The Rediscovery of the Arcade Cabinet

(Para o texto em português clique aqui)

The Rediscovery of the Arcade Cabinet

These past days, I saw the beautiful new arcade machines by the folks at Game e Arte on Instagram—a project by Jaderson and Tainá in São Paulo—entirely crafted from wood. Talking to Jaderson, one of the creators, inspired me to write a few words here.

Illustrative image: The arcade showcased on Game e Arte's Instagram stories looked similar to this one.

But let's start at the beginning—or my beginning—because that's what first sparked something in my mind. Since entering art school, I’ve tried to incorporate video games into my creative work. Initially, in a more basic way, I explored the aesthetics of old games—pixel art, low poly—to create visuals in painting, drawing, sculpture, or wherever I could.

In 2012, I created a “video art” installation using RETROBLUE, the second arcade machine I built. It featured the pioneering game Pong, but as the player tried to play, programmed alterations in the rules and timing, accompanied by sound, disrupted the gameplay. (The paper list shows the lines of code used to modify the game.).

Video: Documentation of the installation and an example of its effect (tests with my younger brother).

The goal was to play with game rules, drawing an analogy to life under capitalism, where rules are changed at the whim of a small bourgeois minority. But the important thing here is the arcade machine and how people interacted with it. We'll revisit this later.

Fast forward to 2014. When I decided to make games with students at the public school where I taught art, I felt compelled to research others doing similar work. That’s when I found Pedro Paiva, also making games with students, often under even more challenging conditions. Like me, Pedro had (and still has) a blog where he reflected on his experiences. He was the first to realize the importance of the arcade as a strategy or device to bring games to people while challenging the restrictive logic of the industry spaces.

Image: "Pirata de Prata," the first of several arcade machines created by Pedro Paiva. Image from his blog post:

https://menosplaystation.blogspot.com/2019/06/antigamer-enquanto-antifascista.html

The Arcade as a Break from Routine

Pedro Paiva sees the arcade not just as mere "packaging" for a game. Being a medium to bring games to public spaces, the arcade cabinet or furniture becomes part of the game itself. Like a "zine," the aesthetic choices regarding the arcade's form convey something beyond the content being written—or played, in this case. There's much more to this concept than I can summarize here, but I recommend reading Pedro’s texts on the "Fliperamosfera" (https://menosplaystation.blogspot.com/2019/11/pirateando-oakland-videogame-rueiro.html) and "Zinerama" (https://menosplaystation.blogspot.com/2020/07/zinerama.html) on his blog.

Building on Pedro’s reflections, our dialogue, and my own experiences of bringing my games to people through arcades, I believe that the arcade furniture itself is an artistic device. This isn't just a flattering description to “elevate” our work, as if calling it “art” magically legitimizes it. Rather, it's because arcade machines, even before someone plays the game, transport people to a differentiated space and time outside their daily routine.

Video: Anakrôniko Arcade and footage from the 30th Açor.

When people see an arcade machine, they’re transported elsewhere—to a non-routine space. For older generations, nostalgia plays a role, but it doesn’t stop there. What delights me most is seeing how children of all ages, with no prior relationship to the object, are equally captivated. It’s not nostalgia but a kind of “magic” that the unusual object creates.

The arcade invites collective play. Children gather around, take turns at the controls, watch their friends play, and share opinions. As Pedro Paiva notes, this effect is even stronger when each arcade, or series of arcades, has its own personality. The more unique its materials and design—whether it has a name or uses unconventional materials—the better.

Image: From left to right, "Pirata de Prata," "Cavalo de Santo," and "Capeta Compiuter." Image courtesy of Pedro Paiva.

For instance, each of Pedro Paiva’s arcade machines is unique, with its personality and singularity. The recent arcades from Game e Arte are distinctive too—crafted from rustic wood rather than laminated MDF, but still unmistakably arcades. I also strive for individuality in mine, with the Anakrôniko Arcade, made of PVC pipes and fabric, being my most "alternative" model. Each has its aesthetic impact, adding to the game and helping create this break from “normal” time, unlike mainstream video gaming, typically played at home as a continuation of daily routine.

It’s well-known that placing an object in an “art gallery” changes how it’s perceived. A urinal in a bathroom or a banana at a market is what it is because it’s in its “proper place.” In a gallery, these objects become something else. Whether people debate their validity as art isn’t the point. What matters is that objects “displaced” from their “natural” context disrupt the space and time of the everyday. What’s intriguing about the arcade, as reappropriated by independent gaming, is that no matter where it’s placed, it creates a disruption—not because of the gallery environment, but because the anachronistic object itself causes this discontinuity.

Image: The infamous banana in a gallery that sparked online controversy.

This effect extends further when our games contain “uncommon” cultural elements: local settings, folklore, stories, recontextualized pop culture characters, or references to cinema and literature. These elements tie games to real-life experiences, far removed from industry clichés. While there’s much more to say about this, the focus here is the arcade and its effects.

In summary, our arcades are part of the work, in tandem with the games. An arcade machine is an aesthetic object that displaces people and serves as an uncommon interface for interacting with the game. The large controls require broader physical movements, which add to the disruption of everyday space for the player. Above all, these objects are anachronistic and unexpected, inviting players to break away from norms—even for those without nostalgic ties—because they are more than mere “objects”; they are interfaces, devices for our games.

I won’t repeat myself further, so I’ll end by sharing some related links:

Pedro Paiva:

https://menosplaystation.blogspot.com/

https://bsky.app/profile/pedromenos.bsky.social

Game e Arte:

https://www.gamearte.art.br/blog

https://www.instagram.com/talktogamearte/

Image courtesy of Pedro Paiva: Our arcades together at the Anarchist Athenaeum in Porto Alegre.

A redescoberta do Fliperama

(For the english texto click here)

A redescoberta do Fliperama

Esses dias eu vi no Instagram os lindos fliperamas novos do pessoal da Game e Arte, projeto do Jaderson e da Tainá, em SP, feitos completamente em madeira. Conversando com o Jaderson, um dos criadores do projeto, acabei me motivando a escrever algumas palavras aqui.

Imagem meramente ilustrativa, mas o fliperama do pessoal do Game e Arte que apareceu nos stories do Instagram era semelhante a este.

Mas vamos começar do começo, ou do meu começo por que é o que primeiro ativou uma fagulha na cachola. Desde que entrei na faculdade de artes eu tentava articular algo dos videogames no meu trabalho criativo. A princípio, de forma mais básica, eu orbitava na tentativa de uma poética em imagens me apropriando do visual dos games antigos, pixel art, low poly, para criar uma estética na pintura, desenho, escultura, e onde eu pudesse.

Até que em 2012 fiz uma instalação de “vídeo arte” utilizando a RETROBLUE, o segundo fliperama que eu tinha construído. Ali rolava o pioneiro game Pong, e enquanto o jogador tentava jogar rolava uma programação e um áudio que confundiam e alteravam as regras e o tempo durante o jogo (aquela lista no papel são as linhas de código que alteravam o game).

Vídeo: registro da instalação e exemplo do seu efeito (testes com meu irmão mais novo)

A intenção era brincar com as regras do jogo, até fazendo uma analogia a nossa vida no capitalismo, onde as regras são mudadas de acordo com a vontade de uma minoria da burguesia. Mas o importante aqui é o Fliperama, e como as pessoas se relacionavam com ele. Retomaremos isto mais a frente.

Chegamos a 2014, e ao me propor a fazer games com turmas de alunos na escola onde eu atuava como professor de Artes da rede pública de ensino, me obriguei a pesquisar sobre quem mais poderia estar fazendo o mesmo. Eis que eu encontro o Pedro Paiva, também fazendo games com os alunos, inclusive em condições muito mais tensas que as minhas. Assim como eu, o Pedro também tinha (e ainda tem) um Blog onde relatava e refletia sobre suas experiências. E foi o Pedro quem primeiro tomou consciência da importância do fliperama como estratégia, ou dispositivo, para levar o game até as pessoas numa condição que tentasse romper com a lógica dos espaços restritivos da indústria.

Imagem: Pirata de Prata, o primeiro de outros fliperamas criações do Pedro Paiva. Imagem retirada da postagem em seu Blog:

https://menosplaystation.blogspot.com/2019/06/antigamer-enquanto-antifascista.html

O Fliperama como quebra do cotidiano

Pedro Paiva vê o fliperama não só como mera “embalagem” para o game. Sendo o Fliperama um meio para levar o jogo aos espaços de circulação do público, o totem ou móvel também se torna parte do game. Como um tipo de “Zine”, as escolhas estéticas a respeito da forma do fliperama dizem algo para além do conteúdo escrito, ou jogado no caso. Tem muito mais a respeito que eu não poderia sintetizar aqui em tão poucas palavras, mas aconselho a leitura dos texto do Pedro sobre a “Fliperamosfera” https://menosplaystation.blogspot.com/2019/11/pirateando-oakland-videogame-rueiro.html e sobre o “Zinerama” https://menosplaystation.blogspot.com/2020/07/zinerama.html ambos em seu blog.

Partindo destas reflexões do Pedro, de nosso diálogo e das experiências que tenho tido ao levar meus jogos até as pessoas também com meus fliperamas, eu acredito que o móvel, o objeto do fliperama, é em si um dispositivo artístico. E não falo isso apenas de bonito, ou para “engrandecer” nosso trabalho, como se chamar ele de “objeto de arte” fosse um ato mágico de legitimação. Mas por que o fliperama tem o efeito de primeiro, momentos antes da pessoa experimentar o jogo, transportar as pessoas para um espaço diferenciado no espaço do tempo cotidiano.

vídeo: Fliperama Anakrôniko e registro do 30º Açor

Então as pessoas vêem o fliperama e são transportadas para um outro espaço, para um tempo fora do cotidiano, os mais velhos em certa medida pela nostalgia, mas a coisa não se resume a isto. Sempre me alegra perceber o quanto crianças de todas as idades, que não tem formada relação alguma com aquele objeto, são também transportadas para este outro espaço. Não é a nostalgia que as move, mas uma certa “magia” que o objeto fora do comum propicia.

O Fliperama convida as pessoas a experimentar o jogo de forma coletiva. As crianças se juntam para jogar, se alternam nos controles, assistem ao amigo jogando, dão opinião. E como já escreveu o Pedro Paiva, isto é ainda mais efetivo se cada fliperama, ou série de fliperamas, tem uma personalidade própria. Se os materiais e formato do fliperama são suficientemente particulares, únicos, se ele tem um nome, se utiliza materiais fora do comum, ainda melhor.

Imagem: da esquerda "Pirata de Prata", "Cavalo de Santo", e "Capeta Compiuter". Imagem cedida por Pedro Paiva.

Veja o exemplo, cada Fliperama do Pedro Paiva é diferente do outro, cada qual com sua personalidade e excepcionalidade. Os Fliperamas recentes do pessoal da Game e Arte tem sua particulariedade, não são feitos de MDF laminado, mas são de madeira, mais rústicos, ainda assim sendo fliperamas. Assim eu tento fazer também com os meus, sendo o Fliperama Anakrôniko de cano de PVC e tecido o meu modelo mais “alternativo”. Cada qual tem seu efeito estético, que adiciona algo ao game, e  ajuda a criar este ambiente que trata de uma quebra do tempo “normal”, enquanto o videogame hegemônico, jogado em casa, é em geral uma continuidade do cotidiano.

É bem sabido que o espaço de uma “galeria de arte”, muda a leitura dos objetos. Se você vê um urinol em um banheiro, ou uma banana na feira, eles são o que são, pois estão em “seu devido lugar”. Se estes estão em uma galeria de arte, são outra coisa, por mais que as pessoas debatam se aqueles objetos são válidos ou não como arte, não é esse o ponto. De qualquer modo, esses objetos “deslocados” do seu lugar “natural” criam uma quebra do espaço e tempo do cotidiano, do “normal”. O interessante do fliperama reapropriado pelo videogame independente, é que não importa o espaço em que ele se insira ele vai criar uma quebra, ou seja, no seu caso não é a “galeria”, o ambiente, que propicia o deslocamento, mas o objeto anacrônico em si que cria esse efeito de descontinuidade.

Imagem: a tal banana numa galeria que virou polêmica na internet.

Claro, no momento seguinte há a sequência também por conta dos conteúdos “Inusitados” de nossos games: tanto os jogos do Pedro, da Game e Arte, e os meus, trazem elementos regionais e/ou culturais que são pouco comum nos games, sejam eles lugares de sua cidade, do folclore local, histórias e relatos, personagens da cultura pop reapropriados e deslocados de contexto, do cinema, literatura, etc, em geral fora de certos clichês da indústria e com ligação à vida real das pessoas. Teria muito mais o que falar nesse sentido, mas o assunto aqui são os Fliperamas e seu efeito.

Em síntese, nossos fliperamas são parte do trabalho, em conjunto com o game. O Fliperama é um objeto estético, que desloca as pessoas, além de ser uma interface fora do comum pela qual elas interagem com o game. Aqueles controles grandes exigem um movimento corporal maior, “movimentos mais largos”, e isso é mais um dos elementos que ajudam a criar essa quebra do espaço cotidiano ao jogador. Mas acima de tudo, são objetos meio que deslocados no tempo, inusitados, que convidam o jogador de forma a criar uma quebra da norma, do esperado, mesmo para quem não tem memória afetiva ou nostálgica com o objeto, até por que não é mero “objeto”, mas interface, dispositivo, para nossos games.

Bom, não quero ficar me repetindo, então termino deixando aqui os links relacionados ao texto:

Pedro Paiva:

https://menosplaystation.blogspot.com/

https://bsky.app/profile/pedromenos.bsky.social

Game e Arte:

https://www.gamearte.art.br/blog

https://www.instagram.com/talktogamearte/

Imagem cedida por Pedro Paiva: nossos fliperamas juntos no Ateneu Anarquista de Porto Alegre.

Mensagem de fim de ano / New Year's Eve message

 (English version below)

As pessoas costumam elogiar meu trabalho, a dedicação nos detalhes, sutilezas, etc. Preciso dizer que a paixão que eu tenho por criar, seja o que for, games, livros, instrumentos musicais, é ainda maior por conta de toda a luta que eu tenho para seguir me dedicando as artes. Viver de arte, para um reles mortal, é quase impossível no Brasil. Ainda assim eu tento, e tenho conseguido, pagando o preço de não ter tempo pra mais nada, e não sobrar gana pra mais nada além da sobrevivência e manutenção do trabalho.

Aos 28 anos eu larguei o emprego de bancário, concursado, no Banco do Brasil, para cursar Artes Visuais na UDESC, um curso que exigia o dia todo livre (não é feito pra quem precisa trabalhar). Muita gente me achou louco e desequilibrado (quando era o contrário, poderei muito sobre a vida e a sociedade antes de tomar essa decisão, apesar de precisar sim estar no limite para tomar a coragem) Melhor coisa que fiz da vida, pois de lá pra cá produzi 100 vezes mais do que tinha produzido em arte até aquele momento.

De 2014 a 2018 sobrevivi como professor efetivo e concursado de Artes na escola pública. Novamente, pedi demissão para me dedicar ao trabalho de criação de games, e sobrevivo com os trampos freelancer (bicos) de pixel artista somado a venda dos games que desenvolvo.

Então, a paixão e dedicação que eu coloco no que crio, vem em parte disso tudo. Eu sei bem, porque sinto na pele o sacrifício, os desafios, e o quanto precisei encarar o medo e me jogar no abismo do desconhecido para poder fazer as coisas do meu jeito, ao meu ritimo. Pq dá muito medo, amolece as pernas, mas covarde ou preguiçoso eu nunca fui, e se quero fazer algo, eu pego e faço, do meu jeito, criando os materiais e condições que me são possíveis ao meu redor.

Tá aqui minha mensagem de fim de ano. Tem momentos que é melhor se jogar no abismo, por que é melhor do que ficar apenas o encarando enquanto ele olha de volta para você.

Imagem: tela do meu game "O Purgatório de Virgílio", o abismo antes de enfrentar seus medos (os tradicionais chefes de fase dos games)

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English:

People often praise my work, the dedication to details, subtleties, and so on. I must say that the passion I have for creating—be it games, books, or musical instruments—is fueled even more by the constant struggle I face to keep dedicating myself to the arts. Living off art, for an ordinary mortal, is nearly impossible in Brazil. Yet I try, and I’ve been managing, at the cost of having no time for anything else and barely any energy (or money) left beyond mere survival and maintaining my work.

At 28, I quit my job as a bank clerk, a stable position at "Banco do Brasil" (Brasil Bank), to study Visual Arts at UDESC, a course that demanded full-time availability (not designed for those who need to work). Many people thought I was crazy and unbalanced (when in fact, it was the opposite—I reflected deeply on life and society before making this decision, even though I had to be at my limit to muster the courage). It was the best decision of my life, as I’ve produced 100 times more art since then than I had created up until that point.

From 2014 to 2018, I survived as a tenured Art teacher in public schools. Once again, I resigned to dedicate myself to creating games, surviving on freelance gigs as a pixel artist combined with the sales of the games I develop.

So, the passion and dedication I pour into what I create come partly from all this. I know it well because I’ve felt the sacrifices, challenges, and the fear I had to face to leap into the unknown to do things my way, at my pace. Because it’s terrifying, it makes your knees weak, but I’ve never been a coward or lazy. If I want to do something, I go and do it—my way, crafting the resources and conditions I can with what I have around me.

Here’s my year-end message: sometimes, it’s better to jump into the abyss because it’s better than just staring at it while it stares back at you.

Image: A screen from my game "Virgil's Purgatory," the abyss before facing your fears (the traditional boss fights in games).

(English version on the bottom)

Internet Zumbi

A internet das redes sociais é mesmo uma coisa morta-viva, um zumbi que serve mais a grandes corporações que outra coisa. Claramente somos nós quem servimos às tais plataformas, e não o contrário.

Faz algum tempo que eu digo a mim mesmo que “é o preço” que tenho de pagar, para muitas das minhas escolhas como artista. Se tenho pouco alcance, se meus games ou minha arte não alcançam sucesso econômico, se eu vivo pobretão, é em parte uma escolha consciente que faço para manter uma margem de liberdade como artista. E digo uma margem, por que eu também não consigo ser dono de todo o meu tempo.

Mas isso seria tema para outro papo, o que eu quero destacar agora, e tem relação com essas escolhas, é o fato de que atualmente as maiores “plataformas” da internet, facebook, youtube, etc, estão punindo os usuários que fazem postagens contendo hyperlinks. E punição é a palavra correta, até porque nestas plataformas, hoje em dia, não existe mais “alcance orgânico”, mas sim bloqueios que limitam mais ou menos o seu alcance. Se você for um “bom criador de conteúdo”, e seguir as “guidelines” do momento, aquilo que eles consideram como o tipo mais desejável de postagem em suas redes, a plataforma vai lhe bloquear menos. Se não, o filtro é colocado em ação e seu alcance é freado.

Faz uns meses que eu estou ciente disso, e me nego a deixar de colocar links nas minhas postagens. Acho isto aviltante. O hyperlink foi uma das grandes “invenções” da internet, uma tecnologia que praticamente definia o que era, já foi, a internet e suas interações. Essa internet definitivamente morreu e foi revivida como um zumbi, carcaça moribunda que se arrasta e tem o nome de “plataformas” ou “redes sociais”.

O hyperlink é a forma que ainda temos (ou tínhamos, se você quer ser um “criador de conteúdo” de sucesso, aparentemente) de fazer estas plataformas trabalharem, nem que fosse um pouquinho, para nós. Se quero mostrar minha arte, minhas criações, coloco um vídeo no youtube, escrevo em meu blog, e depois posto o link nas redes sociais. Ou mesmo, posto algo em uma rede social, e depois posto o link em outra.

Pelo visto, liberdade é o oposto do que temos nas tais plataformas. Já tem sido dito em alto e bom som que estes são espaços privados, e não públicos. As plataformas têm donos, endereço, com rosto,e até perfis de super vilões de gibis, e estes podem inclusive arbitrariamente lhe calar neste espaço. Não pensem que as tais “regulamentações da internet”, que acontecem em todo o mundo, virão para melhorar isto, mas pelo contrário, acho que virão para dar ainda mais poder arbitrário aos donos das plataformas, tudo em nome do combate à extrema direita, mas operado por aqueles que são “a outra” extrema direita, supostamente democrática. Nada que venha da burguesia vem para o bem, parece que tem um bocado de gente de "exquerda" que se esqueceu disso. Mas isso tbm dá outro assunto....

Em fim, a punição ao hyperlink para mim é um sinal de que a internet realmente morreu. Somos almas penadas das redes sociais, perambulando como se ainda estivéssemos vivos, balbuciando coisas ao vento enquanto nos alimentamos de velhas carcaças.

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English Version:

Zombie Internet

The internet of social networks is truly a living-dead thing—a zombie that serves large corporations more than anything else. Clearly, we serve these platforms, not the other way around.

For some time now, I’ve told myself that "it’s the price" I have to pay for many of my choices as an artist. If I have little reach, if my games or art don’t achieve economic success, if I live modestly, it’s partly a conscious choice to maintain some margin of freedom as an artist. And I emphasize some margin because I can’t fully own all my time either.

But that’s a topic for another conversation. What I want to highlight now, and it relates to those choices, is the fact that the biggest “platforms” on the internet today—Facebook, YouTube, etc.—are punishing users who post hyperlinks. And punishment is the right word, because on these platforms nowadays, there’s no such thing as “organic reach.” Instead, there are barriers that limit your reach to varying degrees. If you’re a “good content creator” and follow the current “guidelines”—what they consider the most desirable type of post—the platform will block you less. If not, the filter kicks in, and your reach is throttled.

I’ve been aware of this for months now and refuse to stop adding links to my posts. I find it degrading. The hyperlink was one of the great “inventions” of the internet—a technology that practically defined what the internet was (and used to be) and its interactions. That "world wide web" has definitively died and been resurrected as a zombie—a decaying carcass that drags itself around, now called “platforms” or “social networks.”

The hyperlink is one of the few ways we still have (or had, if you want to be a “successful content creator,” apparently) to make these platforms work, even slightly, for us. If I want to showcase my art or creations, I upload a video to YouTube, write on my blog, and then share the link on social networks. Or even post something on one network and then share the link on another.

It seems, however, that freedom is the opposite of what we have on these platforms. It has been loudly and clearly stated that these are private, not public, spaces. The platforms have owners, addresses, faces, and even profiles straight out of comic book supervillains. These owners can arbitrarily silence you in their domain. Don’t think that the so-called “internet regulations” being introduced worldwide will improve this situation. On the contrary, I believe they will grant even more arbitrary power to platform owners, all under the guise of combating the far right—yet enforced by those who are “the other” far right, supposedly democratic. Nothing that comes from the bourgeoisie brings good; it seems many on the “ex-left” have forgotten this.

Anyway, the punishment of hyperlinks, for me, is a sign that the internet is truly dead. We are the wandering souls of social networks, roaming as if we were still alive, mumbling into the void while feeding on old carcasses.

Obs: Não consegui fazer a postagem no Instagram, usando a mesma imagem e texto que usei nas outras "Plataformas". Tentei várias vezes, mudar a imagem, mas pelo visto eles não gostaram da minha postagem...

The Method is Part of the Work, and I Choose It Consciously

The Method is Part of the Work, and I Choose It Consciously

(Para o texto em português, clique aqui)

I felt like sharing something about my "method" of creating art, which perhaps not many people notice. Not because of anyone's "fault" or a failure on my part, but because there’s something about my work that isn’t just in the result itself, but it’s also in the means by which it is produced. This is not a new discussion in art studies, but my effort is to speak less to specialized audiences and more to people in general.

Preparing handcrafted booklets to take to fairs.

Getting straight to the point: I have never waited for ideal conditions or materials to bring an artistic idea to life. As far back as I can remember, I’ve adapted the tools and materials at hand to make things possible. To illustrate: if I didn’t have special pens and paper, I’d draw with ballpoint pens on scrap paper; if I didn’t have the right stapler for booklets, I’d invent a way to make them with a regular stapler. If I didn’t have a band to record my compositions, I’d program instruments on a computer, record guitar and vocals in a bathroom using a PC microphone and cardboard boxes, then edit the tracks and make a handmade CD of my songs. Similarly, when I lacked a team or the programming expertise to create a game, I used a "simple" game engine that I could learn and work with. In short, I work with whatever I have at hand.

For many years - decades, really - I’ve been aware of this: my method isn’t tied to style/technique A or B, or to drawing or painting, or to using this or that material. No, my approach is that "third-world" practice of squeezing blood from a stone. What defines my work is that I don’t rely on specific techniques, tools, or materials, but rather on doing things without money, adapting and often subverting materials and their intended uses.

I also know this is not unique to me; this is a common practice in the Global South. We cannot wait for ideal tools or equipment, which take ages or never arrive, so we use creativity to adapt and make things happen however we can.

My friend and fellow artist Luiz Souza best defined this "ethos" in his 2022 Manifesto of Anachronic Art. Of course, he delves much deeper, capturing and synthesizing much more of the spirit of our time, as self-cannibalizing capitalism becomes increasingly decadent and patched up with technological gadgets. In the Global South, we have always recycled the waste of the "metropoles" - both material and immaterial, especially from the imperialist cultural industry. We are scavengers of cultural trash that flows from the "metropoles" to us, the "colonies." Luiz’s work, mine, and that of other artists we know fall under anachronic art for many reasons. I highly recommend reading his manifesto to reflect more deeply on these issues (portuguese only, try a translator).

Thus, my approach - adapting and using materials to make works possible within my limits of time, physical ability, and financial resources - is an integral part of the work, not just the final result. Aware of this, I’ve long taken it upon myself to share this process as an example, especially for younger people or those from similar social classes. Without arrogance, I see this as a pedagogical task. I strive to do this without glorifying precarity; of course, when I have access to better materials and tools, I use them. And I wouldn’t turn down better financial conditions to enable my projects. But I can’t sit around waiting for that miracle - life moves on, and I need to create.

Sometimes, I even make a point of embracing the precariousness to highlight this pedagogical and independent aspect of my work. Why make booklets by hand if I could have them printed professionally? Why create musical instruments out of scrap when I could buy proper materials and tools for luthiery? Why make a game for 1980s computers when modern ones have no graphical or memory limitations? Well, one reason is to reduce costs, time, and production complexity. Another is to show that it’s possible - and desirable - to create autonomously without waiting for perfect conditions. I have no issue with my work achieving some "success" and earning decent money (which hasn’t happened yet), but I don’t care if my game or any other art of mine doesn’t conform to industry trends or isn’t considered a "professional" product by market standards.

This reminds me of something I’ve said before but want to repeat: the industry, especially the cultural industry, is very effective at creating "quality standards" that alienate lower-class people from artistic production. Don’t let this hold you back. Forget the industry’s standards - what theyr products may offer in production quality, which money can buy, they lose in creativity, authenticity and connection to real people, as they aim for imaginary "audiences."

Anakrônik Arcade Machine: practical and a work of art in itself.

(Inspired by Pedro Paiva’s work - check out his blog.)

To wrap up, since I currently focus primarily on game creation, it’s important to note that I make these retro, anachronic games in the style of 1980s and 1990s video games not so much out of nostalgia but out of this third-world ethos. I use a game engine like MPAGD to make games for ZX Spectrum and MSX, not because I’m nostalgic for something I didn’t live through (and I didn’t, despite my age; while I grew playing Atari 2600, I only discovered these 1980s 8-Bit computers and their games in the 2000s through the internet and emulators). Rather, I do this because it’s accessible: the "precarity" and memory limitations force a project scope that I can realistically achieve with limited time and resources.

Yes, I’m a nerd for old video games, and I love the challenge of making games within the graphical and processing constraints of those systems. But as an artist conscious of my method and how it’s inseparable from the final product, I’m also driven by aesthetic and ethical motivations in art. I "enjoy" using precarious materials, but not merely out of preference or ecological recycling concerns, as with my musical instruments. My motivations are rooted in social struggle, social class, our place in the world we must navigate, and the necessity of getting the most out of the least.

A mix of decades-old "obsolete" technologies.

O método é parte do trabalho, e eu escolho de forma consciente.

 O método é parte do trabalho, e eu escolho de forma consciente.

(for English version click here)

 

Me deu vontade de explicitar aqui algo do meu “método” de criar arte, que talvez poucas pessoas percebam. Não por "culpa" de ninguém, nem uma falha minha, mas é que tem algo do meu trabalho que não está apenas no trabalho em si, mas já pelos meios em que o trabalho é produzido. Essa é uma discussão já realizada no meio das artes, não é nova, mas meu esforço é falar menos com o público especialziado, e sim com as pessoas em geral.

 

Preparando livrinhos artesanais para levar à feiras.

 

Indo direto ao ponto: eu nunca esperei pelas condições ou materiais ideais para realizar uma ideia de criação artística, e desde que me lembre adapto os materiais e ferramentas para tornar a coisa possível. Vou exemplificar: se eu não tinha uma caneta e papel especial, desenhava com esferográfica e folha de formulário; se não tinha um grampeador ideal para fazer livrinhos, criava uma técnica pra fazer o livrinho com grampeador comum; se não tinha banda para tocar e gravar minhas composições, gravava e programava os instrumentos no computador, gravando guitarra e voz no banheiro, dentro de caixas de papelão com microfone de PC, editava as faixas e criava um CD artesanal com minhas composições; ou quando não tive equipe com programador, ou a expertise de programação, para me ajudar a criar um game, utilizei uma “engine” simples qye me era possível de aprender e utilizar, só pra dar alguns exemplos. Eu faço com o que tenho a mão.

 

E já a muitos e muitos anos, décadas, que eu tenho consciência disso: meu método não é o estilo/técnica A ou B, fazer desenho ou pintura, usar esse ou aquele material, não, meu procedimento é aquele “terceiro mundista” de tirar leite de pedra. O que define meu trabalho é que eu não me prendo a técnias, ferramentas ou materiais específicos, mas realizar as coisas sem ter dinheiro, adaptando e por vezes até subvertendo os materiais e seus usos.

 

Sei também que isto não é uma exclusividade minha: esse é um procedimento típico no terceiro mundo. Não temos como esperar pelos equipamentos ou ferramentas ideais, que aqui demoram ou nunca chegam, então usamos a criatividade para adaptar e fazer do jeito que for possível.

 

Meu amigo também artista Luiz Souza é quem melhor definiu essa “índole” ao redigir o “Manifestoda Arte Anacrônica”, em 2022. Claro que ele traz coisas muito além, captando e sintetizando muito mais do espírito do nosso tempo, na medida em que o capitalismo autofágico se torna mais e mais decadente e remendado com bugigangas tecnológicas. No terceiro mundo nós sempre reciclamos o lixo das metrópoles, tanto o lixo material quanto o imaterial, principalmente da indústria cultural imperialista. Somos catadores de lixo cultural que emanam das “metrópoles” para nós, as “colônias”. O trabalho do Luiz, o meu e de outros artistas que conhecemos, se enquadram como arte anacrônica por vários de seus motivos. Mas aconselho a ler o manifesto no link acima, para melhor refletir sobre estas questões.

 

Sendo assim, meu procedimento, a forma de adaptar e usar os materiais para tornar os trabalhos possíveis dentro dos meus limites de tempo, físicos, e de grana, é parte integrante do trabalho, e não apenas o resultado final. Consciente disso, a tempos que tomei por tarefa mostrar um pouco desse procedimento para dar o exemplo, principalmente para aqueles mais jovens e/ou oriundos da mesma classe social. Sem arrogância, eu encaro isso como tarefa pedagógica. Me esforço a fazer isso sem realizar uma apologia à precariedade, pois é claro que quando tenho acesso a melhores materiais e ferramentas eu as tomo em minhas mãos. Nem dispensaria uma condição financeira melhor para viabilizar meus projetos, mas não posso esperar sentado por esse milagre, pois a vida passa, e eu tenho nececidade de criar.

 

Muitas vezes até faço questão da coisa mais precária, para não abandonar e explicitar esta face pedagógica e independente de meu trabalho - Por que fazer os livrinhos de forma artesanal se posso pedir eles prontos na gráfica? Por que criar instrumentos musicais com sucatas, se eu poderia comprar materiais e ferramentas de luthieria? Por que fazer um game para computadores dos anos 80 se nos computadores modernos não há limitações gráficas e de memória?  - Uma para reduzir custos/tempo/estrutura de produção, e outra para mostrar que dá e é desejável fazer com autonomia e sem esperar as condições perfeitas. Nada contra minha produção alcançar algum “sucesso” e me render uma grana digna (o que ainda não acontece), mas dane-se se meu game, ou qualquer outra arte minha, não pode circular nos meios da moda ou ser considerado um produto "profissional" aos moldes do mercado.

 

E isso me lembra algo que já falei antes mas quero repetir: a indústria, em especial a indústria cultural, é bastante eficaz em criar “padrões de qualidade” que alienam as pessoas de classes inferiores da produção artística. Então, não se prendam por isto, dane-se os padrões da indústria, o que eles de fato tem de qualidade de produção que o dinheiro pode comprar, perdem em autenticidade e diálogo com a realidade das pessoas, pois miram em "públicos” imaginários.

Fliperama Anakrôniko, prático e objeto de arte em si.

(Inspirado no trabalho do Pedro Paiva, veja em seu blog)

 

Pra fechar, já que atualmente me dedico prioritariamente à criação de games, é preciso lembrar que faço este jogo retrô, anacrônico, aos moldes do videogame dos anos 80 e 90, muito menos por nostalgia, e mais por esta índole terceira mundista. Eu utilizo um motor de jogo como o MPAGD, e faço jogos para o ZX Spectrum e o MSX, não por saudade do que não vivi (e de fato não vivi, apesar de velho e ter conhecido videogames com o Atari eu só fui conhecer estes computadores dos anos 1980 e seus jogos a partir dos anos 2000, através da internet e emuladores), mas por que me é acessível: a “precariedade” e limitações de memória me obrigam a um escopo de projeto possível de ser realizado sem ter muito tempo ou dinheiro para tanto.

 

Sim, eu sou nerd de videogames antigos, e também adoro o desafio de fazer os jogos dentro das restrições gráficas e de processamento destes. Mas como artista consciente do meu método, e de que ele não se desvencilha do produto final, sou movido também por motivos estéticos e éticos da arte. Eu “gosto” de usar o material precário, mas não é apenas por gosto, nem apenas por espírito “ecológico” de reciclagem como no caso de meus instrumentos musicais, mas sim por motivações de cunho social, de classe social, de condição dentro do mundo em que temos de viver, e de uma necessidade de tirar o máximo do mínimo.

Mix de décadas de tecnologias "obsoletas" 

XIV Retro SC, Florianópolis, Novembro de 2024

XIV  Retro SC, Florianópolis, Novembro de 2024

Como de costume, mais uma Retro SC. É sempre legal ir e rever a galera que já tem participado a muitos anos (eu desde 2018) deste evento que só cresce, e também conhecer outras pessoas. As edições recentes  abriu espaço para desenvolvedores de jogos retrô, não importando se os jogos são feitos para sistemas modernos ou não, desde que remetam aos jogos do passado de alguma forma, e então agente vai conhecendo outros desenvolvedores da região.

Abaixo um breve registro de minha presença no evento:

Até a próxima retro SC...

(Para ler o texto em português clique aqui)

Marlow ZX “Post Mortem” or Reports and Reflections on the Creation Process

Buy the game on itchio: https://amaweks.itch.io/marlow-zx

After working on Bruxólico, a big game project for the ZX Spectrum, which also involved all the work of creating a narrative, book, and countless illustrations, I wanted a smaller project. I thought that Marlow in Apocalyptic Acid World would be a quick and straightforward project, something to complete in two months of "hyperfocus." I couldn’t have been more wrong.

A Super Mario clone is not as simple as you may think

By today's standards, Super Mario (1985) seems like a simple game. After all, you just jump on platforms and enemies to defeat them, right? But the truth is that this type of game requires a series of different interactions between the player and various objects, such as breakable blocks, enemies, power-ups, platforms, etc., etc., etc. Making all of this fit into a ZX Spectrum game, or even a small NES cartridge like Super Mario (40Kb), is a huge puzzle that can only be solved with careful planning about what to include, what to leave out, and what should be reused multiple times in the game. Making the game for PC, as I did in 2016, is a bit simpler because you have access to many more resources for graphics, sounds, screens. But making it for systems with limited memory is a whole different story.

“Test pixel art for sprites aiming to minimize animations and thus optimize memory usage”.

A lesson in game and level design

Both in its many successes and innovations for its time, as well as its "mistakes," which Shigeru Miyamoto tried to fix in subsequent versions of Super Mario on the NES and SNES, the 1985 game is widely recognized as a lesson in game design. So, my first task was think about this, trying to understanding what I should modify for my own purposes and limitations.

The so-called "simple" mechanics of a game like Marlow are not exactly "that simple," and as you start programming, you begin to notice exceptions within exceptions that are needed in the code, making everything much more complex. The player breaks blocks with their head, but only when they are "rising" from the jump, not when they are falling. There are different types of blocks that give different items, even when the block uses the same graphic (which, to avoid wasting memory, cannot be repeated). There's also the interaction with enemies: some can be defeated by jumping on their heads, others only with the Molotov, and some are invincible. To complicate matters, Marlow has 3 different forms, and each form brings its own exceptions in interactions due to altered speed and the Molotov. And then there are the underwater levels, where jumping and the speed of everything are modified. Not to mention the moving platforms in different directions. When you combine all of this, the modest ZX Spectrum struggles, partly because of its limited processing power and partly due to my limitations as a programmer and the MPAGD engine, although I tried to optimize all these exceptions, which certainly added a lot of code to the program.

“Planning to fit the screen sequence into the limited MPAGD map, which provides space for 8x16 screens for the full map”.

A common practice in game and level design is the gradual layering of challenges and obstacles. You take simple obstacles and challenges, introducing them one at a time, from the easiest to the hardest, and then start combining them in different ways. In Marlow, with the current engine I use (MPAGD Gen2), I was able to get about 40 unique game screens, a limited amount for a dynamic game. Therefore, as usual, I had to "recycle" screens, repeating them with small changes, like a new enemy or a block with a different item. For this reason, I chose to make the final screens of the level (the screen with the antenna mast and the one before it) as standard screens, but also aware that this creates a certain effect: when the player recognizes these screens, they know they are close to the end of the level, which changes their sense of urgency. I believe, depending on the person and their previous moment in the game, this can either bring a sense of relief or increase their tension.

“Hand made level planning for the first stage of episode 2 with screen repetitions and modifications”

Super Mario is a game designed with screen scrolling in mind. Marlow, on the other hand, is designed for its main stages to use the "flip screen" format, where there is no screen scrolling (camera movement) and you move from one screen to another as if flipping the pages of a book. This changes some considerations when planning the challenges: the player enters a new screen and must look and "read" everything in front of him, understanding how the elements relate to each other, and then decide on a course of action. Unlike screen scrolling, which brings new elements into the player's "horizon," requiring more dynamic adaptation, here the player almost separates these actions: identifying the elements and then acting. However, when they reach the end of the screen and "turn the page," a new screen presents itself with many new elements at once, requiring quick thinking or a pause to reflect. The result, I believe, is this almost distinct separation between evaluation and action, something that happens more simultaneously in a scrolling game but in a more fragmented way, since the player doesn’t have that first moment of seeing the entire screen at once. This is something that reminds me of the "page-turning" effect of a book or comic, and it brought to mind the strategies of surprise, breaking, and continuity present in those other media.

The memory limitations and the need to "recycle" graphics and code also made me think about the game's "bosses." Super Mario also recycles a lot of screens and content to fit into 40 KB, to the point that the 8 stage bosses are always the same: Bowser on a bridge in the castle, or false Bowsers, with the eighth being the final and true villain, always in his castle. Thus, I felt comfortable repeating elements as well: instead of castles, Marlow has towers, and the stage bosses are different (though fundamentally similar, using the eye sprite), with the towers preceding them being the same. Just like in Super Mario, the boss battles are short (though slightly and gradually longer), serving more as a stage-ending marker than an long challenge. It’s no coincidence that I placed the higher difficulty in the elevator section that ascends the tower, keeping the bosses relatively easy to defeat.

“Screenshot of the first boss in Marlow”

To conclude this part, I wanted to talk about the stages. I also created a structure similar to the one in the first Super Mario, where each of the 8 worlds essentially repeats the same sequence: an "overworld" stage, a second underground or underwater stage, a third stage on “ hills” or with more bottomless pits, and the fourth stage inside a castle with a boss at the end. In Marlow, I also chose to have the overworld stage first, followed by an underground or underwater stage, with the third stage simulating a "forced horizontal scroll" (to add variety and have a different kind of stage, using some extra code but saving many screens), and the tower stage replacing the castle stages.

Another important detail: in the early Mario games, the stages don’t have names, just numbers: 1-1, 1-2, 1-3, etc. The game displays the “World” number followed by the stage number. This changes in Super Mario World on the SNES, where areas have their own titles, giving them more personality. However, my inspiration for naming the stages in Marlow came from another source: Sonic the Hedgehog on the Mega Drive. I believe Sonic evolved this idea by giving stages names that contribute to create the game’s universe. They function like the title of a painting in a gallery: the title of an artwork can be an important element, even changing the meaning of the image. With that in mind, I chose the names for Marlow's stages, even though it eats up precious memory, as all text is “expensive” in terms of memory in the game’s programming within MPAGD.

Narrative elements and cultural references

I wanted to start this part by talking about something I value and take great care with, which is always doing at least a fast research on the cultural references I use to create my game or any other work of art. I do this for two reasons: one, because I consider it the bare minimum, the “homework” of any conscious creator, and also because I want to be careful and respectful towards objects or cultures from groups I may not belong to. Recently, someone commented on social media that they found my use of music in Marlow "brilliant," which I’ve already detailed here on the blog. I thought about it for a while because, honestly, I don’t consider myself a genius, and this isn’t false modesty. As I said, what I did I see as the "homework"— the minimum research that should be done. It doesn't have to be in-depth research, but the basics, like doing a quick internet search, reading something on Wikipedia, and taking notes of the the main information. For Marlow's music, I did all of this in one morning. When someone called me a genius for doing the basics, I wondered: if people think that’s genius, am I the one-eyed man in the land of the blind? I really hope not; it's more that many people simply lack the practice.

Well, Marlow, the main character, is an anarchist in an apocalyptic, dystopian future. It's worth mentioning that I’m not personally an anarchist, nor a great reader of Bakunin or other thinkers in the field. At most, I have an personal nature that was influenced by the punk culture of the 80s, which "exuded" fragments of anarchist thought, as well as a typical 90s grunge nihilism — both sources I drew directly or indirectly as a teen. But I tried to represent Marlow's anarchism with the respect that any culture or ideology deserves. If Alan Moore can use these references, as he did in creating V for Vendetta, why couldn't I do something similar?

But let's go back to Super Mario. Reflecting on it, I came to a conclusion that might be obvious but had never crossed my mind: the world Miyamoto created is clearly inspired by Alice in Wonderland, more the Disney version than Lewis Carroll’s, it’s important to note. Whether this was a direct or indirect inspiration, the fact is that Super Mario still carries a kind of surrealism that’s almost psychedelic, although significantly toned down for a children’s audience crafted by the cultural industry. With this in mind, it’s clear that Marlow also needed to have this surrealism character even more explicitly. It’s no coincidence that I ambiguously included "Acid" in the game’s subtitle.

“On the left, Disney's Alice (1951) in a world with giant mushrooms and strange creatures, on the right, a scene from the Super Mario movie (2023)”

An idea I’ve had since I started making games in 2013 is to take classic game genres and styles (at least classic to me), like Super Mario, Castlevania, Mega Man, and others, replicate their gameplay mechanics, but insert my own original universe, with characters and narrative situations that interest me and are culturally more diverse. Now, I love these games — they left a mark on me, and I can still play them (when I have the time and patience). But now I’m 43 years old and I can recognize that they don’t have adult content — they are at most products aimed for teens, although they sometimes do have potential for more.

And this is one of Marlow's principles: to play like a Super Mario game, but changes for a more mature content. Instead of a somewhat “harmless” character, in the Disney mold, like Nintendo’s plumber, we have Marlow, an anarchist who throws molotov cocktails and attacks the bourgeoisie. Instead of the cute "mushroom world," we have an apocalyptic world, somewhat more surreal and psychedelic like in Mario, but with different content. The castles, a representation of the monarchy that lost power to the bourgeoisie in the past, are replaced by "panopticon towers," from which the “landlords” (not “bosses” anymore) surveil that world or society.

“Towers where the characters from "The Jetsons" live, a utopian and futuristic vision of the "American dream" that has always left me wondering: but what’s in the world below the towers?”.

I also need to talk a bit about the music and how it composes the game world. We know that the 1985 Nintendo game has iconic and memorable tracks. The game starts its "overworld" levels with an upbeat song, in major scales, that creates a desire in the player to advance. The underground levels feature music that builds tension and expectation, signaling to the player that they should act with caution. The water level theme is a waltz, with its 3/4 musical meter, slower and accompanying the player’s movement in the water. Finally, the castle music is the most tense, alerting the player that they are within the enemy’s base. I used this same structure, also taking into account the origins of each piece of music.

As I’ve already published here on the blog, the music in Marlow isn’t my original creation. They are all melodies from anarchist or antifascist resistance songs from the 19th and 20th centuries. It made perfect sense to choose these songs, as they contribute to Marlow's relationship with the anarchist tradition. All songs are in the public domain and often borrowed melodies from other popular, even older, songs. I researched and listened to these and others, and then made a selection considering what I mentioned about the music of Super Mario in the previous paragraph. The only song that deviates from this is "Bella Ciao," which I use in the forced horizontal scrolling phases. Here, the connection came from Super Mario 3 on NES, which features similar levels with an accelerated song that creates a sense of urgency. Finally, I wrote and programmed the version for the ZX Spectrum’s sound chip (3 channels of square waves and white noise) for each of the chosen songs, adjusting their tempo and rhythm to my needs while keeping the melody recognizable. The details of each track are in the synthesis of the research I conducted and published on the blog and in the game’s “read-me.txt” file (click here to access the post). 

Anachronistic Videogame

As a final chapter of this post-mortem of the game, I want to recall the dialogue this work has with the "Manifesto of Anachronistic Art," by the Gang do Lixo group, of which I was a part, and which was mainly written by my friend Luiz Souza. He succinctly captures things that embody the spirit of our time, which are becoming increasingly urgent, especially in light of the dehumanizing changes of capitalism, such as these AI technologies. I recommend reading the manifesto (click here to read the manifesto) for anyone interested in the following paragraphs (click here to read the manifesto).

As Luiz Souza summarized, never before in history have we had such an accumulation of reproducible culture that is, in a way, accessible as it has been in the age of the internet. We might have had books and paintings, but cinema, recorded music, cheap prints like newspapers and comic books have left us with a varied and diverse accumulation, partly due to their reproducibility and subsequent digitization and availability online. Yes, a lot of "garbage" from the cultural industry has shaped my generation, especially in the third world, where we had limited access to other cultural goods that could balance out the packaged content shown on TV. However, we became specialists in cultural trash, sifting through interesting fragments, quotes from other classic or contemporary art works amidst the morning cartoons, video games, radio music, etc. We are cultural trash miners. It's worth noting that, like any mining operation, this process can be somewhat violent and fraught with problems. I will return to the topic of the Manifesto of Anachronistic Art before concluding.

One of the inspirations for Marlow is the work of my friend Pedro Paiva (Click here to access Pedro's Blog). Pedro has been doing a very, very important job in the Brazilian Indie video game scene. Like myself, he weaves together references from pop culture, especially from the peripheries, with references from art history and his political readings, infused with fantastic humor, without getting caught up in trends, truly doing independent work. In addition, he reflects on and shares experiences with arcade machines to get his games to the streets. What Pedro does is, to me, an anachronistic video game in the sense of the aforementioned manifesto. I need to make it clear that when I created the first version of Marlow in 2016, I was also inspired by Pedro's work.

"Telethugs, a game by Pedro Paiva that appropriates elements of pop culture and subverts their use".

Returning to the topic, the Manifesto of Anachronistic Art was completed and published in 2022 not by coincidence: it marked the one hundredth anniversary of the Modernist Manifesto, a document in the history of Brazilian Art that resonates to this day, echoing in movements like Tropicália and Manguebeat, both of which, in their time, updated and connected their ideas to the social realities of Brazil. I say this to clarify: our manifesto of 2022 also carries a political message that emphasizes the importance of local culture, without closing ourselves off or neglecting to "consume" the culture of others. But, as it is well stated there, now it is necessary to anthropophagize not only through geographical space, seeing the other as foreign, but also to anthropophagize through time: others are also ourselves in time.

This already happens, even if unconsciously, and its assertiveness became even clearer starting in 2023 with the "boom" of image automation technologies and other productions. These so-called AIs (sic), which are not conscious intelligences as some think, but automation programs for generating cultural products based on vast databases of human production of images, texts, videos, and other content available on the internet, articulated by algorithms and technologies that reconstruct something from fragments. These technologies "consume" all the culture that the Manifesto of Anachronistic Art refers to, and literally vomit a mash. Much in the spirit of our time, this is an unconscious anachronistic use of people by these tools (did I mean that people use AIs or that AIs use people? I don't even know). The manifesto becomes even more relevant as it calls people to adopt a conscious stance in cultural creation that is anthropophagic in both time and space. We need to consciously utilize this repertoire of human production that has been stolen by large technology monopolies, but as human beings, to continue creating human art in the face of the flood of automated and vomited production that will fall upon us.

I believe that the Marlow game for the ZX Spectrum is my most recent attempt in this regard, as are my previous works and those of Pedro and other artist friends from various fields who follow the same path. I think that against this future of AIs (sic), we must create by reappropriating and using the cultural repertoire that the Manifesto of Anachronistic Art discusses and from which they try to alienate us, inundating us with fifth-hand products. Ultra-processed culture is the new stage of capitalism under AIs (sic), a step beyond the packaged products of the 80s and 90s. I always mention, when creating new games for obsolete machines, programmed obsolescence and how counterproductive it is for aesthetic advancement. However, what this future of AIs (sic) tends to do is not just render cultures obsolete but to render certain social strata (always the lowest, and now finally the proletarian layer of the "middle class") obsolete in capitalism. When you become obsolete, what remains?

I conclude with an appeal in line with the Manifesto of Anachronistic Art: create art, make your creations with the materials and skills you have at your disposal, no matter if they are trash or if you think what you produce is "ugly." Any "ugly" human product is better than AI (sic) mash. Have a third-worldist mindset, akin to those who live off the scraps of capitalism in the suburbs and urban peripheries: create with the raw materials you have available. If I had waited for ideal conditions, I would never have made a single game, nor would I have left my banking job to pursue a degree in the arts, nor would I have produced everything I have during this time and even before. Since childhood, I have drawn with whatever pen and paper I had on hand, even if it was lined paper or advertising flyers, following the example of my father, who I always saw drawing on any paper or during any free time he had. Also, consciously seek to appropriate the cultural accumulation of humanity that is available on the internet, for that is still (still) what we have at our disposal. Don’t wait, and don’t be precious about raw materials, whether material or cultural.

Amaweks, Florianópolis, October 2024