I met Mr. Harryhausen while I was a student at CalArts. At the end of his animation lecture, a student asked if there was a trick to animating something as complicated as a seven-headed Hydra. Harryhausen simply cocked an eyebrow, gave a wry smile, and replied, "Yeah, you unplug the phone and CONCENTRATE."
Phones were plugged into the walls those days.
And animators were titans.
Farewell, Mr. Harryhausen. You will be greatly missed.
George Lucas, John Williams, Harrison Ford, and Mark Hamill are the names most often associated with Star Wars. But the one wizard who left as big a thumbprint on the Star Wars universe as anyone was concept artist Ralph McQuarrie.
Mr. McQuarrie designed everything from the hamburger-shaped Millenium Falcon to its seven foot walking carpet of a copilot.
Any artist would be happy to create half as many iconic images as Mr. McQuarrie. I, for one, will never walk through a forest without imagining one of Ralph's Imperial Walkers chasing a family of Ewoks through a cluster of sequoias.
Here's to Mr. McQuarrie, and the wonderful world he created for us in a galaxy far, far away.
So passes one of the greatest illustrators to ever put pen to paper. Ronald Searle inspired much of what we think as the "Disney" and "Warner Brothers" styles. Both Milt Kahl and Chuck Jones drew heavily from Searle's style; he had a unique was of distilling a subject to it's simplest, most ridiculous and truthful form.
Searle was one of my greatest artistic inspirations, so I leapt at the chance to contribute to a sketchbook Pixar artists were assembling last year for his 91st birthday. You can see the collected art at Matt Jones' blog here.
After receiving the tome of fan art, Mr. Searle sent us the following note:
Federal Express were at the door at dawn this morning with a bulging box. When all itcontained was revealed, I was totally overwhelmed with the generosity. All those animation friends spending precious time to mark the celebration and such a wonderful shower of messages. I really was very touched by the kindness. It was worth hanging on for 91 years to receive such a gem.
I shall treasure it. THANK YOU EVERYBODY!
Ronald
And thank you, Mr. Searle, for a lifetime of astounding art that will always be the standard we strive for!
"The only way to do great work is to love what you do."
I was just saying the other day how Steve Jobs is this generation's Walt Disney. Steve may not have been a filmmaker or professional storyteller, but like Walt, he was a visionary and a dreamer.
In 1986, Steve bought Lucasfilm's computer graphics division. The Graphics Group, which was soon renamed Pixar, was just another high-end software company at the time, working for medical and government agencies. Pixar would have most likely flourished as a tech company, but Steve could see that Ed Catmull and the other Pixar founders were still storytellers at heart. He took a chance, and invested in his friends' dreams.
Thanks in part to Steve's vision and support, Pixar is now the most successful animation company in the world. The culture here at Pixar still reflects much of Steve's forward-thinking, trail-blazing attitude.
Thanks for your brilliance and generosity, Mr. Jobs. I think I'm going to go order an iPad now.
My favorite place on Earth is CalArts, and the embodiment of that creative institution is the animation department's long-time figure drawing instructor, Cornelius Cole III. Walt Disney may have founded and funded the school, but the culture there is much more of the free-spirited, rebellious, anti-Mouse nature that Corny encouraged. I shouldn't say Corny was anti-Mouse, I'm not sure he was anti-anything; he was just pro-individual and always cautioned his students against becoming a cog in a machine.
That is an especially daunting challenge nowadays when animators seem to be a dime a dozen. The animation industry is more competitive now than ever, and there is a huge pressure to fit into the studio system. To conform to the machine. True artists and craftsmen will always be rare, though, particularly sages like Corny. Pen Ward put it best when he said of Corny, "I hope to draw until my style develops into that awesome, awesome old wise man style."
Among the many loving tributes to Corny are these Producers Show intros from 2003 and 2005. Corny and his fellow figure drawing instructor, the late Mike Mitchell, made regular appearances in student films. Partly because of how much they inspired us, but mostly because it's fun to animate curmudgeons.
2003 intro by Scott Bromley, Ron Yavnieli, and Ken Perkins
2005 intro by Pen Ward
The best way to honor Corny is to get out there and make your own art. Direct a film, take a figure-drawing class, or just "learn to draw with your left hand gawdammit" as Corny would growl. I said earlier that the embodiment of CalArts isCorny, not was, because as long as his art endures (and as long as we, his students, pass on his lessons), he will live on.
Here's to Corny, the animation industry's grumpy Yoda.
News of my hero's passing is a sobering way to start the week. Frank Frazetta forged modern fantasy art and created some of the most striking images in illustrated history. To me, Frazetta is more of a genre than a name.
Like Tolkien and Harryhausen, he handled fantasy with the same reverence and care as a documentarian. I wonder if he knew of some far off region where he could go and study titans and trolls in their native environment. I can picture him astride a drawing horse, perched on the edge of a mountain precipice, carefully sketching a horde of orcs as they went about their daily routine in the valley below.
Much of my artwork (like the smiley fellow below) is inspired by Frazetta. The man stoked the creative fires of fantasy nerds all over the world and I hope that, wherever he is now, they have a large supply of acrylic and plenty of well-endowed amazonians for reference.
Sunday, September 06, 2009
Mike Mitchell (1920-2009)
Mike Mitchell passed away today, leaving a big eye-patch-shaped hole in the hearts of a lot of CalArtians out there. All CalArts students start their animation career with Mike's figure drawing class. It wasn't called Figure Drawing I, or Beginner's Figure Drawing, because that wasn't Mike's style. Even the name of his class had to break the mold and set the stage for some serious out-of-the-box thinking. Plus, Mike didn't think of anyone as beginner artists, he held our work with as much esteem as a peer, so he called it From Real to Reel. Cheesy? Yes. Pretentious? Maaaaybe. Heck, there may have even been a subtitle, but it eludes me now. But that truly was the intention of the class: to inspire our filmwork and to use our observations from life to fuel our animation so that our films didn't become imitations of other "cartoons."
Mike had the true artist's spirit of creativity and rebellion, and encouraged students to look at the life models in new ways, even if it meant dragging in the skeletal remains of a motorcycle or a creepy wooden gazelle for the model to pose with. His room was called the Palace, and while it was used for department meetings, guest lectures, and special events, everyone referred to it as Mike Mitchell's room. Every week of my first year at CalArts, I looked forward to Fridays in Mike's class and the silent competition to win the old master's affection and earn a spot for one of my drawings on his wall. I'm eternally grateful to have known and learned from the man. I know the eye-patch-shaped hole will never be filled, but I hope that we all strive to achieve what Mike always encouraged us to do: forge our own us-shaped niches in an industry that all too often would have us shaped like cogs instead.
Scott Bromley, Ken Perkins, and Ron Yavnieli's 2003 Producer's Show intro featured muppet versions of Mike and fellow life-drawing legend, Corny Cole. This is just a small glimpse into the respect and affection CalArts had for the man who had started them off on their road to animation greatness.
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
Michael Crichton (Oct 23, 1942-Nov 4, 2008)
If you know me, you know that my favorite film of all-time is Jurassic Park. Aside from Star Wars, I'd say Jurassic Park is the main reason I wanted to become a filmmaker. Steven Spielberg's directing, Stan Winston's dinosaurs, Gary Rydstrom's sound, and Dennis Muren's effects are all astounding, but Jurassic Park would be nothing had it not been for the imagination and scientific curiosity of Michael Crichton.
I remember reading the book in third grade and being absolutely scared out of my gourde. The way Mr. Crichton spelled out the science behind bringing dinosaurs back from life and his descriptions of the theropods' predatory behavior, it was very clear that these weren't monsters or mutants, but actual animals--very real, and very dangerous! I recall having to periodically glance up from the book just to remind myself that I wasn't being stalked by voracious Velociraptors through the black jungles of Isla Nublar. I haven't read as thrilling of a story since!
It's heart-breaking to hear of Mr. Crichton's sudden passing from a private struggle with cancer. Sixty-six is fairly young, and he was still very active as an author, filmmaker, and speaker. I am grateful for the amazing worlds he gave us and the way his stories would tantalize the imagination of the right side of our brains while challenging scientific assumptions of the left side of our brain. As a scientist and an artist, Michael Crichton was quite a human being, and it is the least I can do to salute him on this blog.
So for all of you artists and filmmakers out there, please take an interest in science; it will only inform and inspire your work. And for all you scientists, remember to let your imagine challenge your preconceptions about the world around you. Finally, for Mr. Crichton, thanks for the magnificent scares, sir, and please say hi to Tyrannosaurus rex for me!
In much sadder Jurassic Park-related news, Oscar award-winning makeup and special effects wizard Stan Winston passed away yesterday from complications due to multiple myeloma. Stan was one of my earliest artistic influences whether I realized it or not. Whether his work was as mind-blowing as Terminator and Predator, or as melancholy as Edward Scissorhands and Batman Returns, he never failed to transport me to another world populated by bizarre characters. His work lended as much atmosphere as the music or the cinematography, and was often more iconic. This is a tragic loss for the filmmaking community, but we will always have his characters, his art, and his inspiration.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Ollie Johnston (October 31, 1912-April 14, 2008)
Any animator worth his salt owns at least one copy of Frank Thomas and Ollie Johnston's The Illusion of Life. The book offers the wisdom Ollie collected over the forty-three years he worked at Disney, creating some of the world's most memorable characters (including two of my personal favorites, Merlin and Baloo). More importantly, The Illusion of Life reveals the importance of fellowship, and learning from your peers. Over the years, the names Frank and Ollie have become almost inseparable. These two embody the golden age of classical animation and, for me, childhood in general. My favorite animated scene of all-time is their squirrel sequence from Sword in the Stone. Within a few minutes (and hundreds of Ollie's gorgeous drawings), we are taught about having the faith to leap, the courage to fail, and we are introduced to the most powerful force on Earth...even more powerful than gravity. At Frank Thomas's request, the sequence was played at Frank's memorial. So here it is again for old Ollie. Frank and Ollie's squirrel sequence And for those of you unfamiliar of the man that helped invent animation, here's his story. Thanks for the magic, Ollie!
This is the last post I would ever want to make. My best friend (seen above, first Jedi on the left) passed away this week. We went through school together at CalArts, graduated the same year and were hired together at Pixar the same month. Our birthdays are even one day apart. I take a great deal of comfort knowing that he lived an amazing life, accomplished all of his dreams, and had a very strong relationship with God. Justin was one of my favorite people to pitch ideas to. Any time I was working on a serious drawing, Justin is the one I'd show, and he was never afraid to let me know if the drawing really stank. But when he didn't like something, he always offered advice on how to make it better, ways it could be improved. I'm devastated at the notion of having adventures without my buddy, but I'm strengthened by the lessons he taught me and the almost disproportionate amount of laughter we shared. I can't wait to see him again, but until then...to infinity and beyond.
Comic artist and creator of the Rocketeer Dave Stevens passed away yesterday after a long battle with Leukemia. Stevens is my dad's favorite artist, and one of my earliest artistic influences. I think I've sketched scenes and poses from every single issue of Rocketeer, particularly those featuring Betty Page. His death is a real loss to the artistic community, and he will be greatly missed--especially by the Madisons. So long, Dave, and enjoy the skies!
