Secret Workshop: Out of Season

This post is thanks to our Workshop Crew members. Thanks Crew! To join the team (and see the top-secret art I reference in this post) sign up here!

this post features images of hayao miyazaki. i am not an old man. yet.

It’s Spring. It’s the blissful time here in Nashville when the murkiness and violent ochre of fall is almost entirely forgotten as the trees burst into pastel pinks and darling greens. There’s some agro-hipster (dare I say ancient) part of me that longs to live alongside the seasons, and thus for me Spring is typically bright and fresh, the celebration of the new, the joyous, the adventurous. Now’s the time when I rewatch the Studio Ghibli catalog, or replay Zelda games. It’s probably the time when I’m the least nostalgic.

While the coming of Spring has brought great enjoyment to my heart, it has brought great difficulty to my work. My current project, CURIO, is really more of an autumnal creature. CURIO needs to be a bit murky, most definitely nostalgic, steeped in things almost forgotten - absolutely not pastel, not current, not fresh. You may begin to see my problem. My heart is off in Ghibli-land, but CURIO demands it be in the exact opposite place. What am I to do? I could quit CURIO and follow my every seasonal whim. But that would mean working on 4(+) short films every year, never finishing any of them, and for a lot of reasons probably feeling very confused. I don’t really want that. So my alternative is to work out of season, against the very inspirations my heart is drawn to, and return to whatever increasingly dull-seeming, out of season project sits currently at my desk.

Normally I can push through this kind of thing, but this week I’m working on CURIO’s color script. (The color script defines the color palette and lighting for the short, which essentially set the tone and vibes for the whole production.) I can muscle through linework, I can muscle through character design, heck, I can even muscle through animation if I need to. But color has always seemed different to me. Color is the most emotive part of the animation process, and the most ineffable. When I seek out color I’m relying almost solidly on gut and vibes. There’s no formula for setting the colors of a project. I need to feel it.

But I don’t feel it this week.

I arrive at the desk and this quote weighs heavily in my mind:

Show up, show up, show up, and after a while the muse shows up, too.
- Isabel Allende

So I show up. I pull together reference images, looking for color patterns like stars in constellations. What I’m doing is almost scientific. Almost like an autopsy. All these inspirations were things I cherished last fall, things I still think are worthy of reference and imitation - yet the luster is gone. It’s partly the season, and partly being in the stage of production when there’s still much work ahead and not much currently on the page to encourage you.

I show up. I try out some different color combinations, eyedrop hues from screenshots, etc. I wonder how people work on Christmas projects during the summer. I mourn the loss of the “perfect” version of this I would make, the version made when my mood more matches the project. But I can’t wait for fall, can I? Who feels Christmas-y during the summer??

I show up. Thankfully, color’s not the only thing I’m working on this week - I’m also planning out the main BG painting for the short, and while inspiration would be nice for that too, it doesn’t feel as crucial for this kind of work. I alternate between the two tasks. Thirty minutes on color, thirty minutes on linework, tea, donut, watch a bit of Kiki’s Delivery Service, clock in to my studio job.

Finally, a spark. Not on color, but on the BG painting. It’s just an idea, a little story/design solution for something I’ve been turning over since Monday, but it’s so surprising that it excites me. I still don’t know my way with the color direction, but this is exciting. Suddenly the project has some luster again.

And that’s just kinda how it goes. It’s weird. You’d think that working on personal work and your own story would always be fun. But it’s still a challenge. However, I feel like it was a bit unfair to call this whole process an autopsy earlier - I think it’s really more like faith. Faith to trust a direction and rediscover why you chose it in the first place. Faith to just keep going. Faith to trust that a product that captures even 70% of the grandeur you saw in your head is still better than keeping it all up there, where it can’t be shared and enjoyed. It’s not an autopsy, it’s charging through what looks languid to find that living soul at the heart of the idea, the soul that captured your attention and sent you down this road in the first place. I almost feel like I’m talking about a relationship at this point, but that’s still another act of making, and thus requires just as much faith. (Probably more!)

If Bearpuncher was any indication, this struggle to find CURIO’s motivation won’t be solved in a week. But in the meantime, I’ll do my best to keep putting in the hours, making… something. Just something is good.

Crew Members, read your extra email to see what that something is! Bloggerfolk all, thanks for your readership! What are you making this week? Whatever it is, I hope the muse is right there with ya (and if not, just show up anyways).

best,
-dh

Lightbox 2022

I'm back from Lightbox! 

And I only had three hours of sleep last night! (early flight) 

But at the risk of embarrassing myself, I thought I'd type something up before I get out of Pacific Time and back into Cozy Fall Tennessee time. Where to begin... 

Well, on this trip I called my first Lyft (surprisingly easier than I would have thought), had the best bubble tea in my life, and approached a particular art director with the careful grace of a crazed street urchin (should have probably warmed up my social skills first). I was able to talk to Cartoon Network when there wasn't a massive line (trust me, not easy), hear everyone's opinions on the Mario movie and Mario characters (@Marynia), and catch the Pasadena City Hall at golden hour. It was, by any summation, a good time.

Yet despite that, I've felt conflicted about writing this post for you. For one, Lightbox is the ultimate FOMO monger for animation people and that's the last thing I want to encourage. I also knew that to fully talk about my Lightbox experience, I'd have to venture into a potentially very braggy and privileged topic: that as of this month, I've been in "the industry" for a whole year. 

Wow. 

Not an artist in "the industry," but working in animation nonetheless. Through God's grace, my foot is bashing its way through the door. But since it's been a whole year, and since there's plenty of negatives to go with the positives, I think it's ok to talk about my experience so far. Reading over my old post from the first time I went to Lightbox (while a student), I'm struck by how nervous I was, but also how excited. I had made lists of the people who I wanted to talk to. I was desperate, but optimistic, getting tons of portfolio reviews that thrilled and discouraged and motivated me to do better. 

In contrast, I found Lightbox 2022 to be about as relaxing as a convention could be. I wasn't there to get a job, but just to talk with people. There wasn't a checklist or agenda, aside from cruising the convention floor and giving out Wingfeather merch. I ended up having so many warm and encouraging conversations that filled up my heart and made me much more excited to keep making art. Which was sorely needed, since it seems like the biggest curse that comes with actually working in animation is cynicism. 

After years of anticipation and rejection, a coveted studio position becomes just... your 9-to-5 (and frequently longer!) job. Especially in this current climate of surprise cancellations, quicker paces, and growing workloads, it's easy to forget how special it is to be there in the first place. Although I might have idolized the idea of an animation career as a student, I did have a certain amount of wonder, gratitude, and hunger that I'd like to recapture. If I'm already feeling this one year in... well, I better make some changes if I hope to stick around. 

That's where Lightbox comes in. Lightbox invites you to get excited. To see faces, not profiles. To walk through the hallowed halls of studio booths and wonder what they'll be making next. To become that fan again, sitting with your friend AJ in a Moon Girl and Devil Dinosaur panel, both of you getting chills while watching an animatic because the theme song is Just. That. Good. 

Ultimately, you realize that despite how terribly hard it is to get a job in animation, we're actually a pretty small community of weirdos who like a lot of the same stuff. 

And job or no, it's our responsibility to be kind, to make good works, and say what's true. THAT'S the way I want to approach Lightbox. And, like, life. Maybe things don't have to be so complicated, or conventions so stressful. Maybe we can just make stuff. And make friends. I'm grateful to have at least one Lightbox where I got to try this idea out. 

I'm also thankful for Wingfeather for sending me to Lightbox, and for giving me a job. I'm thankful for all the artists I got to meet, and for those who remembered me from the last LBX. I'm especially thankful for conversations with Bill and AJ, who encouraged me greatly in my design work. I feel closer than ever to doing something big. And I'm thankful for the cornerstone of the trip, all my Nashville friends who provided a friendly face in the crowd and who made every evening into a fun adventure. I was sad to leave Lightbox this year, but glad to know I won't have to leave you behind. 

And thanks to you, bloggerfolk, for going with me on this verbal journey and letting me sort all these feelings out in a rather public way :P I appreciate your readership, and I hope to see you in the next post.

peace!

-dh

Harvest

My houseplants are in a horrible state. The ginger has grown far beyond my wildest dreams and put up dozens of stalks and flowers, all of which are in some stage of browning. A pot which used to hold thyme sits empty like a memorial to the plant it bore last summer. I've even come close to dehydrating my succulents. Plants, surprisingly, won't sit still like they do on my interior design Pinterest board. They shed leaves, twist upward, get moldy, and do all sorts of other things which require your care and attention. Care and attention that I'm much more tempted to spend on making art (or hanging out with friends, if we're being totally honest.)

Because of this, I've learned that I'm not much of a gardener.

Which is kinda ironic, since for the past few months I've viewed my artistic work as another sort of "garden." In my morning drawing sessions I snip a few branches, pull a few weeds, pour on the water.  I "tend" to the story, checking back in on it, encouraging it this way and that, watching the slow accumulation of time and effort grow it into something bigger. Bearpuncher has been the first time I've invested major time into one project, and it's surprised me that as you sit with a project for longer, it becomes more of it's own... thing. Like a plant, it wants to move a certain way, budding outward from the choices you made earlier in the process. For example, Bearpuncher purposely ends in an ambiguous, happy/sad kind of way, but it always begged for some note of hope at the end. I'd heard this from friends, and as I watched the final cut I could feel its absence. At the storyboarding phase, I was confused on how to add hope back to the ending, but now with the film more mature it was easy to see how to do it. So I created one additional painting (now one of my favorites in the short), and the film grew in an organic and beautiful way. 

Speaking of Bearpuncher, and this extended gardening metaphor, it seems like the harvest is around the bend. Me and my friend Clay have 99.9% finished the final visuals, the actual artwork/animation has been done for weeks now, and the audio is currently being designed and placed. The merch(!) has been designed, and sent off for production. Last year's poster has been dusted off and greatly improved:

Ever made wary by this project's tendency to take 3 times longer than expected, I'm still bracing myself for delays, emergencies, etc. But I'm ALSO bracing myself for things to go ok and for this film to go out into the world SOON. For it to be seen by you! For the fruits of the labor (the lumpy, well-loved, Appalachian fruits) to actually be enjoyed by real people. It's Going To Be Cool.

But what comes after the comes after the harvest? For the smart farmer, the soil is left fallow - to rest, not growing anything, just recovering its strength. I'm wondering if I should let myself be fallow. When I was deep into making Bearpuncher, I dreamed about the post-Bearpuncher future when I would take few months off from drawing, travel some, and engage all the other hobbies I had de-prioritized. But after two years of doing this, I'm reluctant to put down the shovel. I like doing this. I like the fruits that come of being busy. I like seeing quantifiable progress, and an identifiable purpose for structuring my days. I'm good at doing, not so much at being. It's hard to stop without feeling a little bit guilty; it breaks my heart to say "not yet" to my next project. With a pivotal career moment approaching, shreds of art-school hopes and dreams still in limbo, and the state of the animation industry only getting worse, it seems riskier than ever to just REST. 

Or maybe, riskier than ever to trust. To trust that God sends rain on the busy and the un-busy. To trust that I can find success without kneeling to the idol of productivity. To trust that a life spent exploring, dabbling, and aimlessly wandering is a well spent one. I want to reinvent my artistic process, to care for my health, and to not answer "busy" when asked how I'm doing. But ultimately what I need most is to prune back the Miyazaki tendency to only feel purposeful and satisfied when putting effort into an artistic task. Our God loves the things we create, but he loves us more. 

I still think about Mako Fujimura's guiding question, "what do you want to make today?" But maybe in a fallow time I can realize again the dazzling breadth of possible answers. I think I'll try making apple cider bread, more time for prayer, and maybe start sowing the seeds of my next project. I don't think I'll be sowing any actual seeds though, since my East-facing apartment windows seem unsuitable for sustaining much plant life. 

Hope this piece finds you well and settling into autumnal coziness. I'm already feeling very nostalgic for old stop-motion movies and memories of past Novembers... and Bluey's gonna be in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade this year!??! So excited. 

Also I'm going to be at Lightbox again, like tomorrow??! My last experience at Lightbox was a high-excitement, high-stress time, but I'm hoping that this one can be more relaxing and fun. If you're there, let's do a big high five (and I'll slip you some Bearpuncher stuff ehehehehhehe)

see ya!

-dh

PS:

A song about the simple things, one of my recent favorites

The lovely art of Jestenia Southerland, for lineless art inspiration

Whoops: I Had Too Much Root Beer and Forgot that 2021 Ended

some favorite pieces from 2021

Well, not exactly. 

But I am pushing the bounds of when it's appropriate to post a "2021 wrap-up!" 

For some reason, it's been really hard for me to summarize my experience of 2021. The year had several distinct stages, each with their own joys and disappointments. It was a very mixed bag of a year for me - one where many goals were achieved, but many dreams left unfulfilled. Although it's only a month distant, the year already feels fairly foreign to me. I was in school only a year ago! Hah. Weird to think about. 

But before I go and get too introspective, I wanted to share my favorite things I discovered in 2021. So in case you happen to be looking for something to direct your eyes (or industry awards) towards, here are my recommendations. As always, I'm not limiting this list to things that debuted in 2021, just things I watch/read/played for the first time last year. 

Movie of the Year: The Mitchells vs the Machines

This film continues the innovation and heart first shown in Spiderverse, establishing Sony's position at the forefront of the American feature animation scene. It's probably the funniest movie I've seen in a decade, with absurdly dumb, smartly utilized jokes that hearken to the directors' days on Gravity Falls. I was worried that I liked the movie only for artsy reasons (art-school protagonist, innovative use of CG reminiscent of watercolor mixed-media) but its multi-week tenure on Netflix's top ten speaks to its widespread appeal. In addition, my mom was recommending this movie to everyone she talked to, a rare and sacred honor. This movie knows how to flip between being as zany as possible during action-comedy sequences, and as real as possible during the family scenes. If it doesn't win the Oscar, I will flip. 

Show of the Year: Centaurworld

This may be because I don't watch a ton of TV any more, but I felt like this was a weak year for animated TV. Many good shows (Hilda, Bluey, Mao Mao:HoPH) were in their between-season hiatuses, with only Amphibia holding down the fort with its killer season finales. However, Centaurworld's first season stood out with an incredibly satisfying story set in an incredibly weird and song-filled world. Kimiko Glenn and Megan Hilty are just fantastic as the show's leads, providing such life to the character dynamics and the show's soundtrack. It's with great regret that I say that Season 2 falls vastly short of its predecessor and instead plays out like an awkward fanfiction dotted with decidedly un-catchy songs. I don't really know what happened there, but Season 1 is good enough, and self contained enough, to establish Centaurworld as a great offering from Netflix Animation and my pick of the year. 

Note 2: Aquaman, King of Atlantis is a STRONG runner up and since I don't think it got enough love, I'm plugging it here. 

Book of the Year: Watership Down

You can find my full review here, but this was easily my favorite book I read this year. It has such a well-balanced sense of scale - both in the physical setting and worldbuilding. Nothing feels too sprawling or extraneous, so the author gives you permission to care about each detail he provides. And these are details you're gonna want to care about - daring escapes, bunny politics, prophecies of doom(!?!) The adventure is grand, the in-world fables are highly enjoyable, and the characters are rabbits. What more can you want from a book?

Game of the Year: Villainous

Whaaaaat??? A Board game as a game of the year??? Luckily for me, I wrote this category vague enough that I can do this. Try and stop me. You can't. 

Vindictive arguments with incredulous (and imaginary) readers aside, I got so much enjoyment out of this well-illustrated game based on Disney's more nefarious cast. This game succeeds due to its balance of story and complexity. Each character/player has a different win condition based on the villain's cinematic plot. As Cruella, you'll have to search out and capture puppies across various locations. As Scar, you'll knock off Mufasa (and then enough of his allies) to secure your rule over the realm. As Prince John, you simply need to collect enough "beautiful, lovely taxes! Ah ha." All these various systems are housed within a streamlined core ruleset - uncommon for an asymmetrical game like this. Learning the different villain plots is the most complicated part, but there's enough similarities between them to make this game easy to pick up without losing any replayability. 

Newsletter of the Year: Animation Obsessive

(2021 BONUS CATEGORY!!!)

This year, as part of a general move towards the analog, I got really into newsletters as a preferred social media. (I even tried my own! Sorry for putting it on hiatus, guys) If you have an email, and are interested in animation at all, I recommend subscribing to Animation Obsessive. They provide some of the most well researched dives into the craft of animation (weekly!) This is some intelligently written stuff, nearly academic and yet instantly approachable. They cover animation of all types, from all places, and dang do you feel cultured after reading it. At times when I don't feel like an artist or I lose my faith in animation, I read AO, and instantly I'm back in art school - informed on what's new, a bit snobby, and ready to make something.

***

For me personally, last year pivoted around my graduation from college, and all the rippling effects and changes and responsibilities that come with it. And boy did I complain and fumble my way through it. Complaining and fumbling, people. After a leisurely summer of working on personal projects while housesitting, I got a major case of lifestyle whiplash in October, when I got my first fulltime job, first apartment, and the very, very minimal amount of free time that accompanies such responsibilities. There's a lot of college luxuries that I found myself wistfully gazing back upon: free time during the sunlit hours, a focus on creating personal art, and the ability to travel to name a few. I've now gained a great respect for grown-ups (especially those with kids??? how??), a great nostalgia for the easy days of college life (wow, that was early), and a great case of sleep deprivation (uh oh). 

I spent the beginning part of 2021 preparing to leave Nashville, and the second half coming to terms with staying here. This spring I said a lot of goodbyes. I was saying goodbye to the people who I had walked with for the past four years - professors who built me as an artist and the friends who'd built me as a person. I had a lot of lasts. Last Caricature Show. Last Five Minute Film Festival. Last college class. Yet the despite the sadness that accompanied this departure, I felt like it was time. Like the Elves, Frodo, and Gandalf, my time in my old world had come and gone. I didn't recognize most faces on campus anymore. My skills were ready to be tested out there at An Animation Studio, where I would begin the next phase of my education. I was ready to drift into campus legend as "that weird guy who always had long hair and sandals" and go tread those sandals elsewhere. During all of the covid-time I had been building up a mighty thirst for adventure, and no place seemed too far away. I'd go to LA, Brisbane, Kilkenny - whatever it took. I was going to "make it," and hopefully draw some new coastlines, pay with new currencies, and create some new stories along the way.

But just like an awkward partygoer, I found I had said my goodbyes a tad too early. As the year went on, I struggled to leave town. A few key things were holding me back. One was my commitment to finish Bearpuncher, my thesis film. While in school I had bitten off way more than I could chew and had prioritized lifestyle rather than making art, which left me with plenty still to do. However, I had made a commitment to finishing it, which felt like something I could do given that I had no job offers coming in (second reason to stay). Although I got really far in the interview process at DreamWorks, my applications remained fruitless. This barren ground would later blossom into a position working at Shining Isle, which has been an incredible experience. Less than six months out of school, I now find myself working in animation, which is incredibly uncommon. Even more uncommon is the studio's location - just south of Nashville. This has left me free to stay in touch with all my good friends, and to continue being blessed by the community we've been building here (third reason to stay). I'm writing this now in my first apartment, nary two blocks away from campus. I can even hear the Lipscomb bells ringing out on the hour (which I do not begrudge, I'd always like to live in a place with bells.) Despite all the obvious goods of this familiar location, I remained haunted by the fact that it felt decidedly un-adventurous. What was I to do with the courage I had been building, an appetite that called out for the strange and new?

I guess what I learned this year is that for as much as I idolized the idea of the adventure of life, I don't get to be the person who draws the maps. Instead, my role is to chart the best course within them. For as much as I admired the Fellowship, courageously carrying the ring to Mordor, I had forgotten that Frodo never asked for such a quest. Sure, I wanted an adventure, one with excitement and challenge and risk, but ultimately one that built the skills I already wanted to learn, took me to places I already wanted to go, and satisfied the ambitions I had already set in place. But I'm not sure adult life, or adventures work quite like that. 

Looking out a the beginning of 2021 I was unsure of the "terrain" of my life. Where would I be living? Who would I be working for? And my college friends - would we be able to stay in touch? And although I've now found the answers to those questions, they didn't all come from me. They came from covid restrictions, community blessings, application rejections, job offers, and ultimately, God's plan. 

Now looking out on 2022, I've scouted out the terrain, but now need to decide what route I'll be taking. I know what I'll be doing this year, but what do I want to do? Are the grand ambitions I coddled in college worth keeping around? What am I willing to give up to be an artist - and is it worth it? 

For despite the big, existential questions that usually resurface when writing for my blog (or watching tick, tick... BOOM!), my day-to-day life in 2021 was actually pretty fantastic:

• I practiced hospitality now that I had my own space
• I learned how to cook all kinds of new things
• I have several artists in my life who could make great mentors and help me learn
• I have a fantastic community of artists and non-artist peers who encourage me every day
• I learned what it takes to get hired in animation
• I joined in on the sea shanty trend, an ashamedly non-hipster move for me
• Also started listening to a lot of musical soundtracks
• I'm officially in the time of my life where I get to attend a bunch of weddings, and even co-best manned in one
• Had a big Italian phase this summer after watching Luca
• Had a big Lord of the Ring phase this fall because I want to live in the Shire
• I ran my best 5k ever, placing surprisingly well in my age group
• Went on big, adventurous trips to the Smoky Mountains and the Virgin Islands
• Spent months primarily working on personal work
• Polished my swing dancing skills alongside a live big band
• Got really into board games
• Ate tacos on Mondays
• Played trivia on Tuesdays
• Got to the final round of internship interviews for a LA studio
• And then actually got a job in animation, for a studio that admires the good and true and beautiful

It's tough to reconcile the everyday goods with the big-picture worries. It's going to be weird to pass from a year characterized by transition, potential, and instability into one that promises to be predictable, defined, and stable (at least in my personal life. The world at large is still pretty wack.) I'm still not used to it, still just as bad with commitment, but I'll keep on fumbling my through it. I'm thankful for where I'm at, excited to see what's next, and ready to keep on learning. I may have finished my formal education, but I have a sneaking suspicion that I still have more to learn than ever. 

To learning, to fumbling, to good cheer and the friends that walk with us.

To 2022!

-dh

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!)

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

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

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.

Specificity

great blue heron

Over the past year I've noticed a certain theme emerge in all the art advice I've been given. It's been hinted at by story artists, visdev painters, and recruiters. But I've never heard it talked about at art school, or any formal setting. It's incredibly central to storytelling, and something you can start using right now. You've read the title, so you know what it is, but for the sake of making this a tidy little essay I'll say it again: specificity! Be specific in your art!

I found it really strange that I kept hearing hints of this over and over from all kinds of different people. I first heard it during a Zoom presentation where Michael Herrera was discussing his path to Disney. He kept getting rejected over and over, but it was only when he relaxed, and drew stories that were personal and specific to his interests that he got accepted. While giving advice on what made good storyboards he kept repeating the importance of being specific over and over. Make sure the acting beats aren't generic symbols for an emotion, but the way this specific character would express their feelings through gestures and body language.

I also picked up threads of specificity in my study (and thorough enjoyment) of Ludo Studio's Bluey and Cartoon Saloon's Wolfwalkers. Both of these stories are deeply rooted in the locations the studios call home, both of which are places we typically don't seen in animation. Bluey is washed in the sunny palettes of Brisbane, with the characters often traveling to real places you can visit (which fans have since tracked). Cartoon Saloon has built the success of their entire studio on a willingness to be specific to the mythology and artwork of the Irish countryside, and in Wolfwalkers, characters walk along the same cobblestone streets that the animators themselves take to work. It saddens me (for more than a few reasons) that the entertainment industry is so centralized in only a few cities because we're likely missing out on so many unique locations for stories. Just think how many stories are set in California or LA simply because that's where the studios are! 

It's easy to see this advice as simply "write what you know" or "be yourself." But "be specific" encompasses so much more. For example - consider a period piece. I'm pretty sure Tracy Butler (creator of Lackadaisy) didn't grow up in the 1920s, but careful research and a uncommon (but specific!) choice to set the story in St. Louis rather than a northeastern city created a specific and memorable story. Of course, it's easier to add specificity to a project by including something that you are familiar with (Tracy did move to St. Louis prior to writing Lackadaisy.) But specificity has more to do with a willingness to ask questions than a previous knowledge of the answers. 

That's how you add specificity to your art - asking questions along the way. Everything starts out generic, but by adding thought and care, we can sculpt something specific out of it. Say you're drawing a pirate. You could just include the visual hallmarks: parrot, vaguely 1700s fashion, eyepatch, sword. This is generic and has been seen dozens of times before - but what if we began asking questions? What sea does he sail upon? Where is he from? How often do his raids succeed or fail? Is he concerned with impressing people? Or terrifying them? Actors are encouraged to ask these kind of questions all the time, yet visual artists commonly are not. If you can use your own experiences and observations to provide some of these answers, all the better.  For example, I'd probably gravitate towards a pirate story based on the Carolina coast, since I'm familiar with the area and could bring even more specificity to the setting and attitude. 

I also may find that I'm simply unequipped to tell certain kinds of stories. For example, I'd love to make a story set in the Australian outback, but since I've never been there, I will struggle to create something that doesn't feel like a generalized version of the culture and setting. I could do a ton of research, but I'm fighting against the grain here. Many of my favorite stories are made about the places and people that their creators already know and care about. They may be draped in a level of fantasy and unreality, but the direction of that fantasy, and the heart of the characters, will be something taken from real experience. David Petersen's Mouse Guard may seem like another forest-animal-medieval-fantasy, but it's specific because the main cast are based on his college friends. Not saying that you can't make stories about things you don't already know, but it will take much more work to be specific and honest to those subjects. 

If specificity so so tough, why bother? Well, the practical reason is that specificity implies story. Say you're drawing a kitchen counter in your scene. Even adding something as simple as dirty coffee mugs left about implies multiple past events and something about the person who used them. Being specific allows you to cram in as much story as possible into your project, which as a storyteller, is kinda a big deal. 

But even bigger on the scale of Big Deals is that it allows you to cover your story in love. And since that sounds heckin' cheesy, I'll back up and explain. If we're honest with ourselves, we won't make the time to do the research to be specific about something we don't already know and/or love. So if we have the ability to be specific about something, it's probably because we've noticed it, appreciated it, and on some level understood it. In other words, we love it. And when we're faithfully incarnating that thing/person/place in our stories, perhaps even exaggerating it for a clearer message, we're inviting the viewer to step into the story and love that thing too. We all have different loves, and the world will be a poorer place if we don't share the unique bits of beauty we see with people who may otherwise pass them by. And this applies to everyone - writers, nurses, waiters all. Our life experiences have given us the skills to see beauty in things others cannot, and I think it would be pretty cool if we shared those specific experiences with others. As a Christian, I'd say we all have a unique way to express God's love for the world, that happens to be mirrored in our own little collections of loves. I love Carolina summers, Nashville afternoons, and mice with swords because God loved them first.  

So perhaps being specific isn't about drawing what you know, but drawing what you love. 

Let's make those kind of drawings. Those kind of shows. Those kind of conversations. And make the world more like a stained glass mosaic of all the little bits of light we see. 

Grateful for your readership and your amazing-ness-ship -

Much love on this Valentines Day :)

-dh

PS:

I will not let myself sink to the academic level of adding a Works Cited section to a Roost post but here's another article on a similar subject that helped me find the thesis of this essay. It would be unfair to not include it, or miss another possible reference to the Happy Rock ;)

Break out Even More Root Beer: It's Time for the Best of 2020

Well guys, we did it. 

It's the last day of 2020, and assuming that Chronos will let us move on from this year I'd say it's time for the annual recap! Say what you want about the arbitrariness of calendar years or resolutions, but I always find it nice to remember and recenter around this time, and take a look back on all the things that happened this year in my art and life. So break out the root beer, break out the popcorn, and let's take a precisely 12-month drive down memory lane.

At the beginning of 2020 I chose the word "equipping" to be my theme word for the year. Standing on the precipice of January 2020, what I expected to cultivate this year was a lot of artistic growth and a growing preparedness for my Big Jump into the Real World of Animation in 2021. I hoped to put myself in a great spot to get hired and move out into a life away from dorms and cafeterias and such. Of course, 2020 did not go this way. Despite animation being one of the few industries that has adapted readily to remote work, planning for the future still became more complex. How could I network now? Or stay motivated to put out work for my portfolios? Instead of equipping for the future, the year became more about surviving the present.

So 2020's theme word gradually vanished from my mind, more due to the state of the world rather than my own forgetfulness (which usually is the culprit). However, that's not to say that this year didn't have a theme. As I was forced to stay home and given more time to pursue my own devices, a strong sense of wanderlust grew inside me. It may just have been an equal and opposite reaction to the stay-at-home orders, but it felt timely, giving me the courage to dream big even when plans kept failing. I was now filled with the desire to adventure, and seek new connections and opportunities. I started biking around town. Dreaming about living and working in places even more distant than LA. Although still scary and now more uncertain than ever, the future now held an allure full of potential. Even though I didn't get an internship and feel just barely more equipped than I did last year, I feel like this sense of wanderlust gave me a passion and drive that will help me face the heightened challenges of living and getting hired in a post-2020 world. 

Art-wise, this year was defined by the Character Design Challenge and my two short films. Although I did do some sketches and fanart, most of my non-school artwork this year was concentrated on the eleven entries I made for the CDC. I started in February, when I made a commitment to enter every month for a year. And with only two entries left to finish, I may actually keep that resolution! Although this project hasn't been great for my portfolio (turns out recruiters don't really want to see various unconnected character designs), it's been great for my artistic development and experimentation. With almost every piece I feel like I've been trying something new stylistically, and have developed new techniques, brushes, and insights along the way. While I'm disappointed that these pieces aren't totally portfolio-suitable, I think they've done much in helping me define how I like to draw while adding to a quality body of work. I'm proud of these pieces, and hoping to put them all in a purchase-able book next year.  

Aside from the CDC, most of my time has been focused on the creation of Good Boy Richard in the spring, and now my thesis film in fall. It's required a lot of endurance, as I usually like to dash around to multiple halfway-done projects rather than commit to bringing one to full completion. With each of these films, it's required months of sustained attention to one story and style while ignoring the many fun other ideas that pop up to provide ready ground for my procrastination... I think all this will be good practice for studio work, especially showrunning. I've been thinking a lot about if I'd still like to be a showrunner, especially given my experience on GBR. Even though I really enjoyed directing, it's a lot of pressure and anxiety to bear, even without a network or executives to disappoint! 

My biggest new artistic influence this year was probably Anna Scott. I love the shapes she uses, especially with her human characters. For many of her projects she employs a very organic rendering approach that echos traditional media, since she'll paint over mistakes rather than erase them. It gives the piece an inherently mixed-media feel which I really like, and it can be done using only a few layers. I played around with this approach on my later CDC entries.  I went through a BIG Stasya Sher phase during the summer, and although I haven't referenced her much recently, I wouldn't be surprised if I circle back to her art at some point. And of course, Saira Vargas, Louie Zong, and Nicholas Kole continue to be touchstones that I reference frequently. One thing I'd really like to work on in the new year is drawing inspiration from artists who are not Contemporary Animation Artists, but a little bit farther outside my usual circles. I did a good job balancing my fanart/original art ratio this year (last year's goal), so maybe I'll have some luck finding new (yet chronologically older) influences in 2021!

As to be expected, I can't fit a year's worth of happenings into a few paragraphs, so here's a bullet list that encompasses everything else I forgot to mention! ;) 

• Discovered a core artist community on Discord
• Saw Cory Wong in concert
• Drove to LA on a cross-country roadtrip and
• Saw the Grand Canyon!
• Was able to spend lots of time with family
• Nashville had one of its worst years ever with tornado, covid, tax hike, and a bombing
• The Roost is now two years old
• The Lipscomb Life Drawing Club is still happening and now going into it's third year
• Got hired to storyboard 
• Read more books than usual
• Wore a mask more than usual
• Began work on my thesis film (after a year of light concepting and script-writing)
• Got featured in animation news! (for ASIFA scholarship)
• Won multiple awards at the Five Minute Film Festival
• Got to be a "panel guest" for the first time (at Nashville Film Festival)
• Made it through pretty much an entire semester in person during a pandemic
• REALLY enjoyed autumn this year. Good trees, fine colors *chef's kiss emoji*
• Got to interview with Cartoon Network

And now it's time for my media picks of the year! As usual, these don't have to be released in 2020, but instead are selected for their importance to my life over the course of the year. I heard someone else call this kind of list a "First Watch" list, which seems fitting since this is the year when I "first watched" these things.

Movie of the Year: WolfWalkers

It's no secret that I'm a fan of animal movies, and Cartoon Saloon movies, so it's probably no surprise that this was my favorite movie of the year. It's a bit less melancholy and thoughtful than some of the studio's previous work, but supplemented with a bigger boost of action and adventure. You can read my whole post about it here.

Game of the Year: Night in the Woods

The story and graphics make me feel nostalgic for the 2010s even though I hadn't played it until this year and the 2010s aren't really that far away. This game just has such a nice vibe. For the record, Hades is a close second and has better gameplay, but since it didn't hit me in the feels it's staying in second. Hades also hurts my hands due to its incredibly tense combat, and I don't want to reward that kind of behavior. 

Show of the Year: Taskmaster

Quite possibly the first time a non-animated show has held this position for me! And although I really liked Ducktales (read any post from May 2020 if you don't believe me), inconsistent story quality and soft-soap endings are keeping the ducks from the top spot. Taskmaster deserves the attention for doing the unthinkable: getting me to watch an hour-long, life action show consistently (even avidly!) It's a delight to watch, surprisingly funny, and a defining feature of my television watching this year. I've just made it to season seven and I can confirm that it is the best season. Mainly due to the genius of James Acaster. But season 1 is great too, which is really fortunate since it's a good point to start watching. (You know, being the beginning and all.)

Book of the Year: Lord of the Rings

After a particularly stirring discussion during my regular gathering of pipe-smoking friends, I started reading the Lord of the Rings during fall of 2019. (I was also tired of feeling like a poser while referencing hobbits on this blog.) While this could count as a 2019 book, I wrapped the whole trilogy up just after the first couple weeks of lockdown. And man, I don't think there could have been a better time to pick up this series! It's a lush, masterful tale about endurance in the face of despair. If you've already watched the movies, the books still have so much more to offer. A lot of it are names and histories that I will have no hope of remembering, BUT you get a stronger bromance between Gimili and Legolas, a much more haunting depiction of the Army of the Dead, and more British pastoral goodness than is possible to fit in a two-hour film (or a trilogy of two-hour films). 

* * *

As with anyone, 2020 has been a rough one for me, especially Fall of 2020. So many people who made college special to me either graduated, moved away, or grew more distant. In addition to this lessening of community, I also had my most demanding academic semester between thesis and Philosophy of Religion. And although still being in school has protected me somewhat, Covid has created dozens of lost opportunities and additional challenges, especially when it comes to my career. Yet I'm still grateful for so many things in 2020. I felt like I've had a bunch of wins in my art, from getting features in the CDC and ASIFA to even being contacted by one of my dream studios! And I feel like I grew as a person, now more willing to take risks and live life to the fullest. 

That mindset - a relish for life - was I think the greatest thing I got out of 2020. With so much of the larger world thrown into uncertainty, I found it a lot easier to appreciate the smaller, day-to-day aspects. I gained a greater awareness for the everyday pleasures of good food, good friends, and bike rides. A life-changing Biology and Literature class this spring gave me greater ability to see and enjoy nature. Despite the many frustrations and sadness around, I felt my ability to enjoy life deepen. I don't know, but I guess this year showed just how many good things I take for granted, and so when zoos and movie theaters and tacos with friends returned, I knew just how special they were. And those worthy, little joys of life became the bright spots in an often dark year. I do hope things get better soon, but I don't hope to forget this year. Cause despite it all, God's still been faithful. And we're still here together. 

Wishing all you guys the best in 2021 - Thanks for sticking around :)

-dh

"They say our tree may never grow back, but one day, something will. Yes, these crackles are made of synthetic goose and these giblets come from artificial squab and even these apples look fake - but at least they've got stars on them. I guess my point is, we'll eat tonight, and we'll eat together. And even in this not particularly flattering light, you are without a doubt the five and a half most wonderful wild animals I've ever met in my life. So let's raise our boxes - to our survival."

-Fantastic Mr. Fox

The Customary Christmas Eve Post

HAPPY CHRIMUS EV'RYBODY!

It's my favorite night of the year and I'm am READY FOR IT. Though strangely a little less ready for Christmas Day? This year more than any has made the days blend together and homogenize a bit, and it's kinda strange to think that tomorrow we will wake up and there will be presents and donuts on reindeer-themed plates. Instead of just emails and homework and such. But perhaps that will make Christmas Day that much more exceptional, even surprising!

Especially in a year like this, I think it's important to keep the holidays and feasts that bring rhythm and remembrance to our lives. Although it's now easier than ever to take a pass on Christmas, or Halloween, or Thanksgiving, or what have you, I've been trying to build up as much spirit as possible and enjoy these seasons and the joy they bring. It's comforting to remember that despite the chaos of the year some things haven't changed: the soft lights of our 20+ year old tree, the cartons of eggnog in the fridge, my inability to draw antlers in perspective... 

On a related note, this year I skipped drawing reindeer, and drew a Yule Lad instead! I just happened to be watching the Yule Lads episode of Hilda today and these guys' antics are as delightful as their backstory is dark (you probably don't want to know what's in that sack). Also "Yule Lads" is fun to say. Or write? Or BOTH. 

kertasníkir the candle-snatcher (and eater)

This Christmas has and will be a difficult one for sure. But despite it all, sing those carols, light those candles, and DRINK THAT EGGNOG. These feasts and celebrations are powerful rebuttals to the sadness and brokenness that we so often encounter in this world. They proclaim that there is meaning in the midst of confusion, warmth in the midst of cold, and light in the midst of darkness. And if you aren't in a place where you can rejoice or feast, that is OK too. Christ's love is not reliant on your willingness to drink eggnog (though I do heartily encourage you to give it a try). 

May you know the hope expressed in Christ's coming, wherever it may find you.

-dh

A Very Special Holiday Music Recommendation: Just thought I would put my personal Christmas playlist out there in case anyone was interested. I've been listening to some other people's playlists this year, and it's fascinating to discover all the different wells of nostalgia we draw from. Mine is heavily Amy Grant, with a scattering of new favorites I've discovered over the past couple years. It also has ... three versions of The Christmas Waltz??? I will fixing that soon.