This site

The site has to prove its own point

If I can’t make myself the obvious choice, why would you trust me with you?

I build the thing a business gets judged on — the presence that makes the right person stop shopping around. This page is where you call my bluff: no client to blame, no budget that ran dry, no committee that watered it down. Every call was mine, so every call’s on the record. The whole site has one job — reads like a magazine, closes like software — and here’s how.

One thing I want you to do

A site with five goals has none.

This one has a single job — get the right person to reach out — and every page is built backward from that handshake, not forward from a homepage. No screen tries to say everything; each does one thing and earns the next. The structure says the same: websites are the work, and ads, photography, video and social aren’t a buffet — they make the website land harder, nothing else. A brochure describes a business; this is built to move you.

A gallery, not a billboard

People decide with their eyes — so the look does a lot of quiet work.

The whole site lives in one warmed dark room. It reads like a gallery, stepping back so the photography and the work carry the colour — then exactly one bright tone, the flame, and it only ever means one thing: do this. By your third scroll your eye has learned it. That’s not decoration; that’s me taking your hand.

Type talks before a word is read. Headlines are Anton — tall, tight, shouting in a whisper because I use it sparingly. The body is Atkinson Hyperlegible, and this one’s personal: I’m dyslexic, and it’s drawn so the letters that usually smudge — the b and the d, the l and the 1 — stay apart. Good body copy should disappear, so you absorb it without trying.

And it’s all paced for skimmers: one idea per screen, then a full-bleed line that lands like a snare hit and resets you. Quiet, quiet, loud. No stock photos either — the second someone clocks one they stop believing you — so every frame is real and graded as one set.

It sounds like someone who means it

No synergy. No solutions. No fog.

The register is plain, a little blunt, sometimes a little too honest — the way I actually talk. Short lines do the lifting. A handful repeat across the whole site, so the brand has a spine you can quote back to me, and the rule under all of it is simple: talk about what you get, not how I work. Because when everyone in a category sounds the same, the only thing left to shop on is price — the one race you don’t want to win. So the copy refuses the safe line and says the real one.

Built by hand, built to last

Confidence doesn’t fidget — and it doesn’t cut corners.

Motion comes first, and the rule is restraint: things settle into place as you scroll — small, calm moves that play once and then leave you alone, never a loop begging for attention. The one set-piece earns it: a statement that types itself out, letter by letter, as you reach it. Nothing important hides behind an animation, and if your device asks for less, the page just sits still.

The rest is the unglamorous stuff. Buying decisions now start in two places — a search box and an AI that speaks for you — so the site is written for both, with the studio’s facts kept in one spot so it can never contradict itself. Accessibility is baked into the same calls that make it convert, not bolted on at the end. And it’s all built by hand as plain, fast pages — the colour, type and spacing decided once and reused everywhere, so moving one setting moves the whole site. That’s how one person ships something that looks like a team made it.