Monoliths and Old Movies: Envisioning House of Indovina’s Future
admin
For initial studies of the “House of Indovina” branding, I tried to embrace the enigmatic allure of crows and the steadfastness of monolithic structures, weaving them into a brand identity that pays homage to the mystique of classic Hollywood.
This symbolism attempted to capture the studio’s commitment to impactful storytelling and cinematic innovation.
The brand aesthetic combines the dark charm of crows with the grandeur of age-old monoliths, creating a visual narrative that was hopefully both haunting and majestic. It’s a deliberate nod to the legacies of film while paving a unique path forward.
Looking ahead, the studio aims to translate this static imagery into the fluidity of motion, adding a dynamic layer to the brand that promises to captivate and engage.
My fascination with the visual tension of rabid animals has little to do with the grim realities of the disease and everything to do with the raw, unbridled energy they represent. As an artist, I’m drawn not to the shock value but to the portrayal of emotions that defy simple description. It’s similar to the conundrum of explaining the essence of the color red—its feeling is known, not through definition, but through experience and association.
Great art, be it visual or musical, has the profound power to articulate the ineffable aspects of our emotions, to envelop us in the shared beauty of human experience.
Stand in front of a Caravaggio and tell me you don’t feel, even slightly, as if in the presence of GOD.
His art has long been fused into the core of my artistic identity, though I frustratingly can’t recall the first moment his paintings struck me.
If I were to console my sentiment-obsessed mind, I’d say his works could have always been there, like a floating, ever-present buffet of artistic mastery for little Lauren to eventually appreciate. It wasn’t until growing older and becoming acquainted with the depths of heartbreak and the peaks of love, that I fully grasped the rebellious narratives and evocative chiaroscuro that marked his pieces.
Stand in front of a Caravaggio and tell me you don’t feel, even slightly, as if in the presence of GOD.
His art has long been fused into the core of my artistic identity, though I frustratingly can’t recall the first moment his paintings struck me.
If I were to console my sentiment-obsessed mind, I’d say his works could have always been there, like a floating, ever-present buffet of artistic mastery for little Lauren to eventually appreciate. It wasn’t until growing older and becoming acquainted with the depths of heartbreak and the peaks of love, that I fully grasped the rebellious narratives and evocative chiaroscuro that marked his pieces.
