Artists pull from whatever is around them. Light through a window, noise from the street, textures, rhythms. If you sit with something long enough, it starts to shape how you see. The work ends up carrying traces of the room it was made in, even when it is not about that room.
I live across from a baseball field. Most evenings there are kids playing, and every now and then a foul ball lands on my porch or rolls down the driveway. Over time it changes how the place feels. You hear the cheering, the ping of an aluminum bat, the occasional thud you did not see coming. After enough of those nights, a ball through the window stops feeling unlikely.
That is where this came from. On a rainy afternoon I built this small program that shatters the macOS windows, like a baseball just came through it! The glass cracks, fractures, and falls away. Closing a window turns into a tiny bit of theater that mirrors what is happening right outside.
Apple Human Interface Guidelines would never allow something like this. Close animations are supposed to be calm, predictable, consistent. This is none of those things, which is fine. Not everything needs to ship. Some ideas just need to exist long enough to show that your environment always finds its way into the work, whether you plan for it or not.