How might a typographic system be designed to visually express the subconscious layers of the mind?
Typography is usually about clarity, but the subconscious resists clarity—it speaks in letters, signs, but sometimes is fragments, echoes, slips of the tongue. To express this, a typographic system could weave legibility with ghostly undertones. Primary text might sit boldly in the foreground while faint shadow-text, mirrored glyphs, or partially erased words seep through behind it, like subconscious whispers.
I wonder—how might a typographic system be designed to reveal the subconscious layers of the mind? Typography usually demands clarity, yet the subconscious resists it. It rarely speaks in full sentences; instead it drifts in fragments, echoes, slips of the tongue.
Maybe the system doesn’t need to be perfectly legible. Perhaps the primary text could sit clearly in the foreground, while faint shadows, mirrored glyphs, or partially erased words linger behind it—like whispers I almost hear but can’t fully hold onto.
Layering feels essential. One layer could speak on the surface, rational and structured, while another layer unsettles beneath it—disrupting rhythm, stretching letters unnaturally, collapsing kerning as if logic itself were fraying.
And maybe this typography isn’t still at all. Maybe it shifts in time and the layering becomes key: one layer speaks to the rational surface, another layer mutters beneath it. Such a approach could even evolve temporally, as if words' fragments appearing and vanishing at intervals. In this way, typography stops being a silent carrier of meaning and becomes a dramatization of the psyche.
Modeling the Graphical Tones of Interaction @elgngraphicdesign
This exploration was driven by a simple yet profound curiosity, how could be described the intangible flow of interaction and perception in a language that captures its complexity?
My desire to describe this graphical wave of perception mathematically stems from a longing to map the intangible, the shifting currents of my experience that shape my understanding of design. I envisioned the process as an intricate choreography, where each step, turn, and leap is an act of redefining reality itself.
Why attempt to capture this in numbers and formulas? Because, in doing so, I hoped to reveal a hidden architecture beneath the surface, a structural frame that animates the seemingly chaotic dance of interaction.
Imagine, then, that R(t)R(t)R(t) represents the state of reality at a given moment—like the ever-changing tide of perception—while O(t)O(t)O(t) is the perceived object, the design in its current form. Every line, click, or gaze acts as a ripple—an interaction III—that shifts the tides, transforming the perception through a process akin to a sculptor gently carving away at a block of marble. This transformation TIT_{I}TI becomes the chisel, reshaping the form of perception itself:
For me this recursive relationship is more like poetic reflection of how each moment of engagement is a brushstroke—layered upon the last graphics, and creating a canvas that is perpetually unfinished.
Each graphical interaction participates in the ongoing composition of an evolving graphical masterpiece. Because every transformation influences the next, the perceived design becomes a structure of enveloping the cause and effect:
In this view, the design ceases to be a static object inscribed in stone. Instead, it becomes an graphically alchemical process where perception is continuously brewed anew, blending past and present into a visually fluid, relational graphical reality. As if the boundary dissolves, and the object's forms and the experience are two faces of the same coin, eternally co-creating each other in an endless loop of becoming.
As Heraclitus famously intoned, “You cannot step into the same river twice”—and neither can perception be fixed, but in a continuous flow, could be shaped anew with each interaction with the graphics.
This digital image is a vibrant and futuristic illustration that transports into a cyber realm. With a palette of blue, yellow, aqua, and li
How can the essence of human identity be visually represented through abstract graphic forms that evolve with viewer interaction? | @elgngraphicdesign
Human identity is rarely static; it breathes, shifts, and reshapes itself in dialogue with others. To capture this in graphic form, abstraction becomes a necessity rather than a choice.
Instead of portraits or literal depictions, one could construct evolving visual systems—shapes that morph in real time depending on how viewers engage with them.
The cubist paradigm offers a profound commentary on our increasingly disjointed experience of space and time, reflecting the multifaceted la
Imagine a gallery wall where forms ripple in response to eye movement, or digital canvases where geometric clusters expand or collapse as people approach. The logic here is that identity only becomes visible in relation: the gaze of another, the context of environment, the moment of presence.
Abstract representations—circles stretching, grids unraveling, lines pulsating—could embody the way identity negotiates between continuity and change. The surprise lies in the dissolution of authorship, as if the artwork becomes co-authored by every viewer, and thus, identity is portrayed not as essence but as a questioning. The resolution is always radical for me at anu case, it is to represent artistic identity and is to resist fixing it, instead allowing identity to remain a visually philosophical negotiation.
