By placing 2D illustrations into 3D space, I use light to question perception, degradation, and transformation.
Shadows function not as absences, but as imprints of light. They become projections that record form. As light passes through the object, information is selectively removed or emphasized, raising the question of how much can be lost before an image loses its identity.
The following video demonstrates how the 2D illustrations exist and interact within a 3D space, showing how light alters and transforms the perception of the image.
Object: Paper Clip
Light Source: Point
Object: Paper Clip
Light Source: Sunlight
Object: Volkswagen
Light Source: Point
Object(s) to form the Volkswagen: Banana, Croissant, Crayon, Telephone, Umbrella, Chilli, Chair, Kodak Charmera, Marlboro, Lemon, Paperclip, Shrimp, Frog, Snoopy.
Methods of Contextualizing Exploration: Data Through Sound
To explore alternative ways of contextualizing data beyond visual representation, I investigated the possibility of experiencing data through audio. The aim was to allow carbon-emissions data to be understood intuitively through sound rather than solely through reading charts or graphs.
I began by reimagining the musical score as a framework for data representation. Instead of using a traditional musical clef at the beginning of the staff, I replaced it with powers of ten, transforming each line of the staff into a numerical scale. Musical notes were substituted with passport stamps, representing journeys taken by students traveling to their hometowns. These stamps were used as markers to measure the carbon emissions associated with two modes of transportation: railway travel and long-haul flights.
However, this approach proved difficult to read, and it only represented two transportation modes while excluding others. To simplify the visualization, I experimented with using the musical whole note to represent the total carbon emissions generated by each country. This allowed the data to be summarized more clearly within the score.
After visualizing the data in this format, I became interested in how the emissions data might sound when translated into music. I therefore converted the carbon-emissions data from different regions—Asia, Europe, North and South America, Oceania, and the United Kingdom—onto a musical staff.
I then imported the score into music notation software and selected the piano as the instrument to test how Asia’s carbon emissions might be interpreted sonically. Building on this experiment, I developed an orchestral score in which different instruments represented different regions: Asia was represented by the piano, Europe by the bass guitar, and North and South America by the violin.
Though this direction generated a lot of interest due to its new and engaging approach, it was ultimately not pursued further due to time constraints, and it did not fully align with our group’s enquiry and the project brief.
Asia Student Hometown Travel Audio
Asia, Europe, North and South America Student Hometown Travel Audio
At the beginning, our group prioritised visual outcomes, focusing mainly on how climate data could be translated into engaging graphics that were easy to follow. However, after reviewing key references, we began to root our compositions more strongly in context in order to deepen the narrative and improve audience understanding. Our enquiry gradually centred on the idea of collectiveness, translating quantitative data into a visual language that could communicate emotion while remaining grounded in evidence.
We used comparisons of carbon emissions to help audiences understand the scale of impact and to highlight that addressing emissions is a shared responsibility. This shift made us more critical about the proxies we selected, ensuring they were meaningful and relevant to the public rather than purely visually appealing. Through this process, my awareness of climate justice grew, particularly in relation to international students who often travel long distances due to structural educational systems rather than personal choice. Because of this, we aimed to present the information without assigning blame to individuals with limited alternatives.
Publishing the project as a website instead of print also aligns with the Net Zero plan by reducing material use while making the work accessible to a wider audience.
References
Drucker, J., 2014. Graphesis: Visual forms of knowledge production. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
Drucker, J., 2014. Graphesis: Visual forms of knowledge production. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
Drucker’s text influenced how we approached the role of graphic design within our project, particularly in thinking about digital platforms as interpretative spaces rather than neutral containers for information. Her discussion of designing environments that support critical engagement encouraged us to rethink the purpose of our website. Instead of simply presenting climate data, we began exploring how interaction, pacing, and visual language could help audiences engage with the topic more proactively. This shifted our focus toward creating a more humanistic digital experience. In our project, this meant designing the website to feel interactive, visually engaging, and approachable, so that viewers could reflect on the implications of carbon emissions rather than only reading numerical data. We wanted the design to support contemplation and understanding without overwhelming the audience. Additionally, Drucker’s idea of working in a “constellationary mode” also reflects how our group developed the project. By combining insights from multiple references alongside our different design skills, we created a process that prioritised interpretation, collaboration, and the development of a shared visual language around climate responsibility.
This article helped shape how we think about the use of images and visual proxies in communicating climate change. Rather than treating images as straightforward evidence, the text made us more aware that visual representations, such as satellite imagery, diagrams, or data visualisations, are publishing choices that influence what becomes visible and how audiences interpret it. This idea became important in our project because we rely on several proxies and metaphors, including circles, scale, and satellite imagery to represent carbon emissions. These choices do not simply illustrate information, they frame how the issue is understood. The text encouraged us to reflect on the duality of proxies: they can build trust and also cause mistrust. As a result, we became more careful about the images we selected. Instead of focusing only on environmental damage or negative representations of specific countries, we aimed to show that these places are also sites of community and everyday life. This strengthened our narrative approach, presenting individuals, streets, and communities alongside environmental impacts, emphasising climate change as an interconnected system shaped by daily life rather than individual fault.
This reference influenced how we approached the role of diagrams in translating complex data into a visual format that is both accurate and accessible. Rather than viewing diagrams simply as illustrations, we began to understand them as a way of carrying information across contexts and audiences.Working with a rich scientific dataset, this idea encouraged us to carefully consider how the information should be distilled and structured so that viewers can understand scale, comparison, and relationships more clearly. Since our studio-based experiment resulted in a website, we designed our diagrams to function within the digital environment, ensuring they remain readable, navigable, and engaging. This informed our decision to create ozone-inspired bubble diagrams that are scaled to the interface while still representing the numerical data as accurately as possible. While our project aims to evoke an emotional response, this reference reminded us that clarity and precision are equally important when informing audiences about global concerns. As a result, we balanced expressive visual design with careful data representation so the diagrams support both understanding and reflection.
This article influenced how we thought about the politics behind data visualisation in our project. It made us question the appearance of neutrality in graphics. Rather than assuming that data can present an objective overview, we became aware that every visual choice shapes how audiences interpret the issue. We designed with the third principle of data feminism in mind: elevating emotion and embodiment. Because our project involves both personal circumstances and global systems, it became important for us to acknowledge our own positionalities as designers and participants within the issue we are representing. Recognising this helped us avoid presenting the data as detached or purely statistical, and instead focus on the specific message we wanted to communicate. It also pushed us to think about what comes after raising awareness, ensuring the project guides the audience toward reflection rather than leaving the information unresolved. Therefore, we designed to emphasise collectiveness rather than separation between countries. Moving away from design minimalism, our diagrams function more like a living system made up of many interconnected parts, reinforcing the idea that climate impact is shaped by shared structures rather than individual actions alone.
This design project influenced how we approached the integration of imagery into our visualizations to create emotional and contextual resonance. Instead of presenting data against a neutral background, Kallat uses hand-painted oceans to frame water consumption patterns, giving the numbers narrative and emotional weight. Drawing from this approach, we introduced life-style and geological images of Asian countries as backgrounds for the ozone-inspired circles that represent the amount of CO₂e emissions. By layering the illustration over narrative imagery, we aimed to make environmental impacts more perceptible and meaningful, helping viewers connect abstract measurements to real-world consequences. This strategy shaped both our visual language and our approach to audience understanding: images act as a bridge between complex numerical data and human perception, enhancing clarity while building awareness. The project reinforced the value of affective engagement in data translation, demonstrating that visualization can communicate both scale and significance. For our website, this translated into a visual hierarchy that is both informative and empathetic, guiding users through the data while supporting comprehension and reflection on the broader environmental context.
This video influenced how we structured the sequence and pacing of information within our website. Rather than presenting all the data at once, we began to think about how scale can be revealed gradually so that viewers can build an understanding of complex measurements over time. This was particularly relevant because carbon emissions and CO₂e values are difficult to grasp when presented only as numbers. Inspired by the film’s movement between different orders of magnitude, we adopted a similar zooming structure in our project. The website begins at a smaller scale, introducing CO₂e through comparisons with the different type of travels before moving outward to larger datasets related to travel emissions. This progression allows viewers to first understand the unit of measurement and then see how it expands within broader environmental systems. This reference also shaped our thinking about how audiences navigate information. By revealing data step by step, we aimed to make complex environmental information more digestible and less overwhelming. As a result, scale became not just a visual device but a way of helping users interpret scientific data and understand its significance.
taught us that form follows reason, meaning that research comes first. We are expected to understand the materials, context, and references before creating. In Unit 1, being asked to create as a form of research was difficult to grasp at first. However, I began to notice that the ideas and visuals we produced, both my own and those of other students in the class, were different from the designs we created when following the form follows reason approach.
When research happens through making, the process becomes more open. You are not as restricted by assumptions about what could or could not be. Instead, the main limitation becomes the context in which you choose to situate your work.
The education system has often…
taught us that context must come before the design, and that adding context halfway through a project is considered superficially justifying the work. However, through my projects I have realised that additional reading and discovering new references later in the process can actually strengthen and ground my practice. It is not superficially justifying the work when it deepens the enquiry and expands the research.
What could be considered superficial is forcing connections that do not genuinely relate to the work. But when new ideas and references contribute to the development of the project, rather than simply covering it like a coat, they become part of the research-through-creating process.
The education system has often…
taught us to prioritize clear outcomes and polished results. As a consequence, the process, the enquiry, and the experimentation, is often sacrificed or oversimplified to make it more digestible to the audience. Yet, if we critically examine the information we aim to present, we can design specifically for the audience that will engage with it.
In this context, the emphasis on flawless results becomes secondary. While clarity and refinement are still important, the focus should be on finding the most effective way to convey the message using the right visuals. This approach is far more impactful than simply prioritizing a final outcome.
This publication explores how light can reshape the way we perceive objects. Using Blender as a tool for graphic exploration rather than traditional 3D modelling, the work investigates how images change as light passes through form and removes or emphasizes visual information. Through processes of simplification and alteration, familiar objects are gradually transformed.
The title Life in Shadow reflects this idea. The objects in the work only become visible and take form when light interacts with them. Without light, they disappear back into darkness. The publication therefore questions how much information can be removed before an image loses its identity, and whether these transformations eventually make the original object obsolete.
The project that I chose to copy is by an artist whose only known information is his Instagram username, @muddycap, and he is based in Seoul. He creates chairs made from food, toys, and everyday household items that we see, whether through AI or 3D modelling, which is unknown.
Initial thought: “Is Blender challenging for designers with no prior knowledge of 3D modelling?”
After watching tutorials I thought, “this was manageable to follow.” It is similar to using an Adobe program-not similar in its functions and purpose, but similar in that it is a software with many powerful tools that I need to make mistakes with and learn from to realise my vision. When building the chair, I felt that its process was similar to painting and drawing, where an understanding of form, colour, light and shadow, and proportion is crucial to creating a realistic-looking model. Then my thought changed: “Is Blender accessible for people with no prior knowledge of design, or painting and drawing, or art in general?”
A later thought occurred to me that all I had been thinking about was how do I build…
My proposal is to explore the questions: “Is Blender accessible for people with no knowledge of art?” and “Can you de-build (unbuild, deconstruct, take apart) using Blender?” Or is there a different way to build? If, in the design world, the purpose of Blender is to create photorealistic visuals or stylised art for games, film, architecture, and product design, what else can be created by those who do not wish to make the same? How can we, as graphic communication designers, utilise the tools that Blender provides us with in ways that stray beyond the conventional? Create something that resembles?
My approach in exploring these questions further would be to create using unconventional methods, such as:
Start building from a cube combined with strictly using basic mesh shapes without manipulating them
Have the object be symmetrical
Use the wireframes instead of solidifying
Create from one side of the plane only
View an object from the Z plane, which would make the object appear as just a line, with the shadow from light revealing the object at XYZ plane
When using Blender to create a copy of the Bagel Chair, I found the fundamental qualities of 3D modeling to be similar to painting and drawing, where an understanding of form, color, light, and shadow is essential to producing a realistic resemblance. This observation led to the following questions:
Is Blender accessible to people with no prior knowledge of art? Can Blender be used to de-build, unbuild, or deconstruct objects rather than construct them? If Blender is commonly used to create photorealistic visuals or stylized assets for games, film, architecture, and product design, what else can be created by those who do not wish to pursue those outcomes? How can graphic communication designers use Blender’s tools in ways that move beyond conventional applications?
Through my iterative process of addressing these questions, I found that the most compelling inquiries emerged from the idea that a two-dimensional object comes to life through shadow rather than its volume or materials.
Rooted in the ideas of Adhocism, this project re-incorporates existing methods to form new ways of making. Light and shadow are basic elements that have a long history, dating back to prehistoric cave paintings, becoming central to this investigation. In Blender, an object cannot exist visually when rendered without light. The absence of it causes the model to collapse into black, despite being visible in the 3D viewport. Light produces contrast and cast shadows, allowing form to emerge. Hence, the object only comes to life conditionally through the presence of light and shadow.
By working with two-dimensional illustrations in a three-dimensional space and using light to alter how an object is perceived, I question ideas of degradation and transformation. Shadows, often understood as the absence of light, instead function as imprints of it. They record the form of the object obstructing the light and act as projections rather than voids. In this sense, I am printing with light.
As light passes through an object, information is selectively removed or emphasized. Through simplification, magnification, and alteration of the illustration, the object is continuously transformed. This raises the question of how much information can be removed before an image loses its identity, and whether such transformations render the original obsolete.
Blender becomes a tool to visualize this process of reduction, instead of building. It reveals what is essential to retain and what can be removed. By dissecting the object and reconstructing it through shadow, I explore the point at which a Volkswagen Beetle ceases to be recognizable as a Beetle and simply becomes a car. The work reflects on how digital processes degrade, abstract, and reshape our understanding of objects in the physical world.
I chose the Volkswagen Beetle because its design follows function and is stripped of excess, reflecting the principles of mechanical evolution central to Adhocism. The Beetle also transformed mobility into an emotional and human experience. I wanted to bring this humane quality into Blender, a tool that can often feel cold, distant, and difficult to approach.
To further explore these ideas, I aim to work with all parts of the car, taking them apart and experimenting with transparency, materiality, and light sources to observe how changes in illumination affect perception and form.
Jencks, C. and Silver, N. (2013) Adhocism: The Case for Improvisation. 2nd edn. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press
Draft 3
When using Blender to create a copy of the Bagel Chair, I found the fundamental qualities of 3D modeling to be similar to painting and drawing, where an understanding of form, color, light, and shadow is essential to producing a realistic resemblance. This observation led to the following questions:
Is Blender accessible to people with no prior knowledge of art? Can Blender be used to de-build or deconstruct objects rather than construct them? If Blender is commonly used to create photorealistic visuals or stylized assets for games, film, architecture, and product design, what else can be created by those who do not wish to pursue those outcomes? How can graphic communication designers use Blender’s tools in ways that move beyond conventional applications?
In my first round of iterative processes of addressing these questions, I found that the most compelling inquiries emerged from the idea that a two-dimensional object comes to life through shadow rather than its volume or materials.
Rooted in the ideas of Adhocism, this project re-incorporates existing methods to form new ways of making. In Blender, an object cannot exist visually when rendered without light. The absence of it causes the model to collapse into black, despite being visible in the 3D viewport. Light produces contrast and cast shadows, allowing form to emerge. Hence, the object only comes to life conditionally through the presence of light and shadow.
By working with two-dimensional illustrations in a three-dimensional space and using light to alter how an object is perceived, I question ideas of degradation and transformation. Shadows, often understood as the absence of light, instead function as imprints of it. They record the form of the object obstructing the light and act as projections rather than voids.
As light passes through an object, information is selectively removed or emphasized. By simplifying, magnifying, and altering the illustration, the object is continuously transformed. This raises the question of how much information can be removed before an image loses its identity, and whether such transformations render the original obsolete.
Blender becomes a tool to visualize this process of reduction, instead of building. By dissecting the object, I explore the point at which a Volkswagen Beetle ceases to be recognizable as a Beetle and simply becomes a car. The work reflects on how digital processes degrade, abstract, and reshape our understanding of objects in the physical world.
I chose the Volkswagen Beetle because its design follows function and is stripped of excess.
From the second round of iterations, I answered my initial questions by constructing the car from 2D illustrations of everyday objects assembled in 3D space. These objects only become visible when motion is added. The process involved experiments with multiple layers, light angles, light types, and transparency. It produced optical illusions, graphic outcomes, and shifting perceptions that transformed the car into something new.
This project demonstrates that Blender is accessible not only through prior artistic training, but through experimentation, perception, and inquiry. Blender can also function beyond its conventional role expected outcomes.
Throughout the three methods, I am constantly discovering new ways of researching. Some are more obvious, ones I have never tried before, and some are unique approaches I would never have thought of. All of these methods have pushed me to create projects that are conceptually stronger and have a meaningful connection to the existing material I’m working with, while also giving it new life. I’ve learned to pick apart what matters, what’s intriguing, and what I can translate into a visual language. There’s no one right approach or answer for a single project, only the approach that best suits the context. Although research matters, letting the project become what it is naturally is just as important as trying to mold it into something it isn’t just to make it portfolio-ready.
In Methods of Investigating, I’ve come to appreciate the beauty of observing the mundane and paying attention to even the most obvious details, exploring what can emerge from them without prejudice, stereotyping, or prior knowledge.
Through Methods of Cataloguing, I’ve learned to rearrange what I thought I knew and see it in a new light, creating a fresh context. There are patterns that exist; we just have to be able to see them, name them, and sort them.
From Methods of Translating, I learned to focus and dive deep into content, extracting the most important aspects to see it from a new perspective. Pulling ideas, reading, and experimenting with approaches from references is also immensely helpful in strengthening a piece.
I have created projects with each of these methods that I had never done before. They develop and encourage creative and critical thinking, which then influences the outcome, whether it is commercial, political, or both.
In the city of images, shaped by society, value is measured by clarity. The rich ones stand in their stillness, sharp, preserved, untouched by time or people. They hang in white halls and speak only to those who can afford to listen. The poor ones wander through networks, reassembled and ragged at the edges, drifting on invisible currents that leap over walls, slip through borders, and forget the hands that sent them.
The poor image tells the story of its journey. It rises above measures of value, not in defiance but in quiet certainty, proud of the ruins that have made it whole. It is degraded and disregarded, yet its pride lies in what remains. It carries the memory of its first light, the circuits it has crossed, and the countless eyes that have passed over it. Though it loses its clarity, it gains something greater: its truth.
The early life of an image hangs on the hands that release it and the eyes that allow it to endure, but it soon slips from direct control. Some travel freely, unbound and radiant; others falter, lost in the buzz of the network, swallowed by the invisible hierarchy that determines what may be seen and what must fade. Beneath their passage lies the machinery of access and privilege, always turning its silent gears, unceasing, as images rise and fade.
In this constant motion, the poor image floats through networks, shared and appropriated, yet always vulnerable to erasure and manipulation. It weaves connections across distant spaces, provoking translation and misreading, and forming new publics beyond the reach of any single hand or institution. Low-resolution, fragmented, and detached from any source, it bears significance not in likeness, but in its existence, in its life, and in its reality.
This is why poor images will prevail.
References:
Steyerl, H., 2012. The wretched of the screen. Berlin: Sternberg Press.
Calvino, I., 1974. Invisible Cities. Orlando: Harcourt Brace & Company.
An excerpt that I have chosen is from Diagrammatic Writing (Drucker, 2013, p. 24), the section titled “Surroundings and Other Moves of Domination and Subordination.”
By indexing alphabetically, I was able to break down the purpose, argument, and visual appearance of the text on a deeper level.
Control is evident in the choice of form and structure, where lines, spaces, and visual layout work to relay relationships of power and dependence.
Design is not confined to posters but can also be applied to text in articles or other kinds of writing to strengthen the message being shared.
Each decision in the composition subtly guides the reader’s attention, shaping both meaning and emotion.
For example:
Grammar is made easy to understand, adopting a conversational tone so the reader can follow the thread of thought despite the unconventional structure.
Hierarchy is established through type size and style, guiding the reader’s eye down the page.
Italics are used strictly for rhetorical questions, which help set the tone and establish expectations for where the text will lead.
Kerning between letters is balanced, which supports readability and maintains visual harmony.
Layout is crucial here, as it does more than organize words and also affects how the reader interprets the ideas.
My discoveries during this process of cataloguing have impacted the way I approach articles, personal projects, and research methods.
Navigating through the excerpt becomes an active process, as the structure and layout shape how meaning is discovered.
Observing this text goes beyond simply reading the words and also involves taking in all the design choices that were made purposefully.
Punctuation helps the reader follow the flow of ideas, making complex arguments easier to navigate.
Questions invite the reader to consider multiple perspectives.
Reading this excerpt highlights the relationship between text and design, showing how each element depends on the others to further implement meaning.
Sequencing of paragraphs and line breaks shapes how the reader experiences the argument.
This text fully transforms the passive act of reading into an active one and transcends conventional essay styles.
Understanding is guided by consistent visual cues.
Visual choice.
Word choice.
Xploration.
Yield insights.
Zoom in.
Reference
Drucker, J. (2013) Diagrammatic Writing: Technologies of the Text. New York: Routledge.
The two readings from the course reading list that relate to my investigation are Species of Spaces and Other Places by Georges Perec and Graphesis by Johanna Drucker. My investigation focused on 35 Colonnade, an urban alley in London. Perec (1997) reflects on how we can decipher and analyze everyday spaces that we have deemed ‘common’, encouraging us to look beyond their obvious elements. Drucker (2014), who coined the term ‘visual epistemology’, argues that design is a powerful tool for interpretation and that designers actively shape how meaning is perceived. My work connects to Perec through his process of examination and to Drucker through her theme of design as interpretation guiding my visual decisions.
To ‘see almost stupidly’, (Perec, 1997), as Perec suggests, I spent time sitting at 35 Colonnade, observing the street, the people, and the birds. By repeatedly sketching, photographing, and writing about the most obvious and seemingly boring elements, I began to notice details I had missed before. This helped me strip away assumptions about the site and find meaning in what is usually overlooked. I was drawn to textures of the uneven bricks, worn cobblestones, and the alley’s narrow, serene atmosphere amidst the city’s bustle. By converting my images to black and white, it revealed textures as graphic forms. Using these Lego-like textures, I mapped 35 Colonnade, reducing a mundane place into a textured landscape.
My design received feedback requesting conclusions about the place, but clarity is not my primary goal. Instead, I aimed to capture the essence of what 35 Colonnade feels and looks like. The design is not functional in the traditional sense or meant to represent a definitive truth. It is open to interpretation, aligning with Drucker’s (2014) argument in Graphesis. I was not entirely sure what I discovered through this investigation. However, I was intentional in shaping viewers’ perspective by choosing what to show and what to omit. For example, I excluded street signs from the textures to focus attention on materiality. Using the textures allowed me to reimagine the space, conveying to viewers unfamiliar with the alley more about the buildings and atmosphere than written research might. I wanted to capture the London alley that tourists photograph, where birds fly, and workers take smoke breaks.
Ultimately, Perec’s method of slow observation informed my investigative process from start to finish. My aim was not to provide an objective truth, but to translate the physical and atmospheric qualities of the alley into a visual form. Guided by Drucker’s concept of designing graphic interpretation, I acknowledge that the way I visualized the collected data is subjective. I chose visual elements based on my interpretation of London. While alleys everywhere may have smokers, birds, and tourists, not every alley shares the same characteristics as 35 Colonnade. This investigation has deepened my understanding that design is inherently interpretive and does not always need to convey a definitive truth. As designers, we have control over what we observe and bear responsibility for how we visually represent it.
References
Drucker, J. (2014) Graphesis: Visual Forms of Knowledge Production. Harvard University Press.
Perec, G. (1997) Species of Spaces and Other Places. Translated by J. Sturrock. London: Penguin.
