A scene can hold still, or it can move. The ones that move are composed the way a piece of music is: a dominant idea, a few slower ones underneath it, and enough inertia that nothing ever snaps.

Every moving light here is built from the same few decisions. One quality leads — brightness, or colour, or the width of the falloff — and the rest hold steady, because two things changing at once reads as noise. Contrast stays narrow, so the room shifts rather than flashes. The periods are long, and they do not divide into each other, which is why the light never lands on the same moment twice.

These are made for the corner of your eye. A moving light you sit and watch becomes an effect within a minute; one composed for peripheral vision can stay on all evening and never ask for attention. That is the test everything here is built against.