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?