A component library made of type and nothing else: every control, sign and ornament is set in words. Two typefaces, one accent and a great deal of space.
The sign for "repair": the word filling its silhouette row by row. Says the word when pointed at.
The sign for "repair": the word set along its strokes. Says the word when pointed at.
The sign for "flash": its strokes ruled in middle-dot leaders. Says the word when pointed at.
The sign for "flash": the word filling its silhouette row by row. Says the word when pointed at.
The sign for "flash": the word set along its strokes. Says the word when pointed at.
The sign for "zoom": its strokes ruled in middle-dot leaders. Says the word when pointed at.
The sign for "zoom": the word filling its silhouette row by row. Says the word when pointed at.
The sign for "zoom": the word set along its strokes. Says the word when pointed at.
Where the words will be: their baselines, the guides a letterer rules for them, or their rhythm. Still until something is loading, and still when motion is off.
A ruler with a hand. The value is drawn as a dimension from zero with your number in italic in the gap, or runs through the label's spread letters, or makes the label as loud as the value.
Code, set as type. Weight is the only highlighting, what someone wrote is italic, and a bracket joins the lines like a system in a score.
The wait, written the way a score writes it: periods, a round, a metronome, a fermata, a breath, a rising chord, or the word itself being inked.
A named value: a giant thin figure whose feet sink under one hairline, the name small beneath; a changed figure turns over like a counter's wheels.
A real sequence. Numbered in large thin figures in the margin; or the figures stand on one line and rise out of it as you reach them; or the titles step across the page like a broken headline; or, compact, the whole sequence folded into one fraction beside the step you're on.
Rows you put in order by hand. A move word is the handle; the row you hold reverses out of ink and travels with you, or a proofreader's loop marks where it went.
A sentence whose last word you can change. The state rolls between on and off in italic, and the full stop answers: a dot when on, a ring when off.
Hairline rows in tabular figures; the column you sort by is set in ink, or set loud; or the row and column you point at cross in ink.
Words with their counts raised. A line inches to the one in view and the count of what's showing sinks into the rule; or the chosen word takes its width from the others; or the rule beside a stack of words opens onto the panel.
A phrase travelling along an arch or a wave, measured by pretext. Drag, keys and scroll take over; pause holds it in place.
A message scroller that keeps to the latest while you are at the end. Scrolled back, it stays put and counts what is new in an ink pill.
Tiles on the 12-column grid, held apart by space and one hairline, never boxed. Leave the sheet still, or drag a tile and pull its corner: the grid makes room for your arrangement.
A countdown the person starts: the time set large inside a hairline ring that empties clockwise behind the accent dot, the figures turning over like a counter's wheels. Done, a full stop lands.
One line rises from the bottom-left; a fermata held over its last word empties while it stays.
A word you can hold down. Held, it's yours and turns italic: under a fermata's arc and dot, behind a pen that inks the tenuto's line, with a small note hung beside it, or set on its drawn guides.
Words in a row you can hold down, one or many; held neighbours are tied under one slur or share one pair of parentheses, held words are numbered in the order you held them, or cross into the margin.
A whisper in parentheses above the thing it names.
A tour of callouts: each step an ink callout hung on a leader line that ends in a dot on the thing it is about, one step at a time, only when you press on.
A hierarchy set as a contents page: names on hairline branches, each hanging from under its folder's first letter, a folder opened at a time.
Long text, set to be read: it styles plain HTML by element, and punctuation hangs in the margin.
A paragraph that parts around your pointer like water around a hand: the lines it crosses split in two and the words move on.
A type specimen waterfall: one sentence at every dynamic, loudest first, each line filled to the measure with as many whole words as the size holds.
A sentence whose last word rolls on every 2.4 seconds, in the italic. Press or use the keys to take over, or pause to hold a word.