By Gaby Barrios

Quarantine has shown me all the ways a story can be told. A good story can live in the pages of a book, in the words of a social media post, or among the lines of a drawing. At the start of quarantine, I promised myself that I would produce a work of art every day. Though this started as a way to cope with the long stretches of working from home and worrying, it has become a self care ritual that brings me closer to others. I draw the everyday habits that make up my life. Things like painting my nails or doing laundry become the main highlights of my days. By placing them on social media, I like to think these images speak to my friends and family, telling them that the minutia of their lives deserves recognition and celebration. Nowadays I wash the dishes, clean my bathroom, and fold laundry just to have a sense of normalcy. When I draw these daily tasks, I try to show the ways in which they can be beautiful and the way they have always been interesting.

Por Enmanuel R. Arjona

Este post fue publicado originalmente en milenguanativa.com.

El filósofo, historiador y académico por excelencia mexicano, experto reconocido en materia del pensamiento y la literatura de la cultura náhuatl, fallecería el pasado primero de octubre del 2019 en la Ciudad de México a sus 93 años.

Desde 1988, se desempeñó como investigador emérito de la Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, recibió la Medalla Belisario Domínguez en 1995, y desde el 23 de marzo de 1971 fue miembro del Colegio Nacional, institución para cuyo ingreso presentó la ponencia La historia y los historiadores en el México antiguo. Su obra más famosa, la visión de los vencidos, ha sido editada veintinueve veces y traducida a una docena de idiomas. Logró reconocimiento a través de la traducción, interpretación y publicación de varias recopilaciones de obras en náhuatl. Encabezó un movimiento para entender y revaluar la literatura náhuatl, no solo de la era precolombina, sino también la actual, ya que el náhuatl sigue siendo la lengua materna de 1,5 millones de personas.

By Domingo de Ramos

          On the road, smoky, more like oily
from Altamira where the little light
forms dreamy partitions in the dust
I grew up one of a kind on the ground-level trembling
grainy abolished and fictionalized
without opal to polish myself
I pulled myself up like a house under the moon
and I said to Diego Is this island or sea?
pointing to the scale model where a recently cut
breadcrumb was floating
No- he mumbled moving his pearly snout
it is Altamira and palpitating cherubs
getting submerged in the glow of streetlights
that turned the air into the mist
of cinemas paradisos and Diego who was more
profound than silence grabbed the whirlwind
demonized from fictions and his city imagined
his equestrian statue among the heaps
and in a click pushed away what was overwhelming him