Anton, my figure drawing teacher, gave me a sincere hug and I did my best to match his intensity. His freshly cut white hair pressed against my curly brown locks. "Thank you," he said with fierce eye contact. "Thank you," I replied. That was the last class.
(Check out more pictures of Anton on his website.)
Over the last couple of months our class spent twelve hours a week exploring the nude body through drawing. Anton is exceptionally open-minded and his teaching style reflected that. He always asked us what types of poses we wanted, how long they should be, and we often sat down in a group and had mini round table discussions with our models. He urged us to connect with them on a deeper level than as mere subjects - they were people with stories and passions just like us.
Here are some of my favorite drawings from Anton's class.
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.
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.
What does a musician, a graphic designer, a fine artist, a mechanical engineer, and a network engineer have in common?
We all volunteered with Jersey Cares to create murals at the 18th Avenue School in Newark, NJ. Our task was to draw images that the children could relate to. We used simple cartoons to convey simple messages, like music is awesome, the earth is a happy place, water is important, and dragons really enjoy reading.
It ended up being a fun filled Saturday afternoon for us all; we played music, ran around the empty hallways, heard Jay drop the ruler every five minutes, bumped into the projectors way too many times, and more than once I got lost trying to find the exit. (I accidentally stumbled into the gymnasium and wished I could go back to the good old days of dodgeball and crab soccer.)
During the week a couple volunteers will go back and put the finishing touches on a few of the murals. Next weekend another group is going to paint our drawings. Check out our work - just don't get angry at us for using projectors!
Tom drawing a happy earth for the ecology club.
Heather and Amy discussing the awesomeness of her music mural sketches.
At some point the rainforest was changed to a field of flowers.
Popular cartoon characters and an overly excited drummer.
The music mural.
Amy sketching her own version of the Literacy Dragon.
The Literacy Dragon comes to life!
Jay measuring out the flags for the Hispanic Mural.
The Hispanic Mural, with flags and dancing figures.
Is she dancing or offended?
The Water Cycle!
The hip-happenin' Music Mural #2.
Me being a camera creeper.
I wish I could be there Monday morning when the kids (1st to 8th grades) come scurrying down the hallways and see what's new.
This is the third time I've been able to lend a helping hand to Haiti and, I have to admit, I'm a little surprised at how easy it is to get involved in positive action. After the earthquake struck I pretty much felt like everyone else, wondering if I could spare a couple bucks and if 100% of it (or even 10%) would get to Haiti.
Then I was asked to help organize and design materials for a fund raiser called Drummers for Haiti; I got the chance to witness what could be achieved by just a few people with solid determination. A few weeks after that I was presented with the opportunity to raise some money through SVA by co-running a Valentine's Day fund raiser, which not only ended in successful generosity towards Haiti, but also towards our fellow students. And earlier this month I was asked to design a logo for a Haiti non-profit group, which I hope unites them well enough to assist in their success.
So here I am, a couple of months later, with a completely different perspective about helping those in need. When tragedy strikes it isn't always a matter of asking myself what can I give, but asking myself what can I do.
There's an old Haitian proverb that goes, "Men anpil, chey pa lou", which means "Many hands, light load". The idea behind the saying is simple and powerful; if we all lend a hand then no task is too difficult, no goal too lofty. It makes sense, then, that a group of positive thinkers dedicated to providing support to Haiti named their non-profit organization according that mentality. Maha-Lilo's mission is clear: "to improve the health and well-being of young people in Jeremie and the rural surroundings."
Maha-Lilo was formed in February, 2010, in the aftermath of the earthquake that destroyed much of Port au Prince. Though not physically harmed by the earthquake, Jeremie also felt many of the effects. Much of the aid that was flowing into Haiti was not reaching the Maha-Lilo’s founders’ friends of family. In response, the founders raised funds but also realized that the rebuilding efforts will carry on for many years. In addition, the response would have to involve more than just immediate relief of food, water, and shelter. Maha-Lilo was formed to aid in those efforts.
While still only in the early stages of development, Maha-Lilo has already raised $4,733.66. Please take a look at their burgeoning site and consider aiding their efforts.
Being consistently productive is one of the most difficult and draining goals in life. It's also one of the most rewarding, because productivity is what leads to the realization of all other goals. Four months ago I designed something I call the "Go Board" to organize my daily efforts - since then I accomplish more on a daily basis and have also managed to strip away a lot of stress. Now I'm going to share my method with you.
"Slow and steady" and "One step at a time" are phrases we've all heard, but most of us don't actually subscribe to this principle. Instead of working slow we want to do things all at once - I myself am guilty! Do you remember the story of the Tortoise and the Hair? It exhibits these ideals perfectly. For those of you that don't remember or have never heard the story, here it is from an 1867 compilation of Aesop's fables.
A Hare one day ridiculed the short feet and slow pace of the Tortoise. The latter, laughing, said: "Though you be swift as the wind, I will beat you in a race." The Hare, deeming her assertion to be simply impossible, assented to the proposal; and they agreed that the Fox should choose the course, and fix the goal. On the day appointed for the race they started together. The Tortoise never for a moment stopped, but went on with a slow but steady pace straight to the end of the course. The Hare, trusting to his native swiftness, cared little about the race, and lying down by the wayside, fell fast asleep. At last waking up, and moving as fast as he could, he saw the Tortoise had reached the goal, and was comfortably dozing after her fatigue.
A real-life example of working slow and steady is Steve Bradbury's speed skating gold medal in the 2002 Winter Olympics. At the last turn Bradbury was at the rear of the pack, going at his own pace just like the tortoise, while a group of five skaters were jostling in front of him. They ended up knocking into each other and falling, and he glided to what some would call an "easy win" - but let's not forget how much hard work it took to get into the gold medal finals.
Steve Bradbury's amazing win.
Basing my ideas on the "slow and steady" principle, I knew I wanted to organize my work in a way that wouldn't be overwhelming, but I wasn't sure the best way to go about it. I did some research and found an interview in which Jerry Seinfeld was asked how he managed to make so many good jokes and stay so productive. He explained that he set up a calendar in his office and every day that he worked on his jokes he marked it with a big red "X". According to Jerry, "After a few days you'll have a chain. Just keep at it and the chain will grow longer every day. You'll like seeing that chain, especially when you get a few weeks under your belt. Your only job next is to not break the chain." Simple as that and look where he is now!
Since I want to cover more areas than just one, I modified Seinfeld's method to fit my needs. On a whiteboard I wrote all the areas I want to work on in my life. This is what I came up with.
The "Go Board".
So what do they mean? "Design", "Write", and "Draw" are all pretty obvious. "Music" means practicing either my guitar or my hand drum, the djembe. "Maint." stands for maintenance, which simply reminds me not to forget about taking care of the "other" things that need to get done, like paying bills, cleaning the bathroom, doing laundry, going to the bank, etc. "Work" applies to freelance work, volunteer work, and assignments.
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.
My drawing class is not the one SVA originally placed me in. The teacher I initially had was a cross between Godzilla and Paris Hilton. Truly terrifying. So I found my way into Matt Archambault's class the second week of the semester. What I failed to notice/realize/research before I made the switch is that the class is pretty much all Animation students (I'm graphic design). It turned out to be a really good thing.
Since last September I've learned a lot from my classmates. (Now I know how awesome Disney is for drawing on 1s, what a "walk cycle" is, and that The Lion King was a completely ripped off story.) After being around them for so long and having a little extra time in my visual computing class, I decided to mess around with flash and make a little motion braindump. By no means is this a serious attempt at a coherent animation - it's more like a doodle that sprouted a life of its own. From the looks of it you might think I was on some awesome drugs.
I have no idea what I was thinking. I wasn't thinking.
And to my classmates, thank you for broadening my horizons.
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.
The 2010 Sketch Adventure have officially begun! SA's are weekly outings where a group of sketchers - we call ourselves the Sketch Adventurers; clever, I know - take to the streets, parks, museums, malls, eateries, etc. for a little social sketching fun. The group primarily consists of, but is not limited to, fellow students from Matt Archambault's drawing class. While sketching we enjoy the opportunity to experience places on a different level than if we were just passing through. All the sights, sounds, and smells are magnified as we explore the material and immaterial components that contribute to the images we are piecing together. What would usually be classified as background noise - something we ignore - becomes part of our consciousness and contributes to the experience.
Today's SA was at the Chelsea Markets, or as a good friend of mine calls it, "the caverns from Indiana Jones." It's a tighter area than we've explored in the past and we weren't quite sure where to start drawing. Eventually we settled on our first spot, a random junction with semi-interesting architecture, and began drawing. The first twenty minutes flew by and we were on our way before we knew it, stopping by a bread bakery with glass walls so we could watch the men make puffed loveliness.
