GLYPHS
Every shape we can draw with nothing but coverage. 30 fields, no assets, no icon font — each one is maths quantized through a Bayer matrix, so it works at any size and inherits whatever colour it is standing in.
drag the grain down to coarse. that is where dither stops being a texture and starts being the drawing.
spirals
The descent. One shape, measured in four different geometries — round, triangular, stepped, square. The metric is the whole design.
Three arms winding out of a round metric. The one everybody draws.
The same winding measured in triangle metric, so the arms turn corners instead of curving.
A ziggurat from directly above. Each tier is rotated further than the one below it, so the monument screws itself into the page.
Four-fold and colder. The tier edges land on the pixel grid, so it dithers almost too cleanly.
Six arms, log-spaced, so the drain never reaches a bottom.
eyes
The watching. Every one of these is looking back at whoever opened the page.
The house eye. Slow lid, dusty field, blinks rarely and all at once.
An eye drawn as an instrument: striated iris, limbal ring, solid pupil. It does not blink.
The goat's eye. The pupil is punched out of the iris rather than drawn on top of it.
Three of them on the triangle, blinking out of phase. One is always awake.
sigils
The believing. Signs that mean something before they are explained — which is the entire job.
Pentagram, point up, ringed. Outlined rather than filled — a filled star is a shape, an outlined one is a sign.
Two points up, one down. Same construction, opposite meaning — which is most of what branding is.
Horned skull: a wedge from brow to muzzle, two swept horns, and eyes that are absence rather than ink.
Two faces meeting at a seam, capstone cut free, an eye set into it, light coming off the top.
A disc throwing hard rays that rotate under you.
A rim that always holds and a shadow that never stops sliding across it.
A lambert ball with the key light orbiting it — a product shot rendered in one bit.
structures
The building. Doors, columns, keys and the machinery of getting someone from outside to inside.
The frame is drawn; the light behind it is the thing you are actually looking at.
Log-spaced rings pulled toward the centre: a corridor that never arrives anywhere.
Fluted shaft, capital, base. The load-bearing kind — flutes are just a cosine through the ditherer.
Bow, shaft, two teeth. The smallest object on the site that implies a lock somewhere else.
Walls, caps, a falling stream and two piles that keep trading places.
A teardrop with its core subtracted, leaning as it burns. Hollow reads hotter than solid.
Two stacks of chevrons breathing against each other. The factory's only instruction.
fields
The weather. Instruments and material, running whether or not anyone is reading them.
Standing waves off a centre. The oldest readout in the lab.
A single trace crossing the panel, dusted with noise so it never looks vector.
Four channels off a sleeping subject. The spindle bursts are REM — the part of the night we sell.
Two octaves of value noise on a gradient. What everything looks like before we get to it.
Seven bodies on one ring, going around together. Nobody in front.
Material moving through the factory, left to right, in lanes.
A floor running away to a horizon — the factory seen from the door.
Want one of these on your building?
The whole system is like this: no assets, no stock, nothing anyone else can buy. If you want a company that draws its own vocabulary, the door is the usual one.