Zeldathon Heals Art Collection

Over the past week I've been posting one Zelda-related illustration a day to celebrate the eight-day run of Zeldathon Heals, a charity livestream on Twitch. Last Zeldathon I completed just one illustration of Link, but this time I decided to up the number as an excuse to try new styles, explore more aspects of the Zelda world, and (long shot) get the opportunity to do official work for the Zeldathon team. It also built up a nice base of art which could be included in a (buyable!!) Zelda sketchbook. All the pieces are collected here. It was a fun adventure, but now that I'm at the end of it, I'm ready to rest! 

-dh

Heroes Con 2019

the best corner at the con - david petersen in red, cory godbey in blue

I'm back from Heroes Con, and since I'm in the middle of a few other projects I thought it best to give the con it's own little retrospective rather than lop it in with some other collection of thoughts.

In short - it was a good convention. I've been to Heroes Con once before, in 2017. That was the summer before college. A lot has changed in my life since then, but the familiar con social-anxiety was still there: how in the world do you have a meaningful conversation with a famous artist and express interest in their work, all the while not seeming like a creep? Cause I know a lot about these guys. I know what projects they're working on. I've studied their moves. It's kinda my job. But I'm a total stranger to these guys. And I want any conversation to build up naturally, as if we both didn't know that much about each other. That was hard in 2017. But in 2019, I had a newfound advantage.  I could now, as they say, talk shop! Now I could talk about art process and running a booth and freelancing in addition to the usual fan stuff. It felt like I was beginning to transition from being a fan standing in front of the table to being an artist behind it. Since I want to run a table at future conventions, it was nice to have this trip to do some research - checking prices, asking for advice, and seeing what sells. 

The day started off good with a surprise appearance of Cory Godbey, an artist I don't directly reference in my work, but whose blog posts on Muddy Colors are always nice to read. He wasn't on the guest list, but he was nevertheless there, and with a very well-put-together booth.

I took photos of a few tables to use as reference

There was no one at his booth, so we just talked for a while as I flipped through his books. That's probably rare at other conventions, but at Heroes Con you get a lot of time to talk to the artists. As I was looking through his Visions of Whence, I came across a process explanation of his pencil sketches. It was surprisingly intuitive, and definitely effective in the hands of Godbey. The book was out of my price range, but I made a mental note of the steps and tried to replicate it in my Zeldathon drawing for today - with surprisingly good results!

thank you cory, I will try to pay you back later

I met a few other artists, inadvertently insulted Jeremy Bastian's slow inking speed, and marveled at the amount of cosplay. One of my favorite parts about the convention experience is that as you walk closer and closer to the convention hall, you can pick out more and more people who are very clearly also going to the con. And it's always fun to see people in full airbender robes walking around uptown Charlotte. 

Heroes Con has a minimal animation presence, but I attended a basic storyboarding workshop and I peddled my story portfolio around to the few story artists that were there. They proceeded to rip it apart pretty thoroughly. I'm kinda a critique masochist, so I was fine with that, but I thought it strange that these exact boards elicited nearly no critique when presented in class. I think the boards may have relied too much on me pitching them with additional explanation (which I do in class, but not at cons). I also didn't have my best sequence in a presentable format, and I think that sequence avoided most of the errors the artists were pointing out. The big takeaway I learned was clarity over coolness. I think I get carried away trying to add depth or difficult shots and forget about conveying the idea clearly, which often requires a simpler approach. And all my pans and trucks/zooms would be a hassle to actually animate. It's good to learn that now, I guess! We've yet to see if I'll actually edit my portfolio based on this advice - at this point I don't know if it would be a better use of my time to refine these sequences (which were some of my first boards ever) or take the knowledge and make newer sequences. Knowing my tendencies and aversion to serious drawing revisions, it will probably be the latter.

Anyways, that was my experience. I hope to be on the other side of the table next time. But in order for that to happen, I need to have something to sell ... and my current book is taking twice as long as expected. 

Oh bother.

-dh

Celebrating the Fiction: Zeldathon, Comic Con, and Donald Duck

So yesterday I made a post on Instagram celebrating Donald Duck's 85th birthday. And when I was posting it, I realized that the whole thing was a little strange. Celebrating the "birthday" of a fictional duck? Not a real person, but a product of hundreds of artists and writers, owned by one of the most powerful entertainment companies on earth? Certainly, it seemed a little foolish. But not entirely insensible. I wasn't the only one celebrating Donald, after all. Other artists and photographers were joining in. People cared about Donald. As if he was a real person.

This leads me to think that Donald Duck is somehow more than lines on a page and pages in a script. He has a character, a personality that has grown over time, and can't really be thrown aside by some upstart writer. We as an audience know when Donald is Donald, and get bored or frustrated when he is not acting thusly. People love Donald (and Frodo, and Link, and Chihiro, and Janner, and Simba), and like the Velveteen Rabbit, this love grants them a kind of life. Would it be going too far to say that they are real? And for those who aren't so sentimental or poetic (which is ok), all of these characters draw from, amplify, and/or idealize things the artists took from real life. So there's still something beating in the hearts of all these characters.

And so we celebrate them and the stories they are a part of - in no small manner. This week has been full of celebrations honoring fictional victories and heroes. People gathering together, giving their full attention (dare I say worship?) to the mythologies of our day. E3 (arguably the year's biggest videogame conference) was this past weekend. Zeldathon begins today. Zeldathon is a week-long, 24/7 charity livestream wherein a crew of over 70 people come together to play through every Legend of Zelda game back to back. In my mind, it is the celebration of Zelda and the stories of Link. Why would this be successful if not for immense love of the Zelda franchise? On Saturday, I will be going to Heroes Con, my local comic con. Comic Con. Oh boy. The ultimate expression of geek love and community. A true modern-day pilgrimage.

So all this has got me thinking about how much we as geeks/fans, and for me personally as a follower of Christ, should care about all this stuff. 

One of Nicholas Kole's (you knew this was coming) core ideals that he mentions often in talks and blogs is the "permission to care." By this he means that we should allow ourselves to engage deeply with the things we care about, even if those things are incredibly nerdy. The Lion King. Breath of the Wild. Princess Mononoke. Kole invites us to set aside our cynicism about these things being "just entertainment" and be open to believing, loving, and seeking God-given meaning and truth inside these works of art. It's acknowledging the fact that nothing is truly mundane - each movie, song, or game is pushing us closer to God, or degrading us away. Here's the core of his idea:

"Theory: When we nerd out, I think we are closer to the Spirit of God- we are open to things being more, mattering more. When we pretend things don't matter, we are further away. Don't hide behind irony. Nerd hard."

I think Kole's advice is a breath of fresh air to a cynical age, and a good reminder for geeks to engage the things they love at a level deeper than mere escapism or entertainment. But I've begun to feel like the whole situation is just a bit more ... complicated than Nicholas makes it out to be.

First of all, I think that Nicholas Kole happens to have incredibly good taste in art (and one that aligns closely with my own). This is important because we shouldn't only love deeply, but we ought to love the right things. Things that aren't shallow, or corruptive, or despair-laden. This requires a high level of discernment. For example, I find modern country music incredibly vapid. Although there are exceptions, the lyrics are without substance and often glorify things I don't agree with. It's hard for me to love it, or to think of it as having much value. But my brother loves country music, and loves it deeply. Should I then try to find something admirable in the music? Or encourage him to love something else? There are worse examples than country music, even within my sphere of geek-dom. Should I be happy for people who love Doom deeply, or any other media that celebrates gore and wonton violence? It's situations like these when Kole's principle begins to break down. It's great to love deeply. But you become like the things you love, for better or worse.

Rarely do I see people rally around works that are difficult to understand, yet are incredibly profound. Works without flashy visuals, without spectacle, where "fun" is not the first word that comes to mind when you think of them. I can't imagine a con based on Dante's Divine Comedy would be very well attended. I wouldn't even go. Yet Dante's Comedy is an incredible work of art which has withstood the decay of time for hundreds of years. There's no Kurosawa theme park. But Star Wars is getting one later this summer.

Despite all this, I don't think Kole is wrong in his invocation to care. I think Zeldathon is still a wonderful celebration of a extremely good video game series. And part of our duties as people and artists is to celebrate the good. We ought to seek out good and filling food, but once we're there, let's feast! And feast with friends! There's something admirable about love for a story - unlike love of self, it is a love that compels you to go outward, to seek community, and in turn, to love others. It's a love that deserves a place in our lives, nestled in with and giving great respect to our love of Christ. I think our geek love is working best when it compels us to go out - to D&D tables, to conventions, and to those in our community who wouldn't find a place anywhere else. And as a story-crafter, I (and maybe you, dear reader!) have an extra responsibility to make sure our art is worth caring about! Let's make better stories, support better stories, and rally around the things worth caring about. Even if those things are nerdy. As a reflection of this mission, I'll be posting art each day of Zeldathon on my Instagram and Twitter - and I'll be dropping by the livestream from time to time as well! I'll also be at Heroes Con. Maybe I'll see you there! 

The first Zeldathon painting

Thanks for sticking around - this is an important topic to me and I imagine it will come back in future articles here on the Roost. I just found this piece by Joshua Gibbs that I'll have to read in the meantime.

Thanks for your readership and support! 
-dh