Webmeesteres V., c. 1995–1998
There was a moment when the background of a page ceased to be empty.
At first it went almost unnoticed. A faint pattern behind the text, a texture that suggested depth where there was none. Soon, however, the backgrounds became more assertive. Marble, clouds, parchment, and, inevitably, flowers.
The floral wallpaper proved particularly persistent. Small blossoms, endlessly repeated, stretching across the entire surface of the page. Cheerful, intrusive, impossible to ignore.
Text no longer floated on a neutral field. It had to compete for attention.
Sometimes it lost.
Legibility became a matter of negotiation. One adjusted one’s eyes, tilted one’s head slightly, tried to follow lines that dissolved into petals and stems. Reading slowed down. Not because the text demanded it, but because the background refused to recede.
And yet, there was a certain charm to it.
The page was no longer an invisible carrier of information. It had acquired a presence of its own. Not always a welcome one, but unmistakably there.
Perhaps that is what made it difficult to abandon. The background, however impractical, insisted on being seen.
Even when it interfered.
Especially then.
Part of the Webmeesteres V. archive →