Title, concept, and visual identity of Denis Orlov’s novel.

This is a novel about a man who follows an elusive goal. His movement becomes a form of existence and a way not to disappear. He lives in a new environment where the familiar has lost its shape. The world around him loses density, turning into a network of reflections and surfaces. Reality feels like a program, and its glitch holds the memory of the past. He is not looking for an answer but for the sensation of purpose, like a snake reaching toward a point that cannot be caught.

Usually a designer joins the process when the idea is already complete and only the text needs to be shaped. Here it’s different. At an early stage, we work with the author to identify the story’s core, define its axis and title. From this foundation emerges the concept, which evolves into a visual language and image that set the direction for the novel.

The cover and visual imagery are not decoration. They are part of the statement, the same line that resonates in the text. The visual code makes meaning visible, giving the story form and a point of entry for the reader.

See also 

• Poster “THE ICON”
• Poster “THIS IS LOVE”

I’ve started rereading Rework (the English edition is titled Rework: Change the Way You Work Forever), and the first chapter is called “Ignore the Real World.”

I realized how my attitude toward these kinds of bold concepts has changed:

1. Yes, great! Do whatever you want! They don’t know anything and don’t understand!
2. But the world became what we see now, so the rules of the game clearly work. A norm is a viable order.
3. (you are here) Sometimes play helps you get unstuck and change something (at least your point of view, to start with).

Now I look at it positively. Maybe I’ve simply come to see that rules and norms allow for mistakes. That doesn’t mean the mistaken thing will take root (probably not). But as a designer, I understand that experiments and play are necessary.

That’s what design thinking is. Not the version with sticky notes on a wall, but the one about understanding the balance between norms and errors.

I want to understand why dictating text works not only as a speed boost, but as a different mode of thinking.

I used to talk about fast capture, but it’s not just about speed. In an interview, Andy Matuschak mentioned that he walks around the room and dictates text instead of typing. What caught my attention wasn’t that it’s faster, but that speaking seems to switch off the inner editor. When you type, you’re constantly tweaking, deleting, rewriting, and that can look like thinking. But sometimes it’s more like a brake.

I had often heard about this, but I could never truly grasp the idea myself. I’m talking about the fact that notes, in any format or medium, are first and foremost for ourselves.

Earlier, inspired by Luhmann, Matuschak, and others, I wrote notes because “that’s what you’re supposed to do.” I had heard they worked, that “evergreen” notes should produce some kind of effect in the future. I believed it, but I didn’t really understand what it meant for a note to “work.” Of course, I enjoyed writing, and that gave me energy to continue, but from time to time I would find myself facing a concrete wall with a large inscription: “WHY?”

Another small tool for my workspace. And one more logo.