Anne Guro Rule of a High Priest Vol. 1
Before the crust of the loam was cool enough to crawl upon, it was a molten mass, shaped by its own spinning heat. From the pools of primordial recesses, canyons, and crevices, crawled the unknown and the other—each appendage emerging was a pulse of new form; new variations in the unceasing sputtering of a world’s imagination giving life and limb where circumstance required it. There it was—a writhing mass of every possible body ever conceived, churning in space, producing and consuming itself in infinitum. Careening eons long enough, the sputtering made a creature that called itself distinct. The Creature made lines in the world that the ones with tails and claws and shells couldn’t see. So was born the First Abstraction.
After the lines were made, it began organizing the world as it needed, taking in all that it was and all that it wasn’t. The lines it made tore skin from bone, and branch from tree; they sharpened rocks to make limbs that it wanted but could not posses. It fashioned shells that could shelter it and its kin from the others, and stole the skin of other creatures to keep itself warm. The lines let it see the things that it wanted from the world, isolate them, and separate them. It roved through wild time, collecting essence of other life, becoming an amalgam of all it absorbed. It forged, from its own molten-mind, sputtering mouth frames to make the sacred lines into shapes; secrets that only the Creature could understand and trace with its tongue. This was called True Shape. With True Shape, it created a new but immaterial body; the body of its own belief. This new body allowed it to refine the lines and build a lattice over all it could not control. So was born the Second Abstraction.
When the lattice became form, The Creature sought solace in its own image. It created image after image of itself until it betrayed the many selves that it had been. The velocity of its own reflection made timid the world around it. Soon, it began to imagine itself beyond its body, and rearrange the world to prove it could see itself to others. The Creature began to split its existence amongst the many images of itself it had made, and build houses to harvest these many selves. As it could only see all of it’s world as an extension of itself, it dredged from the oceans of its blood, and reaped body after body from its own knowing. A whirling lattice of frenetic pulse gripped the world through its eyes, and from its mind, it began to make itself again from scratch. So was born the Third Abstraction. -Patrick Michael Ballard
Jesse Clark and Elias Pack Resonance
Andre Filipek Dora Drawings
In 1999, Dora the Explorer was born as a little white girl named Tess, who gallivanted around the forest and/or jungle with her friendly animal friends solving problems and generally helping out. The same year, Viacom held an internal meeting with its subsidiary networks in an effort to encourage new proposals including more Hispanic characters.
According to creators Chris Gifford and Valerie Walsh, Dora was never intended primarily as a tool for education, but rather as a way of normalizing the use of Spanish and English interchangeably. The absence of the “education” directive can be evidenced by Gifford and Walsh’s cut-and-paste approach to their pre-fabbed treatment.
What is not acknowledged is the power that is afforded to Dora in the parallel universe of the program. Here, a Latinx girl is afforded the agency, mobility, and social standing to traverse borders, sneak into private and off-limits spaces with no consequence, fight petty crime as a vigilante and reap the rewards of taking risks. Furthermore, by virtue of her title -- Explorer -- she subverts the centuries-old colonial stronghold imposed on Latinx and other colonized people by the likes of Columbus, Ponce De Leon, Cortes, Cabot, et al.
Effectually, Dora the Explorer is the pinnacle example of the decolonized Latinx. How can this image be used to speak of the reality that appears nothing like what it seems in her program?
Dora Drawings utilizes Dora’s likeness as a vessel for perpetual political and social anxiety. In some ways, these images are representative of the pack leader buckling under pressure. In this space what will the rest of the group do? Will someone step up and assume the role of captain, or does the party dissolve into skepticism, hopelessness, and fear? -Andre Filipek
Evans Wittenberg Feeding Time