About Sand Loom

Pour coloured sand into a frame and it piles into something like a woven rug — and the rug is a band. Each colour is a part, and how much of it stands in the frame is how hard that part plays. Obsidian is the drums: a little buys a kick, a heap buys hats, snare and fills. Terracotta is the bass, growing from long roots to a driving riff. Cream holds the pads, gold climbs in arpeggios, and turquoise is the melody — whatever ridge you sculpt of it IS the tune, its skyline read as a looping phrase where a plateau is a held note and a gap is a rest, the ridge lighting up as it sings. There is no sequencer to program: pouring is arranging. Wind away the drums and you’ve made a breakdown; dump a bass pile and that’s the drop. The balance of dark and bright sand even bends the mode, from phrygian gloom to lydian shine.

The loom shows its work. When a part sounds, warp threads in its colour drop from the border diamonds onto the sand, the grains themselves pulse with their part, and eight dots under the frame tick the groove. Your hands play too: the home row A–L drops lettered mallets onto the dunes, the bow drags through buried strata to sound them as chords, stones build cliffs, quakes shake the piles loose — and Z–N shifts the whole song’s root while everything plays. A rug you weave is a track you arranged, and the URL carries it whole.

Changelog

• Initial release