Quase trinta anos depois eu joguei o Frostbite de novo, só que no computador, e fiquei impressionada com o que o meu imaginário de criança tinha feito com meia dúzia de pixels mal colocados. Criei um universo inteiro com tudo aquilo que eu não via, que não existia na tela, que ninguém tinha colocado ali pra mim.
When I was little we had a Coleco, which was the generic version of the Atari but it would take its cartridges by tapping on its sides. One of my favorite games had an eskimo who would jump from the edge of the ice where stood a polar bear and the igloo where he lived. The eskimo would then jump on moving ice plates over gelid water, detouring from rows of crabs that would push him, or eating little fish clusters so that he would gain energy. I was always tense over the possibility of being pushed towards the water, or to be caught by the bear, that would push the eskimo inside the igloo, where I’d imagined, would suffer a slow and gelid death, hungry and lonely. Immense was the joy I’d feel when the little eskimo would pass to the next level, thus gaining another day of survival in the implacable arctic.
Nearly thirty years later I find myself playing Frostbite again, only in the computer, and was impressed by what my childhood imaginary had done with half a dozen misplaced pixels. I had created an entire universe with everything I could not see, that didn’t exist on screen, that nobody had put up for me.
It’s to memory and its reveries that I will dedicate this blog; to the silent and invisible workings of drawing, which are as important to me as the scribbled piece of paper that you see.