A sentence, pressed into 30,000 dots

Type a name, or something you want to say. It gets pulled apart into thirty thousand particles and put back together — with no images and no font files: the text is drawn onto an invisible canvas, every pixel is measured against the nearest stroke edge, and that distance is raised into height, turning each stroke into a rounded tube that catches the light. Switching shapes bursts them apart and reforms them. Drag the picture to look from another angle.

"Thickness" is not an outline around the letters. It is how high the ridge along the middle of a stroke rises — always zero at the edge, thickest in the centre, and the slope in between is what decides how brightly the light lands. It follows the stroke width: two words means fat strokes and fat tubes; a long line shrinks the type, and the tubes get thin with it — otherwise thin strokes swell into a forest of standing noodles.
"Copy share link" copies an address with your words inside it, so whoever opens it sees exactly what you wrote — swap in a name and send it to someone, that is the whole idea.