气
Qi — breath
Whitespace is rhythm, not waste. Three or four groups breathe on a screen; the void carries weight equal to the mark.
A water-ink design language for archives, slow-reading tools, and anything that earns the right to breathe. Hierarchy is carried by ink density; one vermillion seal speaks for the one action that matters.
墨 · The signature mechanic
Importance is just how much you dilute the ink.
In shuimo painting, a single pigment carries an entire landscape — concentrated near-black pulls a peak forward, while the same ink, watered down, lets the foothills dissolve into fog. Yanbo reads an interface the same way.
The matter at hand sits in dark ink. What can wait recedes into pale wash. No boxes, no competing colour — the eye is led by density alone, and the page stays calm.
虚实 · void and mark
Whitespace is rhythm, not waste. Three or four groups breathe on a screen; the void carries weight equal to the mark.
Motion is unhurried. Long, meditative easing — nothing snaps, everything settles like ink finding damp paper.
Asymmetric balance: a heavy ink mass on one side answered by open paper on the other. Never a centred grid of boxes.
Every other surface is ink and paper. The single seal-red accent is reserved for the one action that matters on a view — so it never has to shout.
古今 · old hand, modern tool
Each work gets a wash of itself — focal ink anchored low, dissolving into pale paper, the way it reads in the hand.
Airy ledgers hold period, medium, and condition. Quiet moss and ochre carry status; never a wall of saturated colour.
Mist panels hover over the diffusion ground. Generous spacing, soft edges, and one seal per view keep it contemplative.