A Merrie Yuletide to You All

the north pole air control!

Hello Bloggerfolk! And a Merry Christmastide to you!

Although it pains me to have missed the hallowed, two-years-strong tradition of a post precisely on Christmas Eve night, I have my reasons... For one, this year's Christmas illustration wasn't ready until 1 AM Christmas Day, despite sneaking in some drawing during every holiday movie marathon. But sometimes you just got to risk Santa's wrath if it gives you extra time to trial-and-error your way through adding highlights (curse you material rendering!!!!) Additionally, I always struggle to find the right balance of pleasant work (this blog, the above illustration, Bearpuncher) and the decidedly non-work (spending time with family, looking at sunsets, The Office reruns) while on breaks. And this year, I have struck out a little more on the non-work side. 

But excuses aside, Merry Christmas! For this year's illustration I bring you Ivan and Holly, two (mostly) tireless workers at the North Pole Air Control. Since they do work at the Christmas HQ, I dabbled in some self-indulgent research of vintage outfits and a warm Christmas palette - (have you guys ever realized HOW GOOD Christmas colors are? if you doubt me, watch Robin Robin.)

Oh, and while you're here... I thought this might be a good time to talk a little about process, particularly the sketching phase! One of my favorite Twitter trends from earlier this year was the #sketchvsfinal, where people would post an artsy "before and after" - first sketch alongside the finished images. While some sketches were suspiciously excellent, many looked like mine, which is to say, unimpressive. Here's what mine look like:

When I drew this, I had just gotten the idea and was trying to record it before it left my head. There's no detail, and only the loosest indications of anatomy or perspective. Heck, he doesn't even have a left arm! But what is beginning to appear is shape and force (the energy "flow" of the drawing). Those are usually the two most exciting parts of the image for me, and I'm willing to bend anything else to suit those factors. Shape and force are how I show the emotion of the character, and the appeal of the drawing itself. It may be different for you, but that's where I personally like to start! For this character, I knew he would be a burned-out, over-tired, call-center kind of guy, so he'd be defined by a big slouch and in a very casual pose.

Once I had this basic idea on the page, the rest of the process becomes sculpting that sketch into something that makes better sense anatomically, has more specific details, and more thoughtfully exaggerated shapes. Justin Oaksford talks about in this tweet the importance of redrawing and refining on top of your sketch, and I totally agree! Although I sometimes get impatient and just do it all on one layer. But for me, drawing is mostly a long process of pushing around the rough, uncarved "clay" of the initial sketch, finding opportunities to make it better through multiple small revisions. This keeps it from feeling overwhelming or that you have to nail it on the first try. (Which most artists CANNOT do! Which is a relief to all of us.) 

Go go draw boldly! And gently! And enjoy the "excess of Chronos" that is this strange, sluggish, reflective week between now and New Year's. I hope you may find friends, family, and/or eggnog close at hand.

merrily yours,

dh

Recommendations:

Nicola Saviori made this incredible reindeer drawing that inspired me to create mine (though his is much less of a desk-jockey)

The song of this Christmas season for me has been the classic version of It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year, I think due to the way it was expertly cut into the Hawkeye trailer (also a good show btw!)

New Sticker Design!

just a little fowl humor for ya

Hi all! 

Big news! I have set up my first online store with my first little product - a new sticker design! If you want to see it RIGHT NOW and don't need the lengthy backstory, you can jump right to it here :)

https://danielhaycox.gumroad.com/

BEGIN LENGTHY BACKSTORY: Last spring I took an ornithology class which changed my life in a lot of ways. It started an interest in birdwatching, told me more about the bird's digestive system than I EVER wanted to know, and perhaps most importantly, informed me that the scientific name for the Robin (and other thrushes) is "Turdus."

I think that's wonderful. I love any bird (except cowbirds), so I hesitate to call them a rude name. However, Robins really do seem to fit it. They're one of our most common birds, and aside from their huge migration in the spring, seem relatively unremarkable. They are a frequent cause for disappointment while birding, especially when you're expecting a rarer species. They are, in a word, Turdus. 

Anyways, I though the name had enough intellectual, juvenile, and incredibly specific humor to make a successful sticker, so I drew it up, got it printed... and waited several months to figure out how to sell it. But despite having the least amount of free time I have ever had, I say there's no time like the present. And I owe it to these old projects to actually get them out into the world. I even have a whole artbook in this awful limbo. Now that I have a storefront, maybe I can start getting these kind of things out there!

Ok, so maybe that backstory wasn't quite so lengthy. But I wanted to make sure you guys got the news first and were able to snag one if you're interested! 

your fellow wayfarer, and bird-merchandise hawker,

-dh

How Animation Taught Me to Love Musicals (and Centaurworld)

I used to be a musical hater. Okay, well maybe not a hater, but more of a reluctant tolerator.  Because whenever the music would swell and a character would bust into song, I couldn't help but find it jarringly unrealistic. If someone tried to do that in real life they would be given some stern stares, or worse, assumed to be a theater kid. 

However, now as a world-weary and jaded 23-year-old, I welcome the musical genre. I haven't watched all the classics, but I no longer roll my eyes at dance numbers, "I Want" songs, or operatic solos. I get especially excited when I find a musical TV show, because somehow the six to fourteen songs they can fit in a typical movie isn't enough for me anymore. I need multi-album soundtracks. Numerous songs by extras you will never see again. More duets. Sad, romantic, and battle duets. I'll take them all. 

You may chalk this sudden (and perhaps humiliating) change up to a general longing for anything hopeful and wholesome, an impulse I imagine to be pretty common among young adults growing up through these Covid-times. But as this change has been going on for a while, I think there was another reason, and it won't come as a surprise: my study of animation.  To explain, let's take a not-so-brief foray into some armchair aesthetic philosophy. 

At its core, animation is communication, just like any other form of art. The best animation captures a real person, idea, or experience and brings it to the viewer in a direct and interesting way. But as the majority of concert videos in my Instagram stories prove, just because a real experience is being recorded doesn't mean the viewer will actually experience what it was really like. I've generally found that when designing and animating, trying to exactly copy life won't actually produce results that look real, and never ones that look appealing. Something gets lost in translation. So to actually make something that feels believable, you have to overshoot reality - exaggerate. We have to actively work against the atrophy that comes along with the artificiality of animation. We stretch, saturate, and simplify. We're tightening our message down to what is most important, in a way that the audience can easily recognize. 

Animation doesn't have to be stylized. But I think it's most delightful when it is. In a post I will reference time and time again, Nicholas Kole describes why stylization is so important when designing for animation:

"We notice, and we point people's attention to the details we love most. That's what makes stylization so alluring- we are simplifying the visual statement to direct your attention to this-kind-of-arm or that-kind-of-smile. We create patterns from our love and attention."

Animation will always be to some extent, unreal. But if we lean even harder into that unreality through stylization, we can communicate something real in a striking and direct way. And even more exciting-ly, we can communicate a very specific view of something real. We stylize out of our own personal point of view. What we love will be large, contrasting, central. What we hate will be even more corrupted. What we're apathetic about may be omitted entirely. Good stylized designs tell you what to pay attention to, and the best ones even suggest how you should feel about it. 

And though I know much less about music than I do about drawing, I think songs in musicals serve the same purpose. In most musicals (but famously excepting Cats, a long rabbit trail I am happy to talk about later), song sequences are stylized ways of presenting narrative moments. And therefore, they are decidedly non-realistic and non-literal. For many people, that's enough to take them out of the narrative. So why risk a song? For the same reason we stylize. In art, we must fight to say things as clearly and as specifically as possible, and a song does just that. The limited lyrics confined in meter focuses our attention only where it needs to go. And it's impossible to beat music in its ability to inform how we should feel about something. Yip Harburg, lyricist for The Wizard of Oz, puts it this way: 

"Words make you think a thought. Music makes you feel a feeling. A song makes you feel a thought."

I think that's incredible - in musicals, we get the chance to feel a thought. To experience a character's feelings almost as if you were them. So now, I don't mind whenever a character bursts into song, because if it's done well, we're seeing an incredible metaphor that's putting us not just into a story moment, but the very mind of the character experiencing it. I love musicals for the same reason that I love stylized characters in animation - they are fantastical, entertaining, and highly effective ways to communicate something real. 

So it's maybe no surprise that a medium with a grounding in visual stylization is often paired with a genre known for its narrative stylization. That may be largely due to Disney's catalog, but I wanted to highlight a recent exceptional example since I've been obsessed with it for the past week: Netflix's Centaurworld.

some wammawink fanart because her songs are SO GOOD

I don't think Centaurworld would work without its rooting in musical theater. In fact, the show is inspired by the creator's accidental enrollment in show choir while in school. And when describing it to friends, I've said that whatever you don't like about musical theater you won't like about this show, but whatever you do like, you'll really enjoy. For example, the show is unabashedly weird and flamboyant, but the emotional moments hit much harder for all the musical reasons I spent several paragraphs just describing. The music pulls the story along on this very satisfying narrative arc. The songs grow more desperate and sad as our heroes near the end of their journey, while a chill-inducing lullaby pulls us ever closer to the final showdown with the Nowhere King. Overall, the show is one of the most cohesive and well-serialized animated shows I have ever seen, and if it wasn't so long I would easily enjoy watching it in a single sitting. It reminds me a lot of how Steven Universe transitioned into being pretty much a musical over the course of its lifespan, and how grand, serious stories aren't necessarily cheapened by the addition of songs at pivotal moments. 

And thankfully in a show where singing is this important, the voice performances are fantastic, with obvious Broadway experience. It definitely falls into the trope of "cute world with a dark underbelly" we've seen in shows like Adventure Time and Pibbi, but its insistence that the fragile, kind things would be what ultimately redeems it was refreshing. 

There's a lot of other things to like here too, from some of the best rigged horse animation I have ever seen (Mercury Filmworks continues to amaze in their rigs department), to a surreal and Undertale-esque sense of humor, but I always find myself coming back to the powerful (and delightfully lengthy!) soundtrack as the element that ties it all together. If you can manage to look past the giraffe man with nipples (which is difficult, I know), you'll be rewarded with a surprisingly emotional story and some new tracks to add to your showtunes playlist.

(yes, I know about that.) 

(and I now have one too.)

thanks for your readership -

-dh

A Happy Halloween from Your Favorite Variant

Happy Halloween everybody!!!!

In an exciting turn of events, I have assembled a legitimate costume for the first time in three years! I'll be honest, despite Halloween nights being some of my fondest memories from childhood, my Hallow's Eve spirit has significantly waned as I find myself in the awkward in-between of the trick-or-treat equation (neither the treater nor the treat-ee).  But after thoroughly enjoying the new Loki show this summer, I knew. I knew the answer to the biggest annual question from my childhood: who I want to be for Halloween. 

While it would have been fun to have be Mobius (as I'll take any excuse to rock a mustache for a few days), the "President" version of Loki made the most sense. I scoped out thrift stores on the weekends to find the suit pieces, but where was I going to find Loki's crown, the piece that would tie it all together? Thankfully, I have a talented brother who can sculpt armor, weapons, AND mask/crown/headband-things out of foam. Thanks Jonathan!

Here's what it looks like all together -

come on, what did you expect?

It was really fun to have a real costume to wear this year, and it helped the holiday to feel much more special. As my schedule gets more full (especially now with a full time job, woof) it gets easier and easier to let the special days be swallowed up in the busy-ness of the ordinary. Because holidays, feasts, and Halloween parties don't just happen. It takes a ton of work to cook the food, hang the decorations, and bring together the people. Mundane life will just keep rolling on - so it's our imperative to carve out the spaces for reflection and celebration. 

So I encourage myself and you - keep the feasts! Decorate the cupcakes! And on one of the rare nights when adults are allowed to pretend and dress up, go for it! It's the feasts, fasts, and festivals which bring rhythm to our lives. 

Happy Halloween everyone, and the spookiest of good cheer to you and yours. 

-dh

I Have a Job and a Place! Wow!

 So... things have been happening... and after a summer of wandering, unemployment, and a side of freelance, I am happy to announce that I have a job! In animation! And also an apartment! All in the same week! And if I'm using perhaps too many exclamation points it's because I'm fairly sleep deprived and probably the most busy and frazzled I've been in months! 

Some context: over the summer I'd been doing scattered temp work and test assignments for a new show called The Wingfeather Saga. It's a fantasy adventure show based on a series of books I loved as a kid, and crewed by a team full of familiar and friendly faces. And now many emails, several sketches, and brief stint PA-ing later, I'm a Production Associate for the design team! Still kinda figuring out exactly what that means, but right now it's been a bunch of meeting scheduling, asset organizing, and macaroon eating. I'm told this last task will not be a permanent part of the job :(

I'm not getting to do much art in this role (yet), but I'm hoping to be able to sneak in a few designs when our team gets overbooked. Wingfeather is made by a pretty small studio with a lot of artists in production/admin roles, so there's a chance that could happen (which would not be the case at a bigger studio.) Of course, my PA responsibilities come first, but it would be a delight to point at the screen, declaring loudly to the whole audience gathered in the theater: "I DESIGNED that MUG!!!" (To which, they would jubilantly respond, "SHHHHHH.") I guess after more than a week of having no time to draw I'm chomping at the bit to figure out how to bring that discipline back into my life. The really cool thing about being in production is that I am getting a really good sense of how people are hired and how to make yourself competitive as an artist. I also get to sit in on all the art review meetings and soak in all those notes and knowledge. Now I just need to figure out how to put all that into practice, in a schedule that now has drastically less free time.

This is my first ever 9-5 (8-5 in this case) job, and so it's been a huge adjustment to pivot away from the self-styled living of a freelance/mostly unemployed artist to a schedule that is largely already set each day. Adults, how do you do this? How do you accomplish all the many things you get done in the hours from 6PM-12AM? Because I have not figured that one out yet. So far, I've figured out how to hang out with friends and occasionally make dinner. But reading? Practicing music? Watching TV even? No idea. This maaay be because I also got an apartment the week before I started my job, and dang do you need a lot of things for an apartment to function. I thought you just need a table and sofa or something. But it turns out you need at least: silverware, wifi, a real mattress, floor lights, and a shower curtain (all of which I did not have upon moving in. I will not soon forget that first night...)

However, each day, my apartment is getting a little more livable, and I'm getting a little more capable at my job. This is a picture from my first day ever working in The Industry and it DEFINITELY captures the fact that despite having a job, you might still be just as clueless, awkward, and amateur as you were in school (or in my case, more so.)

boy does this guy look ready for an exciting career

I remember reading somewhere that as you advance through life you'll often go from the very top to the very bottom of the ladder. High school seniors go from ruling the school to being freshmen again in college. I had gotten really comfortable being a college senior, but this is my freshman year of studio work. Things aren't going to go perfectly, my ego will be crushed quickly, and my footing may be shaky. I definitely feel like the nerdy freshman I was four years ago, and four years before that. But through the process, I'm rediscovering a bit of that freshman zeal and eagerness that I had ashamedly forgotten as a jaded senior.

So here's to going back to school - I'm just glad my new classmates are the best (and that there are sometimes macaroons.)

-dh

Daniel vs. the Future

 

east nashville clouds

Hello Bloggerfolk!

After one of the longest breaks this blog has ever seen, I am back with your typically scheduled life-update-y kind of post that you've come to expect (and maybe dread? or cherish?) I promised myself that I wouldn't be one of those bloggers that leaves school, gets a job, and then never blogs again. (That's the very fate that befell this blog's spiritual ancestor, RIP) But now I see why that happens. Priorities get more intense, no one tells you how to manage your time, you decide to start watching Parks & Recreation on a more than regular basis... you know, all the usual things.

Also, while I've had my fair share of blog-worthy crises this summer, I've found that a lot of my post-college problems cannot be so easily discussed in such a public place. Therein lies the paradox of the personal blog. I want to be as honest as I can here so I can best represent and remember the reality of my journey through the arts. Yet I don't really want to do a career/social nosedive by putting everything out there. This is the third time I've rewrote this post, and I still don't know if it's really going to stick the landing. Which sucks, because I've had a lot to think about this summer. And I could have used some self-indulgent bloggy processing. 

I've been thinking a lot about the idea of "liminal space" - the hallway between the doors, the muggy thunderstorms between summer and autumn (which have begun to roll in recently.) This summer has been a rather comfortable liminal space between what I expect to be two big seasons of my life. College is over, but at the same time, my career hasn't really yet begun. I'm in Nashville, so things are familiar, but my routine is different. Everything has been characterized by a vague sense of non-commitment. I've been housesitting, living at home, staying in Airbnbs, and moving places about every two weeks. I get to try new grocery stores, new neighborhoods, and new restaurants. Each place has its own unique delights: farmer's markets, trains rumbling past, thrift stores, pools, expensive grills. Grounding it all has been steady hangouts with consistent group of friends. These summer nights have been full of board games, swing dancing by the river, and jamming to "Come on Eileen" just one more time. I've been learning how to cook, hosting my first dinner parties, and making pies and smoked BBQ. And for weeks, the setting sun glowed a coral pink (brought on by the California wildfires.)

It's been a pretty great summer, but not one that can last. 

Because eventually one has to commit. And to be honest, the idea really spooks me. I've dreamed up all these big dreams that don't fit neatly into your usual 9-to-5 job, 12-month-lease kind of living - like biking across a state, finishing a much-too-ambitious short film, or staying for a few months in a totally new place. These are the kind of dreams that are easy to make while in school and/or unemployed, which has been the case for most of my life up to this point. Yet the reality of being an adult means that I need to provide myself with food, gas money, and some semblance of stability. 

In addition, I would, you know, like to work in animation which means committing to a season, crew, and studio. Despite there being an allure surrounding the infinite potentials that "Looking for Work" can bring in, I think "Now Making the Work" is the real stuff. Within the next few months, I'll need to decide where I'm going to live, and what work I'm going to do. Two choices that will shape the next year of my life, and possibly much, much longer. I don't think I've made a decision this big since deciding on a college in high school - and it's kind of freaky!

Huge, life-changing doors seem to open and close without my permission. I firmly believe that where there's a will there's a way, but as I look out on my post-college future, some of my biggest decisions appear to be deciding themselves for me. Some might find this to be a relief. Yet as a planner, prone to selfishness, and with a pretty definite (hypothetical) plan for how I thought post-grad was going to look, it's strange to find that I'm not the only author of my future. Covid restrictions, studio needs, pure luck, and ultimately God's hand are all coming together to shape what my story is going to look like. And they all don't seem to ask for my opinion very often. As a Yiddish proverb goes, if you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans.

Some of my older and/or wiser readers may have already figured this out and have been smirkingly shaking their heads at my youthful pride. As you well should. But for me, this has been a summer of realizing that the future refuses to fit neatly into any of my own expectations. I do expect to look back later and find that it was in an unplanned way better that what I had envisioned, but right now I may just need to stop running from it. 

Summer is ending. School is starting. Not for me though, which is so weird. And for the past few weeks I have been paid to draw delightfully wicked animal characters for a show here in Nashville. It may not have been what I expected, but I won't deny that it's good. Or that God is good. Cause He is ;)

I've got a few art-tutorial type posts in the works, and then maybe another life update where I will have made more decisions, finally talk about this studio/job I keep hinting at, and have gone camping or something. Who knows! It's the future. 

Until then,

-dh

Father Thomas McKenzie: In Memoriam

something a little different, and more somber. remembering the life of  father thomas mckenzie, priest of my nashville church.

father mckenzie offering drive-thru communion during the pandemic, no matter the weather

In his Lenten devotional book, Father Thomas McKenzie described people who petitioned the Desert Fathers of the church for a "word" - a proverb, a piece of teaching, an insight. While I never got to know Father McKenzie personally (apart from a singular luncheon at his favorite restaurant, Baja Burrito), I've benefited from being a receiver of his word for nearly my entire college career. 

It was freshman year, and I was seeking a church home in my new town, perhaps the most surprisingly difficult part of college life. After a brief stint attending an Eastern Orthodox church, I returned to Church of the Redeemer, which I had visited a couple years before. Ashamedly, I had first visited in hopes of seeing a certain Nashville celebrity, but what drew me back this time was someone different. I had gone to church my whole life, but only one person had really made me listen. And that person was Father Thomas McKenzie. 

That's because Thomas was a master of sermon form. Every one began with a story from his personal experience. He had the double gift of both remembering large swaths of his life in great detail and pulling insights out of it years later. These stories ranged from wearing mildew-soaked t-shirts, finding a skeleton in a desert wash (at least, I think he did that), to blowing up a gas station (which he definitely did, though accidentally.) These stories were of course a not-so-subtle way of ushering us into his sermon, but as many times as he said "...and to do that, I'll need to tell you a story about..." it never got old. Buoyed by a single glass of water - and no notes - Thomas consistently called the hearts of his parish into God's kingdom every week. He spoke clearly and with conviction - never was it insincere, and his points were organized enough to be evident, yet natural enough to feel like a regular conversation. To me, his most memorable sermon was on Isaiah 42:3, in which he revealed the character of Christ and challenged me to extend more grace to others. I'm not alone in saying this, but he truly was my favorite person to hear the Gospel from. 

Because that was really what it was all about. His conversations, his sermons, his life. No matter whether he was speaking from Ezekiel or John, you could expect each sermon to end in the same place: the Gospel. As a storyteller himself, Father Thomas would trace each idea back to the story he most truly believed in. And by returning to Christ again and again each week, Father Thomas was steadily directing attention away from himself and to the Gospel. Despite writing a definitive book on Anglicanism, despite being the charismatic leader of a healthy church, he somehow kept his head and shunned his pride. 

And beyond that, he just made being a priest cool. He was all in - I think I only saw him once not wearing his white collar, and he could throw Christmas trees into the annual bonfire and make humorous quips with equal ease and charisma. He loved the vastness of the desert and the intricacies of popular movies. He was not a priest sacred and removed from his congregation, but instead one of the most understanding allies willing to go right through the messiness of ordinary life with anyone who asked.

Despite going to a Christian college, Father Thomas and his ministry were my main source of spiritual growth and pretty much the only thing keeping college from being the period of spiritual drought that it often threatened to be. I was always a little disappointed whenever Father Thomas would go on sabbatical since it meant I wouldn't get to hear from him for a while. And as he now enters his Sabbath Rest, it's hard to imagine not receiving more of his bold, witty, and insightful words for the rest of this earthly life. 

if you'd like to know more about father thomas, you can hear one of his best easter sermons here, and the gas station story here.

Skipping Art for Sea Turtles, and Other Nautical Tales

sailor dan in perhaps his truest form, with fellow wayfarer joe mulligan

Hello Bloggerfolk!

I'm back again, fresh from the airport, a bit more tan, a lot more tired, and very glad to be home, or at least some semblance of it. My nomadic summer continues, having spent the most recent stint of it in the bays around the island of St. John! Inspired by our previous trip to the southern seas, my dad and I decided again to go sailing. Only this time, the boat was significantly bigger, the bathrooms were slightly less scary, and the crew was made of old high school friends (both my dad's and one of my own!)  It was my big hurrah to celebrate having finished four years of college and being 99% graduated (I shake my fist angrily at my remaining summer credits). And before you get too jealous, I'll have you know that I was covered in sunscreen most of the time (icky), had a major case of sea legs (wobbly), and got stranded at least once (more on that below). But I'm not gonna lie - it was a great trip and a major blessing. Getting to swim in blue water under jungle hills dotted with pirate-era ruins is pretty much how I’d want to spend any summer ever. Sailing is a lot like camping, in that there's danger and uncomfort which is then traded to experience a beautiful place about as closely as you can. Unless you have a 5-mil+ yacht. But I don't think that will be happening for me anytime soon.

I promised art in my last post, and did my best to deliver. But it wasn't as straightforward as I had hoped. Drawing while on this trip was surprisingly difficult, as my drawing process typically includes two things: lots of reference, and lots of time. And I didn't have much of either on this trip. With limited cell service, I was cut off from the illustrations and art styles I often reference while drawing. All I was left with was the scenery, my natural instincts, and what I could remember. Which perhaps is a good look into where I'm actually at artistically, when I'm not borrowing tools from and measuring myself against other illustrators. But the perfectionist side of me was never really happy with how the pictures were turning out, which made me even more disappointed in the amount of time it was taking to draw them.

me and the pad

Drawing is fairly isolating - working on my iPad meant I was out of the sun and away from the fun for extended periods of time, and I began to feel like I was missing out on the trip in the same way that a tourist misses out on his when he's too focused on taking photos. In fact, drawing often fills that same desire for me as photos do for the tourist: the desire to take some part of the place you're visiting back with you. But in doing so, you miss out on actually experiencing the place firsthand. There was a distinct point on the trip when I was struggling to draw some dang shoreline because I didn't have the time or reference to really nail it, while my friends were out swimming with freaking sea turtles and I thought what am I doing??? is having a nice picture really worth missing out on that?  So I ditched art for the rest of the trip, swam with two sea turtles, and it was wonderful. 

Before I had that "screw it" moment, I did get in two pictures that I liked, both done in a polygonal style based on my memories of Laura Bifano's work, which I recently discovered and really like. It's a novel, very digital approach to landscape painting, but for some reason, it was the only style that really felt natural at the time. I'm also including the shoreline that caused the epiphany because if I can't feel comfortable sharing bad art here, then I won't anywhere. 

golden hour at leinster point and tortola

i just love clouds so. freaking. much.

ugh

Drawing issues aside, the trip was great. The main island we sailed around, St. John, is mostly national park, meaning that the views are relatively unspoiled and it truly felt more wild. I'm not the biggest fan of resort vacations or overdeveloped places... give me ancient ruins and trees any day! This trip had them in spades - we even discovered ruins of a resort house on this quiet beach! 

That tower up behind me is, you guessed it, MORE ruins (pirate-era dutch windmill tower). And while it wasn't on the itinerary, we also got to snorkel over a shipwreck (checks that one off the bucket list) Pardon me while I geek out about ruins for a moment... how have I never talked about this on the blog before??? 

We had a few close shaves, mostly due to the assumption that “we wouldn’t ever run out of gas for the dinghy boat.” (small boat that gets you from the bigger boat to the shore) And that assumption was put most strongly to the test one night when we decided to dinghy 20 minutes across the bay with a more than full passenger load just in the hopes of a seafood dinner. Instead of a seafood dinner, we were greeted with no easy place to park (and for some reason we settled on the smelliest part of the whole harbor to disembark), no seafood (the only place nearby was a hamburger place where we waited literally two hours for food), and barely any gas (as this was the only harbor that had no gas station). By the time we were leaving, the sun had more than set, we were pretty much out of gas, and we still had a 20 minute drive back, against current, in the dark. Dad and I were pounded by the oncoming swells as we pondered what to do in the very real possibility of running out of gas, wrecking on shore, or any number of unsavory outcomes. Thankfully, those outcomes remained hypothetical and were able to make it back. But when the dinghy ran out of gas the next day, stranding us on an entirely different island, we realized just how close we had been to a legitimately dangerous situation. (shoutout to the Alabama guys who got us off that other island). 

And while those dinghy trips made me never want to step foot off of the boat again (for fear of being stranded on yet another island), eventually we did and headed back to the states. It's quite nice to be on the mainland again, and I'm ready to settle into my new place where I'll spend the next couple weeks (this one has a pool! yay!) Hopefully it won't distract me too much from the mountain of Bearpuncher work that needs to be completed but... we'll see ;)

wishing you a great summer of ruin-exploring adventures!

-dh

Music Recommendation: The two songs that were pretty much always in my head the whole trip were Calypso by John Denver and the Pokemon Ruby and Sapphire dive theme. Which are very likely NOT the first two songs that come to most people's minds when it comes to seafaring, but are both incredibly nostalgic for me. (sorry not sorry, beach country music)

Report from Week 2 on the Freelance Front

Hey Bloggerfriends -

I’m coming at you fresh off my first two weeks of post-college-and-rather-more-adult life! I have planned and cooked meals. I have joined an awesome trivia team which consistently tanks in the second half (curse you, sports and cars questions!!!) I have been putting serious work into Bearpuncher, translating dozens of hours drawing into whole seconds of animation (woah!!! don’t get too excited, people!) But with each day the film is getting more done and some day it will be all done and that will be a good day! But for now, I’m keeping my head down and trying to maximize this time I have to focus (nearly) single-mindedly on this thing.

The transition away from school initially hit me pretty hard. I spent the first few days after graduation just wondering is this it??? Do I just work all day and then hang out with friends at night? IS THIS ALL THERE IS FOREVER?? Compared to college, where there’s always things going on, long luncheons on the lawn, and different classes every day, life seemed too quiet, too simple, and too repetitive. Especially since I’m currently living the life of an indie animator/freelance artist, and working only by myself. I missed having coworkers, or some kind of social interaction during the working hours. Although I thought I could manage living the freelance hermit life on a farm somewhere, my extrovert side is pulling me towards the bustle and camaraderie of studio life. Now if only there were a studio that would let me in…

golden hour light doing its thing

Eventually, I got used to it. And as the weeks led on I treasured the time alone when I could really focus on getting stuff done. It even got to the point where I started to tire quickly of social interaction, and prefer a quiet evening in, animating and watching The Bad Batch. Perhaps I had adjusted too well. Yet this nomadic time of my life prevents me from getting too comfortable - I’m heading off on my graduation trip and then housesitting for a few weeks. And then after that, no idea! I’m not going to lie - it would be awesome to do some studio work and know where to live. But I also am really grateful for the chance to finish this important story and not have to commit just yet. Can’t have good things without commitment, but I’m not ready… just yet…

Anyways, see you when I get back! Likely with stories, probably with art!

the best to you and yours,

dh

Goodbye, Lipscomb (Or, Into the Interim)

So this past weekend I graduated from college.

Wow.

It's still taking a while to sink in completely, especially since the transition has been so gradual (and is in fact, still continuing!) There was the last in-person class, last online class, last exam. A goodbye to these friends, those friends, visiting family, and a muted goodbye to those who will be staying in Tennessee with me for the next little while. And throughout it all, there was way too much excellent food, many excuses to dress nice and wear suspenders, and enough beautiful weather for the first in-person graduation since Covid. As the bagpipes processed down the arena floor during commencement, I thought back on unlikely friendships, nights in my oddly nostalgic 1990's era dorm, laughter and struggle and tacos every Monday. 

What an incredible four years. 

It's no understatement to say that Lipscomb built me as an artist. Unless we're counting the influence of Steven Universe or the precious few principles I was able to remember from my single high school art class, I learned everything right there on campus. It's where I discovered (and sometimes met!) my art heroes. It's where I first learned about gesture and design. And most importantly, it's where I found a community of people who care about cartoons (and each other) in a real, inspiring way. I still remember the moment when I knew I was among my people - stepping into the (now repurposed) animation lab in Hughes and seeing Bill Cipher on the whiteboard as Sam and Naomi showed me their work. Grown adults, talking intelligently about cartoons they liked! That was something I never experienced in high school, and a blessing I've been able to share for the past four years. 

lu animation seniors class of 2021

the one and only tom bancroft

My Lipscomb experience has been about more than just animation (insert liberal arts joke here). At Lipscomb I rediscovered a love for nature during an Aaron Blaise talk, Biology & Literature, and Ornithology classes. I learned what empathy really means as an RA. I went to Hutchmoot (two times! snuck in!) and Lightbox Expo. I've been a victim of the overflowing hospitality of the Warren, the Bothy, and Toad Hall (this is why you should name your houses, people). The people I met at Lipscomb number as my dearest friends, closest collaborators, and nearest confidants. 

And now that the fanfare is over, the feasts have been supped, and the celebration subsides, I find myself thinking - what now? In one way, I have a clear answer. My first order of business is to finish Bearpuncher. It's a monster of a project, but it's gotta be done, and be done well. And in a generous display of grace I'll be able to focus on it full time. Because until it's done, it will be hard to feel like I can really move on to the next step (and technically, I'm not graduated until I get summer credit for working on it.) So I'll be doing that.

Yet despite this, I still feel very much un-settled. I don't have a normal job to work at. I'm not in an apartment, or even back home in NC. My Disney mugs are boxed away in a storage unit. And my friends are off in their own homes, miles away. I don't have classes to ground me, a cafeteria to feed me, and a consistent place to stay. It's all those usual summertime feelings except I won't be heading back to campus in the fall. Although it was perhaps unrealistic to think that I would hop straight from college into a new studio, home, and rhythm of life... I still expected it anyways.  It's the end of the era, but the beginning of the next one is murky and uncomfortably gradual. Never have I felt the title of this blog to be more apt - I have entered the Wayfaring Years.

Lipscomb has been such a blessing, and it's hard to think that the future could be just as full of friendship, growth, and good times as the past four years have been. But I know I couldn't have imagined these four years while in high school, so I'm hoping my expectations for post-grad will be delightfully shattered as well. I don't know where my home will be, or what the future is like, but I'm excited to find out.

And while this is a goodbye to my time at Lipscomb, it's not a goodbye to the people I met there, especially my junior friends who are watching all of us old dudes leave. Still trying to figure out how to reconcile that paradox, but you will be the first to know when I do, because we will still be hanging out.

Onward!

your wayfarer-in-chief,

dh

day 1

fin

Fest Zest

fest friends

About a week ago (I am much behind on my blogging!) was the culmination of the Lipscomb Film Calendar, the Five Minute Film Festival. The weeks leading up to the festival were stressful to say the least - even though I knew that Bearpuncher didn't have a chance of being finished in time, I caught a lot of secondhand diligence and anxiety from the Juniors who were working so hard to wrap their films. With the finish line for Bearpuncher being easily 4 months away, it was fun to vicariously have one last go at the finals hustle while also putting in additional hours on BP. The night before the fest I stayed up most of the night with the Juniors, waiting for the moment when we would export the final and celebrate. When that moment did come at 8:30AM, the celebration was postponed in favor of naps. 

But celebrate we did! That evening we gathered the crews of Sketchy Dealings, Home Slice, Chupacabra, and Bearpuncher together for a real good time. (Those films will be linked once public videos go live) Aedan Peterson gave a fantastic Fox-ian toast which really drove home what a blessing it's been to be a part of this community for four years now. The experience was such a shift from last year's festival. Even though it was still livestreamed, our room of excited, over-tired animation students burst forth into raucous applause anytime an animation professor or film appeared on screen. Applause so loud, in fact, that we got a noise complaint halfway through and had to end the evening most quietly. 

Unfortunately the awards announcement was a little more... complicated than last years. With seven animated nominations in the running (the most ever!) competition was at its tightest and some of the judges' choices seemed baffling. But nevertheless Lorna represented the seniors well by being the only one of us to finish (so far!) and by winning first. (An early version of Bearpuncher actually placed second, assuaging some worries about the general weirdness of the story and revealing that I GOT to finish it now)

The evening ended with an unofficial afterparty in the Shinn Center Event Space, karaoke to my new favorite Steve Taylor song, and Joel's legendary piano playing. Altogether an enjoyable evening - 10/10 would fest again. Even though I won't be nominated for future festivals (you know, with not being a student and all) maybe there will still be a chance for more celebration, more film, and more fest.

blessings to ya

-dh

BEARPUNCHER

bearpuncher

I have been teasing this for SO LONG guys - but the wait is finally over! I am ever so happy to formally announce Bearpuncher, my newest short film. Sorry to keep you waiting ;)

Bearpuncher is about a cursed mountaineer using her own monstrous powers to beat back the fearsome creatures of the woods. It’s a love letter to the Smoky Mountains, and the monsters I’m pretty sure are in them. If you like Princess Mononoke, Hellboy, or punching things, I think you’ll enjoy this film! It will be available to watch this fall, with an early (and I mean EARLY) preview this Thursday at the Lipscomb Five Minute Film Festival. 

It’s been a long time coming. For those keeping track at home, full production started in August 2020 but I've been doing development work on it since Fall 2019. My ever present worry is that the film will not live up to its two year production cycle, but I want to make sure this film is as good as a (mostly) one-man-team can make it! And that just takes a while. I'm committed to finishing it, and excited to begin bringing more people onto the team to make that happen (including my friend Sam Abner)! I’ve been trying lots of new things, most notably hand-animating it all Blender's 2D workflow, and even integrating some CG (never though those classes would come in handy but I was WRONG!)

But for now, it's exciting to start sharing it with you. I'll post some updates here, but most of the behind-the-scenes work will be in my new newsletter (more info in next post). Feel free to subscribe!

Thanks for reading, and I hope you’ll love Bearpuncher when it releases LATER THIS YEAR!!

-dh

The Moment the Smoky Mountains Broke Me

As a man with one foot in Tennessee and one foot in North Carolina, I'm happily obliged to traverse through the Smoky Mountains as I move from place to place. I've visited them dozens of times, but I've never been as immersed in them, or as moved by them as I was while hiking this past week. Perhaps it's because the wildflowers were just really pretty this year. Or perhaps it's because I saw them while BACKPACKING! Yes, after years of avoiding it, I finally donned a pack on my last spring break ever. And while the smart kids headed out to the beach to get tan, I headed out to the mountains to get thoroughly exhausted (and kinda tan?? but just on my arms). 

This trip was probably the most difficult physical feat I've completed. Although we avoided rain, sickness, and many of the common backpacking troubles, backpacking on the best of days is still really hard, especially for a first-timer. Hiking largely uphill with a huge pack, meager meals (by my indulgent American standards), sleeping on a board next to strangers - are definitely not on my usual itinerary. I was extra thankful for the small things I had already been doing during the ordinary time of life to prepare, like running and fasting. I don't think I could have done this kind of trip during most times of my life, but I was glad that I had been building endurance and capability over the past three months which was put to the test in these three extraordinary days. You gotta be ready for adventure when it comes!

Yet despite the difficulties, backpacking really is the way to camp. Rarely have I felt the amount of independence that comes with having everything you need on your back. And rarely have I ever felt so deep in the mountains before. It was exciting to think that the nearest road was a day's walk away, and to see a view of the mountains that only a fraction of visitors get to experience. I found myself thinking much on Edward Abbey and the satisfaction of having to earn these vistas rather than have them delivered to me after a brief car ride. Backpacking demanded a respect for the terrain and a partnership with nature - I sure didn't feel like its master while out there. 

Also I got to drink a TON of creek water which made my creek-obsessed, 12-old-self very happy.

I DRANK THIS CREEK (the water is clear don't worry)

While on the trail I spent much of my time birdwatching. An ornithology class I took this semester to pad my schedule has given me a surprising interest in this hobby and has even more rapidly accelerated my ascension in Old Man Daniel, but I'm cool with it. As birds go deeper and deeper into my heart it gets more and more rewarding to spot them, and to actually hear their individual voices as they sing. Unfortunately the birds were fairly spread out compared to Radnor Lake, but when I could afford to take my eyes off the trail my head was on a swivel to find the warblers, which stayed (frustratingly) hidden. 

looking for those warblers

Oh and yes the people were great too ;) No really - it was a great group to go with. Good conversations, excellent trip planning, and history facts abounded, making it a perfect group for a first backpacking trip. My outdoorsman knowledge was put to shame by the first night, providing a needed dose of humility to my inflated former-boy-scout ego. 

I hadn't met most of them before and was anxious to make a good impression (we would be spending a lot of time together, after all). So I decided that a good baseline would be to take everything in gratitude without complaining. I quickly found that the crew was friendly and welcoming, with no need for imposed maxims, but I figured I would stick to it anyways. This was easy enough for the most part, but heavily put to test on the second day - the uphill day.

i wore those shorts for the whole trip

appalachian trail junction with emily, long time bloggerfolk

Although one would expect the route to the Rocky Top summit to be a continuous climb, it is delightfully punctuated by a small summit between the mountaintop and the Spence Field shelter where we were based. And it was this small hill that finally got me. We had spent the afternoon on top of Rocky Top, in a grassy patch of clear field perfect for napping and taking in the view. The sun had set, and we were descending down the downhill trail back to the shelter. Mostly downhill that is, except for trek over the in-between summit. 

As expected, the trail turned steep again. And this final tiny incline, this insult to injury after a day of uphill hiking finally broke me. I don't remember exactly what I said, but I'm pretty sure it was something with the sentiment of "this dang hill." 

This comment was met with shared understanding (it was a dang hill, after all). The horizon simmered with burnt pastel shades, and the forest fell silent again. But I knew in my heart that I had goofed up. After nine uphill miles, the Smokies had finally cracked me with their tiniest slope. AND I WASN'T EVEN WEARING A PACK. We had previously dropped all our stuff off at the shelter. I thought it laughable that after several miles uphill with a pack that was who-knows-how-heavy, it was a tiny deviation in an unencumbered, downhill route that finally got under my skin. Just goes to show ya.

Despite this momentary frustration the trip was definitely a great experience and it would be awesome to go again sometime... once my joints stop hurting and I have had much Baja Burrito. I don't think I could have lasted another day, but strangely I do miss the mountains and the feeling of being a small wandering hobbit in the wilds. But now it is time for queso, a shower, and pajama pants - all the good things of home and hearth. Until next time, bloggerfolk!

-dh

Music Recommendation: The song that was stuck in my head pretty much the whole trip (thanks Kenzie) but I didn't mind

A Full Heart at the End

So yesterday was my last caricature show at Lipscomb. And even though this year has been full of many “lasts,” this one hit me different. The caricature show is one of my favorite events of every year (four years strong!) and as I stand on the far side of my final show, I can’t help but look back with a full heart. The show and the Life Drawing Club have meant so much to me, and I hope to celebrate them richly, before passing them on into the capable hands of the underclassmen.

If it sounds like I’m talking about death, it’s because I am, in a way. Maybe it’s just the timing of this post (Holy Saturday), but I think there’s more here. This year will bring a fitting end to my time at college, and a way of life I’ve practiced for four years. Of course, I expect to see these people and places again, maybe even daily in the coming fall. But my home will be somewhere else, and I will be someone different. And as seniors leave and freshman come, there will be less and less faces at Lipscomb I recognize. It’s already happening now - at every meal, I’m lucky to see even one person in the cafeteria that I know. All year I have used the metaphor of the elves from Lord of the Rings to describe my predicament: although I have dear friends here in Middle Earth, the sea is calling and I dare not tarry longer than I ought. And we’re getting scarily close to the Grey Havens, my friends.

What hit me most was seeing Madi’s wonderful caricatures of the only four seniors to graduate this spring from our program. I could have sworn there were more, and yet here we are. Four graduates who have made it to the end.

Going to college is not a given. And I’m realizing now that graduating from college is not a given either. It’s taken late nights, scrambles for funding, more endurance than we could have thought possible, and yet, we’re here, together.

And that’s why I rejoice. This caricature show was amazing - lively crowd, great drawings, and the first time I’ve seen Jon Densk since the outbreak. It may be the end, but boy is it a happy one. Not all schools are open like Lipscomb, not all hearts are so merry, and not all friends will draw you sporting bright pink or slapping your knees in your apparently iconic laughing pose. 

So as tradition, here’s the caricatures I drew, and those drawn of me. Enjoy!

josie, good friend and bringer of thunder

eric stars, a fantastic teacher and production manager

brandon, always interested in how you are doing, in a genuine way

kaedan, the only person I know who can really rock a raccoon hat

full page of caricatures from rachel, I'm the one in yellow

so nice I had to post this twice (madi's)

me and (my long lost sibling???) josie - who also drew this

gratefully yours,

-dh

Small Details Intimately Observed

“If a writer stops observing he is finished. Experience is communicated by small details intimately observed.” - Ernest Hemingway

I take a ton of photos on my phone. But if you ever scroll through my photo reel, you’ll find an odd assortment of items and locations: screenshots of internet finds, interiors of historic buildings, exteriors of abandoned buildings (for I am afraid to go in), plenty of flowers and leaves, and lots and LOTS of clouds. Most of these pictures were taken with the hope of circling back to draw them someday, or reference in a future project. This rarely happens, as there’s a decent chance the photo will get lost in my unsorted archive and an even better chance that I’ll just be too busy to bother looking. But recently, I did draw one, and it made a world of difference.

this is that photo

This month’s Character Design Challenge prompt was “Mushroom Fighter,” which even if the idea wasn’t already exciting enough (it was), I ALSO had the perfect mushroom to use. I had snapped a picture of it while looking for birds at Radnor Lake, and this mushroom was the best thing I found that day. Something about the shapes, the chunky volumes, the way it softly exploded out from the tree just captivated my attention. This seemed like the perfect raw material to shape a design from. Immediately I saw this beautiful mushroom as the beard of a jovial, Bacchus-like dwarf. The rest of the design wasn’t really that important - I kept it all fairly simple so that I could better deliver on the recreation of the beautiful mushroom I had seen that day.

mushroom man

After posting the piece, I was surprised (pleasantly) by a Facebook comment that congratulated me for “finding a way not to make the mushroom the top of his head.” Yet despite the overwhelming abundance of mushroom-topped fighters in this month’s contest, I never saw this as a problem to be solved. Instead I was just following what experience had given me, and it ended up producing a different result.

A lot of the time, we design for - we have a visual problem to be solved, so we thumbnail, fail a bunch, and find reference to fill this void. Yet my mushroom experiment showed the surprising richness of designing FROM - taking something known and loved and exaggerating it into something new. While this kind of design is inherently more spontaneous, it feels like a quicker way to a successful result. Real Life has already done most of the work, so as artists all we need to do is add perhaps a couple more ingredients and some packaging.

Why does this work? That Hemingway quote from four paragraphs ago has the answers. Art is about communicating experiences, most effectively done by “small details intimately observed.” I think as artists, it’s easy to get so caught up in trying to impress people that we forget that art is about communicating something real. We can also fixate on originality, not realizing that we have troves of unique observations ready to be developed further. The most widely appealing part of any artistic work is the reality at its heart. After years of drawing for a portfolio, I think I’m finally realizing that a successful drawing is that which communicates a specific idea well, no matter whether it’s loose or tight, colored or 2-tone. It’s about making drawings that tell the truth (to borrow from a favorite C.S. Lewis quote). 

Currently I have painted 1 out of the 2,000+ photos in my phone. But I hope that at least some of these “small details intimately observed” will help me plant experience at the heart of my future stories.


One more Hemingway to close us out:

"I never had to choose a subject — my subject rather chose me."

-dh

Music Reccomendation:

While editing a spot for my voice over class this semester (which features my halfway-decent Fox McCloud impression) I found this amazing orchestration of some of the best themes from Star Fox 64. I've never played the game, but the end credits theme that begins around 3:55 is just incredible. ESPECIALLY the motif that's first heard at 4:45 - if my life had a theme, I think I would want that to be it.

From Nashville to Kilkenny: A Love Letter to the Courage of Cartoon Saloon

ben (from the song of the sea)

I’m not someone who remembers the first time I saw a movie in the theatres, but I do remember the first time I saw a Cartoon Saloon movie. I was just beginning to take a serious interest in animation and was looking for films created outside the Disney/DreamWorks vein. While leafing through the small animation section at my library, I came across a curious DVD. Behind text announcing multiple awards and accolades, a pale face peered out from behind a veil of leaves. Its Oscar nomination and setting of Irish mythology interested me, and so I checked out this beat up copy of The Secret of Kells, Cartoon Saloon’s first feature. Perhaps this indie film would inspire me, set me down a new path, and change the course of my life.

Instead, I was thoroughly bored. This slow story about monks, punctuated by excursions into extreme stylization and visual whimsy, was practically indigestible to my adolescent mind. I returned the DVD to the library and thought no more of it. Yet in college I couldn’t escape hearing whispers about this Irish studio. A studio which bucked trends not only by drawing frames by hand, but also by animating in a boldly flat and graphic look. Concept art of the very monks I saw as a teenager surfaced as reference images during my character design classes. I may have forsaken Cartoon Saloon, but the studio’s work was too excellent to be ignored forever. Soon I had watched the studio’s full catalog of films, but this time, I found myself inspired and impressed by each one. Having grown a little older and (I hope) a little wiser, the beauty of the films opened up before me. A beauty which was most evident when held against the other films of the era. Thoughtful melancholy rather than fast-paced laughs. An abandonment of linear perspective rather than hyper-real CG renders. Uniquely Irish stories rather than generic fantasies and sequels. These were films from the heart, not Hollywood products. These were films that could only be made in Kilkenny, Ireland.

Which is kinda strange, because before Cartoon Saloon, there was no animation in Kilkenny. As I’ve been reading a number of great articles sparked by release of Wolfwalkers (Cartoon Saloon’s most recent film), I’ve discovered that Cartoon Saloon’s history has been just as unconventional as their films. While most animation professionals anticipate moving to LA at the beginning of their career, this wasn’t a given for Tom Moore and the CS team. Instead, the history of Cartoon Saloon has been one of making art where you are, even if that happens to be an ocean away from the industry center. Following the success of The Secret of Kells, any of Cartoon Saloon’s team could have easily found positions in the top American studios. They could have worked with the great artists of the medium and got regular paychecks. But in the years following The Secret of Kells, the team decided to create locally. At the heart of Cartoon Saloon is a courage to create the films they want to make where they want to make them - a risky attitude, but one that has brought us some of the best animation of the past two decades. It’s also widened the industry itself, creating a new animation hub out of a small medieval city.

I don’t know what my path will look like, or yours. I for one always imagined myself leaving Nashville to work for studios in LA or elsewhere. And I may very well do that. But it’s not just that I’m excited about the idea of living somewhere new - I’m also scared of staying here. Of making animation away from the guidance and half-security of the studio system, while inevitably working non-art jobs to support myself in the meantime. I’m scared to start something totally new and trust in my own ideas. And admittedly, I don’t want to give up the chance to work with the people and projects I’m such a big fan of. Right now, Nashville feels a lot like Kilkenny before Cartoon Saloon (just with significantly less castle).

That’s why I’ve been thinking a lot about Cartoon Saloon recently. As a teenager, I was baffled by their choices. As a college sophomore, I was inspired their films. Now as a weary college senior on the precipice of the future, I find myself guided by their bravery. A bravery to seek art wherever it is found. And a freedom not to compromise on what’s really important. The story of Cartoon Saloon has shown me that you can make art where you are, and the world will be better for it. That place may be LA, but it doesn’t have to be. It could be Nashville. It could be Kilkenny. But even in an industry as centralized as animation, there’s still room for new ideas, new studios, and new Saloons.


Thanks for your readership-

-dh