Two coupled oscillators per axis. Damped. Tuned a breath apart on purpose — so the open eye precesses, and the curve never closes the same way twice. Stack the traces, let the light bleed, and the line stops being a line. It becomes a field.
It rests when you work. It breathes when you step back — motion arrives only when the eye is open to it, never to pull at you. Presence, not animation. Then export it: Display P3, up to thirty million pixels, to a wall or a print.
A living harmonograph. Pick a field, push it — depth, spread, bloom, weight. The art is generative; the source is pure oscillator math. New fields drop on a fortnight, never a rewrite.
Hand it one of your frames. It finds the subject — Vision, not vibes — and lays the old geometry over your photo. Then it tells you the truth in a single number.
Saliency and faces give it your real subject. It measures where that subject lands against the geometry the book already named — and rolls the answer into one coherence score: Φ. The same metric the Chapel reports, turned on a photograph. If your subject isn't on an anchor, it says so. No filter. No flattery. Beauty you can defend.
Each guide borrows a chapter from the field manual — shape, path, circle, the seal. The geometry is centuries old. The verdict is yours, today, on-device, and it never leaves the glass.
iPhone · iPad · Mac — one window, two tools, the same honest math.
Built quiet. Made for an eye that already sees.