This is the text from four Bitsy games made in service of Nicholas Aloisio-Shearer's work.
• • •
Making a Tapestry
Tapestries are ancient things.
Each looped thread a remnant of the time and labour of making.
No broad strokes, just repeating micro movements.
Up, down, left, right. Weaving is simple, but interlacing threads into intricate designs is infinitely complex.
Tactile. Pliable. Drape-able. Shroud-able. Transportable.
Functional.
And so the narratives depicted in their threads grew deep roots across continents, across generations, across history.
Their stories and aesthetics helped establish traditions of western iconography and religion across medieval Europe.
Miracles abound within tapestries. Unicorns walk with maidens. Battles are courageously won. Royalty hunt elusive game and celebrate their wealth.
Miracles abound around tapestries. We may do and undo our weaving, like Penelope, delaying time itself in the micro movements of threads.
There is poetry here.
We know these fables. Spinning flax, spinning gold, spinning webs, spinning fate. A spun thread can lead to the centre of the labyrinth.
Spectacular stories, Allegories of divinity. God-given victories. Fantastical fabrications.
Their telling in gem-coloured threads is so intentional and sophisticated, we are compelled to believe them.
Human connection is palpable when standing before something woven with glory and community in mind.
We retell these stories depicted. Enduring shared social moments led by art, propelling and preserving cultures.
They are masterpieces.
• • •
New Character
Hey!
You ready to play??
Oh yeah, I have to pick my avatar.
New game, new world … new body.
I’ll just pick the TRAVELLER, right?
A standard every-man character, perfect for a protagonist.
No one will judge me if I choose a basic form.
I can just flatten my own identity onto this body and focus on the game itself…
Ugh, but how will I match up to other players if I do that?
I’ll pick a character that makes me look cool, like the FIGHTER.
I’ll be courageous and kill the bad guys and get the babes!
Or maybe I could BE a babe and pick the SORCERESS?
Like, as a joke. . . ‘cause it’d be funny to play a woman!
Wear a dress that shows off my virtual boobs. . .
But then I’d have to role-play as a babe. . .
I don’t think I want to be objectified in a fantasy game.
I’ll just be the THIEF. Explore the world in stealth-mode.
But. . . I don’t want to skulk through the storyline, I want to move freely and without fear!
I want to be not-me, in a fantasy world.
I want to exist free of any in-game politics that resemble my real world.
I want to be the SLIME.
I want to be a body that has no history.
no burden of social hierarchies.
As close as possible to the primordial jumble of code that makes up this game.
Formless and transformable.
I refuse to perform a version of myself for others.
Amongst countless anonymous avatars, I will represent myself simply by existing.
Only then can I grow based on my actions.
Only then can I re-expand my identity within a new world.
Only then can I self-actualise as SLIME.
• • •
The Frog Priest's Tale
FROG PRIEST:
Hello young one. What brings you to this desolate land?
You must be in search of the fabled power of transformation!
’tis by this way, surely, and I shall not stop you.
But as you go, I wish to tell you a story of three brothers who sought the same prize…
Three brothers set out to conquer what they perceived as their greatest weaknesses.
Walking together they spoke of how they would kill their failings with this fabled power.
The eldest led the way.
He wished to protect his family (and to keep his place as the leader).
He would transform his own body to become the strongest, and in doing so maintain the status quo…
The next brother (wretched in the middle) also wished for power, but instead of muscles he sought to transform his hammer.
If his hammer became the greatest weapon of all time, he could change his fortune…
And then came the youngest brother, who thought himself the smartest.
He kept his mouth closed, not wishing to share his plan.
After a time walking, they came upon an old oak tree. . .
Here they found the precious power of transformation nestled amongst the roots.
The eldest brother approached the tree and declared his wish for physical power.
Instantly his skin began to stretch over newly bulging grotesque muscles.
His flesh folded in on itself and his bones shattered and he perished on the spot.
The next brother saw his chance and approached the tree with his trusty hammer.
The hammer glowed and indeed became the most powerful weapon to be seen in this world.
Alas his body crumpled beneath the weight of the monstrous weapon and he perished on the spot.
Finally, the youngest, who thought himself the smartest (oh, but not the wisest!) stepped forward to the tree.
He sought not to transform something physician but to increase his very intelligence by transforming his mind.
But, no! Even he could not outwit this gift!
Time took its toll as he was frozen in ceaseless calculations, his body starved and he perished on the spot.
So, you must now see the theme of my tale.
Selfish transformation will spell your doom.
Do not continue if you seek to transform yourself -
for acting in your own interest is the root of evil!
Yes! Leave this wretched place now.
Consider instead the power you already have to transform the world around you.
Please, tell my tale to all who need to hear it.
For we all love ancient stories.
To remember and to share and to tell again and again.
• • •
A Tale of Curses, Tyranny and Sorrow
A game is a poem, or. . .
Poetry is a game.
But tales are curses, tyranny and sorrow.
A single thing can be infinitely malleable.
There is no need to fit one type or mould.
No one should desire the burden of genre.
It’s so easy to tell a tale before understanding the ending.
A story is a war campaign,
or… War is a story.
Reading so deeply, you overlook the application.
Unpick and re reweave these memories.
They are not your own, but inherited.
Interrogate that single grand moment made legend.
Share instead a single private thought.
Its connections persist in all you do.
Abandon the goal. Stop collecting the prizes.
These morals weren’t written for you.
These treasures were never meant for you.
Who wins when a story ends?
This story has no end.
It will only transform into something true.
• • •
By Hannah Jenkins
@hiijenks