Aural Rain

Hard candy, macro: faceted sweets cut like gems in rose, blue, lilac and amber, dusted with sugar crystal, the light passing through them. Everything on the page is made of what is in it. Raised is hard candy, a slab of poured sugar with a lit top edge and one gloss sweep across it. Recessed is the mould it was cast in, matte cream with a soft inset. The film is the ground of the hero, with nothing over it; the copy sits on a frosted cream tile, bottom left. State is depth, never colour.

Condensed caps for headlines and every label, a plain grotesque for reading, and a script for the name of the thing and nothing else. Cream, ink, one band of oxblood, and the rose lands once a screen, on the one word or the one key that matters. Twelve icons, each piped as one line of icing with a bead where the bag lifted. The look has one move, the slow turn: a thing arrives already there and turns the last three degrees into place, the way the film turns.

It refuses: a fifth colour, a matte key, a cool grey, a white studio, a scrim over the picture, a flat button, a hard corner, a coloured selected state, the script on a paragraph, and anything that moves faster than the film.