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

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

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

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