This is a quick lipsync featuring the voice of Jack Black. We have spent the past semester and a half modeling, rigging and getting this character ready for animating. Here is a preview of what we have done.
Enjoy.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Dust on the Bulb
Occasionally in life, the sight of a certain object or a sound will transport you back in time to your childhood days. The smell of dust, burning on a 250W light bulb is one such trigger for me. I don't know if the smell reminds me of the old 8mm film projector that my dad would pull out on occasion to show us the films and animations that he made, or if the smell I remember is the actual smell of dust, burning on the 250W light bulb that he used to light the frames as he shot them, one at a time, to create an animated sequence.
This semester I am teaching a class in traditional 2D animation and the light stands we are using are the same ones that my father built and used to make similar films more than thirty years ago. One of the bulbs is an actual bulb that he used so many years ago. My father was the artisan, I am a teacher, he explored the world of light and animation and I try to explain well established principles of the art. Where he spent time breaking rules that he already understood, I spend time keeping kids from breaking the rules so that they will understand why they are there to begin with. As I develop this class, I often find myself wondering how he would have done it or what assignments he might have created to teach a specific concept or technique. I have a blown up picture, taken by my uncle, of my dad with his camera. It reminds me each day, how privileged I am to have had him as a father.
This afternoon, we finished up class at 3:45 and most of the students dutifully shuffled off to other things. But one student stayed behind to take pictures of his 48 hand drawn animation frames that we had worked on in class. He was wrapped up in his task and I was busy preparing my lesson for tomorrow, but the smell of the dust sizzling on the top of that 250W bulb, whiffed into my head and knocked invitingly on a door in an older part of my brain. It took me back to when I was a little boy in that big old adobe house with the high ceilings and creaky floors, in Tome. My dad had a large office from which my brother and I were usually banned. A large serape blanket served as the door and when the wind caught hold of its corners in the springtime, we could catch glimpses of the magic as he worked silently behind that heavy curtain. Occasionally we could enter into his sanctuary and watch him create or even create ourselves as he guided us. I still remember how awkwardly my hands felt, compared to his, as I pushed the cutout of a cartoon rocket ship I had drawn across the page. Dad clicked out the frames of an animation that he was helping me build. The result was a simple, somewhat jerky animation of the coyote chasing Roadrunner through space, but it was mine, I had made it, just like my dad. His animations always looked so much smoother and cleaner than mine did, and I was in awe of his amazing skill. He was, as dads tend to be, bigger than life. Sitting by my dad's camera stand or standing over his desk as he spliced film together or shot frame after endless frame of white dots on black card stock, is to this day one of my favorite childhood memories.
Today, I animate using Autodesk Maya, on a set of 24 inch monitors that make HD look blurry. My computer is a quad core Mac powered by four 3.06 GHz Intel processors with more RAM than a single person should have. My computer uses amazingly powerful animation software that incorporates light and dynamics. With a few clicks of a mouse, I can alter time, change the weather and even create living breathing creatures (no... not really, but it sure does look convincing) I bring images to life in ways that would boggle my dads mind.
He passed away in 1983, almost thirty years ago. A year after the original movie, Tron came out, a full two years before Dire Straits ground breaking 3D animated music video "Money for Nothing" came out on MTV. He never saw the computer revolution take hold as it has today. I often wonder what he would have done with the technology if he were still around. Back then, for most of us, we could not even imagine doing what the artists at PIXAR do with computers today. I am privileged to be able to do what I do, here in my little high tech corner of the New Mexico State University Carlsbad campus. But some days, in the midst of my speedy lab computers and expensive software, I still long for those days of still frames, of dust burning on overly bright light bulbs, bulbs that could singe the hair off of your little adolescent arms if you got to close.
Some days I wish that I could pull back that curtain, just one more time and watch his hands coax life out of those little tiny dots or painstakingly splice a frame or two of film into a larger reel. It is strange how the slightest whiff or quickest glimpse can impact you, so many years later.
At least I still have the smell of dust, burning on a 250W light bulb.
This semester I am teaching a class in traditional 2D animation and the light stands we are using are the same ones that my father built and used to make similar films more than thirty years ago. One of the bulbs is an actual bulb that he used so many years ago. My father was the artisan, I am a teacher, he explored the world of light and animation and I try to explain well established principles of the art. Where he spent time breaking rules that he already understood, I spend time keeping kids from breaking the rules so that they will understand why they are there to begin with. As I develop this class, I often find myself wondering how he would have done it or what assignments he might have created to teach a specific concept or technique. I have a blown up picture, taken by my uncle, of my dad with his camera. It reminds me each day, how privileged I am to have had him as a father.
This afternoon, we finished up class at 3:45 and most of the students dutifully shuffled off to other things. But one student stayed behind to take pictures of his 48 hand drawn animation frames that we had worked on in class. He was wrapped up in his task and I was busy preparing my lesson for tomorrow, but the smell of the dust sizzling on the top of that 250W bulb, whiffed into my head and knocked invitingly on a door in an older part of my brain. It took me back to when I was a little boy in that big old adobe house with the high ceilings and creaky floors, in Tome. My dad had a large office from which my brother and I were usually banned. A large serape blanket served as the door and when the wind caught hold of its corners in the springtime, we could catch glimpses of the magic as he worked silently behind that heavy curtain. Occasionally we could enter into his sanctuary and watch him create or even create ourselves as he guided us. I still remember how awkwardly my hands felt, compared to his, as I pushed the cutout of a cartoon rocket ship I had drawn across the page. Dad clicked out the frames of an animation that he was helping me build. The result was a simple, somewhat jerky animation of the coyote chasing Roadrunner through space, but it was mine, I had made it, just like my dad. His animations always looked so much smoother and cleaner than mine did, and I was in awe of his amazing skill. He was, as dads tend to be, bigger than life. Sitting by my dad's camera stand or standing over his desk as he spliced film together or shot frame after endless frame of white dots on black card stock, is to this day one of my favorite childhood memories.
Today, I animate using Autodesk Maya, on a set of 24 inch monitors that make HD look blurry. My computer is a quad core Mac powered by four 3.06 GHz Intel processors with more RAM than a single person should have. My computer uses amazingly powerful animation software that incorporates light and dynamics. With a few clicks of a mouse, I can alter time, change the weather and even create living breathing creatures (no... not really, but it sure does look convincing) I bring images to life in ways that would boggle my dads mind.
He passed away in 1983, almost thirty years ago. A year after the original movie, Tron came out, a full two years before Dire Straits ground breaking 3D animated music video "Money for Nothing" came out on MTV. He never saw the computer revolution take hold as it has today. I often wonder what he would have done with the technology if he were still around. Back then, for most of us, we could not even imagine doing what the artists at PIXAR do with computers today. I am privileged to be able to do what I do, here in my little high tech corner of the New Mexico State University Carlsbad campus. But some days, in the midst of my speedy lab computers and expensive software, I still long for those days of still frames, of dust burning on overly bright light bulbs, bulbs that could singe the hair off of your little adolescent arms if you got to close.
Some days I wish that I could pull back that curtain, just one more time and watch his hands coax life out of those little tiny dots or painstakingly splice a frame or two of film into a larger reel. It is strange how the slightest whiff or quickest glimpse can impact you, so many years later.
At least I still have the smell of dust, burning on a 250W light bulb.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
A Stab at the Art of Carpentry
There are a few very distinct advantages to working as a college instructor. Probably the most obvious one is the time off. This Christmas season, I decided to spend a few days of my break sawing wood into various pieces and attempting to turn it into something that resembles furniture.
Early on in our marriage, I had attempted to build a hutch for our kitchen. The results were... functional. We eventually chopped it up into a set of toyshelves for Nathan. They did not make the cut when we moved back to New Mexico from Texas. I have since successfully built a trash bin for the kitchen and a cabinet for the bathroom that are a little more aesthetically pleasing than that first stab at a hutch.
After a rather stressful semester, trying to apply for tenure at work, this break, I was more than ready to spend my tie out of doors and offline. And so, I decided to try my hand at something a bit more complicated. I am not yet brave enough to start working with "real" wood, oak, cherry or something expensive like that. Everything so far has been made out of white pine, that way, I can mess up without the angst of destroying some really nice wood. Incidentally, I have the issue with paper, I would much rather draw on a napkin than on a three dollar sheet of sketch paper. That probably says something profound about my personality. Maybe I should examine that later... maybe I'll write about my ponderings, on a napkin.
A five foot tall three drawer dresser made of white pine and carpenters glue
Currently the cabinet is sitting alone in the garage waiting for the stain to dry before I move it to the bedroom, where it will take it's predetermined place as real live furniture.
While my work is a far cry from fine art, It sure is satisfying to create something with your own two hands. Typing on a keyboard just doesn't produce the same effect. With that said, I am going to logoff, unplug and go do something useful.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Happy New Year
With just five minutes left in 2010, I would like to take a moment to wish all of our friends and family a very happy new year. We wish you all the best in 2011.
God speed as the new year is upon us.
God speed as the new year is upon us.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Just what is the real meaning of Christmas?
So, here we are, six days away from the big day. It seems that this year, I have heard more and more people complain that they can't wait for Christmas to be over. I know that this season has become very hectic with all of the parties and shopping and doings and goings, but is it really that different from any number of other weekends throughout the year?
Honestly, I don't think that it is. I think that it has just become fashionable to dis Christmas.
But beyond that, I think there are deeper issues. Even the most adamant shopper among us would be hard pressed to say that presents are the meaning of Christmas. There are those who would claim the holiday as a time to focus on family and friends, but then, we should change the name to Friendsmas or Kinsmas. No, as the name implies, Christmas is about the Christ. We have all seen the motto knit on a Christmas sweater, "Jesus is the reason for the season".
But as I think about it, I wonder if even then, We are not getting the whole meaning of Christmas. Is it really all about the birth of Jesus, or is there something more? I think that there is.
The baby Jesus came to earth for a reason. Even as a baby there was a purpose to His coming. Unlike you or me, Jesus' never had to ask what He wanted to do with His life. Thousands of years before he was born, circumstances were set in motion that would determine His life on earth. He came as the savior, not a mentor, a teacher or a good example. He did not even come as a savior, he came as THE savior. The only one, ever. He came to die on the cross and redeem all of humanity. I think that is the meaning of Christmas, that God Himself came to earth in the form of a helpless baby, with the intent purpose of saving you and I from the mess we have made of our lives.
When you look at Christmas in that light, it is a pretty amazing holiday with a rather impressive meaning. I hope that maybe, this Christmas, as you hustle through the maze of shopping centers and sweat through the cooking of your holiday meals, that you will stop and contemplate what Christmas is all about. Is it about friends, family, a the birth of a little baby, or is it the beginning of the most amazing plan ever, designed by the Maker of Heaven and Earth Himself, to restore you and I to an amazing relationship with Him.
Well, regardless as the rest of you fly through the season, stressing over what to get Uncle Herbert or trying to arange the table so the Aunt Merfurd doesn't have to sit next to Uncle Boobert's twenty year old girlfriend, I am going to do my best to show my world what the real reason the season is.
Merry Christmas
Honestly, I don't think that it is. I think that it has just become fashionable to dis Christmas.
But beyond that, I think there are deeper issues. Even the most adamant shopper among us would be hard pressed to say that presents are the meaning of Christmas. There are those who would claim the holiday as a time to focus on family and friends, but then, we should change the name to Friendsmas or Kinsmas. No, as the name implies, Christmas is about the Christ. We have all seen the motto knit on a Christmas sweater, "Jesus is the reason for the season".
But as I think about it, I wonder if even then, We are not getting the whole meaning of Christmas. Is it really all about the birth of Jesus, or is there something more? I think that there is.
The baby Jesus came to earth for a reason. Even as a baby there was a purpose to His coming. Unlike you or me, Jesus' never had to ask what He wanted to do with His life. Thousands of years before he was born, circumstances were set in motion that would determine His life on earth. He came as the savior, not a mentor, a teacher or a good example. He did not even come as a savior, he came as THE savior. The only one, ever. He came to die on the cross and redeem all of humanity. I think that is the meaning of Christmas, that God Himself came to earth in the form of a helpless baby, with the intent purpose of saving you and I from the mess we have made of our lives.
When you look at Christmas in that light, it is a pretty amazing holiday with a rather impressive meaning. I hope that maybe, this Christmas, as you hustle through the maze of shopping centers and sweat through the cooking of your holiday meals, that you will stop and contemplate what Christmas is all about. Is it about friends, family, a the birth of a little baby, or is it the beginning of the most amazing plan ever, designed by the Maker of Heaven and Earth Himself, to restore you and I to an amazing relationship with Him.
Well, regardless as the rest of you fly through the season, stressing over what to get Uncle Herbert or trying to arange the table so the Aunt Merfurd doesn't have to sit next to Uncle Boobert's twenty year old girlfriend, I am going to do my best to show my world what the real reason the season is.
Merry Christmas
Friday, December 17, 2010
Tenure... Or sixure, actually sevenure. But who's counting
Me, that's who.
Do you remember what you were doing in August of 2005? Personally, I had just given notice at work that I would be leaving within a week. I put our house on the market and it sold in under 24 hours. Kerri and the kids had left town a week ahead of me, and I was supposed to clear out the house and close up shop in El Paso, Texas.
For some time I had been seeking a job with a little more meaning than I had found in the commercial real estate industry. It seems I had found out about one such possibility located in a little pecan tree covered town on the high desert of Southeastern New Mexico. Here, nestled along the Pecos river, at a branch campus of New Mexico State University they were starting up a new film and animation program and they needed an instructor. I had interviewed and they liked me, so now in the period of just under two weeks, I was going to be standing in front of 25 big scary college students, armed with nothing more than a syllabus and something called a rubric. (No, I was not the most attentive college student, I don't remember syllabi and rubrics were definitely foreign to me)
That was six years ago. Six... Academic years ago. New years day for me is now August 13 or 14 when school starts each fall. Every job has it's important dates. For college faculty, its the three and six year mark. At three years you apply for promotion from instructor to assistant professor and then three years later you apply for associate professor and at the same time, you are eligible for tenure. That is where I am today, or at least that is where I was until 11:58AM MST, when I finished the three binders each three inches thick and filled to the brim with the totality of my activity over the last six years. As I set it on the VP's desk, I had hoped to hear a chorus of hallelujahs or something spectacular, but I heard nothing but the dull thud of my binders as they plunked onto the desk. Afterwards, I turned and walked back to my office, where I spent the remainder of the day filling out reports on student performance and assessment (and playing a game or two of Deer Hunter 3D on the iPad). Now here it is at ten o'clock at night and it still hasn't really sunk in that I have just completed what is probably the most important document of a faculty members career. I guess knowing that I will have to wait until Spring to find out the results of the committee, dampens things a bit, but I had kind of hoped for the chorus thing to happen.
It is a relief to have that turned in, to be sure. I will not know if tenure has been granted until May at the earliest. The packets need to be reviewed by our local Promotion and Tenure committee and then sent to Las Cruces to be reviewed again by the main campus. Then they will tell our president, who I imagine will in turn, tell me. I hope.
Tenure is not a sure thing, and the denial of it means that I receive a one year terminal contract and then am out of a job. While the kind of job security found as a faculty member is unheard of in the corporate world, it is still a bit unnerving to think that I could be forced to look for work if they don't like this one document. It would mean uprooting my family, pulling the kids from school and selling the little house that inspired the name of this blog.
So, this Christmas, if you are wondering what to get me, if you are seeking that perfect gift and money is no object*, what I really want more than anything else in the whole wide world, would be a prayer or maybe two for favor in the eyes of the Promotion and Tenure committee and powers that be, both here and in Las Cruces.
(* in our house money really is no object. It is more of a concept, an idea, an abstract sort of thing that we can almost feel as it swooshes into our account on payday and then, just as fast it is gone.)
Do you remember what you were doing in August of 2005? Personally, I had just given notice at work that I would be leaving within a week. I put our house on the market and it sold in under 24 hours. Kerri and the kids had left town a week ahead of me, and I was supposed to clear out the house and close up shop in El Paso, Texas.
For some time I had been seeking a job with a little more meaning than I had found in the commercial real estate industry. It seems I had found out about one such possibility located in a little pecan tree covered town on the high desert of Southeastern New Mexico. Here, nestled along the Pecos river, at a branch campus of New Mexico State University they were starting up a new film and animation program and they needed an instructor. I had interviewed and they liked me, so now in the period of just under two weeks, I was going to be standing in front of 25 big scary college students, armed with nothing more than a syllabus and something called a rubric. (No, I was not the most attentive college student, I don't remember syllabi and rubrics were definitely foreign to me)
That was six years ago. Six... Academic years ago. New years day for me is now August 13 or 14 when school starts each fall. Every job has it's important dates. For college faculty, its the three and six year mark. At three years you apply for promotion from instructor to assistant professor and then three years later you apply for associate professor and at the same time, you are eligible for tenure. That is where I am today, or at least that is where I was until 11:58AM MST, when I finished the three binders each three inches thick and filled to the brim with the totality of my activity over the last six years. As I set it on the VP's desk, I had hoped to hear a chorus of hallelujahs or something spectacular, but I heard nothing but the dull thud of my binders as they plunked onto the desk. Afterwards, I turned and walked back to my office, where I spent the remainder of the day filling out reports on student performance and assessment (and playing a game or two of Deer Hunter 3D on the iPad). Now here it is at ten o'clock at night and it still hasn't really sunk in that I have just completed what is probably the most important document of a faculty members career. I guess knowing that I will have to wait until Spring to find out the results of the committee, dampens things a bit, but I had kind of hoped for the chorus thing to happen.
It is a relief to have that turned in, to be sure. I will not know if tenure has been granted until May at the earliest. The packets need to be reviewed by our local Promotion and Tenure committee and then sent to Las Cruces to be reviewed again by the main campus. Then they will tell our president, who I imagine will in turn, tell me. I hope.
Tenure is not a sure thing, and the denial of it means that I receive a one year terminal contract and then am out of a job. While the kind of job security found as a faculty member is unheard of in the corporate world, it is still a bit unnerving to think that I could be forced to look for work if they don't like this one document. It would mean uprooting my family, pulling the kids from school and selling the little house that inspired the name of this blog.
So, this Christmas, if you are wondering what to get me, if you are seeking that perfect gift and money is no object*, what I really want more than anything else in the whole wide world, would be a prayer or maybe two for favor in the eyes of the Promotion and Tenure committee and powers that be, both here and in Las Cruces.
(* in our house money really is no object. It is more of a concept, an idea, an abstract sort of thing that we can almost feel as it swooshes into our account on payday and then, just as fast it is gone.)
Thursday, November 11, 2010
She loves the smell of crepes in the morning
From childhood I have known that cooking was not going to be a passion for me. I developed a love of Ramen noodles mostly because of their ease of cooking. When I left for college, I moved into the dorms and quickly signed up for the meal plan. Then after a summer on my own, surviving on pop tarts and um... pop tarts, I moved in with Ms. Barbara Naul. Ms. Naul cooked eggs, sausage and biscuits each morning and served lamb chops and steaks for dinner. In short, I made it through five years of college without ever having to cook a meal. Ms. Naul didn't cook on Wednesday night, so I went scrounging for a cooked meal at my beautiful and talented girlfriend's house. A year later as that same beautiful lady agreed to become my wife, I moved into the apartment that we would live in after the wedding. Kerri came over to see me after I had moved in and after checking the cupboards, quizzically asked where my pots, utencils and plates were? The truth is that I had none and was forced to borrow a pot and fork from her until she moved in as my wife. After a few lessons, I became proficient in boiling water and soon was able to prepare a rather tasty meal of mac and cheese without any assistance what-so-ever,(except for the complex set of instructions on the box).
I have evolved some, and am actually in charge of making eggs on weekday mornings for my family. I can even cook sausage if pressured to do so. Now, I know that for those of you who enjoy posting articles about how you have discovered some small Italian shop that sells the secret ingredient to your exotic organic recipe for your world renowned home made bread, this may not seem that amazing. But trust me, it is tremendous growth in this man's life.
In fact, last Saturday, instead of making pancakes (from a mix), I decided to try and make something that I remember my dad making for my mom, when I was a little kid... Crepes. To my amazement, both the recipe and the cooking method are infinitely more simple than those ornerus pancakes. It was almost enjoyable, and that same beautiful and talented girlfriend from earlier in this article absolutely loves them. Bonus!
Today is veterans day, a Thursday, and we are off of school today. Since Kerri has started teaching, weekends and days off have become much more precious to her and at six thirty this morning I was pounced on and told to get up and make her crepes. I did not mind. The look on her face as she sits in her spot at our restaurant like booth of a dining room table was worth it. No amount of money could entice me to take a job as a chef (what a miserable existence that would be) but I will gladly wake early every Saturday and slave over a hot stove to make crepes if I am rewarded with a smile from my bride.
Surveys show that fewer and fewer families actually sit down to a meal anymore. Maybe we have gotten too busy with both work and entertainment to enjoy the finer things in life, or maybe a few husbands just need to see the look on their wife's face when they make crepes for breakfast.
I have evolved some, and am actually in charge of making eggs on weekday mornings for my family. I can even cook sausage if pressured to do so. Now, I know that for those of you who enjoy posting articles about how you have discovered some small Italian shop that sells the secret ingredient to your exotic organic recipe for your world renowned home made bread, this may not seem that amazing. But trust me, it is tremendous growth in this man's life.
In fact, last Saturday, instead of making pancakes (from a mix), I decided to try and make something that I remember my dad making for my mom, when I was a little kid... Crepes. To my amazement, both the recipe and the cooking method are infinitely more simple than those ornerus pancakes. It was almost enjoyable, and that same beautiful and talented girlfriend from earlier in this article absolutely loves them. Bonus!
Today is veterans day, a Thursday, and we are off of school today. Since Kerri has started teaching, weekends and days off have become much more precious to her and at six thirty this morning I was pounced on and told to get up and make her crepes. I did not mind. The look on her face as she sits in her spot at our restaurant like booth of a dining room table was worth it. No amount of money could entice me to take a job as a chef (what a miserable existence that would be) but I will gladly wake early every Saturday and slave over a hot stove to make crepes if I am rewarded with a smile from my bride.
Surveys show that fewer and fewer families actually sit down to a meal anymore. Maybe we have gotten too busy with both work and entertainment to enjoy the finer things in life, or maybe a few husbands just need to see the look on their wife's face when they make crepes for breakfast.
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