aerātus is Latin for “made of bronze”, from aes: bronze or copper, and Rome’s earliest money. Rome kept bronze for what had to be heard and what had to last.
That is the work we’ve set ourselves: our tools take the busywork so the human part — the part worth hearing, and worth remembering — carries and endures. aeratus is the bronze that makes it ring, and keeps it.
Left out in the weather, bronze does not stay bronze. It turns green slowly, and never evenly: patina grows in soft patches wherever weather, time and hands have touched the metal.
That is how we use colour. The square tile is what aeratus makes: exact, durable, repeatable. The patina is what life adds: the people, the work and the use that build up around a tool. The tiles do the repetitive work; the soft green marks the human part.
Quiet, dependable, built to last.
- Bronze
- Bronze is new. A fresh tip, the next step.
- Green
- Green has lasted. A finished step, advice you acted on, work that’s done.
You’ll only see patina behind things that have been lived: a real photo, finished work, results. Never behind an empty form or a button. Colour research is still young (Elliot & Maier, 2014), so this is a metaphor we chose, not a claim about your mind.