Goodbye, Wingfeather

 

my very first day on the wingfeather saga

2024 has been a pain in my behind. With all the graciousness of Dolores Umbridge, it has endeavored to cut me to the core and make an absolute mess of everything. While I’ve felt its talons stab across many areas of my life, I’m here today to eulogize its most recent casualty, which is… my job on The Wingfeather Saga.

Yes, this 2.5 year (can you believe it???) journey has come to its end, or at least its awkward-pause-for-commercial break. It’s a bittersweet time to be suddenly unemployed, since Season 2 is literally about to come out and really turn some heads. But just like the rest of life, in animation great excitement often sits alongside great bummers. None of us got into this job for the stability, we got into this job to tell dang good stories in an incredible medium, or create some dragons. Maybe both.

When I was first told I was being laid off I was disappointed, but also flooded with gratitude for having gotten to be a part of the whole experience of Wingfeather, pretty much from day 1. Wingfeather was my first fulltime job in animation, and they took a huge risk hiring someone with so little experience and even less fashion sense. And not just hiring me, but welcoming into their home, working straight out of the boss’s bonus room for most of my time at the studio. There was a casual, familial air about the place, no doubt reinforced by the fact that legos and cats were a constant feature of the workplace. I was at the studio long enough to see many friends come and go, and each taught me something new. Garrett, how to keep peace and morale up even when things look dire. Justin, how to find smart solutions that respect the team’s effort and time. Clay, how to be positive and helpful even when you feel like being neither. Rebecca, how to go the extra mile to keep work fun, even for the remote team. Dakota, how to create friendships that transcend the workplace. Chris, how to direct cameras and a business. Brock, how to navigate Kidscreen and talk with producers. David, how to cheat death. And so many more who I’d love to include here but I need to finish this post eventually! Wingfeather was a massive educational experience for me, as there really is a lot about animation (especially the business side of it) that you can only learn in a production setting.

The night before my last day was when it really began to hit me - I wasn’t just out of work, but out of a community. I could find new work (and am excited to, see below!) But it’s going to be hard, maybe even impossible to find again the right combination of people and environment like I had on this show. You can’t just replace the spring lunches on the front lawn. The daily descent upon the local coffeeshop, huddling in a tight circle as the baristas, who knew us by name, completed our massive order. And especially, the fact that we were a studio that prayed before meals, where you could talk about your faith openly, and where Christ was a constant. I’m grateful that I’ll still be able to see my coworkers around town and after work, but for all my bohemian, wayfaring aspirations, I’m really gonna miss the consistency of coming into the office on a weekday, being among friends, carrying on whatever inside joke was in vogue, and maybe getting some work done in between.

Yet in this ending there’s a chance for a new beginning, and while I look back in sadness on what has finished, I’ve also got a building excitement for the next door God will open. Throughout the past 2.5 years I’ve dreamed up quite a list of skills, travel, experiences, and jobs I’d like to pursue but simply couldn’t since I was holding down a 9-5. And now I’m free to go after them! There’s whole sides of me I haven’t been able to nurture while being so focused on studio work, especially my interest in animals & the outdoors, and travel & language.

I’m really excited by this opportunity to pivot and to learn more about the world than just how one studio works. Although I may not have the youthful shimmer of a 21-year-old, I’m still at the very beginning of my career and there’s dozens of roads I could take. Sure, it sucks that there aren’t really many animation opportunities in Nashville. Sure, it sucks that the wider animation industry is on fire, bleeding jobs and talent no matter where you live. But, as you’ll know from reading any post written during Summer 2021, I’m the kind of person in love with the idea of potential. I love a map with spaces left to explore. A RPG skill tree with dozens of slots to fill. I like feeling free to enjoy life, run down the rabbit trails, cast out the nets and see what I catch. And now, just like after graduating college, I find myself blessed with an abundance of potential. It really does feel like a chance for a fresh start, although this time I have genuine experience and know sliiiiiightly more what I’m doing. And this time, I hope I’ll be a little more sensitive to the doors God is opening for me. Working at Wingfeather was not the door I was expecting to open in 2021, which caused some confusion and angst at the time - though it’s clear now that it was the exact right place for me. I’m wondering if something like that will happen again, whether that door will open in animation or elsewhere, at a business or something more self-directed. I pray that it might be a door working at a zoo or park, as a director or designer, in Ireland or Nashville. Heck, it could even open at Wingfeather again! Either way, I’m gonna try to be more sensitive and obedient this time, though I’ll probably be just as stubborn as ever. Oh well. Either way, it’s sure to be an adventure.

This has been an incredibly hard past few months, but in this upheaval I see a chance to get some perspective, move beyond my mental burdens, and chart a new start. You’ll surely be seeing some updates to my portfolio and more activity on social media, and if you, dear reader, are somehow in a position to hire an animal-focused designer/director, let me know!!! But ultimately I know that whatever comes next will be from God, and it’s into His care that I will go.

Spring has come, summer is on its way, and it’s a natural time for new starts. My brother, in fact, just got engaged and I’m very proud of him :) And more proud of his fiancé for saying yes! It’s a time of change for all of us, and for once in my timid life it feels welcome. May it bring good things!

Thanks for your readership, and thanks to the staff of Shining Isle/Wingfeather for giving me my chance! Back into the wayfaring times we go -

-dh

my last day on wingfeather

Readuary for February

Hey Bloggerfolk!

Oohf. Wow! It has been a rough couple of weeks over here. I’ve already described my ongoing art funk in my previous post, but between now and then I was also snowed in for Too Long, got sick, and have been dealing with probably the biggest bout of Worry that I’ve experienced in a long time. Can’t say it’s been fun, but I can say that I’m ready for February and to try again with a new month. February brings the Super Bowl, Ash Wednesday, an early spring - the wheels of the calendar finally becoming unstuck from the frozen mud.

I’ve had a bunch of horrible art days that really made me doubt my ability to draw but eventually I turned a corner and began drawing clouded leopards that did not suck. As with most of my problems I think I was just overthinking it - watching a lot of Jungle Book clips showed me that even the simplest execution of proper animal anatomy can really go a long way. Around that time I also discovered that colored pencil touched up with mechanical pencil was a combo I really enjoyed - it felt just loose enough to be fun without becoming cluttered. I’ve put myself under a lot of pressure throughout this whole project since my (secret) goal was to make a zine out of all these leopard drawings. One that would be impressive. So impressive, in fact, that people would pay real money to buy it.

That was a bad idea. I’ve since learned you really should never broadcast, and especially never monetize, your first attempts to learn any skill. I felt like I had my future viewers always looking over my shoulder, shaking their heads in regret at their woeful purchase of these crappy clouded leopard drawings. I thought about scrapping the project altogether, but it felt wrong to end a project in defeat when perhaps it could be coaxed beyond its ugly teenage phase and into responsible adulthood. I’m glad that I stuck with it, so I’m not left with a sour taste for the whole affair. And while I’m still planning on printing the zine, I think I’ll be distributing it non-profit and just having people pay for shipping/printing. Should have a fun mix of crappy and non-crappy drawings, probably one of my more raw collections where I’m fine to show a few mistakes rather than just my best hits.

More details to come - paid members, you’ll get a copy totally free (no shipping fee) too! Speaking of paid members, I’m pausing my paid Substack tier for at least the next couple months. That means that all paid members will retain their subscriptions, not be charged, and any months left on an annual subscription will resume AFTER the break. I’m thankful for your support these past couple months! But as funding here at the Roost has been historically project-based, I feel like it’s right to pause until I’m back in the middle of a project, releasing paid posts consistently, etc. Thanks for carrying me over into the new year, and hope you enjoy the clouded leopard tiny-project!

I hope to be back soon with details on how you can get my finished zine, but until then I hope your February is off to a better start!

best,

dh

PS: Have you read this great interview with Patrick McHale (creator of Over the Garden Wall)? Sorry for the non sequitur but I’ve had it open on my computer for weeks, always forgetting to mention it in a post, and now I can finally close the tab. 

Time for Another Round (of Root Beer): It's the Best of 2023 and Recap Post

Happy New Years Eve, Bloggerfolk!

And what a year it has been! For me, 2023 started off with a bang, going to Disney World nary six days into the new year and to be frank, I think I was chasing that high for the remaining twelve months (even going BACK to DW for another, significantly hotter trip in August.) I think I really needed some time to play this year, to experience the wonder of entering a cartoon world, and to care very, very deeply about the silliest of things, re-energizing my heart in the process. This had the potential to be a somewhat dis-heartening year. I found myself constantly pushing off my grand expectations for the future (traveling the world, trying out for exciting opportunities) while realizing that so much of my life is just totally out of my control. However, my present situation was full of unexpected goods (advancement at my current work, being with the best of friends, new apartment in Nashville.) Like George Bailey, my unwitting role model/cautionary tale, I’ve found that things really are wonderful, even if it’s not in the way I would have planned. I think it all comes down to surrendering to God WITHOUT being defeated by my circumstances.

Still, in the day-to-day doldrums of meetings, traffic, and the dozens of other things I don’t particularly want to do, I find myself forgetting the dreams, hope, and curiosity I once had. The kind of radical derring-do that feels essential to making art, and being a lively human being in general. So is it too much of a exaggeration to say that for the betterment of my SOUL I needed to cheer loudly for the Bear Band of Grizzly Hall, delight in the imagination of the imagineers (and Figment), and ride Slinky Dog Dash with fireworks exploding in the distance? NO! NO EXAGGERATION IN THE SLIGHTEST!

imagination pavilion

This was also a year of looking back, becoming fascinated by the analog artifacts of a pre-digital life. It’s hopelessly nerdy of me, but I love the tactile-ness and playfulness of the 80s-00s. Through movies, old blogs, and even 3D experiences (like at Disney World, built mostly during this period) I loved studying the aesthetics and themes that made this period remarkable for those who lived it (and also for me, for some reason.) The dinomania that gave us Jurassic Park and Dinosaur (the ride, long may it live). The pinnacle of classical 2D animation with Bluth and Disney. The animatronics that couldn’t quite make it out of the uncanny valley, yet I applaud their effort. The necessity of real world, in-person experiences. The music of John Williams and Phil Collins. Maybe I’m weary of the dull convenience of the Internet, or am nostalgic for a dusty corner of my own past, but it was an era that really peaked my curiosity this year. Which you miiiiight have been able to tell given this year’s Big Work, Arte’s Curio Shop, a celebration and encapsulation of all this study and interest. (Check it out! Again! Or for the first time!)

But of course there was a lot THIS present year had to offer, which I’d like to share with you in my customary, year-end, best-of list. As also is customary, I’m putting both 2023 releases and older titles in here since I want to support new work, yet I also want to celebrate any title that made the year special. 2023 releases are in bold.

Watch (Movies)

• Spider-Man: Across the Spiderverse
• Gassy’s Gas’n Stuff
• RRR
• Paddington 2

Big movies! Loooooong movies! I think I spent a combined 13 hours watching/rewatching just the picks on this list. RRR gave me some of my favorite theater experiences in addition to being an incredibly inventive spectacle movie (something I’d forgotten could be a thing.) Spiderverse smashed my already high expectations for it, a totally mind-blowing movie. Gas’n Stuff is my short film pick for the year, probably since I’ve watched it an absurd amount of times, and it captures character so quickly and effortlessly. Paddington 2 made me a genuinely better person and its soundtrack kept me company through many a drawing session.

Watch (TV)

• Andor
• Joe Pera Talks with You

I finally watched Andor this year, and yeah, anyone who tells you to watch it is right. And I’d like to give Joe Pera my “Best Thing to Watch While Eating Breakfast” award for capturing the beauty of simple joys. And for having an episode about breakfast.

Read

• Animation Obsessive
• Jake Parker’s Newsletter

Gonna plug two newsletters here since I didn’t make the time to read many books. But I do get genuinely excited to see both of these show up in my inbox.

Listen

• A Night at the Symphony - Laufey
• A Symphonic Celebration (Music from the Studio Ghibli Films of Hayao Miyazaki) - Joe Hisaishi

A good year for the symphony, it seems. Both of these are springtime favorites, orchestrated cover albums, and arguably the definitive versions of the tracks they cover. And they are almost good enough to dull the pain caused by missing BOTH of Laufey’s Nashville shows. *shakes fist at every ticketing system and the leagues of tiktok fans*

Ride

• Country Bear Jamboree
• Journey Into Imagination with Figment
• Dinosaur
• Runaway Railway
• Cosmic Rewind

Did you think I was gonna start this post talking about Disney and NOT end the list with a special theme park section??? I discovered this year that I do in fact love rides that are 0% thrill, 100% fantasy, a sentiment which would have embarrassed my teenage self to no end. When I think of some of my favorite memories this year I’d include swirling through the cosmos listening to “September,” running across the park in the rain to ride Dinosaur, and becoming arguably the biggest Bears fan, as testified by the people seated in the rows around us.

(And before we get too far away from lists here’s one more with stuff I couldn’t fit into any other paragraph:)

Happenings

• Moved into new apartment
• Finished watching every Don Bluth movie
• Got to learn about the business side of show business at a producers’ conference
• My Bluey artwork was featured by Disney Junior
• Camped overnight at the zoo
• Found 5 shark teeth fossils
• Watched A Goofy Movie with Bill Farmer (voice of Goofy) in the row directly behind me
• Got to see my celebrity crush in concert uwu

finishing arte’s curio shop with clay

My goal for 2023 was to “find a way to make art sustainably.” Art-wise, most of my time this year was spent working on Curio, which I recorded here on the blog (see the substack archive). I experienced some big strides forward when it came to my abilities with traditional media and animated performance, but was especially pleased to create an animated project, however short, within the span of a single year. Curio, for all its unexpected difficulties, was a more sustainable project than Bearpuncher. Its length and animation load meant that I could exercise, spend time with friends, and travel during its production. And thanks to the support of paid members here at the Roost, I could also bring in friends/dream collaborators (like Sam, Brandon, Kennoniah, Clay, Kosperry, and Louie Zong) to take the short to a higher level of quality than anything I’ve made so far. While I’m still aways off from making 2D animated projects as a full-time gig, I’m so thankful to have another animated short out into the world and being enjoyed by real people. Thanks for your help!

majestic beasts

What’s next for 2024? I don’t quite know! I’m excited to continue directing at Wingfeather, drawing at the zoo, learning about dinosaurs, decorating my home, reading books, and traveling to who knows where. I don’t quite know if it’s time to dive fully into another short, or if I need more time to experiment and learn first. But nevertheless I want to make more things, spend more time with the people I love, and see more of this wonderful world we live in. Basically I want like two more months added to next year, but so far all I have been able to secure is one extra day in February. Will keep you posted.

So I guess I lied. I do have some ideas for what’s next. But as with any year, it will probably be all the things I didn’t expect that will shape the year into something grand (or horrible! But I’m hoping for grand.)

Before I go…

Thanks to my travel companions who risked limb if not life (you know who you are) to make every trip (Disney and elsewhere) a great one.

Thanks to the artists and artist friends who inspire me every day.

Thanks to all who supported my work this year, read this silly blog, and gave your attention (and in some cases money) to help me tell these stories that are on my heart. I’m grateful, and you’re the best!

To 2024!

-dh

2023 in one picture

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

Break Out the Good Stuff, And By That I Mean Root Beer: Celebrating the Top 19 of 2022

oops! all bearpuncher! compilation from 2022-2021

Happy New Year's Eve, bloggerfolk! 

Like Julie Andrews on a thundery evening, I'm here to bring you some of My Favorite Things from this year. But on this Eve, I want to do something different - a list! 

When I think back on 2022, it was a year of doing. And nothing comforts a do-er like me than a good list... Inspired by Patrick H Willems's kinda-chaotic-in-a-charming-way list from 2019, I've taken movies, books, major life turning points and crammed them into an categorically-sorted, yet in-no-particular-order list of 19 things I did this year. (For those wondering, I did try to find 22 things for 2022, but then the list felt too long... so a nice, awkward 19 it is.)

But first my yearly disclaimer: Anything I watched/read/did for the first time in 2022 is fair game, regardless of premiere date. I'd hate to exclude something impactful just because it initially came out a few years ago (as is the case with 99% of the books I read) Sound good? Let's go! 

Movies/TV/Games I Watched/Binged/Played

19. All the Stuff My Friends Made!

What a good year for friend things of all kinds! With so many graduating college we had a wealth of thesis films, but also comics, new short film projects, and production work. I wish I had space to link them all here, but several are on Pencilish's channel, Jon Densk is running several projects by himself, watch the Wingfeather Saga, and read Joel Guthrie's comic.

18. The Bad Guys

The directors of this movie always say they were making "Tarantino for kids," but that's because they don't have the guts to say they were really making "Lupin the Third for furries." This movie takes everything great about the Lupin films (snappy, pose-driven animation, 1960s heist soundtrack, literal waves of policemen) and brings them into a sunny LA setting. The story isn't anything special, but it's just a really fun movie to watch that wears its inspirations proudly on its sleeve.

17. Horned Cook, Gola

This is probably my top film of 2022, and it's not even feature-length. It's a Calarts short film. But what makes it so special is the way it invites you into the sensory world of the characters. Adam's animations are always so tactile, especially given the way he animates hands. He invites you to participate in the senses of smell and touch in a way no other animator can. The short has such a fresh, crisp feeling to it, like a cucumber salad. It's great.

16. Bee and Puppycat

Watching this show for the first time in 2022 felt like a lovely coda to the incredibly special and nostalgic era of 2010s animation. It calls to mind the gentle pastels and chiptune melodies of Steven Universe, Adventure Time, Animal Crossing, and Nintendo in general. While it captures that aesthetic moment exquisitely, its observations on being in your 20s and pondering your future still ring true a decade later. Nothing is presented too forcefully, the characters move through their emotions and problems at a slow and relaxed pace. The show begins to devolve into further experimentation and absurdity in the later episodes, but I personally enjoy the earlier episodes the most, when it's just Bee blundering around and Puppycat screaming "PRETTY PATRICK!!" in his adorable little voice.

The second season/new show(???) that released this year on Netflix isn't as good as the original webseries, but at least I didn't have to wait years for more B&PC content!

15. Disney Channel's Theme: A History Mystery

"Defunctland" has been a surprise contender for 2022's YouTube Channel of the Year, but narrator/director Kevin Perjurer is one of the best ones out there. His work is well-researched, nostalgic, and increasingly funny, and I think this is his magnum opus. It's an internet treasure hunt full of dusty old websites, nostalgia trips, and genuine heart. Kevin really has something beautiful to say here, but like a good mystery it surprises you in the end. The subjects are so well chosen and great to listen to. I wish there were more docs about these sorts of people, made with this level of craft.

14. Wingspan

An obvious, clear winner for Game of the Year - when rereading my journals I was genuinely surprised by the number of times I logged playing this game. It takes my favorite game mechanic (engine building/card combos) and surrounds that with birds and bird lore. Maybe not the game for everyone, but certainly the game for ME!

13. Bonus: Letterboxd, Honorable Mentions

This was the year I discovered Letterboxd, which meant I watched a LOT of movies. Letterboxd satisfies two primal needs for the cinema-goer: it broadcasts your movie opinions to the world, and it lets you know what your friends are watching without you. I hate how much time I spent on this platform, but it did make writing this section substantially easier. So... win? 

Honorable mentions to Sing 2 (a movie I'm pretty sure they made just for me, a diehard Sing 1 advocate), Everything Everywhere All At Once (the best multiverse movie) and Turning Red (which had a great soundtrack and visual look, but major story problems.) I also watched Spongebob for the first time this year, and now so many cultural references make sense... thanks Clay!

Albums I Listened To

12. The Complete After Midnight Sessions - Nat King Cole (Vintage Pick)

This is Christmas music for the rest of the year. This is a rare example of jazz violin. This is awesome.

11. Nisemono - Ginger Root (2022 Pick)

There's indie music, and there's funk-inspired-by-japanese-city-pop-from-the-80s-sung-on-a-landline-telephone indie music. Whenever I tell someone about GR's music I always feel like the most pretentious hipster, but dang does he capture well a forgotten era of kitschy synths, late night ramen, and anime reruns. For this album, he's built this whole storyline that connects his social media, music videos, and live shows all together - it's pretty great. 

Things I Read This Year

10. Animation Obsessive

Two years running. Guys. If you like animation you have to read this. Puts every other animation publication to shame. (And they featured Bearpuncher this year!) 

9. The Line Between

Certainly more in the high-art/concept world of animation, but one of the most open and insightful looks into the entire creative process, chronicled in newsletter form, as it happens. Although it seems to be more and more behind a paywall these days, there's still a lot of achieved content that's free and definitely worth reading. 

8. Only Like Five Actual Books

Not a great year for reading in general, as I largely gave it up to finish Bearpuncher. Of the books I did manage to finish, Deep Work and A Praying Life were probably the most impactful. Read A Praying Life, but just read a summary of Deep Work. 

Places I Went

7. Forest Fair Mall 

The perfect Venn Diagram of abandoned mall and Goofy Movie design sensibilities. A late 90's - early 00's time capsule, and it's about to be torn down :(

6. Lightbox Expo

Every year I think the hype isn't gonna be worth it, and somehow... it is. People say "right place, right time," and that's the way Lightbox has often felt for me. 

5. Ireland

Surprisingly... I never wrote a dedicated post about this trip. I had one in the works, but I never found the time to finish it. This was my first big trip in Europe, and I was honestly pretty intimidated. Never have I felt more American than when I was 4000 miles away from home! For the past few years I've had a goal of living abroad someday - I now know it would be more challenging than I thought, but I'd still like to have my Kiki's Delivery Service kind of experience, adapting to a new place and finding my place in it. 

Art I Made

4. Little Fanarts, 

3. Wingfeather Designs, 

2. Aquarium Drawings, 

but Mostly...

1. Bearpuncher

In 2022, I finished Bearpuncher as part of a 2.5 year journey that stretched from my school years well into my first year of post-college work. It kinda dominated my experience of this year, as I reoriented my schedule, carving out early mornings and weekends to find "the consistent dripping of drops of time that erode away the immovable rock," to quote Jake Parker. This was a huge goal of mine and it's a relief to have it finished, and see people enjoy it. Thanks everybody for making Bearpuncher what it is today!

. . .

Listing, watching, making, traveling, doing - I think this year definitely reflected my resolution, which was to "be prolific." What I meant by that incredibly vague mantra is I wanted to adjust my style and adjust my schedule to maximize my artistic output in 2022. I had come out of a 2021 defined by some big life changes but with not much to show for it. I was frustrated by how little time adult, post-college life afforded to creativity, and yet was so inspired by the lives of creators throughout history who (because they didn't have Instagram, I guess) still found time to write letters, paint, write, read, socialize in fancy parlors, etc. I wanted that. Parlors and all.  

It meant I'd have to change my priorities. "Being prolific" in one area meant streamlining and cutting back in many others. As much as this was a year of doing, it was also a year of stopping. I found the time needed to document the process of creating (like on social media, and even the Roost) took time away from actually creating. So I picked my priorities and largely withdrew from posting online. While working on Bearpuncher I hardly exercised, cooked, or read. Although I tried to preserve my social time unaffected, I'm sure there are some who would say it felt otherwise. 

It was a year of production, not exploration, of pouring out rather than drawing in.  Turns out, it's not easy to do that and a fulltime job and still maintain a balanced lifestyle. Who would have guessed! :P  With so much doing I got surprisingly bad at being - I felt guilty resting, and I was always thinking of the next task that needed to be completed. I liked the things I was making, but not the person I was becoming. I was homebound, pulled in several directions, always busy, under-rested, uncomfortable when routines were broken and expectations unmet. I often doubted if it was all worth it - was I just chasing personal vainglory, or caring for my audience and glorifying God? Thinking back on my resolution at the end of 2022, it actually seems kinda dumb. My resolution was just to... "work more???" What kind of resolution is that??!?

What's crazy is that it worked, somehow. The film got done. I found a way to make art in the margins of working a non-art job. I'm actually pretty happy with what I accomplished this year (like the things on the list above) but there's more to a year, and to a life, than what you can fit on a list. Some of my favorite moments of 2022 weren't action items, but simple acts of grace. Stuff like spontaneous movie marathons and trips to theme parks. All the conversations I got to have with my grandma before she passed. The winds that rolled through Nashville at the beginning of each season. Bearpuncher getting any views on YouTube.com. 

I'm proud of 2022, for reasons I can totally take credit for, and reasons I totally cannot. And I think that's just the way things are going to be... a back and forth of working and trusting, hard fought rewards and providential grace, breathing in and breathing out. 

I'm hoping in 2023 to apply this idea to making art - to find a more sustainable way to make things, rather than just be-prolific-at-all costs. Guys, I just can't do a year again like this for a while. I don't know if that means a work adjustment, or a expectation change or what, but I need to do something different... I have all this art I want to make, and things I want to learn, but I also want to have other hobbies, a more-than-shallow knowledge of important subjects, and the freedom to explore a bit more. Except from Bearpuncher being done, I'm sort of in the exact same place I was at the end of 2021, which kinda scares me. Yet I feel like this next year is going to bring something entirely different... and I don't know quite what yet. And that makes me excited.

So here's to the things we earned, the things we didn't, and all we learned along the way -

To 2023!

-dh

My Thoughts on AI Art (But Mostly I Talk About Christmas)

Hello Bloggerfolk - it's Christmastide. Merry Christmas :)

It's been a busy, strange past couple weeks. On one hand, I'm riding the high of the most Christmas spirit I've felt in years, and I'm feeling suitably holly AND jolly. Wasn't able to get a tree for my apartment this year, but my lights are up and I've been watching a bunch of Christmas and Christmas-adjacent movies. Rise of the Guardians has been a particular favorite this year, for a variety of reasons - its swirling, dynamic action+camera, its mythical guardians with whimsical powers, its Easter Rabbit who is Australian(!!!), and its childlike optimism in the simple delights of life. I'd love to make something like this, and I've been taking plenty of notes for future projects... it's definitely in the list of Movies I Wish I Could Just Directly Rip Off But That Would Of Course Be Stealing and That Is Bad. And fanfiction is NOT an option - I know what Tumblr did to this movie.

Speaking of stealing, I've been watching the whole war over AI-created art unfold over the past few days... I barely have enough time for this blog, much less Twitter drama, so I'm staying largely out of it. I make art because I like to seek out pleasing lines and shapes, pull characters out of my head, and glorify God, none of which AI art directly threatens or can help me with. I do find it puzzling that people go to bat for the AI, for it's not like its feelings are getting hurt, it can't thank you for your support, and if it really works it won't really need fleshy advocates to prove its point. Anyways... I'm just gonna leave you with this Jurassic Park gif which pretty accurately sums up how I feel about the whole thing:

Work has been an awkward touch and go of crunch and veg... I'm still not sure what kind of month December is supposed to be for me. Is it a cozy, restful winter's nap? Or prep time for a portfolio boosting, career navigating, project creating kind of new year? I've done a bit of both. I decided to go for it and submit a project to the Sony Talent League, an initiative to help boost independent creators. Although I do like living the exciting, ritzy life of a Nashville Indie Animator (kidding about the ritzy part) it has proved to be dearth of fundage and mentorship, two things the STL is able to provide. It would have been easy enough to just submit Bearpuncher and call it a day, but you know me! I can't have it be THAT easy! (Editor's Note: It also would have been against the rules.) So being December and all I spent some time consolidating an idea I've pondering based on my Christmas Illustration from last year. It's been turning into a surprisingly personal story and one that I hope to get out to you guys, in one way or another. It's still about Ivan and Hollie, two reindeer air traffic controllers, but I hope to use it as a way to talk about vocation, dreams, and leaving art school. And to use it as an excuse to collab with some jazz musicians for the score!

Ever since the whole Strange World/Nicholas Kole debacle of November 2022 I've become more afraid of putting my unpublished ideas out there on the internet. But this might be the one time where my blog's relative obscurity is actually an asset, because I think I can still post speculative stuff like this! Enjoy it while it lasts, my friends! Here's some new headshots of the main characters, riffing on some Shiyoon Kim vibes:

ivan

hollie

It's been fun figuring out who these characters are, finding emotions for Ivan that aren't "grumpy anime boy," and doing a bit of worldbuilding. And RESEARCH! Researching for art projects is my favorite way to experience the Internet. I love going on thrill rides down rabbit trails, trawling the archive sites, going to the dark and dusty corners no one cares to visit. It’s a hunt to find the next link, the next term to Google, it feels like synapses connecting in the brain and a big rollicking adventure. It's way less dull than social media, because nothing is tailored to your whims and most everything has Horrible Web Design. Awesome.

What was less awesome was the mini-burnout that hit after submitting the pitch. I was getting Bearpuncher/Art School flashbacks as I had spent every spare moment to get it done, finishing it just before the deadline. Artistically, I was spent, and socially too - I had to cancel plans last week (something I loathe to do) after realizing that I hadn't had a free night in over a week and I just couldn't keep going like this. The world keeps on pulling, bills keep on coming, and I still want to make art in the middle of all that... I think a big goal for 2023 will be finding a way to make all this sustainable. To get stuff done, but have times to be still and recieve God's peace.

I've been thinking about 2023 a lot already - since my family is going skiing between Christmas and New Years I'm having to get all my lengthy brooding sessions in early if I'm to write that highly anticipated year-end recap post (highly anticipated by ME, at least!) 

Thanks as always for your readership! Hoping to have a new Christmas Illustration ready by Christmas Eve and then the recap shortly after. See y'all then...

-dh

PS: If Internet Research Adventures sound fun to you, definitely watch Kevin Perjurer's most recent documentary about the Disney Channel Theme which captures that experience perfectly and is genuinely fantastic. 

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

Delight

In that light, it is a delight...a wonder to study and to learn to love some small part of what God must have loved when he made a lizard. To delight with him in its scales, color, spines and forms. And to me, God is saying "you like that? me too!" 

- Nicholas Kole

One of my favorite memes is the German Cola Kid. As attempting to explain any meme is a fools errand, you should probably watch this animated version to see what it's about. But in the event you don't have time for that, I will now attempt to explain the meme. In the video, the aforementioned "Cola Kid" excitedly relates how his mom has just allowed him to drink cola and play Fortnite, the combination of which is enough to send him in a joyous YIPEEE!!

Kids, exemplified by the Cola Kid, are able to find joy and excitement in the most mundane of things. For me, it wasn't cola and Fortnite, but it was frozen pizza, being old enough to stay home alone, and watching Cartoon Network. As a kid, it didn't take much to have a good day, or to be obsessed with trains, dinosaurs, and sea creatures. (Isn't it crazy how deeply kids fall in love with things most adults never care about?) I think this open wonder and delight towards the world is one of the first things to go as we grow older. It was for me, at least. As we see more things, even incredible things become normal, and we forget that they were ever unexpected in the first place. As we see more broken and sorrowful things, our open delight in pockets of beauty and brilliance is replaced with a defensive cynicism.

As I've recently been thinking about What I Want to Say With My Art, I keep coming back to this idea of delight.  I think about the way God delights in us, His children. And the way He looked at His creation and said that it was good. Because God didn't have to make the world so dang beautiful. He didn't have to make a world with jellyfish, and sandstone arches, and the color blue, and good pizza. But He did. And I think that gives us the permission to get excited. Childishly, foolishly excited. In our art (our writing, drawing, cooking, all of it) we can lash out in unbridled admiration for this flower or that person or this cola and say yes. this is good. taste and see! That, at least, is what I want to do. To, in the words of artistic theologian Robert Capon, "look the world back to grace."

For me, the aquarium is one of the best places to practice this habit. Here is gathered, at great cost and human effort, the strangest and most majestic forms of life on earth. And our whole mission is simply to look at them. But the looking, we find, is difficult. We're anxious to move on to the next exhibit, so we delegate our looking to a quick photo and keep walking. 

I think the designers of Georgia Aquarium particularly understood this tension. For all its beautiful theming and chaotic, lawless atrium, the building's most impressive feature is a simple dark room facing a massive wall of water. Rays and sharks more than twice my height effortlessly sail across its cerulean surface and back into the murky distance. To me, it's the brontosaurus scene of Jurassic Park, only real. Finally, as an adult, I'm confronted with things I haven't seen, on a scale I cannot understand.  In response, the Georgia Aquarium offers me a large, carpeted step. I sit down, pull out my Ipad, and begin drawing. Drawing convinces my adult brain that I'm not wasting my time, so that my kid brain can say again, "cool shark. big shark." More than making a "good drawing," I now want to capture what's delightful about "shark." I wonder if what you find delightful may be entirely different. But regardless, I think we have a lot to learn from each other. 

So get painting, dancing, writing, and let me know!

Thanks for your readership :)

-dh

What Brad Bird Got Wrong about Art

(This essay is about Ash Wednesday and is thus a few weeks late, but as it's still Lent I thought it was fit to edit up and print.)

I had a couple existential crises last month, one was career related and so I don't think it's smart to reprint here, but the other, and perhaps deeper one had to do with the onset of Ash Wednesday and the beginning of Lent. In the Christian tradition, Ash Wednesday is a time to remember our own mortality. For a man in his early 20's it's especially easy to forget the reality of death. It's a terrible, nasty thing - so terrible, in fact, that it's hard to believe it will happen. And yet, surely, it will. 

The natural implication of this somber Ash Wednesday truth is that all human glory will die as well. The things humans make do not escape our own cycles of birth, growth, and decay. There will come a point when every great work - civilizations, governments, families - will have passed away, and eventually be forgotten entirely. That includes the art we make.

Brad Bird, director of the perfect animated movie, once said

"Film is forever, pain is temporary."

But Ash Wednesday says he's wrong. Sure, the films we make may linger a little longer than the pain, but both are destined for the same end. Some art, like Homer's works, have lingered an exceptionally long time, but even The Odyssey has an expiration date. The burning of the Alexandrian library proves that even the most cherished pieces of art can be reduced to dust in seconds. 

Thus pain is temporary, and art is temporary. 

So perhaps now you see where my crisis was coming from. I'm breaking my butt to make art - working a draining studio job, and instead of resting when I return home, I put more hours in on Bearpuncher, attempting to make something beautiful that's truly my own. But one day, the world will forget about both Bearpuncher and the Wingfeather Saga. So why bother? Why not just go and watch TV, and spare yourself the trouble? 

I wasn't able to answer this question right away, but I think I found the beginnings of an answer in the essay On Charon's Wharf, an annual lenten read for me. The whole essay is about the importance of encounters in time being the things that will ultimately survive the decay of time. Using a poignant example from the movie The Seventh Seal, the author, Andre Dubus, calls attention to a moment when the protagonist, a knight told by Death that he must die, shares a meal with a lady. Although Death will later take both that knight and the lady, it can't erase that moment of shared connection and kindness. Dubus writes, "In the face of time, the act is completed. Death cannot touch it now, can only finally stop the hearts that were united in it."

What if sharing art is like that meal? What if art's value is found not about its technical prowess, its enshrinement in a Criterion Collection, or its ability to spark discussion among film students 200 years from now? Maybe art's value is found in its ability to create encounters in those who view it. Encounters that spur them to be a better person, empathize with another, or noticed an overlooked beauty. Perhaps Brad Bird was missing a step: our pain is temporary, our films are temporary, but our audience is eternal.

Because while Ash Wednesday says that we will return to dust, it also promises our resurrection from the dirt. I believe that we will follow in Christ's resurrection.  And maybe in the same way, our artistic works will come along for the ride. I can't say for certain whether Toy Story will be in eternity, I do know that people affected by Toy Story will be. To sum up all this armchair aesthetic theology: in art we create encounters between us and our audiences, and those encounters will be what lasts, even once every canvas is burned, and every .mp3 deleted. They'll last as unalterable moments in time, and imprints on our audiences, who, CS Lewis argues, are no mere mortals. 

I think this stuff really hit me because I mostly create art for the good of the art - to make something really beautiful and good and true. I hope that an audience will get something from it, but that concern is secondary. However, if I animate with skill of Glen Keane and James Baxter and have not love, perhaps the work is just a clanging cymbal (even if it is a pretty one). 

Therefore, it's even more important that we love thy audience, and make work that respects them, challenges them, and opens for them a broader delight in God's Kingdom. Ash Wednesday forces us to reckon with our work, it changes our focus from achieving glory to conversing with our audience. Perhaps the eternal worth of art is not in the artifact itself, but in the powerful encounter between the artifact and audience. It's not the movie that is sacred, but the watch party. 

Happy Lent, everybody.

-dh

I Done Been Interviewed! (and made some unrelated fanart)

Hey everyone! 

Long time no blog! I can't say this year has been an especially prolific one for the Roost (although my main resolution for this year was to "be prolific," I've applied that more to my drawing than my writing.) But to fill the gap between this and the next post, I am happy to share that I did a recent interview for the Nashville Voyager which you can read here! - https://nashvillevoyager.com/interview/check-out-daniel-haycoxs-story/

It's a fun little summary of my journey in animation (familiar territory for this blog) but now that I'm almost a year out of college (wowie) I'm able to look back with some perspective on my time there and how it shaped me as an artist. The main thing I wanted to convey is that as long as you have a genuine love for the product AND the process I think it's really just a matter of time spent practicing before you gain proficiency, and maybe even a career making what you love. Talking about that did make me a little homesick for the days when my primary work was drawing - I now have to cram art in around the edges between working my job and sleeping. But I'm still trying to make it work, building momentum back on Bearpuncher (only 12 shots left to animate!) and even doing some fanart yesterday!

say cheese, 4townies!

I've been looking forward to Pixar's new movie, Turning Red, for a while - can't say I was initially wowed by the first announcement, but once I saw more trailers and learned that Domee Shi was directing I was totally on board. It also just happened to coincide VERY NICELY with a 2000s nostalgia phase I've been experiencing for the past couple months. Not that I actually remember a lot of the 2000s, but I do enjoy the music of the time and an era where the internet wasn't so invasive... In the movie the kids were taking pictures with the panda and I thought "how is that not going to end up on social media???" Then I realized they didn't HAVE social media. What a concept. 

Anyways, I think the movie nailed a lot of very specific niche interests of mine - animal movies, 2000s jams, hip-hop/asian fusion music, cartoony expressions in feature films, movies set in uncommon locales - and so I was never not gonna like it. And I haven't seen a movie really tackle puberty the way they did (usually movies stick to portraying "coming of age" as only a mental and emotional transition, something much more marketable...) But I'm glad they risked it here, as it reminded me of how confusing and even panic-inducing that age was for me, which I've never seen represented in a movie before. 

Turning Red is one of my first reviews on my new Letterboxd account - anybody else using that site? I was a begrudging convert at first, but my reviews have steadily been getting longer and longer... If you read this blog you probably can guess I like sharing my opinions, so it's no surprise that I have become an avid user of a site that lets you pretend to be a movie critic. Hah! 

Anyways, I hope all y'all are well. We got a freak snow here in Nashville a couple days ago but the cherry blossoms have been blooming nonetheless. I'm looking forward to watching some Ghibli movies and dreaming about summer! (Trying not to do that too much until Lent is over, but still...) 

You guys have any spring plans? Or thoughts on Turning Red? I've found people have a wide range of opinions on that movie so I'd be interested to hear 'em.

Your fellow wayfarer,

dh