angus hyland is a partner at pentagram, working from their london office since 1998.
Beaubourg consacre une fabuleuse rétrospective au mythique peintre espagnol, tadnsi que les librairies regorgent d'hommages au célèbre surréaliste.
From choosing the right color profile to sizing a document for binding, creating a design that looks good in print requires that you plan for the printing
Scientific advice on how to best place visual objects together.
As paper lovers and design enthusiasts, books have always held a special place in our hearts, as they combine so many aspects of our passion, but books as art objects, or, art made from books, are a new intriguing avenue we’re excited to explore. The world of extraordinary artworks from artists and creatives around the globe, using the physical book as raw material or starting point for their creative work is astounding. As the modern world grows more digital by […]
Color has an essential role in the visual experience. It is a powerful information medium for human cognitive ability. For instance, when encountering new things, color is the most specific element…
xx, 1022 p. incl. illus., facsims., specimens. 28 cm
The process of crafting a unique style and aesthetic can be protracted and challenging. Nevertheless, this undertaking can become more manageable by procuring the appropriate tools within your paint by number kits. For this reason, it is imperative to ensure that you possess an apt assortment of paintings.
It’s October, which means everything is now officially just a little bit spookier—and I’m not only talking about your Twitter handles. To celebrate the season, please enjoy this collect…
In what he calls "a bizarre confluence of coincidences", one photographer ended up quarantining with his mother and his ex-wife. No, that's not a sitcom tagline. That's Neil Kramer's life. But this experience did inspire Kramer to produce something comical—a photo series.
Patreon is empowering a new generation of creators. Support and engage with artists and creators as they live out their passions!
Artist and psychotherapist Johan Deckmann transforms antique book covers into satirical self-help titles
Artist and psychotherapist Johan Deckmann transforms antique book covers into satirical self-help titles
FYI! This is a smaller illustration, and is prized accordingly. Beautiful! From an antique childrens book. The illustration would be amazing framed, but can also be used in your scrap-booking, paper crafts, jewelry making, whatever strikes your fancy! Ready for you to print out! Total print size- 3.85" x 5" You are purchasing an incredibly sharp, clear, digital image scanned at a high resolution, 300dpi in jpg form. Once payment is received, you will be able to INSTANTLY DOWNLOAD THE IMAGE. Our images can fit on 8.5 x 11 paper. **THE ANNOYING WATERMARK WILL NOT APPEAR ON YOUR DOWNLOAD** What fabulous things can you create? Announcements, Invitations, and place cards, (think wedding, engagements, baby!) Paper Arts: Jewelry: Used on transfers: Print and Frame For: Greeting cards Earrings Tee-shirts Baby's Nursery Stationery Bracelets Tote bags Child's Room Bookmarks Necklaces Pillows Wall Decor Gift tags Napkins Scrap-booking Dish towels Altered Art Ribbons Card Making And any magical thing your artistic bent can create! The Fine Print (No pun intended) Do's Do make fantastico art with our digital delights! Don'ts Do not use our images in digital collage sheets, resell them, reproduce them in a compilation cd for resale, or share them with buddies. We and our little elves work tirelessly to ferret out special pieces of paper ephemera, which we then scan and restore to perfection for the discerning creative customer. Taking our work and reselling or redistributing is not only bad form, it angers our little pals. And you don't want to make an elf mad! So please refrain from practices that you would not want done to your artwork. Thank you!
108 p. : 24 cm
The IKEA Man is all of us.
A brave teen recounts her debilitating struggle with obsessive-compulsive disorder—and brings readers through every painful step as she finds her way to the other side—in this powerful and inspiring memoir. Until sophomore year of high school, fifteen-year-old Allison Britz lived a comfortable life in an idyllic town. She was a dedicated student with tons of extracurricular activities, friends, and loving parents at home. But after awakening from a vivid nightmare in which she was diagnosed with brain cancer, she was convinced the dream had been a warning. Allison believed that she must do something to stop the cancer in her dream from becoming a reality. It started with avoiding sidewalk cracks and quickly grew to counting steps as loudly as possible. Over the following weeks, her brain listed more dangers and fixes. She had to avoid hair dryers, calculators, cell phones, computers, anything green, bananas, oatmeal, and most of her own clothing. Unable to act “normal,” the once-popular Allison became an outcast. Her parents questioned her behavior, leading to explosive fights. When notebook paper, pencils, and most schoolbooks were declared dangerous to her health, her GPA imploded, along with her plans for the future. Finally, she allowed herself to ask for help and was diagnosed with obsessive-compulsive disorder. This brave memoir tracks Allison’s descent and ultimately hopeful climb out of the depths. Product DetailsISBN-13: 9781481489195 Media Type: Paperback(Reprint) Publisher: Simon & Schuster Books For Young Readers Publication Date: 09-25-2018 Pages: 368 Product Dimensions: 5.40(w) x 8.20(h) x 1.10(d) Age Range: 14 - 18 YearsAbout the Author Allison Britz graduated with her BA and MA from Wake Forest University. When not spending all of her money on books, she enjoys cooking, three-day weekends, arguing with her OCD, and extensive Netflix binges. She lives in Manhattan with her husband and their dog. Obsessed is her first book.Read an Excerpt Read an Excerpt Obsessed “I don’t think the pigs smell me. I think they see me,” Ms. Griffin says, reenacting last night’s assigned reading from Lord of the Flies. She pretends to apply mud to her face and body like war paint and crouches down, ready for the hunt. Overweight in a way that reminds me pleasantly of my grandmother, with her frizzy, out-of-control hair flying in all directions, she scuttles in between the desks at the front of the room, a ruler raised high in the air as a spear. In the fourth row, third chair back, I am using Lauren Madison’s hair as a shield to stay out of Ms. Griffin’s line of vision. I spend most English classes annoyed with Lauren’s blond, conditioned locks—the way they tumble beautifully across my desk and how they smell like expensive shampoo and roses. Today, however, her mane provides a convenient wall to hide behind while I study for my upcoming sixth-period chemistry test. I am feverishly attempting to memorize the molecular formula of a long list of compounds, most of which I have never heard of outside a chemistry textbook. Head bent forward, pencil streaming across the page, I am writing and rewriting the formula for glucose as I simultaneously whisper it to myself. “Allison, what about you?” I look up from my mound of notes, mouth agape. C6H12O6. C6H12O6. “Allison, hi. Yes, join us, please. Put away whatever else it is you’re working on. What are your thoughts on the question?” Blank stare. “I asked what you think about the mounting tension between Roger and Jack?” I continue to look at her, openmouthed. My subconscious clanks and grunts, struggling to shift to a new train of thought. Lord of the Flies. Focus. My mind is silent, my stomach tightening more with each second. Ms. Griffin, sweating slightly from her pretend spear hunt, locks eyes with me from behind her podium at the front of the class. I can see that she is enjoying this. I am the girl who other students don’t want in their classes. Brimming with anecdotes and opinions, I am the girl who raises her hand when the teacher asks, “Are there any questions?” I am the student, to the chorus of groans from my peers, who reminds the teacher when she forgot to pick up our homework assignment from the night before. The tense silence continues as I search my brain for anything that’s not an atomic symbol. I glance at her, a plea for mercy, but she doesn’t flinch. See if I rescue you next time no one is participating in your class discussion, I think moodily. Gradually, my classmates turn around to look at me. They’re torn from their bored stupor by the fact that somehow Allison, the girl who was voted Most Intellectual in the eighth-grade yearbook, didn’t do the previous night’s assigned reading. “Well, I . . . think . . .” My eyes dart around the room, looking desperately for assistance. I make eye contact with Greg Sauers, and he just shrugs at me. How did she even see me behind Lauren’s hair? “I think . . .” “Okay, Samuelson High, it’s Thursday, and you know what that means!” My hesitant mumbling is interrupted by an announcement crackling through the school’s intercom system. A peppy female voice echoes against the whitewashed cinder-block walls. “Thursdays mean JV football, Bulldogs fans, and tonight we are facing none other than Hamilton High School.” A low-toned “Boooooo” lilts through the hallways. “Make sure you come out and support your JV boys tonight at eight p.m.! As always, go, Bulldogs!” With her last syllables, the bell rings, and the entire class lurches into action. Saved by the intercom, I quickly gather my disarrayed chemistry notes into my binder and dodge through the crowded classroom, launching myself into the hallway to avoid Ms. Griffin. I make a mental note to myself to catch up on Lord of the Flies tonight. After that performance, Ms. Griffin will likely target me again in the future, if only for her own entertainment. “Allison, hey!” The familiar soprano voice of my best friend, Sara, lofts over the chaotic hallway scene. In my rush to escape, I completely forgot to wait for her outside class like I always do. In the strict social hierarchy of Samuelson, many unspoken guidelines govern the student body. One of the most important: Never walk anywhere by yourself. In between classes, on the way to lunch, after school in the parking lot, have enough pride to never be seen alone. Sara is my best friend, of course, but also a convenient built-in walking partner. “Dude, Ms. Griffin totally called you out. It’s like she has some sort of radar or something. She only calls on me when I forget to do the reading,” Sara complains. “It’s as if she can see the guilt in our eyes.” I let out an exasperated breath before she even finishes her sentence. Sara has been my closest friend since she sat next to me on the first day of summer camp when we were nine. She is pretty in a way that tells you she’s been told it her entire life. Her raucous auburn curls and winged eyeliner are the antithesis to my simple blond bob and light mascara. Her Rolling Stones T-shirt clashes with my pink cardigan and pearls. “Okay, first of all, you never do the reading, and second, I didn’t forget to do the homework.” I cast her a sidelong glance with a slight headshake for good measure, acting more annoyed than I am. “I have a chemistry test this afternoon and I was up all night studying, so I didn’t have time to do the assignment. It’s called prioritizing. I’ll catch up on her reading after this test.” “All night? Get a grip, girl!” Sara exclaims with concern in her eyes, an edge of judgment in her voice. Since childhood, she has proclaimed it her mission to get me to “take the stick out.” “Life is too short for this. You haven’t been to one JV football game this year.” False. “Hello, I’ve been with you twice already! You know cross-country practice goes until seven and the football games start at eight. An hour isn’t enough time to get home, shower, change. It’s just not worth it. . . .” “Yeah, yeah, I know. And you do the long loop on Thursdays.” Sara isn’t on the cross-country team, but by now she knows our workout schedule by heart. “Exactly. We do the long loop on Thursdays. Seven miles. I’m so exhausted when I get home. Sweaty, sore. Making it to a football game afterwards is just a lot for one night. Not to mention having to do homework after we get back at almost midnight.” I’m trying to sound resolute, but it comes out more like a whine. “Yeah, well . . .” She pauses and, glancing around to ensure secrecy, half whispers, “Let’s just say you’re not going to get anywhere with Sam with a social schedule like that.” We look at each other, and she shrugs. “Look, he asked you out for ice cream, y’all ate some delicious treats together and laughed a bit. Then he texted you two consecutive days in a row. Two!” She stares at me intently, her pointer and middle fingers in the air as a visual aid. “Now it’s been what, five days, including a weekend, since you’ve heard from him? You have to do something.” She is emphatic, energized. If we were standing still, I know she would have stomped her foot. “He always goes to the Thursday football games—the whole basketball team does. Tonight after practice, drive home, take the fastest shower of your life, and then come over to my house. I’ll do your hair and makeup and we’ll get his attention.” Sara grabs my hand and beams at me, and suddenly, optimistically, I have changed my mind about the night ahead. I see myself sitting in front of a mirror, in a bathroom almost as familiar as my own, as she straightens my hair and gives me a lesson on bronzer. “Look”—she leans in and whispers from the side of her mouth—“I know you’re nervous. I know it’s scary. So let me help.” We make brief eye contact and she shows a small smile. My heart swells with gratitude for her and her genuine concern for my prom prospects. She doesn’t know that I check my phone multiple times a minute hoping to see Sam appear on the screen. She has no idea that I
“Laseño🫶✨ #spookymonth #spookymonthfanart”
