107 finished sites.
Import one, make it yours.

A brewery in Basel where every block appears: twelve beers in the shop with packs as variants and the cart as a drawer, a club with three tiers, a brewing course with a quiz, tours as bookable appointments, the tapping of the autumn bock with sign-up, jobs with an application form, downloads for members, reviews, stockists, a map, a chatbot and the age question as a popup. Pitch black and foam white, one accent in amber, Familjen Grotesk in capitals.

The home page is the road to a licence: six steps from the eye test to the practical test, numbered down the page, with the waiting times nobody mentions in advance — and three of them marked as the ones that happen here. Two instructors with opposite hours, one from seven in the morning and one until nine at night, so the calendar is full from end to end. Lessons of 45 and 90 minutes are free slots the pupil takes; the test drive is a request. Asphalt and signal yellow.

A studio with two chairs: the home page is a wall of cards in uneven heights — a finished piece, the same one healed six weeks later, the house rules, the table before a sitting. Appointments are the point: a consultation and a two-hour sitting are free slots the visitor simply takes, a whole day is a request the studio answers. Ink on paper — black, a broken white, a vermilion.

The furnace photo stays on the left while six steps scroll past it on the right — from the gather to the annealer, each with the temperature it happens at. Triangles cut every band, pointing up like the flame.

Four steps from the whitewater to the shoulder, as rows instead of cards: the stage, what you can do after it, what is practised in it, what it costs. Between them the report from right now — wave height, period, water, tide — and tilted cuts that separate the bands.

A website carried by its figures: every band opens with a number larger than anything else on the screen — yesterday's kilowatt hours, the households supplied, the return paid. The bands are cut apart by waves instead of stacked.

The home page is set as a page of classified advertisements: ruled boxes of different sizes — a wide one for the house, two narrow ones for method and opening hours, a price list beside a piece on how to drink it, and a wanted notice for pickers at the bottom.

The home page is set as a bank statement: ruled rows with date, description, amount and a running total, figures right-aligned. Only the rows do not say what the bank earned — they say what it did in the valley, including the loan it turned down.

The home page is an instrument panel: the flight photo fills the screen and the readings sit in the corners — altitude, wind, battery, hectares, coordinates along the bottom. Under it the public flight log, eight jobs as rows.

The home page is a temperature ladder: from ninety-five degrees down to six, and every station of the round stands at its own degree, the figure large in the margin. Read downwards it is exactly the order you walk it.

The home page is the back of the bag: the ingredients panel, the nutrition rows, the batch code, the allergen box and the best-before date, all in ruled black frames in one narrow column. Below it the four kinds and the three fields.

The home page is one measured night: eighteen half hours as bars that step down into deep sleep and climb back towards morning. The four stages underneath carry the same colours as the bars.

The home page is one round through the hall: eight obstacles that wander right and left across the grid, each with its number in a circle and a dashed line to the next. Below it the courses, the workshop and the opening hours.

Fernweh, six journeys a year for twelve people: instead of a hero a departures board with the journeys as rows — number, month, price, places left —, below it a sticky image beside long text, every route as a timeline.

Steinhalde, a vineyard above the lake as a book: the home page has five chapters, each a whole page with the numeral large and sticky in the margin, text in two columns, one picture and the page number — the slope, the cellar, the wines as a shop, the year as a timeline, the visit with a table, a form and a map.

Forno 41, a wood-fired pizzeria as a chalkboard: the menu is the page — no hero, the home page is the menu itself with numbered lines, dotted leaders and prices in courses, one picture as a strip between them; a table is booked in a popup, the hours are a table.

The website is the bill: a night-black page, one narrow receipt in the middle, the menu line by line with a dotted line to the price, sections as dashed dividers, at the bottom the hours and a barcode. Four photos hang beside the receipt. No header, no menu.

The home page is the week: Monday to Saturday as six columns, every class a coloured block with time, course and level, one colour per style. Below it the five styles as a slider, three teachers, three prices and the free trial as a form.

The website is the status board at the valley station: four big values at the top — snow, lifts open, temperature, wind — then row by row every lift and slope with a status light, what it says and the time of the last change. Below, the webcam and the tickets.

Theater am Fluss, a city theatre in velvet and gold: the calendar is the home page — a month as a grid of seven columns, every cell a day with the play, the time and the state; below it the season as a post list and the house; every production with cast and dates as tables, tickets with a countdown and a map.

Kakao 71, a bean-to-bar chocolate maker as a zig-zag: the way from the bean to the bar in seven strictly alternating steps, picture left and text right and the reverse, every step with a giant number hanging over the edge and one big figure; at the end the seven bars as a shop with their own pages.

The home page is a questionnaire in three steps — how do you brew, milk, when — every answer a big row with the recommendation that leads to the coffee. Below, the four coffees as a row and the roastery in three lines. Every coffee in the shop with the size as a variant.

The home page is the bracket: four columns from quarter-finals to winner, every match a card with two lines, the winner in yellow, the time below. Then the groups as two tables, the party as three lines, and the sign-up for next year.

The website is the summer diary of an alpine dairy, entry by entry from the drive up in June to the first snow: the date big in the left margin, the entry as text on the right, sometimes a photo, sometimes a number — cows, wheels, degrees. Below only the cheese to order.

Laid out like a weather report: «today» as a big card with the wind huge, direction, gusts, water and visibility, next to a traffic light for the club boats; below it the seven-day strip, then the week at the club as a table, and at the bottom courses and the form to join.

Uferklang, a three-day festival on a lake in black, acid green and violet: the home page opens with two running bands, then a countdown as tall as the screen, the line-up as three days in tabs with stage-by-time tables, tickets as four prices, the site as a photo with hotspots, questions as an accordion.

The home page is a stack of tickets, one per night: the stub on the left with the date huge, a perforated edge, the card on the right with title, who, time, price and «reserve» as a tilted stamp; sold-out nights greyed. Below only the cellar in one picture.

Ines Kern, a photographer whose home page is only pictures: no heading, no sentence, no button — twenty-four black-and-white photographs in masonry columns, edge to edge, with a lightbox; the series as tabs, prices and contact as tables, the enquiry as a form on two other pages.

Museum am Hof, a history museum as a display case: the timeline is the page — the home page is one vertical timeline from 3000 BC to 1994, station by station with the year, the object, its picture and two sentences; above it only three numbers, below it the hours as a table and a map; ten objects with their own pages.

Brotbrief, a sourdough bakery whose home page is a letter: one sheet of paper in typewriter type with a salutation, paragraphs, photos glued in, the price list as a typed table, a signature and two postscripts — and a reply card as the order form; six breads as a shop with pick-up.

Halle 9, a strength and boxing hall in white, charcoal and electric blue: the timetable is the home page — one big searchable table with the days as columns and the classes in the cells; above it only the next class as a countdown, below it the classes as an accordion, three memberships with a switch and the free week as a form.

Seebad Enge, a lakeside pool as a poster wall: the home page has not a single picture — giant words and numbers (OPEN, UNTIL 20.00, CHF 8) with running bands between them, four big numbers, a countdown to closing, lanes and prices as tables; pictures only on the other pages.

The home page is a staircase of five steps, each a block that moves further right than the one before: knife, stock, sauce, menu, hosting — picture left, number huge, text right, price at the end. Below, the dates as a table and the booking form.

Bärenstark, a moving company in orange and night blue: the form comes first — the home page opens with the quote calculator instead of a sentence; below it prices by rooms as a table, the process as a timeline, voices as rows, questions as an accordion, the area as a map.

Holzwerk, a coworking space in an old joinery as an app: the home page is a dashboard in tabs — today with number tiles, the rooms as a table and the day as a timeline, desks with three prices and a switch, rooms with a booking form, the community with voices and a newsletter.

Radio Kanal, a local station in night blue and dial amber: the programme is the page — the day as one horizontal timeline from six to midnight, show after show with time, name and host; above it only «on air now» with a countdown, below it the shows as a post list, the frequencies as a table, the voices as a team.

A novel whose website is a wall of quotes: sixteen quotes in three sizes — sentences from the book on black, from the press on sand, from readers on white — some across two columns. Above it only title, author and buy; below, three pictures and the readings as a table.

A garden association whose website is its rule book: seven articles with paragraphs 1.1, 1.2 and so on, the number big in the margin, a sticky table of contents on the left, a picture between the articles. At the end the waiting list as a form.

The whole website is one card in the middle of a brick-red page: the photo on the left, on the right the phone number huge as a button, hours, five prices and a map that loads on tap. No header, no menu, nothing to scroll.

The home page is a price calculator: a switch «once / every two weeks» and three price cards by flat size that change their number when you switch. Below, the extras as a price table, why the price is the price in three steps, and the booking form on navy.

Zweisprachig, a language school whose website is itself bilingual: every page a parallel text, English on the left in teal, German on the right in coral, paragraph beside paragraph with a centre line; big numbers in both columns, the courses as a bilingual table, the levels as tabs, questions as an accordion, enrolment as a form.

Genossenschaft Feldweg, a housing cooperative where everything is a table: the free flats as a sortable, searchable table, the same six as a grid with a filter by rooms and estate, the estates, the waiting list with honest waiting times and the rules as tables, a five-field form.

Klar & Partner, a tax firm as a kiosk: the home page asks a single question — what is it about? — and offers four huge answers as rows, each leading to its page with prices as a table, steps as a timeline, questions as an accordion and an appointment as a form; the office with a team and a map.

Brocki 7, a second-hand shop with an online shelf like a classifieds page: everything in mono, small and dense, six columns of small tiles shelf by shelf, beside boxes with the rules, a wanted list, a price table and a drop-off form; twenty-four one-of-a-kind pieces with their own pages, reserved online, collected on Saturday.

Teilwerk, a parts dealer as a terminal: dark, everything in mono, no hero but a catalogue with a sticky sidebar and a searchable parts table; twelve parts with axle, side and capacity as variants, each with a data sheet.

A municipality’s recycling guide as a single accordion: one question at the top and fourteen materials as rows, each with a coloured edge, opening to where, when and a tip. No hero, no menu, only the rows; at the end the collection point with its hours.

A small mountain hotel: rooms with prices, the kitchen, winter and summer, and a request for the night.

A rowing club: training times, membership with fees, events through the year, and the way into the first boat.

A dark restaurant with a menu, wines and a reservation that still finds a table in the evening.

A joinery shows what it builds: projects with pictures, the team, and an enquiry that arrives with a sketch.

A photographer: dark, three series as a masonry with a lightbox, and an enquiry for the next job.

An architecture practice: big pictures, three projects with their own pages, the office and the people who draw.

A wedding photographer: three packages with prices, a gallery, voices of couples and the enquiry for the day.

Naturpark Silvretta: pictures across the whole width that stay put while you scroll, the seasons as tabs, the trails as a carousel, the terrain as a satellite map.

Piz Alva, a mountain village with two seasons as a letterpress poster: the home page is split in two, winter on night blue on the left, summer on cream on the right, each with a picture, dates and three numbers; below it the comparison as a table and the hotel booking; pistes and hikes as sortable tables.

Zoo Wildbach, a small zoo drawn like a children's comic with thick borders, speech bubbles and tilted labels: the animal grid with a filter by continent is the home page, below it feeding times as a table, tickets as three prices, a countdown and the map; fourteen animals with a fact sheet each.

Kessel, a concert hall: the next night in letters that fill the screen, the programme with tickets, videos, a countdown.

Kessler Motorwerk sells and repairs: ten cars as a portfolio, the workshop in tabs, a test drive in a popup.

Gotthard Gran Fondo, three passes in one day: colour blocks in orange and black, the route as a timeline, three distances as prices with an early-bird switch, results as a sortable table.

Lena & Jonas marry on Lago Maggiore: a countdown, the day as a timeline, the villa as a gallery, travel and hotels as an accordion, the RSVP with the dinner choice.

The website is the cover of the current issue: one screen-filling picture with the masthead across the top, the coverlines bottom left with big numbers, issue and price bottom right. Below, the contents as page numbers, three pictures from the issue, the stockists and an order form.

One long story to scroll: seven chapters, each a screen-high photo with one sentence bottom left, then a narrow text passage, then the next photo; three big numbers in between, and at the end the question of what to do. No menu.

The home page is a wall of six posters, each with a button that opens a window: times, story, length, language, tickets. Nothing else scrolls; below only the hall in one picture and the prices as four lines.

The website is the wall of graduates: twelve tilted polaroids on cork, a dog each with name and course in handwriting, a strip of tape on top, and three pinned notes between them with courses, times and who. Below only the sign-up form.

A landing page with one field: a sunrise fills the screen, one sentence and the email field on it, nothing else above the fold. Below, small: what is in the mail as three numbers, yesterday’s issue as a letter, three voices, and the field once more.

BAO BUS, a food truck in Memphis colours with a pattern, black borders and hard shadows: the home page opens with the map of today's spot, then the week as a table, a countdown to the next stop, the menu as tabs, the truck's day as a timeline, a booking form for parties.

Passhöhe, a guided road-bike trip over six Alpine passes on contour-line paper: the route is the page — every stage a row with the map of the day, number, kilometres, climbing and the profile as a table; above it only the totals, below it departures, price and booking.

Stiel & Blatt, a florist as a card album: twelve bunches as trading cards with a number and a rarity, each with a flip card — name and price in front, the flowers and how long they last on the back; below it the subscription as three prices with a switch and the workshop with a table and a map.

Praxis Pfote, a vet practice as a card index: the home page is one tab block with a tab per animal, and every tab is a whole patient file — picture, what we do as a list, prices as a table, the vaccination plan as a timeline, an emergency box; above it only the emergency band, below it the team and a map.

Vorher Nachher, a renovation firm that shows only pairs: the home page is a sequence of full-width picture pairs — the old on the left in black and white, the new on the right in colour — with only one line between them: place, weeks and cost as numbers; the process as a timeline and prices as a table on their own page.

GRAU, an architecture studio as a monochrome photo magazine: the home page is a full-screen slideshow, one project per picture, below it only one sentence and the index of projects as in a book; every project with a fact table and a picture grid, all of them as a portfolio with a filter.

Farbwerk, a painting school as a pinboard: nothing stands in a row — taped photos, sticky notes in yellow and pink and handwriting that overlap and turn; the courses as notes with a price, the week as a table on a sheet, the work as a gallery, the sign-up as a form on a sheet.

VOID, a streetwear label with a shop: thirteen pieces with sizes and colours as variants, each with its own page, a cart, a checkout on invoice, a lookbook in black and white.

Alder, a fashion label from Zürich: the collection as a bento, “shop the look” with picture points, a running band, a portfolio with a filter.

Waggle, a dog day care: pictures as stickers, the dogs of the month in a carousel, flip cards for the offers, prices.

A city magazine built from templates: posts, categories, archive, search and a 404 that does not look like WordPress.

A ceramics studio sells eleven pieces: products with variants, a cart, checkout with TWINT and invoice.

A day-care centre: the day hour by hour, the team, the rooms and an enrolment parents understand.

A landscaper: services, the garden year month by month, and a quote you can attach a plan to.

A yoga studio: the timetable as a table, prices for ten-class cards and passes, the teachers, and the first class free.

A bakery: breads with prices, the café, and an order for tomorrow morning.

An estate agency: properties with galleries and key facts, one form for buyers, one for sellers.

Nord Studio, interior architecture in Basel: projects in alternating rows, numbers on green, the process as a timeline, questions as an accordion.

Rüegg Stahl welds beams and mills parts: the machine park as a sortable table, the projects as a portfolio with a filter.

Rheinbord, 24 apartments on the water: picture points on the facade, floor plans in tabs, every apartment in a sortable table, a countdown to the sales start.

Praxis Seefeld, a group practice with its own lab: the appointment in a drawer at the top of every page, opening hours as a table, an emergency stripe.

Lernwerk, an evening school in Bern: eight courses in four rooms, a timetable, teachers who practise what they teach, and enrolment.

One headphone, one weekend, one price: a landing page with a countdown, the old price struck through, and a reservation without a card.

Galerie Ostwall shows six artists and five exhibitions a year — works with a lightbox, the programme as a timeline, a lot of white.

Kubik, an electronics shop as a pastel bento: the home page is one grid of tiles with a hero, products, a countdown, hotspots and a comparison table; eleven devices with colours, sizes and keyboard layouts as variants, the shop sorted by pill tabs.

UNO, one e-bike in three versions as a launch page: a single column, everything centred, huge sentences with full-width pictures between them; big numbers, the bike with numbered hotspots, two colours as tabs, three models as a table with a buy/lease switch, the test ride as a form.

Der Bote, a regional paper set like a printed sheet: a date line, a centred masthead, the front page in columns with briefs, lead story and opinion, twenty articles in five sections, weather and agenda as tables, the subscription with three prices.

OHRWERK, a podcast network like a streaming service in Y2K chrome: no hero but row under row, every show a line with its episodes as a slider; between them the live show with a countdown, numbers on chrome and the newsletter; every show with an episode table.

A software startup: features, pricing in three tiers, product notes as posts and an account in a minute.

Ledgerline, bookkeeping for small teams: invoices, bank, VAT — with prices by month or year.

A design agency: white, big type, the work as case studies, and a journal that writes what it thinks.

A physiotherapy practice: treatments with prices, the team, opening hours and an appointment booked in a minute.

One person, three offers, a calendar: a coach’s site with notes, voices and a first conversation.

A law firm: six fields of law, four lawyers with CVs, fees, and an appointment that does not look like a form.

A personal site: CV, three case studies, notes — and an address that answers.

Rezeptkarte, a cooking blog where every page is a recipe card from the kitchen drawer: picture and four numbers above, the ingredients as a table on the left, the method as a numbered timeline on the right, tips as an accordion in the margin; the home page is the card of the week with the drawer as a post list below.

A card index of kitchen herbs: the letters as a row of chips, below them the cards, each with its letter in the corner, a photo, the name, the Latin name and three lines. One letter shows only its cards. Nothing else.

Signal, the documentation of a webhook API as a developer handbook: every page with a sticky chapter sidebar on the left, content with anchored headings, dark code blocks in three languages as tabs, parameter and error tables and note boxes in the middle, «On this page» on the right; four chapters.

The website is the team’s kanban board: three columns — ideas, in progress, shipped — every card a feature with a label, votes and one sentence; a fourth column holds the download, the price and how voting works. No pictures.

A freelance backend engineer whose website is a shell session: one terminal window, command by command — whoami, ls skills, cat availability, git log for the last projects, curl contact — every output a block, a blinking cursor at the end. No picture, no menu.

NOVA Academy, a learning platform for freelancers: Free, Member and Pro as memberships; courses, templates, articles and webinars behind a lock — whoever may not, sees title, picture and a “for Pro members”; protected PDFs as downloads; after sign-in a dashboard with a rail, numbers, “Welcome back, Antoine” and a countdown to the next webinar. Electric blue/coral, Bricolage Grotesque.

A website that is nothing but text: a manifesto in nine sentences, each as big as a title, numbered in the margin, with a small note on the right, one word per sentence in red. No picture, no box, no button until the very end. Clients as a list of names, prices as one sentence.