Month: October 2015

“The art is not something you apply to your work
The art is the way you do your work, a result of your attitude toward it.” – Charles Eames

The famous (and incredibly comfortable!) Eames Chair and Ottoman, designed by Charles and Ray Eames in 1956.

Some people think art is something you add. It’s why many organizations can’t seem to understand their creative staff or be able to get the most out of them.  Catch phrases like it’s “all about the team” or “all about the family/company” may gain compliance in the short run but will tire quickly when not backed up by real support (which includes the reward of recognition as well as fair compensation and sufficient rest). There must be real accountability.

Extreme quota demands. Monotonous repetition. Continuously harsh and inflexible deadlines place incredible strain on the animation artist. Turning creative people into widget makers simply doesn’t work.

Oh, those TPS reports! From Mike Judge’s 1999 comedy classic, Office Space. (It’s hard to believe now, but I once had a job like this!)

When art becomes something that is applied like icing on a cake, the end product looks and feels like something from a production line.  Don’t expect creativity or innovation if what you mainly demand of your staff is productivity and/or compliance. If you treat them like widget makers and provide the kinds of conditions conducive to generating that kind of work, you shouldn’t be surprised with the kind of results you’re seeing. Nor should you expect loyalty (i.e. it won’t be the weakest members that will jump ship but your very best and most reliable because real talent, that which is truly indispensable, is rare and always in demand). If that doesn’t scare you, realize this; don’t expect loyalty (or a great reception) from the paying customer either.

The “tramp” loses his mind in this comical critique of the industrialization of the work place, in Charlie Chaplin‘s 1936 Classic, Modern times.

If you expect predictable and easily measurable outcomes (numbers) you certainly can’t expect artistic or financial breakthroughs. Your organization risks becoming, as the marvelous Seth Godin points out, a follower, one that can only sell its brand by doing it cheaper and faster – a road ultimately doomed to failure in a world of expanding global competition and technology that’s become more available to more and more organizations world wide. It’s like making common running shoes and your only choice will be to spend the most in marketing your product to make up for a lack of distinction in quality or impact. Any and all financial benefits gained from cost cutting in the first place will be completely eliminated, especially considering that marketing costs these days can be as high as 100% the cost of actual animation production.

Walt Disney Studio’s box office hit, Frozen, cost approximately $150 million to produce, but at least as much or more to market and distribute. Fortunately, its artistry and its ability to connect to audiences world-wide helped it reach over $1.2 Billion in gross revenues .

So it’s not surprising to commonly see disharmony and disenchantment within the production environment. Animation as a product requires the input of so many people that it multiplies the complexity of product and people management. It’s also a product whereby the consumer has come to expect greater and greater quality. How can you whip and chain so many to comply? What possible gimmick, motivational speech or rule change could be used to streamline the creative process and get exciting yet regularly productive results? The answer is none – the only solution is trust, freedom and respect between a company’s leaders and it’s creative members. People have to become self-accountable and self-guiding for a company to be strong and manageable.

Respect and cooperation is usually the best solution. Harvey Keitel’s Mr. Wolf from Quentin Tarantino’s Pulp Fiction, is one of the coolest characters in modern film history.

Artists need respect. They are fragile beings sure, but it isn’t because they are weak but precisely because they are courageous. Artists bravely throw their heart and soul into their work – a risk few others take on a regular basis – exposing themselves to constant rejection and failure, being vulnerable to judgement by others and even more harshly, themselves. (Hear how Milt Kahl would torture himself while animating here).

After all, what artist strives to disappoint? It’s a very humbling process.

“There’s no amount of external validation that can undo the constant drone of internal criticism. And negative self talk is hungry for external corroboration. One little voice in the ether that agrees with your internal critic is enough to put you in a tailspin.” – Seth Godin

But provide the right atmosphere, one that honors people and allows for freedom and risk of the unknown, and you’ll be rewarded with the kind unexpected ingenuity and loyalty that is unmatched. Artists who feel respected and happily engaged in their work regularly, put in countless unpaid hours building and solving problems for their organizations (after work, during their sleep, and even on their vacations!)  This is an attribute usually applied exclusively to entrepreneurs, who you’d correctly expect to worry day and night about their investment.

Brad Pitt plays Floyd, the ultimate slacker, in Tony Scott’s 1993 film, True Romance.

On the flip side, artists who themselves disrespect the work and craft, and only do hack work, shouldn’t expect accolades or the respect from their employers or even their fellow artists. Somewhere along the way they’ve stopped being artists (and just because you’re animating or holding a brush doesn’t mean you are one.) Being an artist is about a soulful, personal commitment to the craft. It’s being part of a unique membership – it has to be earned, much like the professional athlete on his team or musician in an orchestra.

Burgess Meredith tells Rocky the hard truth, in Sylvestor Stallone’s 1976 Best Picture-winning movie, Rocky. Screenplay by Stallone himself, the film changed his career (and grossed over $225 million worldwide while sporting a nifty production cost of less than $1 million).

Work that’s done like a job, and done only because you’re getting paid, is not art. Artists should know better. If an environment is set up for you to learn, with flexibility and resources to be collaborative and creative, then they should reward that support system, by respecting the work itself. The old saying applies – any job worth doing, is worth doing well. That said, even if things aren’t perfect, you still must respect yourself, by respecting the craft. As the wonderful Neil Gaimen noted:

“Life is sometimes hard. Things go wrong, in life and in love and in business and in friendship and in health and in all other ways that life can go wrong. And when things get tough, this is what you should do. Make good art.”

But for the most part, the slacker animation artist is rare. This incredibly difficult and risky field is one that invites the dreams and labors of creative, emotionally dedicated and diligent investors of passion and energy, not the free-loader.

So, to you supervisors, directors, producers, executives and owners out there, know your artists (which includes your programmers, technicians, production assistants etc.) Provide and care for your teams and they will reward you in such unpredictable and intangible ways that you’ll marvel at the results – results that will help your product, your team and organization standout and prosper globally, and thus, financially.

Good work done by good people in good work environments. That’s a win-win-win.

Self-portrait by Leonardo Da Vinci. So much has been written and idolized about this renaissance man that it’s  impossible to compare him to ourselves. And it’s probably best that we don’t.

We often begrudge our lack of ability.

Having enough skill and technique often appears as the greatest worry for the animation artist. We all “know” that if we had the necessary skill, things would be so much better, easier and less frightening. Sometimes, we might even catch ourselves thinking those ugly words,  “if only.”  If only we’d gone to a better school, had better teachers, had more money, gotten better breaks or given more choice, etc, etc.

“The cruel words of regret.” From Babe 2, Pig in the City, directed by the brilliantly skilled and diverse, George Miller (who also directed Happy Feet and Mad Max: Road Fury).

But at the end of day we have but one choice, taking action. Build that skill. Do the work. Get stronger. Cross that scary bridge. In other words, there’s no choice but to put in the hours. Of course, it’s not easy. But it’s not supposed to be — failure is guaranteed for all artists a majority of the time.

Alex Ovechkin is the most prolific goal scorer in the National Hockey League. He lead all goal scorers last year, a season which he took 47% more shots (395) than the next best goal scorer, Steven Stamkos (268). In other words, he also fails on more shots than any other player.

“Failure is an option here. If you’re not failing, you’re not innovating enough.” — Elon Musk, CEO of Tesla and SpaceX

But what if you don’t become the best animator, best goal scorer or greatest innovator? Then why do this? Who wants to put in all that effort when the likelihood is that you could, and most likely, will fail? Because effort matters, and it is its own reward.

“Once you realize that the road is the goal and that you are always on the road, not to reach a goal, but to enjoy its beauty and wisdom, life ceases to be a task and becomes natural and simple, in itself an ecstasy.” — Nisargadatta Maharaj

 Art is about choices, and choices require the most challenging yet wondrous kind of labor; mental-emotional labor. Emotional labor can be fun, interesting and inspiring especially when driven by a desire for something greater than ourselves such as the love of the craft itself, the will to better ourselves (and our communities), or the pure necessity to feed our families.

Martin Luther King Jr was a man who worked for a cause far greater than himself. There was never a guarantee that he, or others like him, would succeed. (Image courtesy of Biography)

Therefore, there mustn’t be any sort of begrudging in the process of work.  Whether for you, as an animator it’s all that time spent on planning, battling through shots, making revisions or absorbing all that challenging feedback. Whining and moaning is all too common a practice in our industry (and in this world in general.)

I grew up on a farm and I was always amazed how my father (and my family in general) kept putting in the labor. Day in, day out, he’d grind it out. Tilling one plot of land after another. And everything that grew on it was all made by hand. What he didn’t know, he learned. He got good and efficient at it because he did it so often and for so long. But he also suffered — customers would disappear, costs would fluctuate or nature itself would be uncooperative, destroying crops mercilessly. Building a business is a lot of work, there’s a lot of risk involved. So much of the outcome of all that effort is unknown — there are no guarantees. But the work matters because it changes you. My father was a better man for it, and he never complained.

All growth is a leap in the dark, a spontaneous unpremeditated act without the benefit of experience.” — Henry Miller

As an artist, you’re always pushing into the unknown, but each mark you make does show up in your final efforts. Even when shots are removed and projects get cancelled, know that you’ve been changed by the effort you put in. If you’ve given your work thought and took real chances, you’ve gotten better and with luck, might’ve even developed greater mentor fortitude. That much can never be taken away from you. So always give your task your full attention.

Tom Cruise marvels at the dedication of the samurai in Edward Zwick’s 2003 film, The Last Samurai. This mindset still permeates much of modern day Japanese culture, as witnessed by their continued attentiveness to detail, respect and work ethic.

And it’s not about just being a good employee or boss.
It’s not even about gratitude.  It’s about living the process and building towards something. It’s moving yourself outside of ‘the’ self.  Whether it be animating a shot, building a shelter or composing a piece of music, work can only be exciting or important when it becomes meaningful and it’s surprising how much of that meaning comes from within.

If we approach our work as an artist like how an individual builds a home, a life, and hope for his/her family, the process gets easier, and a bit less difficult to sustain. Not because it makes it less hard — because it’s always hard — but because there’s a purpose. What matters are your choices and the meaning you place behind it. You choose your level of commitment, and by default, your level of fulfillment.

In a sense, your journey into the unknown is remarkably personal, yet at the same time, all-encompassing and universal. Or, as author Henry Miller puts it:

“One’s destination is never a place but rather a new way of looking at things.”