ordered.

The menu system holds three distinct occasions within a single typographic logic. The weights, the hierarchy, the position of the wordmark — these remain constant. What changes is the register. A weekday brunch reads with density and purpose. An evening menu breathes differently, closer to a restaurant than a café. The system allows for that shift without the identity fragmenting. One mark, different moments.