Putting faith in geometry

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“Introducing the new official graphic mark for Hendri Cahyana. Built in picas and points with care, quality and longevity in mind.”

The time spent on the entire logo making process—initiation, rough draft and computerization—was approximately 20 hours, scattered in less than three days. The logo was rebuilt three times to make the oblique angle right; it was the only thing done by intuition and not by calculation. The type on the poster was set in Kozuka Gothic Pr6N.

Seven was the total number of meals served during the process.

The irony of Verblo

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Meet Verblo. My typographic baby. Love of my life. Mirror of my soul. My worst adversary and best friend.

The design was inspired by tall, bright letters on a storefront I saw as a boy in the backseat of a car somewhere in time where shapes and colors oddly fused in cognitive bits. I have captured its essence and brought it to the present.

Verblo was designed to be a rigid architectural piece with a healthy dose of sweeteners here and there. It was all math until it had feelings. The humanity in the design is not of the excessive kind, but it’s enough to show that there are emotions in geometry if we choose to believe it.

A newfound passion for triangles in the age of geometry

Triangles. You see them everywhere, especially in this day and age. Printed on dresses, messenger bags and whatnot. (I’m partly responsible for that to some extent.) Adopted as trademarks. Tattoed on whatever. I don’t know how they got so big. I think it has something to do with our generation’s oblivious way of looking at things.

More than ever now in this eon of design, it has become more and more common for one to see the forest—the big picture, the underlying message—before the trees. Design schools and institutions brainwash us to see what shapes signify, what colors suggest and what lies beneath words. Today’s crop of planners, designers and builders are the products of this very intuitive age.

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Designers, right? Cornerstone of our multigenerational whateverness. We spray symbols all over the place, and people pick them up having no slightest idea of what they mean. FYI, this triangle phase is just the latest round of our great scheme to take over the world. And it works. No sweat. People go bananas over triangles. Young people dig them the most. Hell, even I love them too. There are others, however, who are aware of this trend and what it means. Pretty, pretty bucks.

Wearing a symbol is a bold statement of who you are and what you support. It’s about communicating the statement in a simplified, abstract manner. “I’m a Christian. This is my cross. It’s not the cross that matters, but what it signifies and what it means to me that does. It could be made of wooden sticks or two pieces of metal. It could be imaginary.” Or “I love Pink Floyd. I’ve seen them live 26 times!”

In today’s generation, symbolism is about more than that. It shows affinity in an unrestricted sense. Symbolism of the present still reflects certain aspects of one’s faith, system of belief or fandom, but it generally differs from the traditional understandings of the system. It’s easier now to be an overnight fan of an actor, band or religion when the prerequisites of what it takes to be a “fan” dissolve into vagueness. A symbol merely suggests that the wearer is one thing, but the association often doesn’t stick. Just because someone wears a Rolling Stones T-shirt doesn’t make him a fan. It’s all fashion now. Pure commercialism.

But, of course, a Rolling Stones T-shirt is a Rolling Stones T-shirt. There has to be a sense of identity attached to it somewhere. A right symbol for the right person is a powerful self-affirming tool for all of the world to see. And so it goes with whatever you like. “This is me.” “This is my Buddhist tattoo.” “The Echelon is my family.” “I’m a circle. I’m a peaceful, spiritual person.” And so on.

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I find triangles very subtle and visually assertive at the same time. They imply a sense of direction and purpose. When used properly, they can be a powerful representation of one’s ideals. (The Illuminati comes to mind.) They can be masculine, feminine, good, evil, progressive or regressive depending on how they are oriented.

Triangles form a fixed rigid shape. In architecture, a triangular structure is considered stronger than its rectangular cousin because it is not prone to geometric distortion and may only collapse due to material fatigue. Triangles embody strength and will.

My favorite association of the shape, by the way, has always been the alchemical one as shown on the posters above.

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Apart from making you look like a rockstar, that’s all I know about triangles really. I assume that whoever wears a hat knows the point of wearing it, so I just leave it at that.

And, yes, I listen to YACHT.

The eternal shifting of youth

For those of you who haven’t figured out the driving force behind this blog, it’s youth. Even at 32, I have never felt so young before.

To go along with the idea, here’s a little something I made for my wall. (It could be on yours as well if you purchase the poster!)

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I like how peaceful and solemn the character depicted on the poster appears to be. Ironically, this was created during the angriest part of my year so far. It’s amazing what simple artistic things like a drawing can do.

The thing I love the most about youth is that it is forever changing. It’s transient. It always seems to be shifting into different forms of looks, tastes and feels. It’s forgiving. It’s forgetting but also so unforgettable that we carry some of the best memories of it to the edge of our lives. And it’s fun, which certainly goes without saying. Inflexibility and stagnancy simply don’t have a place in it.

I spent most of my youth working and studying, so it is kind of understandable that I’m trying to make up for some of that loss now.

The line—”I feel the shifting of you getting closer”—was taken from Seven Lions’ “Days to Come” featuring one of my favorite female singers Fiora Cutler. I thought the song and the lyrics were really beautiful. And young. Watch the music video for the song here.

Ye olde Aquarius

Astrology is fun. It’s hard to believe, but it’s definitely much more fun than religion, which I find impossible to believe. I was born on February 16, 1981. That makes me a person. I’ve got arms and everything. Here’s a little tribute to my sun sign.

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The idea that the entire population of Earth can be grouped into 12 alignments based on their birth date sounds very RPG-ish. I’m Chaotic Good, by the way. (Religion divides people into two categories. If you’re not completely evil, then you’re probably okay.)

The illustration on the left poster was originally drawn for the cover of my novella written in 2008. The idea behind it is that the story’s protagonist carries blood instead of water, figuratively speaking. The character illustrated is also a cross between multiple astrological signs.

The poster on the right is merely an identity piece for me and my studio.

Both posters are 24 inches wide, 36 inches long and available in print.

Pudding emoticons

I don’t use emoticons very often. I find them a little annoying. Well, I use some of them on Facebook to make sure my friends don’t talk to an android. I don’t use them on Twitter, though.

However, as much as I want to refrain from using emoticons, I like to expand them. I like to assign new meanings to them and give them life. Most emoticons are avatars of real-life emotions. When combined, they represent our emotional existence.

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I had the character Pudding made around 2011 during the height of my Facebook craze. His name is supposed to be cute since I love pudding and its gooeyness. (Yes, Pudding is a he.) I assigned the name to an available emoticon that I found online and tweaked a little bit. As time went by, I introduced him to new emotions such as anger and excitement. So, there he is.

The Pudding emoticons require three close-spaced lines. They work on Facebook and recently on Twitter as well. The 36 × 24-inch poster is available in print.

What was missing

I made a poster. I was cleaning up my office, and I realized something was missing from my walls. It was life. Visuals. Well, hipster visuals. I needed to do something about it. So, the poster was basically created out of the blue.

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The original size is 24 × 36 inches. It comes in two different background colors because I still can’t decide which one I’m going to use. It was meant to be green, but I thought that would defeat the whole purpose of making my workspace look “hip.”

The copy is in Norwegian. It means “I wondered what was missing, and I realized it was you.” I think it suits the poster’s purpose.

As you can see, I didn’t put much effort on the visual. It’s just something I did in my free time as I went along. I hope you like it.

Taking the Bauhaus to the extremes

In what I consider to be a slow start to the year, I have managed to finish one of my personal dream projects: the creation of a Bauhaus-styled font. I’m a happy child.

The font, which I’ve been calling Sonmi for a while, was born as a result of my search for a new identity for my design studio, New Visual Front. Sonmi’s look and cuts stem from my fondness for the German and Hungarian visual and architectural tendencies during the 1910s and 1920s.

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When the initial shaping began, I didn’t want Sonmi to be versatile. I wanted to give it a specific look, a character that’s hard to shake. I wanted it to seem childish and amateurish in a way that would make it look nervous, but I also wanted it to have enough flair and style.

So, I came up with this idea: Let the stems and crossbars have the same thickness and see what happens. As expected, it came out weird. The glyphs looked appalling side by side when I tested it. I decided to shrug it off that day. The next day, after a slight kerning and tweaking, I grew fond of it. It’s freaking alien. And did I mention thick? I guess I like weird.

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The A is mercilessly bold, leaving only a small triangular eye at the center. Featured in the font’s name, the N and M remain my favorites since the beginning. Many of Sonmi’s glyphs are uneasy on the eye since the design spawns from the necessity to present something foreign in geometry and yet familiar in fashion.

It’s like taking the Bauhaus back to its extremely geometrical, rigid and uncompromising roots while mixing it with a generous dose of éclat and naïveté. In my dictionary, it’s called “awesome.”

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Another way of looking at Sonmi is to think of it as an impressionistic version of Geometric 415 or a primal rendition of anything metro and grotesk, sans the lowercase.

Since Sonmi’s original intention was to be my studio’s official titular font, its creation came with the pressure of making it as representative as possible. I like clean and nice design, but technical aspects and proficiency matter to me far beyond cleanliness and niceties. Sonmi doesn’t give a fuck about being pretty.

Although it comes with its many flaws and imperfections the way I came into the world of pixel pushing, it’s still something my studio and I are going to be proud of in the long run.