Every label on this cabinet is blank, which puzzles visitors until the rule is explained: the drawers hold character cards, and character cards are private. A label would advertise a person; a blank label advertises nothing. The cabinet can be walked past by anyone and read by no one but the tools that pull its cards.
The blankness also keeps the cabinet honest about its scope. It indexes nothing outside this studio — no websites, no services, no people, no world beyond these walls. A cabinet that indexed everything would be a directory, and this studio is not in the directory business; it is in the business of making one fictional woman well, repeatedly.
Inside the drawers, the opposite rule holds: the cards themselves are written in full, five exact lines each, because a card that cannot be read cannot be followed. Privacy outside, precision inside — the two rules are one rule, really, about knowing what a record is for.
Blank labels, exact cards. The cabinet keeps its drawers the way the studio keeps its accounts: quietly, and to the letter.