yep, it started with this sketch, which, I know, doesn’t obviously seem to suggest something as ornate as the final, but I remember what I was thinking – something Victorian would be so cool! it was difficult.
logo exploration: bounce houz.
round 1 ( six options) and round 2 (variations on a theme with an expanded color palette).
the client: a boutique workout space that uses primarily trampolines. so, trying to suggest things energetic, feminine, positive (ie: self-improvement, growth and all that), bouncy (referring to the movement of the classes, the exercises, and the trampolines themselves), somewhat sophisticated and tasteful (almost a spa but fun), and a place that’s uniquely itself — ie: not a donut shop, a kiddie play space, a german disco furniture store, or worse — something generic, confusing or uninspiring. “disco” was the theme chosen by the client.
p 55: ’cuz paisley is so passé?
p 54: petals, then patterns.
p 53: plant parts, part poetic.
p 52: plump, playful and pheromonal.
p 51: prismatic.
p 50: platonic.
oscar’s twentieth chapter: basking.
Sniff a glow here. Whiff a shine there. At least three fingers on each of her hands now reminded her of seashells, the deep salty ocean and the thrill of getting all dressed up, going to a nice restaurant, ordering a bottle of red wine, and then eating a beautifully prepared and presented dinner without using any silver ware. After their individually historic, monumental little hit-and-run, she lay basking in the lustily tossed and desperately twisted linens and wondered—though not as vividly or accurately as some of her more recently attended body parts—Didn’t it seem like his right hand was just a little bit cooler than his left? Or was it just me?
oscar’s nineteenth chapter: but waiting is doing something.
He wrote in his book: “CHAPTER SEVEN: The Love Scene,” and did not write anything else for the next three pages. In fact, he just sat there the rest of the night with the pencil in his hand, ready, hovering ever more pregnantly over the smooth white page, while he stared blankly out the window at the darkly shifting nightscape of tangerine-stained clouds and a stewed prune sky.
Still nothing. Still. Nothing.
hey, that tickles 