by sara.krpuljevic -

Blog Post 3: From Perception to Persuasion

As my research develops, I find myself moving from a more artistic and perceptual understanding of illusion toward a question that feels increasingly relevant within contemporary design practice: what happens when these same mechanisms enter the fields of branding, marketing, and visual identity? If illusion can hold attention, invite interpretation, and create emotional engagement, then its role may not end in the gallery or installation space. It may also operate powerfully in commercial and communicative design.

This shift in my thinking does not mean abandoning the earlier questions. On the contrary, it grows directly out of them. If people are naturally drawn to images that contain more than one layer, then it seems important to ask how this functions in visual systems that are meant to communicate quickly and memorably. In a world overwhelmed by messages, perhaps what stays with us is not always what is most direct, but what gives us something to discover.

Branding is full of such moments, even if we do not always name them as illusions. Hidden meanings in logos, unexpected uses of negative space, double-image packaging, and visual metaphors in advertising all rely on a similar principle – they reward attention. They ask the viewer to complete something mentally, and that small act of participation can make communication feel more intelligent, more satisfying, and often more memorable. In this sense, illusion may not simply decorate a message, it may strengthen the relationship between the message and its audience.

What interests me here is the possibility that ambiguity can function strategically. We often assume that effective branding must be immediate and fully transparent. Yet some of the most recognizable visual identities are built on subtlety, suggestion, and layered communication. A logo that reveals something more upon closer inspection creates not only recognition, but also a sense of discovery. A campaign that uses visual surprise can interrupt routine perception in a way that feels fresh rather than forced. These are not only aesthetic choices, they are communicative decisions.

This has made me curious about the border between perception and persuasion. How much do visual ambiguity and illusion influence decision-making? Can a brand become more memorable because it asks more from the viewer? Does surprise generate trust, curiosity, or emotional attachment? And where is the line between meaningful visual intelligence and empty cleverness? These questions feel especially relevant today, when attention has become one of the most contested spaces in design.

Some designers and artists offer useful points of reference here. Shigeo Fukuda’s work, for example, demonstrates how with reduction, and visual misdirection can produce images that are both playful and conceptually sharp. Even artists such as Erik Johansson, whose manipulated scenes belong more to constructed image-making than branding, reveal how impossible visuals can remain persuasive when they are emotionally coherent. In different ways, these examples suggest that visual complexity can communicate with force when it is purposeful.

For now, I remain in the research phase, following the thread wherever it becomes most alive.

by sara.krpuljevic -

Blog Post 2: Why Illusion Holds Our Attention

The more I think about illusion, the less I understand it as a separate category of visual play and the more I begin to see it as something deeply connected to the way human perception works. What first appeared to me as an artistic and spatial device now seems to touch something more fundamental: our need to search for coherence, to resolve uncertainty, and to make meaning out of what is not immediately clear.

Perhaps this is why illusion has such a lasting power. It does not simply present an image, it stages a relationship between what is visible and what is withheld. It creates a small instability in perception, a moment in which the viewer cannot remain passive. Something does not fully make sense at first glance, and that very hesitation becomes compelling. In a visual culture saturated with instant readability, this interruption feels important. It makes us stop.

I have started to wonder whether the strength of illusion lies precisely in this delay. Instead of offering immediate clarity, it asks for attention, and in doing so, it changes the quality of looking. The eye becomes slower, more investigative. Perception turns into interpretation. This transition feels central to my research, because it suggests that illusion is not only about misseeing, but about deeper forms of engagement.

This has led me to questions that move beyond formal experimentation. Why are we drawn to images that reveal themselves gradually? What happens emotionally when something is hidden, fragmented, or double-layered? Is the pleasure of illusion only intellectual, or can it also be emotional? I find myself increasingly interested in the possibility that illusion can carry feelings such as curiosity, discomfort, wonder, nostalgia, or even tension. In that sense, it may operate not only as a visual strategy, but also as a symbolic one.

Many artists and designers have approached perception in ways that go far beyond mere trickery. Looking at the work of M. C. Escher, for example, one encounters worlds built on visual contradiction, but also on a profound questioning of logic and reality. Bridget Riley’s optical fields do not simply confuse the eye, they activate the body and generate a physical sensitivity to rhythm and movement. James Turrell and Olafur Eliasson, in very different ways, use light and space to destabilize certainty and make perception itself the subject of the work. These practices suggest that illusion can be immersive, psychological, and even philosophical.

I am particularly drawn to the idea that ambiguity might have depth rather than weakness. In many contexts, clarity is treated as the highest goal of communication. Yet some of the most memorable visual experiences are not the ones that explain themselves immediately, but the ones that remain partially open. Ambiguity leaves room for projection. It allows the viewer to participate, to bring memory, emotion, and association into the act of seeing. This makes the encounter with the work more personal, and perhaps more lasting.

At this stage of my research, I am trying to resist the temptation to define illusion too narrowly. I do not want to reduce it to a category of optical phenomena alone. I am beginning to think of it more broadly, as a condition in which appearance becomes unstable and meaning is produced through active perception. This could include distortion, hidden images, layered forms, spatial transformation, or even symbolic visual language. What connects these approaches is not only surprise, but the invitation to look twice.

I still do not know where this line of inquiry will lead me. But I am increasingly convinced that illusion matters not because it fools us, but because it reveals something about us: about how we search for meaning, how we tolerate uncertainty, and how much of seeing is shaped by expectation, memory, and desire.

by sara.krpuljevic -

Blog Post 1: From Seeing the Invisible to Questioning What We See

My bachelor’s thesis began with a sentence that stayed with me long before I fully understood its depth: Vision is the art of seeing the invisible. At the time, I was drawn to it intuitively. I was interested in illusion, in the strange and beautiful moments when the eye does not simply register what is in front of it, but actively participates in constructing meaning. What initially fascinated me was the visual effect itself: the possibility that something could appear, disappear, transform, or reveal itself only from a certain position, under a certain light, or through a certain act of attention.

As the project developed, that fascination became material. I explored different types of illusion and translated them into installations, allowing visual ideas to become spatial experiences. What had started as a conceptual and aesthetic interest gradually became something more complex once it entered the space of public encounter. The work no longer belonged only to me. It was confronted by viewers, by expectations, by doubt, and by reaction.

One of the most important parts of that experience was the response it provoked. At first, many people approached the idea with skepticism. Some did not immediately understand where it was leading, and others seemed unsure whether illusion could carry enough conceptual weight to become a serious field of inquiry. I remember this clearly, not as discouragement, but as part of the work’s life before completion.

But once they were finished, something shifted. The same hesitation that had surrounded the project seemed to turn into curiosity. People stopped longer. They looked again. They asked questions. What interested me most was not that everyone reacted positively in the same way, but that each reaction was different. Some viewers were intrigued by the technical aspect, others by the surprise of recognition, and some seemed affected by the experience in a more emotional or reflective way. It became clear to me that illusion does not simply deceive the eye. It creates a pause. It interrupts automatic perception. It asks the viewer to become active.

That moment stayed with me. It made me wonder whether illusion should really be understood only as a visual trick, or whether it might be part of a much broader language of communication. Why do people become so engaged when an image or object withholds its meaning for a moment? Why does ambiguity invite attention instead of pushing it away? And why does the act of “finally seeing” something produce such a strong reaction?