Oracle & Ore — a mineral bank, re-mythologized
We translated a 140-year-old mining archive into a living brand system: type cut like quartz, motion tuned to seismic rhythms, and a wordmark that fractures under interaction.
A design studio excavating the future from the ruins of the past — classical forms, electrocuted.
Fragments of recent work, scattered like stone tablets across a luminous surface. Each block is a dig site.
We translated a 140-year-old mining archive into a living brand system: type cut like quartz, motion tuned to seismic rhythms, and a wordmark that fractures under interaction.
A research interface for a classics archive. Infinite Greek-key scroll, glitch breadcrumbs, marginalia you can drag and pin.
Typography that dissolves mid-breath. RGB separation as grief.
Elastic, cursor-reactive UI for an audio sharing app. Every button is a balloon.
A display face with a single axis: "electrocution" (0 → 1000). Shipping soon.
A gallery installation pairing WebGL-warped busts with a 24-channel sound field. Toured Athens, Berlin, Montréal.
A sleepwear label dreamed in cyanotype.
A quarterly journal about objects that should not exist. Art-directed, typeset, and bound in our studio.
Most studios polish. We fracture. We believe that the old forms — columns, meanders, kouros silhouettes, melting clock-faces — are not museum pieces. They are raw material, still humming with their original charge. Our job is to strike them with current and watch what happens.
Work that feels violently alive is rarely quiet. It erupts, it bounces, it stretches past its boundaries and then springs back, grinning. We make websites, identities, type, and installations for clients who want their audience to feel the pulse of discovery — the small electric shock of encountering an artifact that shouldn't exist.
New projects, residencies, misbehaving ideas. We read everything.