#formlanguage

[eat-draw-love]

How to save weight?

Consider getting rid of your co-driver!

PORSCHE Vision Gran Tursimo Spyder

I tried to combine the classic PORSCHE volumes with radical cutted aero themes to create a new formlanguage living from contrast.

[charleslin]

A short demo for @we_are_brainstorm_school for the AD-1: Form Language. The task for this week was to design some vehicles based on something organic. Here’s a range of thumbnails inspired by apples, squids, and spiders #charleslin #brainstorm #brainstormschool #viscom #formlanguage #entertainmentdesign #conceptart #vehicledesign #automotive #automotivedesign #cardesign #vehicles https://www.instagram.com/p/CB7WWSlDb9X/?igshid=1q6hqk9rc2osk

[amybgood]

A pile painto on paper

[sidkidspot]

Andrd Capsule

[nhoinla]

Hans and Gretel discovers a witch's lobster mobile house in the Wasteland. Mad Max re-skin #conceptart #design #hanselandgretel #grimmfairytales #fairytail #art #drawing #sketch #illustration #digitalart #clipstudiopaint #artistsofinstagram #artistoninstagram #instaart #instagood #nguyendong #wacom #halloween #thriller #madmax #postapocalyptic #Furyroad #keyframe #conceptdesignacademy #photoshop #vehicle #vehicledesign #lobster #formlanguage

[tao-windofsmile]

EOD Unit

Design of the EOD unit inspired by hermit crabs. Many thanks to Mark Castanon's Form Language class 2019.

[samiadraws]

Forest friends forms #inktober #inktober2016 #inktoberday12 #instaart #artistsoninstagram #art #artspotted #sketchbook #sketch #practice #illustration #graphicdesign #design #brushpen #pen #ink #editorialillustration #kidlitart #trees #forest #foliage #shapes #formlanguage #marker #simple #leaves #plants #print

[melissahoneybeam]

Daniel Romanovsky https://www.artstation.com/formlanguage

[eat-draw-love]

How to save weight?

Front view of my PORSCHE Vision GT for GranTurismo

I tried to combine the classic PORSCHE volumes with radical cutted aero themes to create a new formlanguage living from contrast.

[logodesignclub]

Metropolitana Milanese — Designer: Bob Noorda; Firm: Unimark International, Italy; Year: 1963 #metropolitanamilanese #bobnoorda #unimarkinternational #unimark #italy #italian #europe #italiandesign #italianlogos #europeandesign #europeanlogos #logos #logo #design #formlanguage #designlogo #branding #brandidentity #identity #symbols #symbol #branded #logoinspiration #graphicdesign #logoseum #logoseumitaly #logoseumeurope - Logo Design

[sginspirationarchive]

Just Pinned to Grafik: The Electricity Council —Designer: Nicholas Jenkins Firm: n/a Year: 1968 #theelectricitycouncil #nicholasjenkins #lostandfoundday #uk #unitedkingdom #britain #british #europe #britishdesign #britishlogos #europeandesign #europeanlogos #logos #logo #design #formlanguage #designlogo #branding #brandidentity #identity #symbols #symbol #branded #logoinspiration #graphicdesign #logoseum #logoseumgb #logoseumuk #logoseumeurope https://ift.tt/2Q8qZbz

[graphicdesignclub]

Lance Wyman Ltd. — Designer: Lance Wyman; Firm: Lance Wyman Ltd., USA Year: 1979 #lancewyman #aigagala #aigadesign #aigamedal #usa #unitedstates #america #american #northamerica #americandesign #americanlogos #northamericandesign #northamericanlogos #logos #logo #design #formlanguage #designlogo #branding #brandidentity #identity #symbols #symbol #graphicdesign #logoseum #logoseumusa #logoseumnorthamerica - Graphic Arts

[nhoinla]

The near blind witch reaches for Hans' hand to check to see if he's fat enough to eat but he tricks her. Mad Max re-skin #conceptart #design #hanselandgretel #grimmfairytales #fairytail #art #keyframe #drawing #sketch #illustration #digitalart #clipstudiopaint #artistsofinstagram #artistoninstagram #instaart #instagood #nguyendong #wacom #halloween #thriller #madmax #postapocalyptic #Furyroad #keyframe #conceptdesignacademy #photoshop #horror #formlanguage #sketch #sketchaday #draw #artist #composition #mood

[outofshame]

Writing snippet- Foremothers and power

You are never alone. You are never wothless. You are never incapable.

Do you realize what treasure you are? How beautiful you are? That you are worth more than greatest crown, than grandest masterpiece of most virtuoso artist? That each drop of your blood and each breath you exhale is worth more than all gems of world? 

It is said of people like us, that our greatest flaw is that we are creatures of past. We do not live fully in moment, nor plan for what comes ahead, but are stuck bound to  what has been and is no more. We research history and legends of things now passed, we tend graves and speak with dead, we unearth  visions and memories of before, and wonder of what we could have done better, over what we will  leave after us when we are gone, haunted by regrets and people who have left us.

Maybe. Maybe we are, but why should that be flaw? History must be remembered, so it wouldn’t be repeated. So that accomplishments and wounds of our predecessors would be celebrated and mourned. Sothat we may offer our ancestors gratitude and respect they deserve.

Look at yourself. Look at it, your body, your self ,in mirror or window, in puddle or cracked sheet of ice. You have your mother’s nose and your aunt’s hair, your grandmother’s overbite and her mother-in-law’s nimble fingers. All those women, stretching into infinity, live in you, for we are made of past, of pieces of our foremothers that lasted through centuries and made their way to us, and in but a short while we shall join them. In your blood and bone is written an unbroken chain, stretching back to beginning of world, and nobody can claim it but you, not even closest, and no welath can buy it, and it is yours to use as you see fit, as long as you bring no harm upon it.

(Do you know how much is thousand years, child? If we go for averages, if we accept one belief as undeniable truth, and believe that each mother spit out a child at twenty, instead of waiting for time when she is stronger, more secure, more accomplished.

Thousand years. Ten centuries. Enough time for  kingdoms to rise and fall, formlanguage to evolve and shrivel, for wars to start and pass in oblivion, for legends to be born and lost, for gods to be brought and abandoned...

Thirty generations. Thirty mothers. They are never as far away as we think they should be.)

But blood is not everything. Your ancestors are owed respect, but they owe you care, and if one is not provided while other is demanded, the bond is null and void. You can walk away, with talents and health and powers you inherited, and if they ever repent, they should know your forgivness is privilege. Gifts are passed on, but choice is yours how you use them.

And there are other ancestors, other foremothers (you can be one too, without ever birthing a child, for kindness and warmth and effort is what crafts connection, not names, not bloodlines, not guilt and ‘’respect I am owed’’). Those who fed you and sang you lullabies, who braided your hair and attended your recitals, who taught you to write and were first to buy your book, who mentored you and then let you discover things on your own. They who are bound to you by skills gained, and love they warmed in your heart, and stories passed down to you and stories you shall  pass on and story you shall become.

And that is why we must remember them.

Why does king hold throne? Because of territories their ancestors conquered, negotiations and agreements they established, vassals they bound with oaths and debts, deeds that passed in songs.

Why do these great clans hoard such power? Because talent sought out  talent, because they hold name spirits and demons recognize as taht of  their voctorious opponents centuries ago, because they passed in myths and epics, because they leave out offerings and hoard spellbooks of their great-great-great-grandmothers, because each mother passes ritual and history to her child, forging new link in chain of memory, because they sought out their teachers and were initiated in and preserved so many ways and rites.

That is where power comes from. Our ancestors follows us everywhere, in colour of our eyes (same as mother’s), in dinner recipes ( that grandmother perfected), in lullabies we sing to out own children (that kind teacher who got you through so much wrote that one), in superstitions we follow without thinking   ( great-grandma from dad’s side said it could never hurt), in way we hiss at annoying rodents ( your best friend’s mother, who was always there for you, scared them worse than snake), in songs we listen to when we are sad ( the girl who saved you, who you wanted to be your sister, introduced you to them).  A family, a line, a tradition.

A recollection of past, a feeling of affection and longing, the offering and prayer and smile. Those tie ancestors to us even after death stole them from us. Even when we don’t see them, they stand behind us, with us, inside us, they lead us, and when we must depart they will take our hand so we could rejoin them until it is time to return, until ancestor becomes descendant. In memory and love is power forged, the generations, beloved, mothers countless standing behind us and lending us their power- whether we were born with it, or they taught us, whether we promised and bargained and received, or in time of need our self remebered what they could do and forced memory in reality, found potential and revealed and nurtured it in ability.

And that is not all.

No family, no line, no culture is straight, isolated line. We travel and curve and shift, and connect with so many lines. We love and meet and join altogether, and in each generation there are so many more, each year, each century, each generation brings so  much more strength to us.  And it spreads out, a seed that becomes a forest.

And there are those, who you don’t know, who you hold no affection but great admiration for. The gargantuans and heroes of pasts, the girls who rode out to protect their family, the women who learned letters at night, who discovered great things despite obstacles in their path, who inspired you, whose standards you want to meet, whose legacies and history you wish to honour. Even ones whose names and faces you don’t know, whose footsteps have almost washed away from this world-but, ah, they walked path you walk, and were cut on same thorns, and defeated same monsters, and in that moment, in that place, you and them are same.

You are not alone. You are not worthless. You are not incapable. Nobody is. You are you, and you have your past, and you have time to make amrk on this world as large or gentle as ylou want before you are to be snuffed out, and you are alive, and thousands live in you, and you honor foremothers of yours, however they were found or bound to you, and even if you aren’t aware of it, even if you think you don’t deserve it, their power shall flow through you, until it is time for you to join them, the ancestors, the-who-we-were, the Mighty Dead, The Great Host, who-we-are-to-be. To face you, it means...

To face the world.

(Oh, and what of girl who is nobody?

Oh, the nameless girl, the bargain child, the unwanted and unneeded, the darkest price that must be paid, the one that will never be taken in.

Oh, what of girl who has inherited nothing but contempt (and not one that can be used, that won’t be nurtured or held down), who nobody has taken in or shown the way, whose bargains and offers nobody will accept, in whom nothing sleeps that can be awakened for all potential is barred, whose prayers none will hear for her voice is too weak and ugly, who knows not whom to offer her gratitude, whoser service and form are judged useless and revolting, who was born severed and hollowed out?

Oh, what of this savage girl, who holds on slivers of memories that have been taken away, that have walked away, the girl who is given a lie of favor in exchange for deadly boons, whom no hearth will warm and no tomb shall cradle, the girl who has none to turn to, this savage girl who will never be beautiful, who will never know a peace but reprieve of hunt, who will never be loved, who will know no justice, for her existence is deemed proof of crime and crime itself, the girl whose cause nobody will believe or take, who will be laughed at and told she deserved it, the girl who cannot forge a bond, girl who is offered nothing but screams and obligations that can’t be twisted to her use, girl who is clear glass dreaming of becoming color, who can do nothing but bear pain, bear insults, bear curses until all fear of dark and death and end she purges from herself, girl who bites hand that would have fed her hearthy meal, for she sees another’s leftovers and collar that awaits, and will not bow, but become something worse than monster, for she is a hunger that had been tamed by none but her own hand, offering of herself she gave to herself, by her own hand for ehr own dreams?

Oh, what of a girl who turns away from hearth and roof, the girl who goes in silent and strange places where shadows don’t dare thread, girl whom none don’t even notice, whom they curse when she calls attention to herself, the girl who leaves community for wild and rises herself to stars, broken and forged, hungry and free, full of wonder, promising ,,I shall perceive you as you are?’’

[samiadraws]

Trees #inktober #inktober2016 #inktoberday14 #instaart #artistsoninstagram #art #artspotted #sketchbook #sketch #practice #illustration #graphicdesign #design #brushpen #pen #ink #editorialillustration #kidlitart #trees #forest #foliage #shapes #formlanguage #marker #simple #leaves #plants #print #viscom

[gurven]

Inspiration - Logos & Branding :Bancal by Cruz Novillo, 1971, Agricultural Bank. — #LogoArchiveNovillo #LogoArchiveSpain #LogoArchive70s #LogoArchiveNature — #logoarchive #formlanguage #loveform #minimalist #monogram #modernism #midcenturymodern #branding #designlogo #brandidentity #logoinspiration #symbol #logodesigner #branded #midcentury #logobrand #logodesigns #logohistory #designhistory #graphicdesign #trademark #design #logo #logos #cruznovillo #novillo — http://ift.tt/2lTzDQk