Idlewild Shore

A lake, for seven minutes. I recorded the water at the Lake Erie shore, on a morning in summer, and sampled the colors from a photograph I took the same day. It is one place, not a library of places, and none of it is generated. The waves start about as fast as an ordinary breath and slow down over the seven minutes. If your breathing goes with them, it slows too. You do not have to do anything about that, and nothing on screen will ask you to. Shells wash up along the strand line. You can pick them up if you feel like it. What you keep goes into a drawer, in the colors it had on the beach. The light follows the real sun. A session at eight in the morning is not the one you get at nine at night, and a December afternoon is not a June one. There is no clock, no timer and no progress bar: the sun is the only thing that tells you where you are. You can leave at any second and lose nothing. There is nothing to finish. Nothing is scored. Nothing is recorded. No streaks, no reminders, no badges. No account, no subscription, no ads. No data is collected, and nothing leaves your phone. Bought once. That is the whole transaction. I made this on my own, and I am still working on it.