A bastardized quote:

How do we make beautiful films? General animation principles… are good enough to create elegance, but not beauty. Beauty requires an awareness of human affairs outside the studio.

…and another one:

When storytelling decisions aren’t made in reference to human concerns, they can only be made in reference to each other, leading to a self-referential bundle of nonsense suspended by a sky hook…

When we treat our stories as no more than conduits between human imaginations, grand vistas open up.

I’m pretty far removed from the main animation community, being an amateur who lives in the Midwest. But I do read some animation blogs and books here and there. Most seem to be concerned with industry related matters, or with technical issues. Rarely do any of them talk much about the big picture– why in the hell does anyone make or watch cartoons in the first place? Where does the original impulse come from? What is their real, useful function in the world, and how are they different from live-action films, comics, theater, and music?

It’s something I think about a lot. I find it helps me to put off doing my work.

Jaron Lanier is a computer programmer, musician, and humanist. Oddly, I think he has produced more inspiring and useful writing on these matters than (with a few exceptions) most animation critics — even though he’s usually talking about software. (also, he’d make a wonderful cartoon character, wouldn’t he?)

The bastardized quotes from above are from an essay he wrote for the Association for Computing Machinery, on the subject of “hope” in the next 50 years of computing. (with apologies to Mr. Lanier) I replaced a few words (”software” with “film,” etc.) and presto! the quotes apply to animation!

I suppose these particular exerpts are a bit like a fortune teller’s platitudes (”Love is precious to you…” “Love is precious to me! How did she know?!”) So, they would likely apply to just about any creative profession… try it at home!

Still, there are some strange parallels between the software and animation businesses. Both are faced with figuring out how to make money when everything can be duplicated and downloaded easily… Both are perpetually locked in struggles between the needs of large industrial proprietors, and those of the small, independent innovators off of whom they feed… If they expect to thrive, both must figure out how to escape the shadows and defy the legacies of some powerful, looming corporations (Microsoft and Disney)…

For me, all this reinforces the notion that there might be real human usefulness to be found in both fields. Maybe (as Mark Mayerson has suggested) animation has never warranted this kind of discussion. Maybe it’s all counter-productive navel-gazing, anyway.

I don’t know what my point is. I’m just putting off my work. I hope I have helped you put off your own for a few minutes. Get the hell back to it! Make something useful!

Below are the original quotes from Lanier’s essay. Alther them to suit your own creative profession!

Lanier:

How do we make beautiful software? General engineering principles… are good enough to create elegance, but not beauty. Beauty requires an awareness of human affairs outside the computer.

…and:

When software design decisions aren’t made in reference to human concerns, they can only be made in reference to each other, leading to a self-referential bundle of nonsense suspended by a sky hook…

When we treat information systems as no more than conduits between human imaginations, grand vistas open up.

The Mystery Work in Progress continues, at an agonizing pace, behind closed doors. (can you hear the weeping?)

In the mean time, here is another project that’ll be coming up next year. Tom Potter, an educator I knew and respected growing up, is making a documentary adaptation of a book called The Saber-Tooth Curriculum. Tom will direct and produce the documentary, and I will contribute an animated segment from a script he’s written.

Production is set to begin January 2008, so it’s still early in the process. Here is a link to the official site, as well as some very early style sketches:

Last year I made some pictures for a book my friend Scott Emmons wrote. It’s a collection of Greek myths in verse form, called Myth-Demeanors. So far, it’s unpublished, but we’re hoping that’s only temporary. Scott’s about the best writer of light verse we’ve got. He’s also, as it happens, an expert on Greek mythology and culture. So you’ll want to read these excerpts. If you like these, you can find more at Scott’s site, WordChowder.com, along with a bunch of his other excellent writing.

Theseus and the Minotaur
or
Smite ‘em, Cowboy!

In Crete, where brazen goddesses wore all-revealing bodices,
Where wild and raucous rituals made palace rafters ring,
A man of inhumanity that bordered on insanity
Was known as mighty Minos, and he ran the place as king.

Malicious and deplorable, he harbored something horrible:
The Minotaur, a most bull-headed beast, to coin a phrase.
An ill-conceived atrocity of unsurpassed ferocity
Imprisoned in a Labyrinth – in other words, a maze.

It happened in that dismal time, that dreary, dark, abysmal time,
That Athens owed a debt to Crete and felt an awful crunch.
For rates were unbelievable. The payment deemed receivable
Was seven youths and seven maids to be the creature’s lunch!

The pride of Athens’ royalty, renowned for grit and loyalty,
Was Theseus, the dashing prince whose triumphs never ceased.
With courage most heroical and bearing almost stoical,
He volunteered to face the weird and savage Cretan beast.

His king and father Aegeus was moved by this egregious
Display of selfless sacrifice and proudly told him, “Son,
You’ll either be victorious or die in battle glorious,
So let’s devise a signal that will tell me if you’ve won.

“The method’s no dilemma, for your sail can serve as semaphore.
We’ll rig your ship with mournful sheets as black as moonless night.
But if your great abilities at hand-to-hand hostilities
Should best the beast, announce the news by hoisting sails of white.”

With perfect intrepidity (or was it just stupidity?)
The prince then sped to Cretan shores to do his hero thing.
And as his ship was anchoring, his form aroused a hankering
In lovely Ariadne, who was daughter to the king.

The princess, stunned and amorous, could not allow this glamorous
And handsome youth to perish (as he would, without a doubt).
She tossed a spool of thread to him and in a whisper said to him,
“Unwind this as you’re going in, and it will lead you out.”

Then forth into the Labyrinth, the death-inducing Labyrinth,
The hero crept, unspooling thread and never looking back,
Till deep in the interior, in darkness ever eerier,
At last he met the monster, who was dying for a snack.

To test the fighter’s fortitude, the Minotaur then snorted, “Dude,
Your kind is what’s for dinner!” But the hero boldly said,
“No longer will you martyr us. I’ll send you straight to Tartarus!”
With that he drew his trusty sword and struck the creature dead.

Exulting in his victory, he crowed a valedictory,
“I really hate to smite and run, but nonetheless, farewell!”
He grabbed his lifeline greedily and sought the exit speedily,
For deep inside, the Minotaur had now begun to smell.

Then wiping beads of sweat away and making good his getaway,
He reached the isle of Naxos, and the princess came along.
He lost no time in bedding her, but then, instead of wedding her,
He sailed away, forgetting her, which I regard as wrong.

At last, with utmost gratitude he made it to the latitude
And longitude of Athens, having lived to tell his tale.
But soon his joviality was checked by grim reality.
He’d been in such a hurry, he forgot to change the sail!

The king was inconsolable, his weeping uncontrollable
When first he spied the dusky sail approaching from the main.
Forsaking his metropolis, he jumped from the Acropolis,
For grief had left him spiritless and not so very sane.

And so the mighty Theseus, the sometimes flighty Theseus,
Became the king of Athens in a manner bittersweet.
He brought his town to prominence and regional predominance,
Which wouldn’t be the case at all if he’d been killed in Crete!

Echo and Narcissus
or
I Only Have Eyes for Me

Quite often in a fairy tale
A maiden meets a macho male
and soon becomes his missus.
But myths are apt to culminate
In sorrows like the tragic fate
of Echo and Narcissus.

Now Echo was a nymph, they say,
As sweet and mild as creme brulée
and also nearly mute.
She’d parrot back the final word
(Or two or three) of all she heard,
which in its way was cute.

Narcissus was a comely youth,
A pretty boy to tell the truth,
well-built but not too burly.
Surprisingly, this handsome hunk
Was chaste enough to be a monk,
though centuries too early.

One day the youth was hunting deer
When Echo glimpsed him from the rear
and felt the flame of passion.
She thought the words she couldn’t say:
“I’d pluck his bowstring any day!”
or something in that fashion.

She threw herself into his arms,
Bedazzled by his boyish charms
and badly overheated.
“What makes you think I want you?” said
Narcissus, quickly turning red.
“I want you,” she repeated.

Narcissus sneered in sheer disgust
At Echo’s raw, unbridled lust.
“Control yourself!” he sputtered.
“My striking looks, which should delight me,
Just keep coming back to bite me!”
“Bite me!” Echo muttered.

With that she slunk away to hide.
She felt as if she could have died,
which would have been her choice.
Her body shriveled as she pined,
Then disappeared and left behind
her disembodied voice.

Now many girls had been through hell
(And truth to tell, some men as well)
for love of proud Narcissus.
They called upon the gods above,
“May he soon feel the sting of love,
so cruelly does he diss us!”

The gods of vengeance heard their prayer.
Narcissus passed a pond, and there
he saw himself reflected.
“By Zeus!” he said, “I never thought
A bod could be so firm, so taut,
but now I stand corrected!”

He couldn’t pry his eyes away,
And so he lingered all that day
beside the placid pool.
“Don’t torture me, don’t turn aside,
Just kiss me, fool!” he fondly cried.
And Echo whispered, “Fool!”

Attempting then a close embrace,
He tried to kiss that godlike face,
which only brought him woe.
Instead of touching tender lips,
He ended up imbibing sips
of tepid H2O.

He languished in his lovesick mood
And wouldn’t eat a speck of food
or even take a shower.
At last, it’s rather strange to say,
He morphed, and to this very day
Narcissus is a flower.

Before the change, he beat his breast
And wailed, “I’m ruined like the rest
by passion for Yours Truly.
I’ve come to see my pride was wrong.
I can’t believe it took so long!”
“So long!” said Echo coolly.

Prometheus
or
Come On, Baby, Swipe My Fire

Prometheus the Titan
was a rebel through and through.
A wily and resourceful sort,
As all the ancient bards report,
with quite a high I.Q.
His life’s a fascinating story,
Though some may find it rather gory.

He loved the race of mortal men,
though they were coarse and gritty;
And watching them from up on high,
This kind and sympathetic guy
was overcome with pity.
To make their lives a tad less squalid,
He thought he’d do them all a solid.

For mortals had it rough back then.
They couldn’t get a break.
They couldn’t light a cigarette,
Flambé a simple crepe suzette,
or even grill a steak.
To sum it up, their straits were dire,
For Zeus refused to give them fire.

Prometheus went straight to work.
He swiped a spark and stowed it
Inside a hollow fennel stalk,
Then nonchalantly took a walk
and hurried to unload it.
The mortals cheered his daring plot.
They knew the merchandise was hot!

That little spark began a trend
that spread like – well, like fire.
And soon its golden glow was seen
From coast to coast and in between,
which kindled Zeus’s ire.
“Prometheus!” he cried, incensed,
And vowed, “I shall be recompensed!”

He bound him in the Caucasus
or somewhere thereabout.
To amplify his great despair,
He sent a hungry eagle there
to peck his liver out.
That organ, in its tiresome way,
Regenerated every day.

This torment lasted centuries
(or so it seemed, at least),
And no one heard his anguished pleas
Until the hero Heracles,
while trekking in the East,
Brought down the eagle with his bow
And let the tortured Titan go.

So ends this grand and gruesome tale
of crime and retribution,
Of strife and tension unsurpassed,
A war of wills that comes at last
to peaceful resolution.
It moves us to this very day.
I think someone should write a play!

Onward! Making the short! Basic animation for the first scene is pretty much done. That’s no big deal, I suppose. And yet, it is! The first scene is always hard, so it’s a great feeling to have it in the bag. But there are many, many more to go, and most of them are more complex than this one. So don’t get cocky, folks.

In other news, Learn Self Defense has just been released on a new DVD collection called Shorts! Volume 4. It’s a real classy collection with 3 hours of award winning films, including the Oscar nominated short, Maestro. Also, there are 2 ridiculous, superfluous commentary tracks by me, with introductions by my mom. So, uh… go buy it here!

Speaking of the Oscar shorts, we went to see them over the weekend (except the Pixar short, which wasn’t included in the show). I’m not sure about all the nominees… some really great ones were left out, by all accounts. But we did like The Danish Poet, which won the big prize. Isn’t it weird to think of filmmaking as a contest than can be won?

Get back to work, you lazy bastards!

Here’s another fragment from the Work In Progress. This one’s really “behind the scenes,” being all wireframey and whatnot.

By the time I get finished with this thing, it should be possible for anybody to reconstruct the entire cartoon from the various bits and pieces I’ve posted here in the log.

All the fruitless pitching and tap dancing for freelance work is quiet for the moment. I’m glad to be back where I belong– working on a short in the basement at night.

These are some fragments of screen grabs that may or may not make the final cut. I’ve had to develop a completely new style for this story, and the early scenes like this one may seem heavy handed by the end of the process. So I reserve the right to redo them later. But progress is definitely being made, and the new look should support the story well.

And now, the weather report:
The low last night in Kansas City was absolute zero. All atoms in the area have ceased vibrating and all matter has disintigrated into subatomic dust. For your five day forcast, expect an endless, silent blackness for all eternity.

I do not understand why human beings settled in a place that’s completely inhospitable to life. It’s like living on the damn moon. I need to get one of those sun lamps that tricks your brain into thinking the sky hasn’t been blacked out by the wrath of god.

That is all. Get back to work!

This is a small screenshot from a motion test I just did for a pitch for a freelance job. I had to try to emulate the style of some existing animation, which I can’t really do. Man, I suck at pitching. How do people do it?

Remember when you were a kid and you liked to draw and make up stories? So you’d spend hours inventing characters and learning to draw them? Maybe they weren’t brilliant or anything, but they were unique and they were yours and they were somehow genuine. So you’d show the pictures to your friends and they would say, “Wow, that’s a pretty good drawing.” And you’d say, “Thanks. I worked really hard to–” And they would say, “Draw me a picture of Spiderman.”

That never ends.

This is what it would look like if there were Teddy Bear cannibals and they shrunk the heads of their enemies to make necklaces and such.

I’m currently wrapped up in a really busy few weeks in my day job at the quarry, and I’m also working on a big pitch for some freelance job that– trust me– you do not want to hear about. So there’s not a lot of real production going on right now, and not a lot to write about in the production log.

So instead I’ll post a few more old drawings, just for the hell of it.

Here are some storyboards and a screen grab from one of my very first animated projects– an ecard for shockwave.com. Chad Strawderman and I used to animate many things for shockwave at our web animation studio, Goldhouse Creative.

This one was a Mother’s Day card involving a very ugly baby bird. Mothers are nice, aren’t they? Hi, Mom! You’ll notice that the sketches look waaaaaay better than the final piece. Someday I’ll figure out a way to not ruin my drawings by inking them.

Work in the Mystery Work in Progress continues. But depending on how things go over the next few weeks, there’s a slim chance I’ll have a kind of big freelance job to do, which would set back the short another couple months! On the other hand, it would also fund the short. So that would be progress in a way… we’ll see…

Here are some more old sketchbook pages: