PERSONAL
PERSONAL

Healing the split

Healing the split

A creative journey from cave to brave.

A creative journey from cave to brave.

WARPD, as in LAPD or NYPD, is my answer for a world sunken into controlled social warfare, warped by click baits, ego and hate.
WARPD, as in LAPD or NYPD, is my answer for a world sunken into controlled social warfare, warped by click baits,
ego and hate.

From the hand-drawn logo, which depicts a sharp downward arrow transforming into an intense trajectory correction, to the carefully composed surreal posters that depict each sound of the EP, from the bare-chest psychological lyrics to the tracks entirely recorded in a bedroom, this is a project that's 100% mine, devised as a journey to find my lyrical self and mature as a creative being.

Client
Self-initiated

Roles
Conceptualization
Composition
Music Performance
and Production

Branding
Poster Design


Year
2016

Company
Self-initiated


Year
2016

Company
Self-initiated


logo

The project included short, sequential stories (one for each song, intended to represent the tracks meanings) which described the trajectory of a character from his safe cave to a world full of distractions and doubts.

Please find below the lo-fi songs that resulted from this endeavour and the the posters (click on them to enlarge) accompanied by the stories I wrote for each scenario. I hope you'll like them. 

vinil
Compass

Compass

A deep, dark, damp cave. There he lived, with nothing to see but a glimpse of light that splashed through that tiny perennial slit in the back wall.

In a steady, slow dance, the reddish beams changed slightly in direction, inviting him to know his purpose: to register that movement. He grabbed the first pointy stone he saw and started carving on the wall a line that little by little became a circular, maze-like pattern. The action soon was automatic, and after many full cycles, boredom came. 

Everything shook. The slit was now a door which let that bright red light flood the cave, scorching the sight, burning the skin. A stone fell from the ceiling and he found something slushy, red and bright pouring from a new slit, this one on his head.

Bright. Red. Light.

The cave got too small for him. Time to go outside.

Eclipse

Eyes adjusting. The front was back, back in the cave. He had never seen anything like that. He had never seen anything.

A crowd of stones: huge, medium, GRAINS of stone, covered rhythmically by waves of light that splashed and sprayed in a soothing hum. The light patterns developed so much quicker than in the past as if something huge was about to happen.

Looking up was something entirely different. A pitch black, immeasurable dome, speckled with infinite bright dots, cut in half longitudinally by some sort of very bright, thin stalactite. Right next to it, the source of every redness he ever saw.

 

Glowing. Burning. Oh, how it sat so very still up there in comparison to everything else moving at its feet. He found a new rhythm, and he enjoyed every moment of it. He closed his eyes and spoke to the light.

Light?

He opened his eyes. It stopped answering. The bright, burning red ball was fading, consumed by darkness. Nothing but a ring left. Was it dying? Was he dying?

They couldn't. They wouldn't. He jumped high.

Eclipse
Rings

Rings

So you aimed for the burning ring and ended up landing on an ice rink. How frustrating, longing for a higher purpose and ending up content with pure pleasure. That stalactite was your planet's ring, such a magnificent structure you took for granted. And that imminent disaster, which you just found out was only a perspective illusion? Feeling stupid yet?

Wind whipping your ear, vertigo settling in, blurred streaks of light encumbering your mind. Yeah, your mind, always trying to make a sense out of everything.

This needs no sense. This has no meaning,

So you aimed for the burning ring and ended up landing on an ice rink. How frustrating, longing for a higher purpose and ending up content with pure pleasure. That stalactite was your planet's ring, such a magnificent structure you took for granted. And that imminent disaster, which you just found out was only a perspective illusion? Feeling stupid yet?

Wind whipping your ear, vertigo settling in, blurred streaks of light encumbering your mind. Yeah, your mind, always trying to make a sense out of everything.

This needs no sense. This has no meaning,

Feel the grooves hitting your needle-thin blades, let inertia drag you through the tracks on this cold and slippery loop. Concentration's key: not too much, not too little. Once again you think you're in control, but then you notice nothing else is.

You slip, you tumble. You were going so fast without even noticing.

You're tossed.

Inertia's a bitch.

Spaced out

They say black holes are huge lumps of mass condensed so tightly that every information that gets close enough to them is lost.

Sometimes that's all we want, to get all that information lost. To forget who we are, to dream who we could be. To fantasize about the destinations of every road we didn't take and every road that's still ahead of us and which turns we'll pass by.

Everything's so distant now. From this far life is nothing but noise, faint memories getting lost in synapses. As numbness engulfs us, all we need is a little push.

We need change. Maybe if all this information can be rearranged...

They say you can do anything you want. 

Spaced Out
Kitsch

Kitsch

Wake up and smell the roses.

They said you could do anything you wanted, as long as it's written in that thick book of theirs. The newest self-made man is being made on giants' shoulders.

Part of something bigger, yet unique in his own purpose. A copy of a copy of a copy, looking for the next metaphor to translate into, the next message to carve on the wall.

Your limited stock of time pays for the unlimited contract you signed with the premium stock image bank from which you get your dreams. In their own image, you buy this, kill that and praise it all.

Wake up and smell the roses.

They said you could do anything you wanted, as long as it's written in that thick book of theirs. The newest self-made man is being made on giants' shoulders.

Part of something bigger, yet unique in his own purpose. A copy of a copy of a copy, looking for the next metaphor to translate into, the next message to carve on the wall.

Your limited stock of time pays for the unlimited contract you signed with the premium stock image bank from which you get your dreams. In their own image, you buy this, kill that and praise it all.

Wake up and smell the roses.

They said you could do anything you wanted, as long as it's written in that thick book of theirs. The newest self-made man is being made on giants' shoulders.

Part of something bigger, yet unique in his own purpose. A copy of a copy of a copy, looking for the next metaphor to translate into, the next message to carve on the wall.

One day you'll rise from the depths of this well-being and slay that Dragon bred so carefully within yourself. Until then you wait. You learn. You row.

Wake up and smell the roses. That's your blood dripping. Red. Bright.

Your limited stock of time pays for the unlimited contract you signed with the premium stock image bank from which you get your dreams. In their own image, you buy this, kill that and praise it all.

One day you'll rise from the depths of this well-being and slay that Dragon bred so carefully within yourself. Until then you wait. You learn. You row.

Wake up and smell the roses. That's your blood dripping. Red. Bright.

Selected Works

Samsung GamingUI Design

BriliaAdvertising

LenovoAdvertising

LiveloAdvertising

Assorted IdentitiesGraphic Design

DeeplineIdentity