Insight, not numbers

A word becomes a field of cells inside the construction that sizes it. The rectangle is cut by the golden ratio nine times; a quarter arc in each square makes the spiral, and a bright head runs it inward, one quarter every 1.65 seconds. Points on the letters carry their own coordinates.

Two states, one beat

An electron in hydrogen held in two states at once. Their energies differ, so the cloud sloshes between them once every 2.19 femtoseconds; here, once every 7.2 seconds. Every point rides the probability current, which keeps the cloud true to the wavefunction at every instant. Each point takes the colour of the state that carries more of the density there.

Bits apart

Every tile counts the bits in which two numbers differ: its column, shifted by the code of the letter it sits in, and its row. Fewer differing bits, a larger tile. Each letter carries its own field, so a word is drawn by its own character codes, and the field runs on, faint, between the letters.

“The purpose of computing is insight, not numbers.”