Instruments.

The picture is the drum machine. Every tile is one step of one voice — tap or drag-paint tiles with as many fingers as you have, and the playhead sweeps the mosaic while each hit flashes its piece of the image. Kicks carry an 808 sub underneath: feel it in headphones.

The picture is the bassline. Each vertical slice is one sixteenth-note — drag up and down across the slices to write the melody (slices ride like piano-roll keys), then let the acid line squelch. Mutate breeds a new pattern; amber ticks are accents.

Orbs circle a center and a sweeping ray plucks each one's note as it passes. Tap anywhere to add an orb on that orbit (eight max — the oldest falls away). Move the cursor to bend the filter live: left–right is cutoff, up–down is resonance. The picture spins underneath as a slow feedback nebula.

The wordmark as a playable surface. Hold a glyph's open space for its voice — A drone, I arp, M shimmer, chords with multiple fingers, Tone and Rate live. Or trace the lines themselves: a glide voice rides your finger along the stroke — the A is a fretless sub-bass neck, the I a mid slide, the M sings on top — with the line vibrating under your touch, sparks, ripples, and a live note readout. Mouse hovers play without clicking.

The Julia set of z → z² + c, computed live in a shader, with your cursor steering c. The picture is sampled through the iteration field, so the photo becomes the fractal. The melody is the same equation: a clock iterates the critical orbit and plays each point — an attracting period-3 cycle plays a 3-note loop, chaos wanders, escape rises and dies.

Pluck the picture. The image rides a spring–mass membrane integrated with Verlet dynamics — drag through it and the ripple propagates by real physics, springs glowing where they stretch. Every pluck also strikes a Karplus–Strong string (a noise burst circulating a damped delay line — the physics of a plucked string, computed live): row picks the note, drag speed the velocity.

The A of the wordmark subdivided into a Sierpiński gasket — self-similar geometry as a self-similar melody. Every small triangle is a step: arm them with taps (any number of fingers), and the sweeping playhead rings an FM bell per cell, pitched by height, colored by depth. Quarter-note 808 subs keep the floor moving. Depth re-cuts the fractal live.

The AIM showreel on a turntable. Drag left and right to scratch — the film scrubs under your finger while a pitch-bent motor tone and vinyl noise are synthesized from your gesture, and the frame smears into RGB-split echo trails. Motor spins the reel on its own; Tape stop kills it with a dive. Trails, Tone and Motor respond live. If the reel can't load, a sketchbook frame stands in so it still plays.

The letters sing. Each glyph is a synthetic voice — sawtooth and sub through three bandpass filters parked at real vowel formants. Hold A for 'ah', I for 'ee', M for a hum; drag while holding to morph the vowel left–right and bend pitch up–down, Kaoss-pad style, with full multi-touch chords. The picture smears into spectral columns driven by the choir's live spectrum.

The triangle goes three-dimensional: hairline tetrahedra tumble in a glass box, and every collision — wall or body — strikes a velocity-scaled percussive ping pitched by the body's size. The physics plays itself. Move the cursor to tilt gravity, tap to slam an impulse through the box; the picture lines the floor. Small bodies ring high, big ones knock low.

Draw a constellation, hear its circuit. Tap to place stars — hold for heavier ones — and a comet solves a nearest-neighbour tour through your sky and walks it forever: star height is pitch, star mass picks the voice (light stars pluck, heavy stars ring FM bells), and the distance between stars is literally the rest between notes. Your drawing is the score.

Sculpt smoke, hear its spectrum. The inkblot's horizontal density is read as a 16-band profile and resynthesized live by sixteen sine partials over one fundamental — push ink into a region and that harmonic swells, blow it apart and the timbre hollows. You are painting a sound. Drone starts with Sound on; Turbulence stirs the blot, Root tunes the fundamental.

Fling a sound and let physics detune it. The comet carries a drone; the pitch you hear is the actual Doppler formula computed against the listener triangle at the center — sharpening as it rushes in, flattening as it recedes — with distance fading, stereo position panning, and wall bounces knocking. The readout shows radial velocity, distance and the live frequency ratio.

Weave the picture into music. The image hangs as forty-eight warp threads; draw a path across them and a shuttle runs your line, playing every thread it crosses at the pitch of the image's brightness under that exact point — highlights ring high, shadows land low. Each weft stays woven into the cloth, visibly bending the warp: the picture gradually becomes a textile of everything you've played.

Play the formation of galaxies. Bang shatters the picture into ninety shards blasted from the center; pairwise gravity pulls the debris back, and every merger strikes a bass impact scaled by the combined mass — grains tick, galaxies boom, and the soundtrack is literally structure formation collapsing chaos into rhythm. Hubble stretches space against the collapse; tap anywhere for a local bang.

The brainwave entrainment engine. Two pure tones a few hertz apart — one steered to each ear — and your brain manufactures the difference as a phantom beat that pulses at exactly that many hertz. Drag across the EEG ruler from Delta (deep sleep) to Gamma (peak cognition) and the picture breathes in time, so you can see the frequency your ears are being handed. Binaural wants headphones; Isochronic gates one tone on and off and plays on anything. An instrument for feeling what a frequency is — not a medical device.

Play an MRI. A magnetic field sets every proton precessing at its Larmor frequency — 63.9 MHz at 1.5 tesla, far above hearing — and an RF pulse tuned to it tips the spins sideways in phase, so they ring one pure tone: the free-induction decay. A gradient then makes each region precess a hair differently, the tone smears into a beating chorus, and it fades over T2. Raise the field and the whole pitch transposes up by octaves, because the only cheat is one fixed divisor from megahertz down to sound.

Watch a brainwave assemble itself. Sixty oscillators each tick at their own rate until Coupling makes them phase-lock by the Kuramoto rule — and their coherence r, climbing from noise to one rhythm, is exactly what a brainwave is: a population beating together, not a single neuron. You hear the emergence, a hush at low coherence swelling to a pulse at the chosen band, so a 40 Hz gamma lock becomes an audible buzz. Tap to fire an excitatory TMS pulse; Inhibit scatters the phases so you can hear the network re-synchronize.

Play the planet's own frequency. The cavity between the ground and the ionosphere rings at ~7.83 Hz and up — the fundamental landing, by coincidence, right at the edge of human alpha rhythm — struck endlessly by global lightning. It's too low to hear, so the whole stack is lifted into the bass and each harmonic rings like a struck bell. Shake your phone to throw lightning into the cavity and tilt it to pour energy between the modes; on a desktop, drag and click do the same. A coincidence we find beautiful, not a mechanism.

Gravity retunes the rhythm. Twelve pendulums, each slightly longer than the last, fan their swing rates across the slow-wave range and — released together — drift out of step and back, the travelling pendulum wave, each bob ringing a note as it crosses bottom so the pattern plays itself as an arpeggio. The physics is honest: a pendulum's rate goes as the square root of gravity, so tilting your phone changes the effective g and the whole chord glissandos while the rack leans. Shake to release them again; on a desktop, drag to tilt.