Thursday, September 24, 2009
Sunday, September 06, 2009
Damah Film Festival - Vote Now!
The Short Film finalists are posted and ready for voting now thru Sept 30. Please go to www.damah.org and vote for your favorite.
(Hint: Your favorite is "Time & Chance")
Saturday, July 11, 2009
When Dynamic Surpasses Quality
This is an unused drawing from the Disney animated short film "John Henry" (2000).It is from the moment in the film when John thinks he's won, but hasn't, and Polly inspires him to keep on going. I was searching for a visual way to get that idea across, and this idea of passion popped into my head and I scrawled it down on paper. And as much as I liked the drawing , it didn't fit in the rhythm of the story. In the end, it worked better for her to pick up his hammer and start the song reprise.
There is a lot wrong with the drawing:
• Polly is too large (even though he's on his knees, her head is huge!)
• The Hammer handle is bent (oops)
• John's left shoulder looks dislocated (I was attempting foreshortening)
• What's going on with the fold in her kerchief?
However, I like the drawing. It's one of the rare ones where I felt I captured the energy I was going for. I like the angle of their bodies, creating a visual tension. I like the tilt of Polly's head and the slight rise of her right shoulder as she pulls John's face closer. I even like the way I attempted to make John's shoulders relax and fall back.
But what I like most of all is what it teaches me about drawing. Sometimes the energy and dynamic of a composition can override the technical perfection of the drawing. The emotion exhibited here overshadowed my shortcomings.
Of course, it would've been better to have both, but given the choice, I would rather create an emotionally powerful piece than a technically perfect one.
Of course in the world of an animated film production, a story drawing can be left like this. The visual perfection will be added later in layout & animation. The hope is that the artists who follow up with your scenes will keep (and hopefully enhance) the emotion that created the moment.
Wednesday, July 08, 2009
Funny Licensing
I never thought that cartoon kitties actually...uh...went to the litter box.
I think this is the weirdest licensing choice I have ever seen. Sure Aristocats cat food. I can understand the appeal - "Mommy! Let's feed our cats what Duchess & the kittens eat!"
But litter?
"That's right kids! Your pets can defecate in the official Aristocats scoopable litter! There's no classier place to poop or pee!"
Monday, March 02, 2009
"A Cannon, a Mule, and a Pack of Lies"
Exactly half of the sentences in the following story are true.
The saying goes that history is written by the victors. But as so many have pointed out, the glaring exception to that rule is, in fact, the American South. While the rest of the nation has all but forgotten about the “War of Northern Aggression”, every nuance and cranny of each and every military engagement, from major battle to trivial disagreement has been dutifully chronicled in full and intimate depth by the subsequent generations of the still proud, yet defunct nation-to-be.
Take for instance the saga of Frederick J. Page, the namesake of the High School in Rudderville, TN, just outside Franklin.
It was the fall of 1864, and Fred Page owned a cannon. He had no military training, nor high breeding. He simply owned a cannon. That, along with a wife who could sew a great officer’s uniform, gave Page the gumption to promote himself to the honorific rank of Colonel. It was akin to the nerdy kid who owns the only baseball bat in the neighborhood and who then decrees himself team captain. And if Page had lived 100 or so years later, he would have indeed been that nerdy kid. But back to the cannon story…
“Colonel” Page was the only commanding officer in the state who was not present at the infamous Battle of Franklin. It was no fault of his own. You see, the Colonel was held up by a heavy rain that had occurred three days earlier and left his fields a muddy slough.
Now, the Battle of Franklin, is not much more than a footnote in the annals of the War twixt the States. However, it has been fully designated by history buffs to have been a major turning point. For in addition to several hundred enlisted men, the South lost no less than six generals that day.
While the battle was raging not 25 miles away, our friend Freddy had his saddle mule, Sarah, tethered to said cannon attempting in vain to dredge it out of the muddy gulley that now surrounded his farm. Yes, in taking a shortcut, he had become horribly mired in the… uh…mire, and unable to join his ranks with the weapon that quite possible could have turned the tide of the entire war. Had it not been for the massive rain, and Page’s rush through his field, our nation might have indeed been split in two, Texas would have remained under Mexican rule, Alaska would still be Russian and Hawaii’s Royalty may have been ousted by the British or Chinese rather than by our own Senate (under the dispute of President Cleveland).
But the story doesn’t end there. That’s just first chapter. For as a testament to Page’s missteps, that cannon remained in that spot for years, buried halfway in the mud. For twelve seasons, Page simply planted his crops around the defunct boom maker. But then, as his tale of woe evolved more into a yarn of dire heroism, he decided to make that spot the entrance to his farm. He would regale visitors with the epic saga of his rush to get his cannon to the front, how he single-handedly battled a regiment of Yankee foot soldiers, and was knocked unconscious by the butt of one of their “damnéd rifles”. (Though the scar on his forehead bore a striking resemblance to a mule shoe.
To this day, the cannon still rests there, rising proudly from the lawn outside the entrance to the High School that bears his name. And his near battlefield exploits are taught year after year in the history classes there. There is even a poorly executed painting of the struggle done by a senior from the class of 1977 hanging in the school library.
I should have said the cannon sat there. You see, about two weeks ago where the cannon lay half exposed for cheerleaders to pose for photos on, all that greeted the morning’s arrival of students was a gaping hole and a pile of red earth.
You would have thought that the Liberty Bell had been stolen. Williamson County’s answer to CSI was called in. I had no idea there were so many trench coats in Middle Tennessee. Theories have been conjured up. Suspects have been considered. But still the answer to this heinous mystery has yet to even come close to being revealed. Naturally, everyone’s first assumption was that a rival school stole the relic, and it is no doubt hidden away in an unused tobacco barn beside a posh neighborhood currently under development. New home buyers are right now probably wandering through a luxurious model three-and-a-half-bath-split-level, unaware that they are in spitting distance of a treasured antiquity. However, no one has even hinted at taking credit for the act. No ransom demands. Nothing.
The Page High football team desperately wants to enact revenge on the offending school, by kidnapping a goat mascot, or burning something in effigy. But there are no clear targets for vendetta. The football season has been over for months, so the rivalry tensions are in their seasonal ebb.
So the police spent the morning taking castings of all the shoe prints around the hole, only to find that most, if not all of them belonged to the curious onlookers that first got off the school buses. A shovel was left behind, but the perp must have been wearing work gloves and left no prints. No tire tracks. Not even any wheel ruts from the cannon. It was as if the thing had been spirited away.
While suggesting the supernatural is a mere poetic musing, it must be said that many of the local amateur ghost hunters have been very quick to suggest interference from beyond the grave. There have been many reliable accounts that the ghosts of Fred Page and that of Tod Carter regularly reenact their famous duel that ultimately took the life of Col. Page. (It all happened on what is now the practice football field.)
No one was actually injured in the quarrel, however. On the morning of the duel, June 21, 1892, the dampness in the air caused Carter’s pistol to misfire. Page’s shot missed Carter by several feet. But Carter insisted that he have another shot with a reliable weapon. So in a fit of rage, Fred stomped back into the house to retrieve another. But his front steps were horribly termite infested and finally broke through under his 230 pounds of angry flesh. He broke his left femur, refused the treatment of a surgeon (who was related to Carter), and died of gangrene 9 days later. Believers hold that Carter has returned to get his due.
So, as theories are flying and accusations are thrown around like so much toilet paper in the neighbor’s trees, an interesting thing happened yesterday evening. One Paige Fredrickson (no relation), a freshman on staff of the school paper, was covering the event from her own angle, with the assumption that it was an inside job. As she was taking photos of the crime scene and comparing them to the yearbook photos of the cheerleaders posing on the gun barrel, she made a remarkable observation.
Without telling anyone other than her older brother Adam, she set about recovering the cannon on her own. You see, late last night Paige and Adam took their shovels to the dirt pile beside the hole. And as they re-filled the pit, Paige’s assumption became confirmed fact. Yes, the cannon had not been moved at all, but was resting peaceably underneath the mound of earth that came out of the hole that had been dug beside it.
Paige has been rightfully hailed as a hero. Or, heroine, if you don’t mind your heroes sounding like illicit drugs.
The practical joker (or jokers) who masterminded the plot is still at large, but my guess is that he (or she, or they) will be numbered among the graduates this spring. Whoever they are, they have a great ability to keep a straight face and managed not a single grin or other giveaway during the entire school assembly this afternoon where Miss Fredrickson was honored.
If you have read this far, you are probably wondering which parts of this story have been made up. For I did promise that half of the sentences are true. Now, with a sigh, I must confess that the first sentence was not one of them. In fact, very little of this story is factual. However, I hope that even though you knew there were lies, that you wanted to believe them and were entertained just the same.
Yes, there was a Battle of Franklin where six Southern Generals died. And according to “Gone With the Wind”, Rhett Butler’s actions that day earned him a commendation after the war. And while Rhett Butler is obviously a fictional character, Tod Carter is not, and was indeed a war hero. Fred J. Page was also a real person, but I have no idea who he was, when he lived, nor why the school (that has no cannon in front) was named for him. Oh, and he never had a mule named Sarah. Besides, you all should know that all mules are born male, and sterile.
The saying goes that history is written by the victors. But as so many have pointed out, the glaring exception to that rule is, in fact, the American South. While the rest of the nation has all but forgotten about the “War of Northern Aggression”, every nuance and cranny of each and every military engagement, from major battle to trivial disagreement has been dutifully chronicled in full and intimate depth by the subsequent generations of the still proud, yet defunct nation-to-be.
Take for instance the saga of Frederick J. Page, the namesake of the High School in Rudderville, TN, just outside Franklin.
It was the fall of 1864, and Fred Page owned a cannon. He had no military training, nor high breeding. He simply owned a cannon. That, along with a wife who could sew a great officer’s uniform, gave Page the gumption to promote himself to the honorific rank of Colonel. It was akin to the nerdy kid who owns the only baseball bat in the neighborhood and who then decrees himself team captain. And if Page had lived 100 or so years later, he would have indeed been that nerdy kid. But back to the cannon story…
“Colonel” Page was the only commanding officer in the state who was not present at the infamous Battle of Franklin. It was no fault of his own. You see, the Colonel was held up by a heavy rain that had occurred three days earlier and left his fields a muddy slough.
Now, the Battle of Franklin, is not much more than a footnote in the annals of the War twixt the States. However, it has been fully designated by history buffs to have been a major turning point. For in addition to several hundred enlisted men, the South lost no less than six generals that day.
While the battle was raging not 25 miles away, our friend Freddy had his saddle mule, Sarah, tethered to said cannon attempting in vain to dredge it out of the muddy gulley that now surrounded his farm. Yes, in taking a shortcut, he had become horribly mired in the… uh…mire, and unable to join his ranks with the weapon that quite possible could have turned the tide of the entire war. Had it not been for the massive rain, and Page’s rush through his field, our nation might have indeed been split in two, Texas would have remained under Mexican rule, Alaska would still be Russian and Hawaii’s Royalty may have been ousted by the British or Chinese rather than by our own Senate (under the dispute of President Cleveland).
But the story doesn’t end there. That’s just first chapter. For as a testament to Page’s missteps, that cannon remained in that spot for years, buried halfway in the mud. For twelve seasons, Page simply planted his crops around the defunct boom maker. But then, as his tale of woe evolved more into a yarn of dire heroism, he decided to make that spot the entrance to his farm. He would regale visitors with the epic saga of his rush to get his cannon to the front, how he single-handedly battled a regiment of Yankee foot soldiers, and was knocked unconscious by the butt of one of their “damnéd rifles”. (Though the scar on his forehead bore a striking resemblance to a mule shoe.
To this day, the cannon still rests there, rising proudly from the lawn outside the entrance to the High School that bears his name. And his near battlefield exploits are taught year after year in the history classes there. There is even a poorly executed painting of the struggle done by a senior from the class of 1977 hanging in the school library.
I should have said the cannon sat there. You see, about two weeks ago where the cannon lay half exposed for cheerleaders to pose for photos on, all that greeted the morning’s arrival of students was a gaping hole and a pile of red earth.
You would have thought that the Liberty Bell had been stolen. Williamson County’s answer to CSI was called in. I had no idea there were so many trench coats in Middle Tennessee. Theories have been conjured up. Suspects have been considered. But still the answer to this heinous mystery has yet to even come close to being revealed. Naturally, everyone’s first assumption was that a rival school stole the relic, and it is no doubt hidden away in an unused tobacco barn beside a posh neighborhood currently under development. New home buyers are right now probably wandering through a luxurious model three-and-a-half-bath-split-level, unaware that they are in spitting distance of a treasured antiquity. However, no one has even hinted at taking credit for the act. No ransom demands. Nothing.
The Page High football team desperately wants to enact revenge on the offending school, by kidnapping a goat mascot, or burning something in effigy. But there are no clear targets for vendetta. The football season has been over for months, so the rivalry tensions are in their seasonal ebb.
So the police spent the morning taking castings of all the shoe prints around the hole, only to find that most, if not all of them belonged to the curious onlookers that first got off the school buses. A shovel was left behind, but the perp must have been wearing work gloves and left no prints. No tire tracks. Not even any wheel ruts from the cannon. It was as if the thing had been spirited away.
While suggesting the supernatural is a mere poetic musing, it must be said that many of the local amateur ghost hunters have been very quick to suggest interference from beyond the grave. There have been many reliable accounts that the ghosts of Fred Page and that of Tod Carter regularly reenact their famous duel that ultimately took the life of Col. Page. (It all happened on what is now the practice football field.)
No one was actually injured in the quarrel, however. On the morning of the duel, June 21, 1892, the dampness in the air caused Carter’s pistol to misfire. Page’s shot missed Carter by several feet. But Carter insisted that he have another shot with a reliable weapon. So in a fit of rage, Fred stomped back into the house to retrieve another. But his front steps were horribly termite infested and finally broke through under his 230 pounds of angry flesh. He broke his left femur, refused the treatment of a surgeon (who was related to Carter), and died of gangrene 9 days later. Believers hold that Carter has returned to get his due.
So, as theories are flying and accusations are thrown around like so much toilet paper in the neighbor’s trees, an interesting thing happened yesterday evening. One Paige Fredrickson (no relation), a freshman on staff of the school paper, was covering the event from her own angle, with the assumption that it was an inside job. As she was taking photos of the crime scene and comparing them to the yearbook photos of the cheerleaders posing on the gun barrel, she made a remarkable observation.
Without telling anyone other than her older brother Adam, she set about recovering the cannon on her own. You see, late last night Paige and Adam took their shovels to the dirt pile beside the hole. And as they re-filled the pit, Paige’s assumption became confirmed fact. Yes, the cannon had not been moved at all, but was resting peaceably underneath the mound of earth that came out of the hole that had been dug beside it.
Paige has been rightfully hailed as a hero. Or, heroine, if you don’t mind your heroes sounding like illicit drugs.
The practical joker (or jokers) who masterminded the plot is still at large, but my guess is that he (or she, or they) will be numbered among the graduates this spring. Whoever they are, they have a great ability to keep a straight face and managed not a single grin or other giveaway during the entire school assembly this afternoon where Miss Fredrickson was honored.
If you have read this far, you are probably wondering which parts of this story have been made up. For I did promise that half of the sentences are true. Now, with a sigh, I must confess that the first sentence was not one of them. In fact, very little of this story is factual. However, I hope that even though you knew there were lies, that you wanted to believe them and were entertained just the same.
Yes, there was a Battle of Franklin where six Southern Generals died. And according to “Gone With the Wind”, Rhett Butler’s actions that day earned him a commendation after the war. And while Rhett Butler is obviously a fictional character, Tod Carter is not, and was indeed a war hero. Fred J. Page was also a real person, but I have no idea who he was, when he lived, nor why the school (that has no cannon in front) was named for him. Oh, and he never had a mule named Sarah. Besides, you all should know that all mules are born male, and sterile.
©2009 Tim Hodge
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Brando
I was thumbing through a magazine the other day and ran across this photo from "A Streetcar Named Desire". I haven't seen this movie in years.
Anyway... I started drawing Stanley and Blanche.
I was amazed to find how Brando's profile resembled the classic profiles of Renaissance sculptures and painting. Very chiseled - opposing curves and arcs. I supposed it's the Italian look.
(Michelangelo's Libyan Sybil for the Sistine Chapel ceiling. Note the similarities in the bone structure:)
Trying harder to capture the anger in his eyes here. Still not sure I got it.
I started getting more and more caricatured. And included Vivian Leigh in this one. I didn't get the tilt of her head quite right. She's tilted a bit toward the camera in the photo. It was a bit too subtle for me to capture. Especially since I went straight to ink - no pencil underdrawing.
I intentionally pushed them closer together. I liked the intimacy & tension in the moment. So pushing them closer and increasing Brando's leaning angle kept that feel.
Then I just started doodling random faces in pencil, trying to see how much information I could capture with a minimum of detail.
Then I just started doodling random faces in pencil, trying to see how much information I could capture with a minimum of detail.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Kurtz & Friends
This is an original production cel from a 1970s commercial by the animation house Kurtz & Friends. I have no idea what the product is. If anyone can shed any light on it, please let me know.I got this art in trade for something years ago. Bob Kurtz was one of my animation heroes as I was growing up. He and his staff have produced tons of great animation, from commercials, to film credits, to George Carlin routines.
Watching this the off-the-wall approach to animation, design and storytelling was a great contrast to the high art of Disney that I was constantly feeding myself. It was like enjoying a shot of bathtub hooch after sipping on fine wine. What a wake-up call!
Check out the line work. Even though it's rough, the drawing is solid. The shape doesn't change form from drawing to drawing. They style might look whimsical, almost childish, but the artist knew what he was doing. It's great drawing.
UPDATE: I just got this email from Kenneth Smith at Kurtz & Friends:
This cel is from a Holly Farms 30second commercial called "Frozen" -
Agency: Long Haymes Carr - dated 9/1/89
This cell refers to the line "Chicken-cicles" - in another scene there's a chicken frozen from the neck down in a block of ice. There were 2 other spots in the series, "No Preservatives" with a chicken mummy and "Color" with technicolor chickens, none of which would be acceptable to the folks at Holly Farms.
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