The Process & The Gallery
This site was designed and built in the open, over a long back-and-forth between the studio and a coding agent — Claude, working in Claude Code. The design language got argued into shape; the artwork on these pages was generated in the building of it, not bought in. Every piece is real code — a few hundred lines of canvas — and every piece stands for one of the works in the studio. Here they are, together, with what each one is for.
№ 00 · the studio
The studio's own sign — a low-poly star you can grab and spin, cut into amber facets over a dithered ground, rendered in a few hundred lines with no 3D library. It's the one artwork that isn't about a single product; it's about the house — and it's where the wordmark's two amber dots come from: little stars, kept.
№ 01 · sortes
Made for sortes. A slow river of dithered stars; click it and three cards surface, show their abstract marks, and dissolve back. It's an image of the product's idea — casting lots into the dark of the present moment — not a screenshot of its screen. Consulting, not gambling: the easing is deliberately slow.
№ 02 · ardi
Made for Ardi. Agent nodes over falling code, packets moving along the wires; hover a node and its connections light up. It's coordination made visible — the many tools a team runs, brought onto one board — in Ardi's own indigo.
№ 03 · scvlpt
Made for scvlpt. A human body drawn in a riso point-cloud that reshapes and flexes under load — the sculpt made visible, in misregistered coral and gold.
№ 04 · hyppo
Made for hyppo. A neural web that pulses softly — signals travelling a few connections at a time, links growing and settling. A mind, breathing, in teal.
№ 05 · worlds
Made for worlds. A signature and a wax seal certify out of static, hold crisp, and return to grain — proof a person was here, re-derived each time.
The grain running under everything — the band above, the star-rivers, the OG cards — is Bayer-ordered dithering: an old way of faking more colors than you have, by arranging a few in a careful pattern. It's the connective thread. Each product tints it with its own color story, so the works read as one family without wearing a uniform. It's also, quietly, the point: a studio built with a machine, showing its grain instead of hiding it.