Unlike water, air, and fire, the term "earth" immediately presents us with its ambiguity, its dual meaning.
Within the family of elements, it serves as an obvious reference to the substance 'earth.' However, its most immediate connotation, as highlighted in the editorial of this second ANIMATAzine, is that of our planet. These two meanings are intricately linked, with its etymology likely stemming from Tersa (and the Indo-European root tars- meaning to be dry or to dry up), signifying dry matter in contrast to aqueous matter.
Let's pause here, in a state of dynamic equilibrium, to consider the primary meaning of earth matter. As any gardener would attest, it's a broad term encompassing a myriad of varieties: from sandy to clayey, loamy to ferruginous, calcareous, and beyond.

On a figurative level, as I delve into these earthly themes, I'm reminded of the poetic imagery found in a puppeteer's manual, such as that of Patrizio Dall'Argine. It opens with the evocative image of the puppeteer-tree, firmly rooted in the ground yet reaching skyward, releasing its creations from the constraints of gravity.
Earth and sky—an inevitable motif—each calling to the other in a symbiotic dance (a dynamic not as pronounced with the other elements).

Earth matter maintains profound connections—mythical, literary, and symbolic—with figures. One could argue that it underpins origin myths. In a captivating collaborative project guided by the deft hand of Lise Guiot (alongside Emmanuelle Castang) for MANIP, we grappled with the Myth of the puppet.Foremost among these is the creation myth, an association so apparent that it borders on risky. Upon closer examination, the creation myth appears intertwined with the essence of puppetry itself (as explored in the sections of MANIP, spanning issues from 66 to 72).

In Western culture, this myth aligns with the biblical passages of Genesis, specifically those recounting the creation of Man over the six days. However, these passages are not in seamless harmony; they are juxtaposed by Philo of Alexandria, influenced by the Platonic tradition, in what is known as the motif of the Double Creation. The first passage (Genesis, I, 26) describes the creation of man "in the image and likeness" of God.
Conversely, the second passage (Genesis, II, 7) complicates this ideal purity by introducing a material and earthy mixture (cf. U. Artioli, Pirandello allegorico. I fantasmi dell'immaginario cristiano, Roma-Bari, Laterza, 2001, p. 59). Philo discerns in the first passage "the genesis of the pneumatic man, pure nous, incorporeal, and immortal essence," while in the second passage, he identifies "the man of flesh, exposed to corruption and death," a creation comprised of both pneuma and mud. This perspective devalues the creation, presenting a luminously complex and contradictory portrayal of human nature.

On the day when the Lord God made the earth and the heavens, no shrub of the field had yet appeared on the earth, and no plant of the field had yet sprung up, for the Lord God had not sent rain on the earth, and there was no one to work the ground; but streams came up from the earth and watered the whole surface of the ground. Then the Lord God formed a man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living being. (Genesis, II)

Thus, the earth, composed of dust from the ground, embodies the concept of 'genesis,' yet it also contains circularity within itself—similar to the seed that returns to the earth, so does humanity return 'composed.' I've long held the belief that coffins are a superfluous contrivance, hindering the return of bodies to their natural state, a sentiment not shared with animals. Those who have experienced rural life understand the sanctity of a garden corner where a beloved pet or bird has been laid to rest.

And God said, "Let the earth bring forth vegetation, plants yielding seed, and fruit trees bearing fruit in which is their seed, each according to its kind, on the earth." And it was so: the earth produced vegetation, plants yielding seed according to their own kinds, and trees bearing fruit in which is their seed, each according to its kind. And God saw that it was good. (Genesis, 1,11)

In the fertile earth, where sprouts emerge, let's revisit the realm of Figures.
In a captivating image crafted by Alessandra Amicarelli, the animated figure appears to spring forth from a handful of earth, delicately gathered by hand—an emblem of the animated arts.
This image seems to encapsulate the myth of the birth and resurrection of the botanical world, as well as the creation of humanity—man and woman—from mud, animated by breath and accompanied by hands.

The breath, or pneuma, a kin to wind and light, forms an intrinsic connection between earth and sky—indicating a journey towards the Air, leading inevitably to the "pneumatic" themes of the forthcoming Animatazine issue.

I have yet to explore creation myths in a comparative manner, but it strikes me as intriguing, particularly given their apparent absence of recurrence. It appears that, for the Sumerians, humanity was fashioned to cultivate the earth, with creation itself echoing the sprouting of life: Enlil tills the soil and sows the seeds of humanity, which burgeon like grass from the earth.

The creation myths surrounding Figures are intricately interwoven with these diverse narratives. Scientists, magicians, illusionists, genetic engineers—and indeed, creators of animated figures—embrace or inherit the mantle of the first Creator.
The enduring myths of puppets, from Frankenstein to Pinocchio, resonate deeply within our culture. Among the most venerable is the Golem, inspiring Iwan Goll's little-known satire Methusalem, where the Golem transforms into an Automaton.
Kabbalistic tradition traces the Golem back to representations linked to Adam's creation—either as a precursor or as Adam in an unformed state, untouched by divine breath.

Mud is that particular earth whose semantic resonance takes on negative, low, humble traits (humus, earth) all that world to which Franco Scaldati restores joy, kneading it with light. But also often populating it with puppets, figures, objects. The theatrical text Pupa Regina. Works of mud gives voice to 'figures' kneaded with mud and light.
Consider, too, the transformation of Mud into Light in Landscape with a Broken Brother by Teatro Valdoca, where Mariangela Gualtieri's words take shape on bodies cloaked in white dust.

But returning to the earth, let's reflect on the myth of the Puppet—a tale with myriad interpretations.
Kleist's Essay on the Marionette Theater introduces us to the angelic, airy puppet, escaping the constraints of earthly gravity, rendering the Author's perfect reasoning possible.

In this edition, Zahra Sabri's Count to One explores the transformative power of clay, capturing the moment of creation. Zahra evokes verses from the Iranian poet Omar Khayyām:

There is a Cup, that the Mind cries perfectand a hundred kisses of love give it on the forehead.
And this Potter of Time, such a gentle cupHe shapes it and then, cruelly, breaks it to the ground again.

Another creation myth is evoked—that of Butade, the potter from Pliny's tale, credited with the inception of portraiture. Of note is the beloved's double emerging from the clay, traced by the potter's daughter's shadow. An absent figure, animated by shadow and embodied in clay.

Alice Laloy's 2004 creation, D'états de femmes, narrates the genesis within the maternal belly—a space of creation, workshop, and landscape—hosting the passage of the female body, molded by the hands of performers. This process harmonizes with real-time composed music, set against a backdrop of chrysalis-like bulbs.

Brazil's project titled TERRA, awarded the Golden Lion for best national participation in the recent Architecture Biennale, embodies a multifaceted vision: "Terra as soil, ground, field, territory, courtyard—but also in its global and cosmic sense, as the planet and common home of all life, human and non-human.

Following, on planet Earth...