Design

[vc_row css_animation="" row_type="row" use_row_as_full_screen_section="no" type="full_width" angled_section="no" text_align="left" background_image_as_pattern="without_pattern" el_class="blog-new-hagan" z_index=""][vc_column width="1/4"][/vc_column][vc_column width="1/2"][vc_column_text]   As I type this blog with paragraphs made from sentences built from words spelt by letters constructed from little visual forms, these forms build each pica of the letter to connect and build words...

[vc_row css_animation="" row_type="row" use_row_as_full_screen_section="no" type="full_width" angled_section="no" text_align="left" background_image_as_pattern="without_pattern" el_class="blog-new-hagan" z_index=""][vc_column width="1/4"][/vc_column][vc_column width="1/2"][vc_column_text]A pioneer of constructive graphic design, Anton Stankowski was a designer throughout the 20th century whose work still has high visibility today. And it's wonderful.

[vc_row css_animation="" row_type="row" use_row_as_full_screen_section="no" type="full_width" angled_section="no" text_align="left" background_image_as_pattern="without_pattern" el_class="blog-new-hagan" z_index=""][vc_column width="1/4"][/vc_column][vc_column width="1/2"][vc_column_text]Hierarchy is one of the first principles in graphic communication.   Designing a hierarchy is a compositional skill. It's to arrange the elements in a way that emphasises the importance of information.

[vc_row css_animation="" row_type="row" use_row_as_full_screen_section="no" type="full_width" angled_section="no" text_align="left" background_image_as_pattern="without_pattern" el_class="blog-new-hagan" z_index=""][vc_column width="1/4"][/vc_column][vc_column width="1/2"][vc_column_text] A term which I often see getting thrown around is whether or not someone has “the eye” or has “taste”… But what exactly is this?    Is this some natural force that a lucky few are...

[vc_row css_animation="" row_type="row" use_row_as_full_screen_section="no" type="full_width" angled_section="no" text_align="left" background_image_as_pattern="without_pattern" z_index="" el_class="blog-new-hagan"][vc_column width="1/4"][/vc_column][vc_column width="1/2"][vc_column_text]My first experience of Armin Hofmann was staring agog at this poster for the ballet Giselle. Created in 1959, this may be his most celebrated work.

[vc_row css_animation="" row_type="row" use_row_as_full_screen_section="no" type="full_width" angled_section="no" text_align="left" background_image_as_pattern="without_pattern" el_class="blog-new-hagan" z_index=""][vc_column width="1/4"][/vc_column][vc_column width="1/2"][vc_column_text]

The Pillars of the Parthenon aren't actually straight…

   

The NeXTcube wasn't a perfect cube…

   

And the letters I type aren't all dead flat to the baseline…

    Every day, perceptive illusions are built around us because sometimes when something is constructed 'perfectly' it doesn't look perfect. If the Parthenon's columns where perfectly straight, it would not look straight. If the NeXTcube was a perfect cube, it wouldn't look like a like perfect cube. And if 'o's, 'e's, and 'a's, etc, were all aligned perfectly to the baseline, it would feel like the letters weren't even.

[vc_row css_animation="" row_type="row" use_row_as_full_screen_section="no" type="full_width" angled_section="no" text_align="left" background_image_as_pattern="without_pattern" el_class="blog-new-hagan" z_index=""][vc_column width="1/4"][/vc_column][vc_column width="1/2"][vc_column_text]We've all seen them, maybe you're one of them. One of the thousands extending their arms, phones in hand, and snapping pictures of themselves at every turn, sometimes in the most precarious of places. If I'm honest, in the past it's annoyed me. Going to a gallery and seeing my attention shift from the artwork and toward people moving from piece to piece, fluffing their hair and posing the obligatory pout before snapping away; barely even looking at the artwork, as though the gallery experience was nothing more than a marketing opportunity for the cult of themselves.

[vc_row css_animation="" row_type="row" use_row_as_full_screen_section="no" type="full_width" angled_section="no" text_align="left" background_image_as_pattern="without_pattern" el_class="blog-new-hagan" z_index=""][vc_column width="1/4"][/vc_column][vc_column width="1/2"][vc_column_text]Often underestimated is our sensitivity to the visual world around us. We can often underpin when something is exciting or awe-inspiring – from a gun-wielding maniac (fear) to a mountain backed by a starry sky (awe), though it's our subtlest emotional responses from the seemingly small which affect us at every moment, making up the majority of our days and the bulk of our common interactions…

[vc_row css_animation="" row_type="row" use_row_as_full_screen_section="no" type="full_width" angled_section="no" text_align="left" background_image_as_pattern="without_pattern" z_index="" el_class="blog-new-hagan"][vc_column width="1/4"][/vc_column][vc_column width="1/2"][vc_column_text] Early this year, in hopes of strengthening my weakness for colour, I went to the highly influential book 'Interactions of Color' by artist and educator Josef Albers.   The book, despite its heady and annoying unnecessary academic tone (which I disdain so much), instils a child-like curiosity to experiment, play, and all in all, have fun with colours.   The main takeaway from the book is how colour, much like musical notes, has a perceptible change with their combinations, like how one note on a piano would not be considered music, but play two notes, and it's a different world entirely.

[vc_row css_animation="" row_type="row" use_row_as_full_screen_section="no" type="full_width" angled_section="no" text_align="left" background_image_as_pattern="without_pattern" el_class="blog-new-hagan" z_index=""][vc_column width="1/4"][/vc_column][vc_column width="1/2"][vc_column_text]You're walking down the street and you spot someone breezily walking past you wearing a great band shirt which would usually warrant a polite nod but there's something slightly off… somehow you can tell...