Insta(picto)gram

Verizon finally got the iPhone and so did I. Before recently I didn't have a big desire to buy it, but then I heard about Instagram. Basically, it's the Facebook of (amateur) photography. Sort of.

You take pictures, run them through one of several color filters, and upload it to your tumblr-like profile. That's it. Sounds simple (of course the best things always seem to be), but it allows for a lot of freedom. See, while you're having at it, so are the people you follow, and everyone's work appears in the real-time feed, just like on Facebook and Twitter. Some people take pictures of their cats, some of their meals, and so on. Everyone interprets the freedom in their own way.

*Intermission* This is beginning to sound like an advertisement. So enough of that. *End of Intermission*

For me, I like taking pictures of everyday things (including a bunch of light fixtures). There isn't much meaning behind my photos beyond the upfront beauty of the world. Yeah, that sounds sappy and cliche, but it's true. When I'm doing graphic design I try to put meaning behind my work, so that if you sit and spend time looking, you might find something beneath the surface. My photo approach is the opposite.

Discussing this with my friend, it seems that a lot of photography is also based around high concept thinking. I won't go into it too much, but I find it interesting that I try to design one way and shoot the opposite. When I'm taking a pic I look at the environment as if I were going to draw it: what looks interesting? are there any exciting colors? odd shapes? beautiful contrasts? etc. I think I judge the photo possibilities on how much find I'd have drawing instead.

At first I was questioning every photo I took, trying to figure out how it would be interpreted by others (a problem I encounter in design as well), and rejecting many. Now I do my best to answer one question and judge the photo based on that: Do I like it?

Yes? Save.—No? Delete.

Alphabet Project: PQR

More letters! As I go through the process of repeatedly attacking the same problem I begin to realize personal tendencies/preferences, such as slight ambiguity and attempted elegance. 

I say slight ambiguity because I'm not really sure how these latest set of letters will be perceived. Is the P obvious? Do you see what I'm going for with the Q? Is the R weighted so that it doesn't look like a swirly-do of line?

I call it attempted elegance because I'm not sure how else to describe it. These last three letters seem like part of a set, perhaps because they're all single color flat black graphics. Stylistically I think they're still unique enough to stand alone on their own; the negative space aspect of the P, the illustrative quality of the Q, the fluidity of the R.

Through the project I end up finding out what I like and don't like as well as what I can and can't do. The latter is important because it reveals my boundaries. Hitting roadblocks in technical skill is frustrating, but phenomenally rewarding. When I can't achieve what I'm trying to do I end up Googling/Experimenting until I figure it out; sometimes I get distracted by a new path that reveals itself and I never look back. I think it's also important to appreciate the unexpected. Some people call them mistakes, others call them surprises.

Thanks for reading.

Alphabet Project: MNO

Greetings, readers. As my grandfather used to often say, "Another day, another way." I think he managed to live up to it, enjoying 9 decades of living and going out for a long walk every day, at least until his body finally stopped him. So here we are, another day, another piece of writing, a few more letters, a story (albeit short); all consumed in the infinite digital membrane we call the internet.

Can you imagine me, sitting at my tiny pockmarked wooden desk, butt snuggling the cold plastic chair? Try to picture it. The internet decomposes intent, what we have left is the residue of human interaction, but no, no interaction. I can't whatsoever picture you, dear reader, as you go through my posts. Perhaps there's no one reading this, thus no "you", or maybe, in that case, the "you" is really me. Where am I going with this? Do I need to go anywhere?

Well, for sanity's sake, I'll go here: Below are the next set of letters in the Alphabet Project. A few nights ago a friend, having read my previous project posts, pointed out that I'm being too hard on myself, too negative, even. I can't say I disagree, but I wonder the merits of such an outlook. In doing so, am I justifying my negativity? Likely. (I just called myself out.)

However, recently I've been digging deeply into the dichotomy of right/wrong, often depicted by the diorama of white/black. We all love hearing clear answers; solutions that say this or that. But why not both and neither, all at the same time? Shades of gray - we've all heard it. Can I beat myself up and prosper? Am I sacrificing myself for myself?

A Letter to the Grid

Dear Grid,

I realized something extraordinary as of late. I don't care about you anymore. Please don't take this personally. It's not you, it's me. Maybe we can be friends?

We had a good run, but it's time for me to move on. During our time together I learned a lot from you, I appreciate what you've done for my mind and art, but the days of confinement are over.

I remember the first time we met. There were a few elements askew on a poster I was designing and my friend told me to line them up. "Put them on the grid," she said. And just like that, our relationship began.

Example grids

You and your system of alignments wooed me that day, keeping my information structured and providing organization that supposedly facilitates readability and understanding. What you really did was control me, inviting me to be a part of the "system" just like everyone else.

Example of poster using a grid

My creativity flourished for a while, I'll give you that, but then it waned and puttered out. There's only so much that can be done in the confines of your two dimensional prison cell. I struggled, squirmed, screamed to be released. Then one day I realized the key was in my pocket the whole time:

You are not the rule, merely a tool.

Example of breaking from the grid

You and your lines of confinement may inhibit growth, and I'm through being a layout monogamist.

Sincerely asymmetrical,
Joey Cofone

Zen: "Legacy of Letters"

What is Zen? I think we all have a good feeling for what it means, but when I was asked last night to define it I lost my tongue. After a slice of pondering I finally said something akin to, "It's like being at complete peace. Being entirely present and connected to the moment, to the world around you."

Then I went home and Googled it. (Of course.) Wikipedia says, "Zen emphasizes experiential prajñā in the attainment of enlightenment. As such, it de-emphasizes theoretical knowledge in favor of direct realization through meditation and dharma practice." So that helps. Sort of.

After some more ponder-ponder, I began to realize how indefinable the concept of Zen is. Like Love, it's a state of mind, body, and soul that has to be felt to be understood. We can't explain to someone what Love is if they've never felt it. In the same way, we can't really convey what Zen is to those that haven't experienced it.

The good thing is, most of us have felt it. If you've ever been "in the Zone" then you've been in a Zen-like state. Those are the moments in which Time is no longer; where the world is completely and utterly fluid with the self.

I think that every artist, in their own way, strives for a state of Zen in which the process of creation passes through from spirit to action without being tainted by consciousness. In other words, we just let it out, as if we are a witness to what we are doing.

This morning I came across a video of a man practicing the art of calligraphy. You can tell he's in the Zone when he makes perfect line after perfect line.

That is Zen.

My Writing Process, by Dennis Santaniello

[Read about Digital Barf's guest bloggers here.]

Preface: I had no intention of writing any of this until I came to the realization that the most important thing you can do in life is share. Life’s so short, so precious, so mysterious that creating things is the only way of validating time spent.

I started thinking of the process of my writing. I write because it’s the easiest thing in the world for me. The biggest design pattern I follow is not to get from here to there. That’s not an issue with me. What I’m striving for, on a daily basis, is how to get to the Zone. Not Auto Zone or the Fun Zone. I’m talking about The Absolute, Infallible Zone of Creativity and Bliss. There is nothing more gratifying than to say to somebody, “Not now, Tinky, I’m in the fucking zone!” You know when you’re in the zone because time stops, things come together in new and exciting ways you couldn’t dream of, and your work is…well...working.

The zone is located on the path of righteousness, but it is blocked by the countless Detour signs of the Resistance. [1]

The following is my way of breaking through the Resistance: My design.

Fighting the Resistance

Getting into the zone comes at a price. You must fight a war: the daily, gnawing, agitating war against the Resistance. The Resistance comes in many forms, and it’s kinda like the New York Yankees. Its smug, its presence is all over the fucking place, and it knows it could beat you. The Resistance, put simply, is everything that prevents you from working. From the distracting phone calls, to crying babies on buses, to the miserable jerks who smell like cabbage, to your love ones who smell like Honey Dew, it seems that everyone is playing for the Resistance. But guess what, when you’re not working, you play for it too. And that’s when you lose.

Life always seems to get in the way, but if you want to work well, you’ve got to win. You’ve got to beat the living shit out of this snot nose, suffocating…. Thing. You’ve gotta have a battle plan. That’s where design comes into play. You’ve got to come up with a brilliant, offensive scheme to beat this bastard.

Defeating the Bastard

Good game planning is very important. Writing wise, it’s essential. For me, I take four hours of the day (usually between 6-10 pm) to write. These are four hours of fierce combat. I generally have an objective, sometimes the objectives change and in mid stream I have to adapt to its course. But when I’m engaged to commit myself to get to the zone, I go all out.

My game plan is simple and it’s the same everyday. I sit down. I have an objective of what I want to write and follow these three rules.

1) Be true to the original idea.
There is no substitute to this. What comes out of your head is so hard to put into the physical world, but when it matches and molds into the initial idea you had, you know you have something special. Being true to the original idea is crucial.

2) Listen to your characters
Before I start something, I sit down and my characters talk to me. When I’m writing, particularly when I’m writing dialogue, I’ve got to hear the characters and their problems. Like playing with action figures, I mouth the characters voice and let it out there in open air. It’s something I’ve done ever since I was a kid. Some people may call it schizophrenic. I call it paying attention. I’ve got to hear the intonation of their voice, their pauses, their rhythm, but most importantly their desires.

My characters are doing most of my work. I’m just a court stenographer.

3) Write to Write. Edit to Edit
When I write, I vomit anything and everything that comes to mind. I don’t care if it’s inane, great or mediocre, I spill out everything because I have to. As Hemmingway pointed out, “The first draft of anything is shit.”

Then when the puking is over, I look back to what’s there and I play the hybrid role of both conquistador and janitor, that is the editor. I find the gold and dump the rest. Sometimes there isn’t any gold. Just loads and loads of crap, but that’s not a problem because I’ll just explore another mine by writing another mine.

It took me a long time for me to figure this out but when I finally found it, I knew my foundation was complete. Before learning this, I was very analytical when I wrote ,and I wrote and edit at the same time. This was frustrating and exhausting because it was detrimental to my psyche and slow as hell.

Separating the actions to specific times frees up so much creativity and the zone gets closer and closer. Refining is important, but you must first have something to refine.

That’s my plan. That’s how I write. That’s my design. During college, I found it difficult to write anything but term papers and I felt terrible, but when I came up with the system I knew I had something special, because it got easier and easier to get in the zone, and consequently, my writing got better, ideas flowed like rivers and I got a lot fucking happier with life

They say 3 is a magic number. Well, if there are 3 great players on your basketball team, odds are you’re going to kick some major ass, and in my case when all 3 elements are working in unison, Resistance doesn’t have a chance. The game is won. The Zone is there in all of its orgasmic glory, and it’s like…it’s like an Opera.

The Real Thing to Learn


You are a golden God; not to the world, but to your work, and because you are a God, you must play by your own rules. Relax. Diffuse bullshit. Be scary.


[1] Read Steven Pressfield’s “The War of Art”. Great book. Highly Recommended.

Narrative Design in Filmmaking, by Iker Maidagan

[Read about Digital Barf's guest bloggers here.]

Some time ago, my friend Joey asked me if I’d like to write an article somehow relating design to animation. Back then I had just finished working on a pencil-test sequence for my animation class at SVA, so I could easily use it an example. Easily? Not quite.

The easy thing would be to bore the hell out of everybody by writing a subjective harangue on character design. But that’s just the shortsighted way of understanding design in terms of visual storytelling. Designing a character isn’t even an inherent step within the process of filmmaking. It can be applied to anything from mascots for the FIFA World Cup to LARPing. Therefore, I’m going to talk about editing and storyboarding; or how making choices about angles, shot composition and duration of frames can determine the meaning and set the mood of a movie despite the fact that most people take these things for granted. Because that is what designing a film is all about in the end.







Take a look at the sequence above. Nothing too fancy, we didn’t even have time to add some backgrounds and polish a few animations. There isn’t much of a story either; just two kids playing cowboys and Indians. Yet nothing is there by accident. That sequence is a minute long series of choices.

Think about the way it starts, a sudden cut that comes out of nowhere. Many movies have that sort of opening, like Oldboy or Close Encounters of the Third Kind. It takes you right into the action and works especially well if your scene depicts something very dramatic or physically intense. It’s unexpected, it takes the audience off-guard, so they have to process the information really quickly. With Cowkids, we wanted to exaggerate everything about our main characters’ game, so a blunt opening was the way to go.

We also chose to start the movie with a traditional hip-level shot of our character’s hand reaching for his gun to establish that we were about to witness a duel. From there, a series of mirrored shots emphasize even more this particular scenario at the same time they present our characters. One thing we realized when going for the mirrored shots formula is that the girl would have to be a leftie if we wanted to repeat the first shot from a reverse angle. Directors like Sergio Leone avoided this problem on classics like The Good, The Bad and the Ugly by filming the gunbelt from the front. However, we wanted to keep both characters on frame, so the leftie choice won over new camera angle option.

Soon, both characters get separated and we show them performing ridiculous acrobatics. First, we see the boy jumping and rolling. Second, we see the girl completing a full circle on a swing before brandishing her weapon. And lastly, both run around the playground to avoid each other. By doing this we accomplish two goals: we hint that the girl is better than the boy, as her dodging tactics are more spectacular and creative. The audience will probably want her to win after that and, in fact, she does win the fight in the end. The second goal is to establish the playground as the setting, which is merely suggested at first and eventually confirmed with a wide shot of both characters running in circles within a limited space.

Later on, the boy tries to top the girl’s latest move by going down a slide to surprise her. She answers by jumping on a merry-go-round to become a moving target. We decided to show how close the boy was from actually hitting the girl by drawing her feet in the foreground, framing the figure of the boy as he opens fire. This is another traditional composition that you can find, although fitting entirely different situations, in movies like To Catch a Thief or Raiders of the Lost Ark.

The slow motion simulated during the merry-go-round sequence emphasizes the girl’s advantage at this point, focusing on how she pulls out her pistol to deliver what may be the final shot. Slow motion can work in two ways: it draws attention and gives the moment a certain degree of magnificence. However, it only works if used scarcely, otherwise it becomes vulgar and redundant. For that reason we made sure it was seen just that one time.

Zoom ins and outs normally are a disgusting choice in live-action, but for some reason, they work just fine in animation. We used them a couple of times to emulate the more elegant tracking shots, most notably in the scene with the boy running towards the bouncing pony. Here, first we show the boy running alone and then we zoom out to reveal the pony. This gives some motion to the shot, something necessary to keep the pace in an action piece, while avoiding excessive cutting, which tends to be confusing.

The tire swing jump and collision between the two characters is something that evolved through time. Originally it was going to be shown in one shot, again, to avoid too many cuts. Unfortunately, the complexity of such shot proved to be too time consuming and it had to be divided into three. Even though the result looks fine in terms of animation, this was one of our most frustrating decisions because in the final movie is hard to tell that the girl loses her gun in the clash. That particular piece of information was relevant because it set up the outcome of the fight, when the girl is briefly at the mercy of the boy right before getting miraculously saved by the Indian toddler.

In terms of choices, the final destiny of the boy had more to do with sound than angles, composition or elaborate animations. We wanted him to fall in a dog park and make it look as if he was being eaten alive by the animals without showing it. Therefore, we just animated a few dogs pouncing over the fence and then played around with sound. As with the rest of the movie, the goal was to exaggerate, so instead of some recording of actual dog barks we resorted to Jaguars roaring. That way, our dogs sounded fierce enough and anyone would think that the poor kid never made it alive after his villainies.

As a closing note, I apologize if anyone thought that this post had nothing to do with design and felt misled. However, I still think that design is a very broad term and professionals from many fields use it in very different ways. Would a car designer think in the way a company logo designer thinks? And what about a videogame designer? What I offered here is what I see as the way filmmakers think whenever they face the challenge of designing a motion picture, no matter how big or small.

Guest Bloggers: Insight Into Design

Design is ubiquitous. From brushing our teeth to organizing our lives design plays a role in every process we partake in, and I'm fascinated by the different approaches people have for the things they do. Some of us approach tasks head on, while others are extremely analytical, and still others are an interesting mixture of both. Ultimately, a good piece of art, recipe, product, photo, or anything else we produce is defined by the string of decisions by the creator that led to the final product.

In my discussions one thing has become clear: our outlook on what we do, the method we approach tasks, and the systems we employ (physically and psychologically) directly affect our results and determine our success. Essentially, we succeed or fail before we even start.

I'm happy to introduce guest posts to Digital Barf. I've selected a few friends whom I truly admire for one reason or another and invited them to give us insight into their own process. Part of the email went something like this:

"While none of you are graphic designers, you're all creative in your own fields. This includes writing, cooking, music, drawing, painting, photography, teaching, engineering, business, and being an emergency medical technician. [What you write] can be about your process, a story you'd like to share, or anything else you feel relates to design. In a nutshell, I'd like for you to share your interpretation of design as applied to your field."

I'm excited to see what they come up with, and I hope you'll find their ideas as interesting as I do.

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Guest Posts:

Narrative Design in Filmmaking, by Iker Maidagan

Design on the Streets, by James Mazza

My Writing Process, by Dennis Santaniello

Sleeplessness: Exploring the Restless Mind

Last night I couldn't sleep. My mind was racing along without my permission and I couldn't find the brakes. This doesn't happen too often (usually I knock out in minutes), so it really took me off guard. Instead of lying in bed and fighting my sleeplessness I decided to put it to use: I sat down at my desk and free-wrote for 5 minutes, then I opened Illustrator and free-doodled.

I gave myself one rule: no hitting backspace when I was writing and no erasing when doodling. Here's what came out.

Faint, faint of art, or of heart? A desk job drops bricks into the world apart from green meadows. Bugs criss-crawl across the soft prairie, ground like a molten sand shucked smooth. I kid, he jokes, they jest, and when it's over laughs are pardoned from reality, introduced to the optimal profundity of hazard-less living. What? King my King, kid - there you go, and back across the board. Over one, two, four, all of your one dimensional tunnel-visioned shallots. Rake me sliver, forget me not.

Popular vs. Personal Opinion: Who Am I?

"Who am I" sounds dramatic, but when popular opinion regarding my work differs from my personal opinion I find myself asking that very question. Am I the guy who thinks his shit doesn't smell, whose artwork's obnoxiousness is only second to his personality's; or am I the guy who thinks his work is terrible and the only way to improve it is to get outside opinion? The more important question is, does a balance between both exist - and if so, can I find it?

Balance is crucial because under-confidence is as poisonous as over-confidence: be under-confident and I may sell myself short or never reach higher levels; and over-confident, well, then I'd just be a prick with underwhelming work. I need to find middle-confidence - a perspective that allows me to be me while still regarding opinions fairly.

It sounds simple, and it is, but it isn't easy. More often than not I defer to my peers for their opinons. It's like I'm looking for some kind of validation, for someone to say, "Yes. Good. That's right," as if there were a definite answer. A definite answer! To art, of all things!

Art is the most subjective form of communication and expression, yet for some reason I often feel the need to compare my subjective understanding against another's. Is there a time and place for opinion? Short answer: yes. Long answer: hell yes. As long as I keep in mind who I am and what I represent, I'm in like lint (in a bellybutton).

I feel like a compressed mattress in a paper bag, a sensation of roiling springlike energy pressing with all it's muscle against the thin walls of everyday life. Something's out there, but I can only see faint light coming through the bag, like I'm hanging on the wall in Plato's cave and only the silhouettes of reality make an imprint on my existence.

On one foot (that's right, foot - hands get enough respect) it's maddening, but on the other it's magnificent. If the men from the cave were ever released they'd appreciate life much more than anyone born into the world the men were deprived of. In the same way, I feel like I'm slowly ripping through that paper bag, catching glimpses of the beautiful inanity of life that literally make me smile and laugh as I walk down the city streets.

Just be yourself.

*rip*

Last fall I put together a small and simple piece that I fell in love with. No one liked it. Here it is.

 

Fear: My Fickle Fiendish Friend

I'm going to be very honest with you, which I always try to accomplish in my posts, but right now in particular I think it's important that I remind the reader (you) of my perpetual attempt to reach for truth in a tantalizing environment. Why such a prologue, you ask? In this personal divulgence of the truth I am also going to uncover a vulnerability of mine. No one likes to do that. Still, I feel that by baring my weakness - my fear - I will help others appreciate their own similar sentiments. And compose an interesting read. Having said this, I begin:

Entering the realm of creativity is both frightful and fantastic. I greatly enjoy stumbling upon new ideas, be they stories, essays, designs, drawings, etcetera. The nature of these activities means I never know what's next. If I did, then my ideas wouldn't be new and certainly not exciting. Because of this, there is a omnipresent Fearfiend riding a golden snake pulsing in the back of my mind, looping through my occipital lobe and lounging on my cerebellum, spiking worries that I may run out of creativity, that my current piece will be my final piece, that I might never come up with another new and exciting idea. These worries are, of course, entirely plausible, because I don't know what any new idea will be until I come up with it.

A creativity exercise: Splat some ink in your sketchbook and see what you come up with.

This fear is something I am perpetually conscious of, and something that I will never be fully comfortable with. At times, it can be debilitating: there have been instances where I didn't attempt to create because I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to produce. More often, however, my fear is a fuel that drives me to keep working. I use it to channel the challenge, the excitement, the vulnerability, into the process. This usually leads to good work.

Architect v. Archaeologist: A Lesson Learned

Several months ago I bought my first Moleskine sketchbook. I was excited and immediately began drawing in it. There was no direction or method to my manic scribbling, and after a small chunk of time I sat back to look at what I had drawn. It was crap; a shoddy conglomeration of lines that weakly portrayed a downright trodden scene. There was a snake, an ice cream cone, city buildings, dice, mountains, and a big-headed small-fisted guy aiming a gun at the viewer. These elements sound interesting, and perhaps if I had slowed down and taken my time there would be something worth looking at, but I didn't slow down and ended up molesting a good idea.

Unfortunately, it gets worse. When I sat back and absorbed the junk my fingers guided through my pencil, I was happy. There is a big difference between being happy with a creative product and being satisfied with it. Instead of being satisfied with my efforts (not that there was much of that) for what they were, I was happy with what I had produced. Happy.

Fortune Cookie: A Short (Short) Story

Sometimes I let my words carry me away. Instead of imagining a story/scene before I write, I let the story imagine itself. To compare this idea to drawing, think doodling: letting lines carry you away and not caring where they take you or if the end product is "bad". It's not exactly free-writing, because that, to me, is even more whimsical; you basically write without stopping for a set amount of time (or until you've had enough) and see what comes out. What I did here (and do often) is take a very simple idea, let it build a scene in my mind, then let the scene play out while I record it.

In this case the idea was "fortune cookie". A man and a woman sitting at a two-person table in a restaurant was the image that came to mind. The first words spoken were the woman's, and I just listened: