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

Richard Williams' First Lesson - An Essay

For years, Richard Williams' Animator’s Survival Kit has been the most popular reference for animators of all skill levels. Yet amongst all the charts and principles it's easy to overlook its first (and perhaps most controversial) lesson. In it, Williams recounts a particularly memorable interaction he had with the Disney star animator Milt Kahl. Williams approached the animator at his desk and asked a simple question: “Milt, do you ever listen to classical music as you’re working?” This query prompts an oversized response from Kahl, who swings from an enraged arrogance into a subtly humble “I’m not SMART enough to think of more than one thing at a time!!” In other words, “no.” If Milt Kahl, one of the greatest animators in history, was unable to listen to music while he worked, could any of the rest of us expect to accomplish this feat? Williams takes this lesson to heart, and is later shown sitting at his desk with a embroidered jacket reading “Animation is Concentration.”

animation of williams' drawings from the book

However, most artists I know don’t take this advice so readily, one such artist being myself. Whenever I’m drawing, I usually have something playing in the background: news and comedy podcasts, video game soundtracks, funk and 80s pop. I’ve heard of several Disney artists even playing TV episodes on a second monitor as they paint. If Kahl thought classical music was distracting, he would be blown away by the type of content we regularly listen to while drawing. And on some level, the music is helpful. For me, music while drawing serves the same purpose as music while running - it keeps me going when I’d otherwise slow down. When I’m scared to begin a sketch, I’ll put on something really fast to build up my courage. While I’m slogging through rendering in the 9th hour of working on a piece, it helps to have a podcast providing something else to think about. I’m still able to focus on the drawing, and if anything, it helps me to draw for longer amounts of time.

However, as I started recording my time usage during an at-home workday, I quickly realized I was lucky to get in 2 hours of actual work a day. Some of this was due to starting late and other factors, but one major cause was the time spent queuing up the next song or podcast. And since I listen to a lot of music on YouTube, I’d also get distracted by queuing up regular videos which would totally stop my productivity. As a result of these findings and a greater desire for effective work times, I gave up multitasking, and with it, listening to music while I draw (in most circumstances).

Kahl really was right when he implied that you think differently while drawing with music. Music, and especially podcasts, aren’t just background noise but demand some amount of my conscious attention. Attention that is being taken away from my art-making. Animation in particular requires a lot of thought and I can really feel the difference when I’m not also thinking about the music. My thoughts are oriented in one direction towards one goal, and I think the art is better for it. At the very least, I’m investing all the time that I would be spending queuing music towards working on the art, which prevents further distractions from popping up. Sometimes I do get tired from drawing without music, but I’m able to pack more work into a shorter time which ends up being more satisfying.

Some tasks can still be done fine with music. If I’m in a good mood while cleaning up animation, it’s fun to sing along with a favorite song (or perhaps a sea shanty) as I go. But I do realize now that music does demand an amount of attention that I may not have to spare while doing creative work. And it’s often an easy way to procrastinate even while I’m “working.” In those cases, it’s best to admit that I’m not smart enough, unplug, and put the all the attention where it needs to go.

What’s been your experience working with/without music? I find that every artist has a different take on it and some are more affected than others. I’d be interested to hear what works for you!

much love,

-dh