Yara.

I created her facing forward, against a clean background: on a t-shirt she reads at a glance. What you're wearing is a black caiman who minds her own business, unshaken by anything. In her story, Yara keeps another quiet trade besides mixing: keeping sound alive so it doesn't go out. She looks after what others made without stepping in front of it, and she doesn't talk about that; you can tell from how she listens before she touches anything.

Back in Manaus she didn't record anything of her own for three weeks. On the fourth she opened the first moldy tape, cleaned it with alcohol, and ran it through a borrowed tape head. It took her eight months: fourteen hours of songs no one sang anymore. She didn't publish it or upload it; she sent it to a museum with a written condition, that only whoever asked for it could listen. That quiet stubbornness is what you carry when you wear Yara, and there's more about her in her biography; she's part of a whole family of characters, and I have more Animal Kinhood t-shirts.