Kayhan Atamyildiz Kayhan Atamyildiz A site for Neta Gelb — a fearless young trans artist, musician, and activist — built to hold an enormous, still-growing body of work and tell their story in full.
A site built so people can meet Neta through their own work and their own story — a place that keeps growing, not a fixed page.
Not long after Neta passed away in 2022, at 24, I was asked to build a home for two decades of art, music, zines, photography, and their own words. There was no marketing brief, no numbers to hit — just one ask: tell the story right, and give the work room to be seen.
The home page is a single long-form scroll, written entirely in the voice of the person who knew Neta best — moving through childhood photos, the shift from Sabina to Seb to Neta, the day they left home at 18, the distance and the moments of reconnection that followed, and finally their death and a personal reflection. The story wasn't mine to write. My part was building a page that could carry it — pacing photography and text so it breathes at the right moments instead of arriving all at once.
Tradeoff → A single unbroken scroll instead of separate "About" or "Story" tabs meant a longer page and a slower build. Reading a life in one continuous pass matters more here than easy navigation.
Rather than a generic image grid, each of Neta's works gets its own dedicated page, carrying the context written for it: medium, year, what it meant, sometimes just an honest "not sure — if you know more, get in touch." Dozens are catalogued already, with a great deal more still to come — this is an ongoing archive, not a fixed portfolio, and the structure has to keep scaling as more surfaces. Treating it that way respects both what Neta made and the fact that most of what's known about any single piece lives only in someone's memory.
Tradeoff → A dedicated page per artwork is far more building than a scrolling grid would have been. It was the only way to give each piece — and the story attached to it — enough room, now and as more gets added.
Neta's songs — solo and with the bands they played in — are presented with full lyrics and liner notes, not just an embedded player. Some of it is joyful, some of it is raw and hard to read. None of it was softened in how it's presented — curating a "safer" selection would have meant editing Neta's own voice after the fact, and that was never mine to do.
In June 2025, a gallery in France — Galerie de la Poste, on the island of Île d'Oléron — held an exhibition of Neta's original work. The site's Events page exists because the story didn't stop at launch. The structure was built to keep growing as new showings, new resources, or new material surface — this was never meant to be a single, finished project.
The site was built solo in Webflow, using its native CMS so new art, music, or events can be added without needing a developer for every update. GSAP handles the motion throughout — used sparingly, to pace the story rather than to perform. On a project like this, restraint in the animation mattered as much as the animation itself.
What exists now is a permanent, growing home for a body of work that would otherwise have stayed scattered across hard drives, boxes, and old accounts. Dozens of pieces are catalogued, with plenty more still to add. Anyone can meet Neta for the first time through their own art and their own words.
This is the most personal project I've ever designed, and the hardest one to stay professionally distant from. The material is so honest — the art, the lyrics, the words behind it — that more than a few times I had to step away from it for a few days just to clear my head before I could keep going. It was emotionally draining and, at the same time, one of the greatest honors of my career. A website can't undo a loss like this. What it can do is make sure a life this vivid doesn't just live in memory — it can hold the door open so anyone can meet them.