What, Me Worry?

 

Honest to goodness, I did aim to return to this blog. A return under different, happier circumstances. But I wanted to be candid and personal with this blog, as blogs tend to be, especially since I don't really offer myself the opportunity elsewhere. I wanted this blog to be an outlet, and so outlet-ing, I am.

I am an optimist. I am often at odds with myself, as, at the same time, I can have very strong tendencies to self deprecate (as I noticed in a work meeting, flippantly describing my art to my supervisor as a comparison to "you can polish a turd, but it's still a turd"). I deprive myself of a lot and struggle with confidence in myself and my pursuits. I tend not to let it show, and perhaps overcompensate, because I am so hypervigilant to the mood of the room and the people. Nobody wants to be around a person who is constantly putting themselves down, even as a joke. I'm usually the obnoxious self-help coach who swoops in and overcorrects when a friend or colleague makes a self deprecating joke and I wag my finger and take the air out of the room in doing so. 

In spite of my on and off confidence, my inherent default to self deprecate, the constant anxieties and intrusive thoughts buzzing in my head like an irritated beehive on the daily, I am an optimist, and it's something I cling to and take pride in. I'm lucky enough to have been complimented on my optimism and energy and positivity by many people for many years. I am always looking for a silver lining, even if it's a cartoonish stretch to do so. Part of it has been born out of coping. Part of it is out of self defense. Part of it is out of offense. Part of it is just pure, genuine love and happiness and a desire to inspire others.

I am a proud optimist. 

With the recent events of the election, I have never felt more utterly and gutturally hopeless in my entire life.

I've abstained from getting too political online, and I feel I am now reaping the consequences. I've stood up for myself and my friends where necessary, and I have pushed back against hate and bigotry where I can. I didn't constantly try to muzzle myself or beliefs, but I certainly felt like I had to swallow the gag more than I probably really did.

I am an escapist. I instinctually repress "bad" emotions, I shut down "bad" thoughts, I avoid any conflict I possibly can. I've been aware of my complacency and privilege to do this for the past 13 months especially, but I keep hiding under the guise of "I'll deal with it later, it'll be fine, everything will work out, it has to." And I hate that it takes the election results to finally confront that complacency. That complacency is being confronted because it's the first time I feel like I am unable to deal with it later, it's not fine--will there be a later? How will everything work out? 

Deep in my heart, I still feel these things are true. A lot of people are riled up. I'm inspired by the calls to action and pooling of resources, the calls for camaraderie and solidarity. It makes me hopeful that there are people who won't take this lying down. I do believe there are good people, and good people worth fighting for and worth fighting with. 

Regardless, it's been hard. I cried myself to sleep at 4 in the morning yesterday, unable to sleep. I spent all day crying. I spent some more of today crying. And the whole time, I'm sickly aware of the comedic irony of me sitting over my drawing tablet, struggling to draw storyboards for one of the most popular children's shows, wearing my Tom and Jerry shirt, while I'm sobbing thinking about the rights of myself and my friends and colleagues. 

And the thing is, I feel stupid for doing so. I have multiple targets on my back, but not nearly as many as some of my friends and colleagues. I haven't had the energy to check up on my friends. Friends who have more cause for concern are reaching out and consoling me. "I can't focus on drawing funny cartoons" feels like such a juvenile thing to whine about when children are being bombed overseas, when people are being bullied and intimidated at school or at work, when there are people having to make many more difficult decisions than I am making. 

And I hate that this is what has to snap me out of my complacency. So many people have, and will, go through worse than I have and will. For generations. I feel like I have no right to be as scared and sad as I am, though, at the same time, nobody is really telling me that I have to beat myself up about it, either. I feel shame for my complacency--I have been horrified of these tragedies, I have been standing up for my more marginalized friends where I can, I have been thinking and talking about in private how scared and repulsed I am by these injustices. But I hate that it takes me directly being impacted--which, I'm not sure how much that will be, at least in comparison to folks more marginalized than I--to really want to be moved into action. It's good that I am. Better late than never. But I just feel shame.

I struggle with OCD and the intrusive thoughts that come with them. I've been made increasingly aware of my obsessive-compulsive behaviors in recent years, and it feels like my symptoms have grown stronger with that awareness. And with them, those intrusive thoughts. They have not been pleasant. 

Out of spite, or heavily deluded optimism, or sheer cowardice, I choose to keep going. We did it before and we can do it again. Except for those who didn't get to do it. So we do it again in their honor. But it also feels different this time. But it's also not different for more marginalized people who have been dealing with these injustices for much longer. 

What is my point of voicing all of this? I'm not sure. Largely, I needed a place to vent. I don't let myself vent. It isn't entirely purposeful--a lot of it is due to the instinct of repression being strong. I involuntarily repress and confine myself. I don't let myself vent my feelings, good or bad, because I don't feel I've deserved it, or it's not professional enough, or people are here to watch me post about funny cartoons rather than whine. 

It's just been a lot. I've never felt this hopeless and scared in my life. "It'll work out somehow" doesn't feel like something I can say even in a deluded attempt to soothe myself. I almost just said "I'm sure it will", but that's the rub--I'm not sure at all. These are big and overwhelming feelings for someone such as myself who has coped for so long by reassuring myself with these promises. It has been true. Things have worked out, because I am still here as we speak. But I'm just not sure anymore.

This isn't to doompost. This is intended as the opposite, honestly. In spite of all of these feelings, it is a good sign that I am feeling them. I am ashamed of my complacency, but that's good, because it means I'm aware of it and ready to move forward. I do want to take action and protect my peers who face greater risks than I. I want to bond with my peers who share the same risks as I. I want to trust that those who have greater privileges than I will fight for me, too. I do believe that there is power in the people. The people--at least in my curated online circle--are pissed.

I've seen a lot of posts (and have made some of my own) advocating for creativity in these trying times. Make that drawing. Paint that painting. Sing that song, write that novel, do that gig. Be annoying. Be intrusive. Be yourself. And it is all true, and all things I have advocated for myself. It was my first instinct to do so once being sure of the news. We need sincerity and unabashed self expression now more than ever. Which is why I'm making this post.

But I lament it just the same. How am I supposed to draw funny cartoons? I have such a "positivity for thee but not for me" attitude. I have fallen into the trap of thinking my art is not important enough, not worth it enough, not good enough to participate. Painting, animating, drawing, any and all arts. I know it's not true. It's a thought I've had constantly for years, threat of fascism or no. It just feels extra hard right now to do any of this. Especially in the name of activism--"I'm not drawing cartoons right now and instead am numb and crying and paralyzed with fear and grief, I'm failing my community by not expressing myself".

I don't have an answer as to what to do. It'll come. I'll get my mojo back. I exist for art, and everything I do is out of love for art. It's true that I feel like I have fewer fucks to give--as evidenced by me using the word fuck--right now since there are greater issues at hand. I'm not going to get guillotined for drawing 2 pictures of Daffy Duck in a row. I will make more art, because art is all I know how to do. But it feels really hard to do anything right now. I struggle with writing, drawing, painting, being. 

What's the point of this? I don't know. I guess to reach out and hopefully inspire someone who feels similarly. I feel a bit like a failure at the moment--I don't have the strength to reach out and console my friends who need consoling more than I do. I feel myself falling behind in my work as my thoughts are so clouded with fear and dread and uncertainty. I try to self soothe by watching comfort food, and feel like I'm wasting my time. All I've managed to really do is doomscroll, cry, and force some lines onto my drawing tablet since obligations press on.

I guess this is my way of breaking that. Maybe this is art. It doesn't feel like it. I'm concerned by how sad and checked out and exhausted my tone is. But, normally, because I'm not feeling up to standard, I'd just muzzle myself entirely. So I guess this is good. It feels vulnerable and scary and unprofessional. It's been a very long time since I've been this candid online, and I already feel the urge to delete this entirely. "Well, it only took for the threat of me being personally impacted by these issues to finally saddle up and do something about it, after years of being silently horrified about these issues and expressing my solidarity in private, out of fear of retaliation or judgement" just feels like such a horribly selfish thing to say. 

I've been grappling with my shortcomings and flaws in recent months as I've been trying to rehabilitate into a stronger, more resilient person. This acknowledgement is good, and dooming about it gets me nowhere--action will, and I plan to take it. But I'm ashamed. I guess it's a good sense of shame to have, though. I don't know.

I don't know what else to do from here. I don't have the answers right now. I guess to be patient and take it one day at a time. I still feel selfish typing up such diatribes when there are so many more people who already have and will continue to be impacted by this to a graver extent than I will. It's my job to protect and show solidarity with them. Loudly this time rather than in private. But, as I've said, this is my blog, it's intended to be candid, and I'm getting candid. 

I've been revisiting It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World for a much needed laugh. It's probably my favorite movie. I've taken to watching Whose Line Is It Anyway while working for another much needed laugh, and it's provided. So miserable and stricken by the state of the world, I found myself being grateful for the artistic beauty of a simmering pot of chili on the stove--it'd be nice to look at things with such gratitude and clarity. Especially while we can. I've still managed to draw for work and do what I can. I hope to play some games and watch stuff with friends once I'm at a better capacity to be more personal. For now, I just feel vague and aimless and am letting myself exist as such.

I hope this can inspire someone. I hope this makes someone feel less alone. I hope this makes someone check their internal complacencies and biases, should they have them. I hope this inspires someone to create, and I hope it inspires someone to take it easy if you have no capacity for creation at all. I think we will get through this. We have to. There's no way we can't. But we have to change and adapt and fight to do so. Complacency kills. 

Heartbreaking: Art Is Actually Good

I know the fact that I made an introductory post over a month ago and have maintained a steady diet of radio silence betrays this notion, but I did have grander plans for a real introductory post. I've been concocting something that I think will capture the intent and tone of this blog well--something that fits the niche of being uniquely anecdotal and personal, while also filled with factoids and tidbits and relics of animation production. A meeting of the minds that will perfectly establish what we--singular--set out to achieve on this blog.

So, of course, by saying all of this, you will correctly assume that such is no longer the true inaugural post. Whatever this happens to be, is.

Part of this blog will hopefully serve as a bit of a journal. A recounting of my perspective, experiences, insight, whether speaking on my experiences as a professional in "the industry" or something as gripping as "I saw a cool bird today" (which, in fairness, is newsworthy.) I hope that it will make for a fun and insightful time capsule later on, whether for myself or for whoever happens to read this years down the line. 

Just as well, I hope that it will allow me to be a bit more courageous in opening up--I am an open book through and through. I wear my emotions on my sleeve and am detrimentally outgoing. Regardless, the idea of formatting and "confining" this sort of spontaneous vulnerability has always been troublesome for me. I have no trouble sharing what I am thinking or feeling. I do have trouble funneling that thinking and feeling into an organized, functional little space. In other words, I have trouble writing for my own sake.

All of this hemming and hawing is to say that this "inaugural" post-introduction post will be my first stab at doing so. It wasn't how I intended this to go, but that's also a mission of this blog; to embrace the spontaneity and spew whatever is occupying my mind.

Tonight, it is art. 

I'm going to make a separate post all about this cartoon, because I have been completely and utterly overwhelmed by it in the best way and really want to spend the time getting as intimate with it as I can. Even if that's through a series of posts instead of just one. Yet, in any case, the imminent philosophical ramblings have been spurred on by the release of Daffy in Wackyland. 

Initially screened and subsequently announced in Annecy almost a year ago to the date, the short is a special stop motion installment of the recent Looney Tunes Cartoons series. It was directed by Max Winston, who has collaborated with showrunner Pete Browngardt before with a similarly mind-bending stop motion segment for Uncle Grandpa. I highly recommend treating your eyeballs to that visual feast, as well as checking out his demo reel. I haven't gotten around to it, but I absolutely intend on viewing his body of work and soaking up every bit of insight that I possibly can.

The announcement of the short last June gave me a migraine from how excited I got over it. Chances are that if you're reading this, then you're already well acquainted with this, but Daffy Duck is my favorite fictional being ever created. I have never identified with and resonated with a cartoon character more(I'll give you the task of working out what that says about me; if it helps ease fears, I'm moreso talking about his continuous zest for life, overindulgence in impulsivity and generally staggering passion most frequently touted Bob Clampett and Frank Tashlin's characterizations). Similarly, stop motion is one of my greatest loves. It's not something I'm as vocal about, because it is admittedly a medium I don't yet have experience in, but I have always been entranced by its physicality. There is no greater reminder of the human touch that goes into the creation of art and, specifically, cartooning like stop motion. Likewise, I am a very sensitive person, and this includes being considered in a literal sense--the sense of tactility in observing all of the different types of textures utilized is similarly rush inducing. 

Porky in Wackyland, likewise, is a very significant film to me. I got into Looney Tunes in September 2019 (on Friday the 13th, if anyone is keeping track--Bob McKimson's Upswept Hare was the first short I saw as a cognizant adult, thanks to me deciding to entertain myself by turning on Boomerang for a change); I had a very basic knowledge of the shorts and new some of the names, including Bob Clampett's. Long story short, my foray into the shorts was binging every Clampett cartoon in order. I was absolutely enamored by the novelty of seeing these shorts in black and white, as well as marveling at just how old they were. Regardless, I went in a little hard, and the early weeks of October found me losing interest. I gave the shorts a break for about two weeks before resuming. The next short I had in the chronology was Wackyland.... and here we are now. 

I'll save the spieling for other posts, but, as a fervent fan of Clampett's work, Wackyland is very important to me because of how much of an honest reflection it is of his sensibilities. That, in conjunction with being the short that revived my interest, means that I owe it a lot--in turn, Daffy Duck + stop motion + Wackyland turned out to be a triad I could not cater more to. 

The results did not disappoint. In spite of it being shadow dropped on [HBO] Max with no warning, and in spite of me discovering this through a casual Twitter search trying to find more news on the upcoming Porky and Daffy movie, the short absolutely delivered in every way. I have maybe seen it around 8 times in the past 36 hours and have gotten emotional over its existence and what it means to me many times since then. You know a cartoon is good if you're sitting at your desk getting teary eyed by simply thinking about it.

Again, I'll save the nitty gritty details of that emotion for another post, since, believe it or not, I do have an ulterior motive with this post. But it is through that powerful, visceral emotion that I'm making this post. 

What I want to do with my art has been a recurring theme of my thoughts lately. For the longest time, I didn't necessarily have an answer, and was content with that being the case--I still am. I don't need to figure out why I should create or what I should create, as long as I do create. But it's this "do create"-ing that can get tricky. 

I will always love art. I physically cannot survive without it. Everything I do is in the name of art. Writing up analyses of 80 year old cartoons and scrutinizing the most insufferably menial details and trying to get into the minds of long-dead figures is in the name of art. Crying over beautiful stop motion cartoons that make me have heart palpitations is in the name of art. Drawing storyboards for work or planning out personal work is in the name of art. Every cartoon I watch, every movie I watch, every song I listen to, it all relates back to art in some way.

The artist laments having hit her creative peak at 6 years old.

Regardless, I'm not exactly that 5 year old girl whose first and only instinct is to draw without fear of judgement. It isn't even a fear of judgment from others, necessarily--if I really wanted to appeal to the masses, I would not be drawing Porky Pig all the time. More so just grappling with the constant of having too many thoughts at once and getting too deep in my head. I can't have two pieces be the same style in a row, I tell myself. I can't draw two pieces of the same character in the same month. I can't do this, I can't do that. All of these can'ts have been self imposed, accumulated over a series of years thanks to who knows what. I very much subscribe to the notion of an artist being their worst critic. Truthfully, I'm only ever satisfied with about 30% of my artistic output, and even then, that may be generous.

This isn't to beg for compliments or reassurances. The great thing about being so stuck in my own head is that I know my own head quite well, and I know how asinine this all is. I know my art isn't bad, and I know that I could never ever stop making art (and thankfully, that thought has never crossed my mind on even the hardest days. I've been making strides to defeat some of these notions, but it's been a struggle. 

One of the consistent comforts during this time of reflection has been getting into art that is more freeform, messy, spontaneous, human. Proud and happy to be free. The Crayon Shin-chan movies have scratched this itch for open whimsy and innocence immensely, particularly relating to Masaaki Yuasa's work. Katamari Damacy has delivered the same, its jubilant surrealism hitting a strong emotional chord. I've been looking for an outlet for fun. Energy. Spontaneity. Freedom. The art that I've been reacting to the most strongly as of late all fall under this umbrella.

All of that is to say, Daffy in Wackyland dropped at the perfect time of self reflection. It has been years and perhaps even decades since I have felt such a carnal desire to create. So much so that it literally has caused me pain in my chest--there were times where, yesterday, so sweeped up in the hype of the short, I was in genuine pain and distress because my passion and love for the cartoon, for the love OF cartooning, for any and all things art was THAT visceral and I didn't have a proper way to manifest it. The words "I'm glad to be alive" have flashed in my head multiple times--and all because of this stop motion cartoon on steroids.

That's what this blog post is about: I'm glad to be alive. I'm glad to be an artist. I'm glad to get to live in a time where I can watch cartoons and film--some over a hundred years old--with a few keystrokes. That I get to have such an open and available archive available at my next click of the mouse or swipe of the finger. That, as an artist, I'm able to pull up hundreds of years worth of references. That I'm able to be rid of my mistakes with the strategic angling of my fingers on a few keyboard buttons, and am able to start fresh immediately after. I'm glad that I'm even able to reflect on this.

As seems to be standard, there's been a lot of doom and gloom spread about art and, more related to me, the state of the animation industry. Between the threat of AI, executive incompetence, foundational problems baked into the industry pipeline, a lack of a reliable industry, there has been a lot of encouragement to be disillusioned. Understandably so, and artists are not at fault for feeling this burden. 

In any case, that is why cartoons like Daffy in Wackyland is so important. That is why it's more important now more than ever to not just be aware of and brace against the bad, but to rally together and uplift the good. Love and passion only breed more love and passion. It is now more important than ever to broadcast your love of the craft, why you love it, what makes it so important for you. It is now more important than ever to let art move you, whatever it is that does move you. You do not need to justify what that is. I'm certain that there are some people out there who would watch Daffy in Wackyland, read all of my exorbitant and emotional praises and ponderings on it, and think I am a complete nut with no sense of taste. Let that be their problem. 

It's important to be proactive about the issues plaguing our industry, our livelihoods, our hobbies. It's important to stay in the know. Regardless, being optimistic is far different than sheer ignorance, and those who say otherwise are the ignorami. Optimism is a necessity. There is no such thing as toxic positivity. If it's toxic, it's not positivity. There is only so much we can do--spreading our love of art and encouraging others to be enraptured by it, to spread the love, spread the inspiration, spread the joy is included in that "so much". Do much of it.

I originally had a greater point in mind when I started this post, but got so locked up in my own frenzied ravings that it's escaped me. Thankfully, you'll be hard pressed to get me to stop talking, so I'll likely make a follow-up or revise this if it comes back. My main point is to just implore you to be present and be loving. Love what you love. Spread that love with others. Share your influences. Take risks and expose yourself to new influences. Be vocal about what you love.

And, most importantly, take stock of the fact that we live in the best time to be an artist. All of the aforementioned doom and gloom may insist otherwise, but we have never had the resources and camaraderie available like we do now. Hundreds of years worth of music, film, cartoons, music, writing all at our fingertips. Tutorials posted online. Candid conversations between artists to study up and read online. Interviews from those who have long since passed ripe to be read, the interviewees relaying decades worth of wisdom. The interconnectivity inherent to the internet that allows us to bond with people over our shared love of art. 

Put all of the negativity aside for a moment--the AI, the industry nonsense, the commodification of technology, the lack of internet etiquette--and embrace the moment. Embrace the materials we have. 

Embrace the fact that you have been reading the frenzied ramblings of a complete stranger sitting in her bed, fingers and wrists cramping from typing for over an hour straight, mouth parched because she hasn't slowed down to take a sip of water, listening to a repeated jazz motif from (how relevant!) Porky in Wackyland as she does so, diverting her attention from her writings only to respond back to incoming messages. 

We have an incomprehensible amount of resources available in front of us right now. That includes people, some of whom may become potential friends. I'm not asking you to stick your head in the sand and feign ignorance and be complicit to the aforementioned issues. Only to just take a second to take stock of the present and how there is an infinite amount of resources to be inspired by.

Isn't it so nice? 

Felicitations!

Howdy, and welcome to my blog that actually functions as a blog!

I'll admit that I'm still a bit unsure as to what the actual purpose of this blog is to be, other than to serve as a personal dumping grounds. The state of social media has been making me increasingly itchy over the past few years, and it would be great to have a place that I can curate myself and spew any thoughts, hypotheses, anecdotes, or some other fourth thing into the wind, so here we be. 

I promise that the atmosphere won't nearly be as formal as my typing style indicates ("Convolution is funny," I say as the proud and lone soul who shares that opinion). Instead, it'll be a casual grab-bag of anecdotes, analyses, and ideas. Any and all thoughts on animation or film, personal musings and theories, diary entries of cartoons/films, sharing artistic influences (whether it be actual art or something completely random that inspires me just the same), breakdowns of my own art and processes, and just plain anecdotes about my life all come to mind. 

If you're currently on this blog, then it's more than likely that you're already acquainted with my shtick and what I do. Regardless, for the sake of completion (and to hear myself talk), here are a few valuable redirections:

• Looney Tunes Review Blog
• Arguably the most important redirect--since December 2019, I've been going through every single cartoon released in the Warner Bros. filmography with a fine tooth comb. It's been a labor of love and one of surprising revelation. 
• Twitter
• Instagram
• Letterboxd
• My Letterboxd is more of a personal scrapbook of cartoons and movies I've watched rather than a collection of reviews, but I would like to find a way to dump my thoughts about the daily handful of cartoons I watch on here.
• Portfolio
• In desperate need of updating, but a good collection of some old storyboards and a quick glance at my work.

Whether this lasts 5 years or 5 days, thank you for reading just the same! Here's to revitalizing The Year of the Blog in 2024.