I found sacred geometry by accident around 2008/09, back when the internet still felt like a strange tunnel system rather than five apps shouting at you.
One minute you were looking at music, games, forums or some half-broken website with a black background and glowing blue text. The next minute you were staring at the Flower of Life, Metatron’s Cube, Fibonacci spirals, golden rectangles, cymatics videos and diagrams that made you think, hang on, why does this feel like it is pointing at everything?
That was the start of it for me.
Not a brand.
Not a product idea.
Not some neat little “creative direction”.
Just the feeling that I had stumbled into a visual language that had been sitting underneath things the whole time.
The first click
The first things that really pulled me in were sacred geometry patterns like the Flower of Life and Metatron’s Cube.
There was something immediately different about them. They did not feel like normal patterns. They felt ancient, mathematical, symbolic, architectural and slightly suspicious, in the best possible way.
The Flower of Life had this strange simplicity to it: circles repeating, overlapping, forming a larger structure. Basic enough that a child could start drawing it with a compass, but deep enough that you could sit there looking at it and feel like reality had started quietly showing off.
Metatron’s Cube felt even more loaded. Lines, points, symmetry, structure, hidden forms inside larger forms. It looked less like decoration and more like a diagram of organisation itself.
And then came Fibonacci.
The golden ratio. The golden rectangle. The spiral. The idea that number, growth, proportion and beauty might all be whispering to each other through the same doorway.
Obviously, once you see that kind of thing, it gets very difficult to go back to thinking geometry is just something you were forced to do at school while staring at a protractor like it personally betrayed you.
Trying to understand how it all works
What interested me was not just that these patterns looked good.
It was the idea that so much could be encoded in geometry.
I started coming across references to ratios, ancient architecture, the pyramids, the Earth and Moon, the apparent speed of light, angles, proportions and correspondences that seemed to suggest something bigger than ordinary design.
Now, I’m not saying every internet diagram from 2009 should be treated as a peer-reviewed revelation from the gods. Let’s not completely lose the plot. The internet has always been half library, half cursed attic.
But that was part of the power of it.
Even when you approached it critically, the deeper question remained: why do these patterns keep appearing? Why do certain proportions feel meaningful? Why does geometry sit so comfortably between mathematics, art, architecture, nature, symbolism and spirituality?
That was what really got me.
It was not about believing every claim. It was about seeing that geometry gave people a way to think across categories that are normally kept separate.
Science over here.
Art over there.
Spirituality in another room.
Architecture doing its own thing.
Music pretending it is not also maths in a nice jacket.
Geometry seemed to cut through all of that.
Cymatics made pattern feel alive
Then I found cymatics.
That was another major click.
Cymatics is the study and visualisation of sound vibration through matter, often using sand, powder or liquid on vibrating plates or surfaces. The basic idea is simple enough: sound creates vibration, vibration moves matter, and under certain conditions, visible patterns appear.
But emotionally, visually, symbolically, it feels much bigger than that.
Because suddenly pattern is not just something humans draw. Pattern is something that emerges.
Sound becomes shape.
Frequency becomes form.
Vibration starts behaving like an artist.
That changed how I saw geometry.
It made pattern feel less like decoration and more like behaviour. Less like an aesthetic choice and more like a clue. As if form was not just imposed onto the world, but drawn out of it.
That is the kind of thing that stays with you.
Especially if you already love music, symbols, structure and the slightly dangerous feeling that everything might be more connected than modern life has time to admit.
So I bought a compass
After seeing all this, I wanted to draw it.
Not just look at it. Not just read about it. Draw it.
So I got a compass and started trying to make the patterns by hand.
That part matters.
There is a huge difference between seeing sacred geometry on a screen and constructing it yourself with a pencil, compass and ruler. On a screen, the image arrives finished. By hand, you have to build it from the centre outward.
Circle by circle.
Line by line.
Mistake by annoying mistake.
And the mistakes are part of it.
Hand-drawn geometry teaches you attention. You begin to understand that the design is not just the final image. It is the process. It is the order of construction. It is the relationship between the first point and everything that grows from it.
The compass became less like a tool and more like a way of thinking.
Which sounds dramatic, but also, let’s be honest, humans have said stranger things about Air Fryers.
Geometry is not separate from life
The deeper I got into geometry, the more obvious it became that it was not just an art style.
Geometry is everywhere.
It is in roofs, floors, windows, arches and pillars.
It is in temples, churches, mosques, bridges and towers.
It is in watches, cars, screens, logos, maps, furniture and machines.
It is in paintings, patterns, textiles, clothing and homeware.
It is in the way humans organise space before we even realise we are doing it.
Geometry is not sitting politely in a maths textbook. It is part of the physical and psychological structure of human life.
A roof is geometry.
A window is geometry.
A floor plan is geometry.
A clock face is geometry.
A wheel is geometry.
A T-shirt graphic is geometry.
A woven blanket is geometry wearing a softer outfit.
Once you see that, the world becomes slightly harder to ignore.
This is where the artwork started to become more than drawing. It became a way of noticing.
The psycho-social matrix of shapes
One of the things I find fascinating is how deeply shapes are woven into human culture.
We do not just live inside buildings. We live inside structures of meaning.
The arch is not just practical. It feels grand, ceremonial, historical.
The circle is not just round. It suggests wholeness, return, orbit, unity.
The spiral is not just a curve. It suggests growth, motion, evolution, time.
The grid is not just order. It suggests control, measurement, planning, civilisation.
The triangle is not just three sides. It suggests direction, stability, hierarchy, ascent.
These forms have been with us as our social and psychological worlds developed. They helped shape temples, homes, tools, symbols, systems and stories.
That is why geometry feels so powerful to me.
It is not just outside us. It is part of us.
We build with it, decorate with it, navigate with it, think with it and surround ourselves with it constantly. Half the time we do not notice because we are too busy looking for the TV remote or pretending emails are real life.
But the structure is there.
McKenna, Jung, McLuhan and the meaning rabbit hole
At some point, geometry led me into people like Terence McKenna, Carl Jung and Marshall McLuhan, which is basically what happens when your brain opens too many tabs and then decides the tabs are the artwork.
McKenna opened up ways of thinking about language, culture, imagination, novelty and the weirdness of consciousness.
Jung brought in symbolism, archetypes, the collective unconscious and the idea that certain images seem to grip the human mind because they speak from somewhere deeper than ordinary explanation.
McLuhan changed how I thought about media itself. His famous idea that “the medium is the message” matters here, because an image does not mean the same thing in every form.
A painting on a wall is one thing.
That same artwork on a T-shirt is another.
On a woven blanket, it becomes something else again.
On a canvas print, it sits somewhere between object, symbol and atmosphere.
The medium changes the experience.
That idea is part of PhilosoTee.
It is not just about taking artwork and sticking it onto products. It is about letting ideas move through different forms: clothing, canvases, blankets, homeware, symbols, words and images.
The artwork changes as the medium changes.
So does the way people live with it.
Why this became PhilosoTee
PhilosoTee came from this long thread of interest: geometry, symbolism, philosophy, humour, pattern, clothing, art and the strange need to put thoughts into visible form.
The name itself is a bit of a clue.
It is playful, but it is serious underneath. A philosophical T-shirt. A thought you can wear. Artwork that carries more than surface decoration. Clothing that actually says something, ideally without sounding like it has trapped itself in a corporate mission statement.
The artwork comes from years of looking, drawing, thinking and trying to understand why certain forms feel meaningful.
That does not mean every piece needs a 4,000-word explanation before you are allowed to enjoy it. Sometimes the first response should simply be: that looks sick.
But underneath the visual impact, there is a deeper current.
The geometry is there because geometry has always been there. In nature, architecture, machines, symbols, rooms, bodies, maps, rituals, textiles and thought.
I did not invent that link.
I found it. Followed it. Drew it. Painted it. Turned it over in my head for years.
And now I am putting it into things people can wear, hang, use, fold, live with and hopefully feel something from.
The point was never just the pattern
That is probably the main thing.
Sacred geometry is easy to flatten into an aesthetic now. It gets used on posters, tattoos, yoga mats, phone cases and all sorts of “cosmic” products that sometimes feel like they were generated by an algorithm that has heard of spirituality but never had a difficult thought.
But for me, it was never just the pattern.
It was the doorway.
The Flower of Life, Metatron’s Cube, Fibonacci, the golden ratio, cymatics, ancient architecture, symbolic thought, media theory, archetypes, music, proportion, structure, design, clothing, homeware, all of it became connected.
Not in a neat academic way. More like a web.
A living pattern of references, instincts, questions and visual echoes.
That is the ethos behind the artwork.
It is about wearing your thinking. Living with symbols. Letting art carry ideas. Taking geometry seriously without becoming unbearably serious about it.
Because yes, it is deep.
But it also needs to look good on a T-shirt.
Final thought
I found sacred geometry accidentally, but it never really felt accidental once I was in it.
It felt more like finding a thread and pulling it.
And the more I pulled, the more it seemed attached to everything: art, music, buildings, machines, myths, symbols, clothing, consciousness, culture, and the weird little human need to make meaning out of shape.
That is what PhilosoTee is built from.
Not just geometry as decoration.
Geometry as a way of seeing.