Experiments

Every dated story’s title card. A copper dot leaves year 0 — when the ice let go, about twelve thousand years ago — and rolls up to the story’s year in ten seconds, leaving events behind it: figs planted on purpose, a tower at Jericho, the first alphabet, a new star seen by day. A line at the top never changes scale, so four-fifths of it stays nearly empty; a road below it winds toward you in perspective, with room to read; and when the dot lands, the story’s own neighbourhood draws itself underneath. Tap the road to stop. Tap anything to read. Run it again and it draws a different set. Your line so far keeps everything it has ever shown you.

Three benches standing on one idea — that a note is a fast rhythm and nothing else. Counting turns into pitch, whole-number fractions turn into chords and then into a whole scale, and a strobe turns every interval into a polygon. Each carries its own reading.

A rectangle, and a ruling you step underneath it — Units, Halves, Thirds, Fourths, and on past Tenths without ever arriving anywhere special. The rectangle never moves; only the came does. Where the ruling doesn’t measure a side, the last piece is simply cut short — real glass, cut at the edge — and the count doesn’t come out whole. Nothing is greyed out and nothing is announced; the fit is something you see. Then Stack ↑ or Stack →. The whole squares already standing inside the rectangle outline themselves where they are — nothing moves — and only the leftover strips and the corner travel, gathering into more whole squares along one edge, with whatever remains sitting inside its own seam, its missing pieces plainly absent. Ten thirds by six fourths: three wholes found, two more assembled, and the answer is five.

A plane, and one white tile at the origin: the 1. Touch it and drag — right for width, up for height — and the 1 stretches into a rectangle, with its twin following across the diagonal a little fainter, showing the same two numbers exchanged. Lift your finger and the rectangle goes; what stays is one tile at its far corner with the product written on it. Build a few and the map draws itself: the squares run white up the crease, everything else grey to one side or the other. Hide the duplicates and only the lower half remains. Tap any tile to see the rectangle it was made from.

The coordinate grid constructed in front of you — two seed points, full circles rolling down the axes, every line earning its crossing circles, accelerating as the numbers grow. Knobs for duration, the legible opening, and acceleration; zoom in far enough and the tenths construct themselves.

Every pane shaded by the rank of its largest prime factor — white at 2, deepening toward black at the 256th. Drag and scroll out as far as you like: the map refuses to go dark, because almost everything is built from small primes.

A load test: how much of a frame does it cost to draw a table of leaded panes while panning and zooming? Reports draw time against the 16.7ms budget, because frame rate alone reads 60fps until things are already bad.

Two declared palettes, a resting one and a lit one, both derived from the workshop's own colour so hue never moves. Showing a set — or selecting a pane — lights its members. Nothing is dimmed to make anything else stand out.

Prime colours across four workshops, stripes ordered smallest prime to largest, with a monochrome toggle. Asks whether arrangement alone can tell 6, 10 and 14 apart when colour is switched off.

A listening bench for the primes Glass Multiplication does not yet have: four candidate ways to sound 11 and 13, heard against the four that exist.

Multiplication and division as rectangles, on a number plane you can pan across.

How many beads fit around a circle — count them, divide circumference by diameter, and keep the past measurements.

Someone arrives, someone leaves, and everyone clinks glasses: the triangular numbers, counted out.

The route a Necker cube flip takes through the brain, drawn as a station map.

A bench for auditioning the interface's voice — gesture sounds, feedback sounds, pitch and ratios.

What the pointer becomes for each gesture: arrow to crosshair, magnifier, precision magnifier, double-click and hold.