Report from Week 2 on the Freelance Front

Hey Bloggerfriends -

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

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

golden hour light doing its thing

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

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

the best to you and yours,

dh

Goodbye, Lipscomb (Or, Into the Interim)

So this past weekend I graduated from college.

Wow.

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

What an incredible four years. 

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

lu animation seniors class of 2021

the one and only tom bancroft

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

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

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

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

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

Onward!

your wayfarer-in-chief,

dh

day 1

fin

Fest Zest

fest friends

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

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

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

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

blessings to ya

-dh

BEARPUNCHER

bearpuncher

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

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

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

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

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

-dh

The Moment the Smoky Mountains Broke Me

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

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

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

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

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

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

looking for those warblers

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

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

i wore those shorts for the whole trip

appalachian trail junction with emily, long time bloggerfolk

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

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

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

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

-dh

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

A Full Heart at the End

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

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

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

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

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

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

josie, good friend and bringer of thunder

eric stars, a fantastic teacher and production manager

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

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

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

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

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

gratefully yours,

-dh

Small Details Intimately Observed

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

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

this is that photo

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

mushroom man

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

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

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

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


One more Hemingway to close us out:

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

-dh

Music Reccomendation:

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

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

ben (from the song of the sea)

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

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

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

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

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


Thanks for your readership-

-dh

Richard Williams' First Lesson - An Essay

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

animation of williams' drawings from the book

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

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

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

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

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

much love,

-dh

What Very Well May Be the Last Snow Day Ever

A Merry Bizzardmas to you, bloggerfolk!

I'm coming at you live from my couch where I am currently wrapped in a blanket, chai in hand, Nintendo winter music in ... ears? Outside the window, bitter drops of ice pretending to be snow are blissfully falling beyond the Christmas lights I have left up (and will continue to leave up, thank you). I have previously embarked on not one, but two walks through the snow. The roads are still totally white and I haven't seen a single plow (except for a bobcat trying its best in the parking lot). 

Today has been a good day. 

Yet despite the high level of coziness I am currently feeling, it saddens me to think that yet another thing Covid has taken away from us is the beloved snow day. I received emails last night delighting in the fact that my school's robust online infrastructure allows "learning to continue during these unforseen circumstances." Also, as I'm essentially a work-from-home-indie-animator right now (since thesis takes up 70% of my school time) it's hard to see why I shouldn't be working on my perfectly available, entirely defrosted Cintiq even if classes were cancelled. 

Are my days of enjoying snow days over? 

Not if I have anything to say about it. Because on some days, you must shake your fist, and in the voice of a disgruntled British office worker exclaim "hang productivity!!" And merrily go tromping off into the frozen wastes. Today I'm letting nature intrude into my daily schedule. The roads are bad, and the trees are pretty. I'm fairly certain between those two reasons everyone is justified to take the day off. Snow days offer us a renewed invitation to delight in our everyday surroundings, AND free up the time for us to do so. We may have lost the second part due to online learning, but I want to hold on to the first. I do hope we won't forget this hallowed tradition anytime soon, and I'll be doing my part to keep these finest days of winter more than just another workday. Come join me (outside, in the snow, rebelliously bucking society's expectations.)

Frost-fully yours,

dh

artsy pics or it didn't happen

PS

I yet again edge ever closer to needing to add a Works Cited to these posts, but if you want to hear someone who agrees with me offer a more logical argument in defense of the Snow Day, look no further.

Specificity

great blue heron

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Much love on this Valentines Day :)

-dh

PS:

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

Events Concerning a Horse, a Pig, and Near-Total Lack of Self-Confidence

 Hi all! 

I have been putting off this post for much too long, but as I don't want to be talking about January's news in February, I figured it was time to type a little something up. Even if it ends up being on the shorter side. (Edit: It doesn't.)

I want to talk about this sucker of an image.

his name is CheckMate

He's my entry for December's CDC. You may have seen this image on my Instagram, where it actually became one of my more popular posts, and was even featured by the Challenge on their Insta (which hasn't happened since June). For all intents and purposes, this is a good piece of art, and one of my more recognized pieces. 

Yet this piece really did a number on me.

For starters, the theme for December's CDC was "Robot Arena Deathmatch," which was about as far from my usual subject matter as possible. But I resolved to stick it out, combed through a ton of reference, and even came up with a concept that I was excited to draw - a semi-haunted, goofily-proportioned chess knight robot. I also was planning on returning to a more dimensionally rendered style a la Nicholas Kole. It's a style I used to work in a bunch, and one I used in some of my earlier CDC entries. 

Yet when I reached the rendering stage, everything just kind of fell apart. I struggled to figure out where to place shadows. I couldn't figure out how to add tight details without using linework. A technique that I thought I had a handle on now seemed impossible to grasp, and what seemed to be a routine character design now promised to be a battle to the end. So I tried to adjust, adding back in some lineart to clarify the image a bit, but the shadows still felt wrong. After messing with the design a bit, and showing it to my Discord art group, I realized I had a choice. I could struggle to stay the course, ditching the linework and really trying to figure out the shadows, or I could retreat into a comfortable style of stylized, angular shadows. 

As you can see, I decided to go for the easier route. I just couldn't figure out how to make accurate shadows, and I wasn't having any fun with the image trying to do so. It just seemed to make more sense to do something I knew would work, even if it meant abandoning my grander original plans. And although I finished the image and made something satisfactory, I still felt defeated, and even ashamed since I opted for the easy way rather than striving for something tough and new. As a result of making this image I lost a ton of confidence in my ability to draw. I worried if I had hit a wall, or if I could even make a good drawing again.

gross early attempt at less angular shadows

Of course, these negative self-thoughts were not true. But I figured I would share them with you in case you are feeling (or have felt) something similar. I think this kind of self-doubt is something many artists feel, even if we don't talk about it openly. I for one fear that I'm getting worse at art, or that my next project won't be any better than my previous one, or I just can't make anything good in general. And after making this particular character design I felt those fears very acutely. I was almost afraid to see what would come out of my pencil the next time I started drawing. 

If you're feeling this way I've got two tools that often help me out of such a place. First, I'll look back at my library of work. Usually there's something in there I'm proud of. I'll look at that piece(s) as proof that I can make good things, and that I'm not a failure as an artist. I may have made a particular piece that felt like a failure, but the journey that I'm on is not a failure and has been in fact full of breakthroughs and good art. 

Or (as in the case of this particular bout of art-doubt), I'll make a new piece simply to prove to myself that I still got it in me. I had been reading The Chronicles of Prydain over Christmas break and wanted to do my own version of the the pig Hen Wen. I was afraid to start, but I knew I had to make something to remind myself that I was still a good artist, and that my work was not done. So to rid myself of doubt I drew a pig. And unlike the horse, I was really pleased with the result. The shapes felt strong. The lines looked good. And I felt like I could do (and had done) good art again. 

hen wen, pig of the future

This piece did not do as well on Instagram, but it really doesn't matter. Its primary purpose was to be an encouragement and ebenezer (stone of remembrance) for a time when I thought I didn't have it in me anymore. Art is a struggle, but God is faithful. And here on the Roost I want to be candid about that. It's a fact disguised by social media, which perhaps isn't really the best place to discuss it anyways. But as they say, the struggle is real. I've been rewatching this four-part documentary on Miyazaki which is a timely reminder that even geniuses like him can feel despondent, wracked by frustration and doubt. He says "I can feel it every day, the limit of my ability," which is just how I feel while working on my thesis film. Sure, he's talking about the limits of his 70-year-old physical ability, but as a new artist I feel my limits of my artistic ability - particularly in animation, drawing on model, and rendering. Part of the frustration/joy of pursuing an art is that there's always more to learn and improve. Which means that if you're honestly seeking to grow, you may often find yourself bumping up against your limits. I've definitely been encountering my own recently, and I'm hoping for that breakthrough moment when I can move beyond them into something better. But for now, all we can do is show up each day ready to work, and ready to fight. 

Into the breach!

-dh

Music Recommendation: I've been listening to Think About You a bunch recently - it's perfect for biking across campus, thinking about that special someone, or any other time you're feeling really happy.

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

Well guys, we did it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Movie of the Year: WolfWalkers

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

Game of the Year: Night in the Woods

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

Show of the Year: Taskmaster

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

Book of the Year: Lord of the Rings

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

* * *

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

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

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

-dh

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

-Fantastic Mr. Fox

The Customary Christmas Eve Post

HAPPY CHRIMUS EV'RYBODY!

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

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

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

kertasníkir the candle-snatcher (and eater)

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

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

-dh

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

Frog Lady

 I'm back! And the semester is over! Thank goodness!

Or in particular, Philosophy of Religion is over! The day I turned in my final paper was one of much rejoicing, ice cream, and dancing. I also got very close to burning all my class handouts in our dorm's firepit. Then I realized that a student burning academic papers in broad daylight would probably not be a great look for the university. So I decided to refrain from that. Anyways, in an act of God's grace I somehow got a 93 on the paper, and my thoughts were able to turn toward more pleasant activities. Like gift exchanges! And smoking pipes with friends! And drawing tigers at the zoo!

When drawing at the zoo it often comes down to finding the right combination of materials that feel comfortable that day. I usually juggle pencils and pens and the Pad until something feels right, and then the drawings typically end up better. Fortunately, I can usually figure that out by the time I get to the tiger exhibit, and extra fortunately the tiger was right next to the glass both times I visited! I don't know exactly what inspired it, but this time I felt drawn to thick ink lines with a limited selection of colors underneath. I would begin by scratching the surface lightly with the brush for the undersketch, then build up to thicker lines as more of the drawing was completed. Even though this was all done with an ink brush (Jingsketch's Thin Ink), I made full use of the eraser (a big reason why I enjoy digital "inks" more than traditional ones). Anyways, these were fun to do and it was fun to be so close to a big cat while drawing. 

But enough about tertiary stuff. You've read the title, and you've put up with my excessively long introduction for too long. It's time for Frog Lady.

I actually made this piece a few weeks back but didn't post it because Instragram crippled their hashtag system for a frustratingly long time following the election. But now that hashtags are back to normal (as probably the only thing that will be "back to normal" during 2020) I've started to resume my usual posting schedule to get some art back out there! This happened to coincide nicely with the season finale of The Mandalorian, and so I wrote up my best attempt at a humorous caption and sent my version of the froggy lady out into the world. And as it turns out, there are a lot of frog lady fans out there! I had assumed this was a pretty niche favorite character to have (and she is my favorite Star Wars character, honestly) but I guess her charming practical effects, adorable little gestures, and irrepressible commitment to her family have universal appeal. So far, she is my most popular post and the closest I've come to "trending" or "viral." She reached the #2 spot on #starwars (screenshotted that for the scrapbook) and received sustained attention for about 2 whole days (much longer than the typical 8 hour life cycle for an Insta post). And the greatest honor was that Frog Lady herself (well, the actress who played her) saw the post and had kind things to say about it!

With a post doing this well, it gave me a lot to think about. When you post art online, this is the sort of thing you always hope will happen. I spend hours, often days on pieces that end up feeling like they had very little impact at all, and are barely seen even by my core audience. I use Instagram too, and I know how fast people zoom by incredible pieces of art because I do it myself, often. So when a post makes a slightly larger splash than usual, it can be really exciting. Every new follower is a jolt of dopamine. You watch the numbers tick up and hope the ball keeps rolling. I didn't even touch the post for a couple days for fear of messing up the algorithm. 

Is this what being a "big artist" feels like?

Cause I'm not so sure I like it. I treat Instagram pretty personally, and I care about the people who follow me. That means I try to respond to every comment I can think of an interesting reply to. When I get new followers, I want to welcome them and give them a chance to get to know me and my art. This takes time, usually a manageable amount, but when a post reaches this level it can take more time than I really want to give. If my posts were to do this well consistently, then I fear I would be forced to decide to engage less overall or spend even more time doing things that are not-art. When it came to followers, I've only been thinking about quantity. But now I'm starting to see the value of quality.

I appreciate that so many of my followers are people who care. People who comment on nearly every one of my posts. People who put up with weeks of inactivity on my part. I see you guys, and I'm thankful for you. It seems much more optimal to have a community like this, who is real and engaged and understanding, than a huge community that is largely apathetic towards what I seek to make. This post also comes in the wake of Instagram making some greedy algorithmic decisions, which have been weighing on me as Instagram is my main way of interacting with my online community. It seems more challenging than ever to be seen by potential new followers or even the ones you already have. And in addition to pleasing the masses, you must also please the developers/algorithm who somehow manage to be even more fickle. The path they promise to social media popularity seems ever changing, and ultimately detrimental to both creators and consumers. It trends toward frequent, short-lived, and banal content that tends to waste people's time.

That is not what I want to make. I want to make things that are good and beautiful. And if it comes at the cost of a smaller community who also cares about what is good and beautiful, I think that is a sacrifice I'm willing to make. 

Anyways that's what I felt after posting Frog Lady haha! Always in for a fun time at the Roost, aren't ya? This was a long one, and likely one of the final posts of the year unless I return for my customary Christmas Eve post. We aren't doing our usual double church service marathon with a Jason's Deli stop in the middle (it's gonna be a strange Eve for sure) so I'll probably have more time to write something up. I've also started working on my usual year-end post but since I can barely remember February, it may take a while to finish it. Hope to see you then! And on Instagram, despite it all. 

Thanks for being a part of this community with me. :)

-dh