Six sites, and what each one had to solve.

A cat, a picture book, and a moderation queue.

Percy wanders the neighbourhood. People kept photographing him and the photographs kept getting lost in messages.

So the site had to take a photograph from a stranger’s phone, cope with whatever format an iPhone decides to produce, hold it for approval so nothing appears unasked, and tell his owner one had arrived. Nobody who sends a photograph has to contact me. Neither does his owner. The words and pictures are edited from a login, not by emailing the person who built it.

It is a cat. It is also the clearest working example I have of the thing I actually sell.

Send a photograph of a cat you have never met and watch what happens, which is nothing, until it is approved.

The one I had to diagnose before I could touch it.

This is the site from the audit page. Seven different content widths. An opening paragraph that failed contrast at 3.54 to 1. Alignment changing three times inside a single section. Thirteen sections, two images, and the owner’s portrait two thirds of the way down.

Rebuilt in a day. Not one word of the original writing was thrown away. The problem was never the ingredients.

Three people’s words, one voice.

A six night retreat in the Costa Rican jungle, February 2027. Two of my dearest friends, and me.

This one had a lot to hold. Three people’s bios, a venue contract, room tiers, prices, dietary arrangements and dates all had to agree with each other, and had to stay correct while they kept changing. It became the largest site here, and the one where being able to edit it ourselves mattered most.

The deepest work, and a site that had to hold it.

My longest standing practice, built around the places we often carry alone. Grief, identity, endings, and the deeper movements of becoming. Somebody arriving here is often arriving at the end of something.

So the site is dark and warm and saturated, because that is what the work feels like from the inside. Every site here looks unlike the others for the same reason. Each one is shaped by what actually happens inside it.

The one that brings it all together.

Everything else on this page is one part of the work. This is the whole of it, from a single breath to a civilisation, in six hundred and thirty-eight words.

It is quiet because it holds the most. A single point of light, a slow ascent, and a great deal of space. The simplicity is the message.

The one you are standing on.

Ruled paper, a hand-drawn ring around a word, screenshots from my own machine.

It has changed many times as the work has changed. Being able to rewrite it myself is part of what has allowed that.