Silent screen: the beam is drawing the word without sound. Open the instrument to hear it, drop audio or video onto it, speak into the microphone, or let the Studio turn text, shapes, images, video and the camera into audible lines.

Silent screen: an image passing through the physics of a magnetic resonance scanner, its parameters drifting. Open the desk to drop your own image, sound or video onto it: truncate the k-space, let it ring, add noise, motion ghosts, spikes, a bias field, a susceptibility warp; filter, crush, echo, ring-modulate the sound; modulate every knob with an oscillator, compare with the original, export PNG, WAV or WebM. Nothing leaves your browser.

Silent screen: lines wander a finite field, knot where they meet, and hold only when their points sum to zero; the view turns from laboratory to microscopy, vessels and tissue. Each line hides its gene in a private number, so life here is made of what survives a change of law. Open the model to sequence genes, rewind an epoch, survey other curves, read the field's analysis, and hear every stable loop as a voice.

On the left a cell as a confocal microscope would see it; on the right what the code does at that same instant, every value taken from the running prototype. A message crosses the tissue sealed, an exchange proves nothing was created without showing how much, a virus is a forged message and a tumour is a loop that signs without closing. The biology is a metaphor; each image is an operation.

Silent screen: two substances react and spread on a grid, and the shapes are nobody's; coral, labyrinth, mitosis and worms take turns on the same chemistry, changed only by two numbers. Open the laboratory to model a cell with reactions and compartments and run it deterministic, stochastic or in space; or the Studio, to paint with seeds and walls, use a photo or a video as a mould, and hear the drone that follows the growth.

A television broadcast crossed by a chemistry that only lives where the image moves. Every change from one frame to the next plants seeds; where something moves the pattern grows and branches, and when the scene holds still it dissolves. What stays is not the picture but the trace of its movement, while the broadcast runs underneath at a quarter of its strength, like a ghost of the signal. The sound is the original transmission, untouched.