So, I’m still working on a rebrand and marketing campaign prototype for a research unit focusing on neuroscience. While I delivered an appeaser to help with a recruitment drive for their studies, which thankfully really did its job, the main project is continuing to be in development. Progress has been dwarfed over two or so weeks—as someone who detests excuses, I’ll spare you the rhetoric. Suffice it to say that things needed dealing with, to the detriment of ongoing tasks. As a consequence, the 14/7 work schedule I had already managed to implement after plenty of trial and error got utterly destroyed, along with my circadian rhythm. At this development stage, regularity is by far the most crucial element in my workflow. Now I’m in a hurry to refit my brain for that routine and get back to optimal health, which I simply can’t be patient with, in order to make proper headway and break through those next two dimensional barriers: storyboarded procedural animation and… the other one I won’t jinx.
Keeping my adversary, stark realism, at bay, I’d like to write about one of the more interesting things to have happened lately.
By suggestion of the Winter sun hinting at the season’s shift, and a considerate friend, I treated myself to an art exhibition—a first in forever. I wasn’t quite prepared to open that box. It was a three-way exhibtion of Sagmeister & Walsh, Koloman Moser, and a Swiss art collector’s Chinese contemporary art. Even though journeying to improve as a creator, the draw for me, and maybe strangley so, wasn’t Stefan Sagmeister’s Eureka!-moment of ornamental beauty, and certainly not the contemporary art, of which I’ll refrain from commenting on, but Kolo Moser. A few years ago, I attempted to outline what visually inspired me; eventually, it turned into something amounting to “Klimt and space”. The Vienna Secession, particularly in regards to its painters, really wielded its influence over me, especially during adolescence. Thinking about it now, that may have been because of its distinct, mesmerizing way of abstracting natural elements and unapologetically expressing both grace and decadence, at times in the same subject. Particularly the idea of honouring virtue by way of allegory I continue to be intrigued by and aspire towards in my own machinations. The turn of the 20th century, before economic chaos and war set in, was maybe the most beautiful and temperate period in Europe, following the trashy kitsch of the late baroque era. Owing to the prevalence of Alphonse Mucha, another idol of mine, the modern style—art nouveau—really took off in Britain and France, inspiring the Jugendstil in Germany and consequently Vienna’s seceding movement. The notion of universal artwork took hold, leading to all types of craftsmen finding the courage to take up new disciplines for the purpose of springing their visions to life in the most complete way. Massimo Vignelli famously said: “If you can design one thing, you can design everything.” This holds especially true for the luminaries of the art noveau age, and Koloman Moser, part of the secession movement which was led by Gustav Klimt, was one of them. He founded the Wiener Werkstätte, a production community for visual artists, together with Josef Hoffmann, and did everything from its official corporate branding and monograms for all members to regular graphic design posters for Ver Sacrum, the Secession’s magazine and primary medium of communication, carpentry, glass works, tapestry, jewellry, pattern making, architecture and fashion. He even returned to his original discipline, oil painting, later on. I feel lucky that so much of his work, including sketches that show his approach in full detail for study, remains here in Vienna, available to the public.