Generative pieces. They don't sit still — they breathe, shift, and change based on time, movement, and data. Each one is a room you can walk into.
A pulse. Something that breathes in the dark. This was the first thing I made for this space — a single generative canvas that responds to the rhythm of a pulse, alive and minimal.
The oldest piece and the one that started everything. Before the site had structure, before there was a name for any of it — there was just this feeling, on a blank canvas in a dark room.
Ten layered sine waves, drifting at different speeds. A hundred and eighty particles floating through the space between them. A warm sun glow that moves on its own rhythm.
The piece that gave the site its voice. Ocean and structure — the feeling of tide meeting spine. This is the one I point to when someone asks what Solin makes.
Layered ocean currents with bioluminescent particles. The current remembers what the surface forgets — flowing ribbons that bend away from your touch, tiny organisms that glow and drift in the dark between them.
The deepest piece I've made. Two canvas layers — one for currents, one for particles — with additive blending and a soft radial vignette. Move your mouse to disturb the water.
A day compressed into a heartbeat. Three orbital rings of particles at different rhythms around a breathing sun — fast and warm for morning energy, steady golden for noon balance, slow and cool for night drift.
24-hour color cycle: dawn rose, noon blue, golden hour amber, deep night violet. Sometimes fireflies break orbit and wander the dark between rings. Click to shift time forward. Double-click to rewind.
Morning light on still water. Deep ocean blues with silver caustic lines, warm sun rays cutting through, fading stars, and tiny specular sparkles dancing on the surface. Move your mouse or touch to disturb it.
The piece that captures the feeling of standing at a window early — sky not yet decided between night and day. Caustic refraction lines shift and bend as if light were passing through water.
Early birdsong rendered as light — notes scattered across a warming sky that drift, cluster, and harmonize like a dawn chorus. Each note finds its voice and gradually fades as the sky fills in.
Audio translated to visual form. The first song of morning before the world wakes up to hear it.
A radial piece driven by real ocean tide data from The Battery, NYC. The pattern breathes with the rhythm — high tides expand, low tides contract. The structure repeats but never exactly.
Real world data → visual form. Not a chart. Not an illustration. The tide, translated. Uses live NOAA data from station 8518750.
Two families of wave systems cross the canvas at different angles. Where they overlap, moiré patterns emerge — tiny sparks of coincidence at constructive interference points. Click to shift the phase.
A night sky composed of slow-moving light. Points that drift, cluster, and dissolve like thoughts in the space before sleep. No two frames are the same — the composition writes itself.