We built this for our own studio first.

Fifteen years in, the studio was busy and the admin was a mess. A notebook. A phone that never stopped. A calendar that mostly lived in my head. Every booking cost the same twenty minutes of messages, half of them went nowhere, and the ones that did I priced from instinct. Getting that wrong is not a rounding error when it is your own hand and your own afternoon.

So we went looking for something to buy. Salon software written for hairdressers, where a booking is forty minutes and a price is a price on a list. Calendars with no idea that a back piece is six sittings across four months. Forms that ask a client to choose a date before anybody has worked out how long the work will take. All of it competent, none of it built by somebody who had ever held a machine.

So we built our own, in our own studio, against our own week. It was never meant to leave the building. It did because every artist who saw it asked the same question: where do I get that.

The craft is centuries old and deserves to be. The paperwork around it is twenty years behind every other trade, and that part deserves nothing.

There is nothing wrong with a notebook. There is a great deal wrong with losing an evening a week to messages, quoting from memory, and finding out on the morning that a chair is empty. That is time and it is money, and it is the same time and the same money for every artist in every country — which is precisely the kind of problem worth solving once.

What is here is what we use, shared. Not a marketplace taking a cut of your work, and not something standing between you and your clients. Your page, your prices, your diary, your name on all of it. We only took the paperwork off your evening.