Slouching towards Bethlehem

3D orbits + investigation into unfurled textures.

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“Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world”

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“When a vast image out of Spritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in the sands of the desert.”

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“And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?”

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Note to Self:

  • The messy feel of this ‘beastie’ is how I want it, as if it has just emerged from some primordial ooze.
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