The room is dark. The interface is the lit panel. Everything the visitor does happens against warm paper, in silhouette, at dusk pace.
Ten references, each earning its place for one specific thing. Five are marked as leads — they set the page's composition, surface, imagery, reveal, and motion. The rest support.
Amber falls unevenly
The paper isn't one color — it runs from hot amber to cool grey across a single wall, and the shadow is the only ornament. This is how the emotions live on the page: hidden behind the panels, present only as soft shapes leaning against the light.
The shadow is made of words
Bass-school poster logic, and the trick behind the reveal: the silhouette is secretly letterforms. Behind the paper, an emotion's shadow reads first as a figure or shape — only on approach do you sense it's built from type. Never fully legible; the almost-reading is the point.
The panel is a portal
Soda Studio's lit wall — and the surface rule for the whole page. Tall panels, no wood frames, no lattice: just hairline seams where one panel meets the next. The paper can hold a world behind it and nothing interferes with the light.
Light itself as texture
Caustics — light bent through glass, moving like reflections off water. This is the motion signature and the secret handshake with the homepage: AoA's ocean returns as slow water-light playing across the paper. Ambience, not pattern fill.
The frame composes the world
The page's composition in one image: dark at the sides, the world revealed at center. The experiments page holds its content in a lit middle column while the wings stay in shadow — the dark margin is the frame, not any drawn border.
The wall is the lamp
The room gives almost nothing; the paper wall carries all the light. This is the page's core move — dark ground, one glowing surface, and an irregular grid that stays quiet because the panels vary in size, not in tone.
Presence, implied
Shōtei-era woodblock. The figures inside exist only as shadows on paper — the story is told without showing anyone's face. For the experiments: suggest the practice, never illustrate it literally.
Fine vertical measure
A tighter, faster lattice — vertical slats like a rhythm track. Useful for dividers, progress ticks, audio scrubbers: thin repeated lines that let something soft (a tree, a waveform) blur through from behind.
Green, rationed
In a world of amber and ink, the bonsai is the only living color — and it's lit like an actor. The principle, not the green, is what transfers: one rationed accent per view (a state, a streak, a completed day) reads as precious instead of decorative.
The bold cousin
Same grammar — figures behind a ribbed translucent plane — pushed to saturated ember. This is the ceiling of the palette's intensity: reserved for one moment, maybe the door, maybe day 30. Never the resting state.
The bridge to AoA: their deep water becomes the dark room, their orange becomes the lantern behind the paper. Everything cold in this palette is water; everything warm is light — never paint.
Nibras's style guide (30 Jul) coupled with the direction. The argument, demonstrated by derivation rather than assertion: every warm tone on our page is their orange behaving as light on their navy — never as paint.
Their ground, exactly as specced: 45° navy gradient, body text at 80% white, CTA in orange.
Get toolkitThe brand baseline — navy gradient and orange used as paint, the way the main site does it.
The same orange, recast as light: a lantern bleeding through their navy. Nothing new was added — one brand color at falling opacities over their own gradient.
Push the glow hotter and washi appears by itself: the paper tone is what their orange does at the core of the light, falling off into night ink. Our palette is their palette, lit.
An experiment panel on brand ground: frameless washi with seams only, lantern bloom at its heart, an emotion's shadow — letterforms that don't quite resolve — leaning on the paper. Their navy, our room.
Translation rules — from the wall to the experiments redesign.
The page composes like Frame: night-ink wings at the sides, the content revealed in a lit middle column. The ground is AoA's deep water after sundown — faint grain, no pure black. Each experiment is a frameless washi panel glowing out of that dark, not a card sitting on it.
No wood, no borders, no kumiko grid. Panels are tall and frameless — the only structure is a hairline seam where one meets the next, and the dark room does all the framing. The fine slat rhythm survives only in instruments: audio scrubbers, progress ticks, the 30-day rail.
No photos, no illustration of people practicing. Emotions appear as shadows against the light — and the shadows are secretly words: letterforms composing a figure or a relevant shape, blurred by the paper so they never quite resolve into reading. A form that stirs while audio plays, stills when it ends.
The motion signature is caustics — slow reflections of water playing across the paper, AoA's ocean returning as light. Panels warm on hover, transitions ease like a lamp turning up, the water-light drifts at minutes-scale. Nothing snaps; reduced-motion rests at the lit state.
A mincho-style serif carries titles — vertical stress, calligraphic entry strokes, set generously on washi. A quiet geometric sans does labels and controls in letterspaced caps. Ink-on-paper contrast, never grey-on-grey.
Each screen gets a single brightest point — the lantern. On the index it's the current day's panel; inside an experiment it's the play button or the writing field. Everything else steps back a stop so the eye lands without being told.
Not a "japandi" template: no literal wood-grain fills, no bamboo clip-art, no red circle logos, no brush-font headlines. The reference is light through material — if an element could exist as a sticker, it's off-board. When in doubt, remove the object and keep its shadow.