I'm Not a Designer But I Play One on TV

Why have I stayed in NY... instead of "heading west young man?" It's an interesting question to ponder, although its rare that I think about this. I never set out to be a booster of the NY animation scene. I was born here. My dad earned a terrific living as top Advertising Art director and executive (at one point he was even a vice president at Benton & Bowles), so I saw one could survive and thrive working in the commercial arts in the NY area. There was only one thing against me. No, it wasn't the anemic NY animation industry. It was my own underdeveloped talents. Spending four years at SVA didn't change that, and that was no fault to SVA. It was my own stubborn refusal to work hard enough to challenge myself. In fact, I didn't even know I had made that choice. But, choices are often made silently, aren't they?

When I was privileged with the opportunity to work at Michael Sporn's studio it was both at once a rarified experience as well as typical to New York animation. Rare in that Michael's studio (then and now) tackled animation from beginning to end. No outsourcing like much of the production at MTV, Jumbo, Curious, 4Kids, Scholastic, World Leaders, (and others that have since come and gone). Here was a place to learn it all from top to bottom, because of a supportive boss like Michael and the wonderful staff that followed his lead. I soon had the opportunity to try my hand at storyboards, designs, animation, writing...all within the two year period I worked at his studio.

While this would have indeed been rare to get this variety of experience at some NY studios in such a short amount of time, it WAS representative of a key an aspect of NY animation. Namely; flexibility. Getting to do different things on different projects. That's something I have never taken for granted. It still tickles me that I get to do that.

No, I'm not a character designer in the Phil Rynda sense (he is amazing, by the way.) Just check out http://philrynda.blogspot.com/

But, by being in NYC animation I get design opportunties just the same. I recently whipped out the above 3 designs after sesame workshop hired me to animate a 30 second spot. They wanted to see lots of different design approaches so I spent two or three days exploring some possible styles. They loved one particular design (not shown above) so much that they asked me to just animate that character as it was drawn. These fun little gigs, they seem very "NYC animation" to me. It's part of our blend of the independent and the commercial. Michael Sporn, his disciples, and those of the other NY botique-style animation studios (Buzzco, JJs, Asterisk, Wachtenheim and Marianetti, etc) are the true face of NY animation. They are the survivors that remain as the big studios come and go.

So, in NY animation we find ourselves with a happy problem. What to call oneself? Am I a director? A filmmaker? A designer? A writer? An author? A teacher? An animator? A jack of all trades but a master of none? To some, I'm simply the president of ASIFA-East. But, in NY animation, one doesn't have to choose one label. And, by some absurd turn of fate, this formerly raw SVA graduate is now paid to do all of these things (well, except the president of ASIFA-East thing). Why have I stayed in NY? Where else could one have such a career? And, best of all, I could list more than a hundred people just like me. Only chances are, they will be better designers.

Teaching as a Life-Line

I have been an adjunct teacher since 2003. That was the year that Richard O'Connor recommended me to Parsons School of Design to temporarily take over a class he was teaching. I was deep in my "land of milk and honey" Blue's Clue's job, which turned out to be almost 8 years of end-to-end employment. Back then, I wasn't hurting for money, and it would have been very easy to turn the teaching down. Most of my colleagues weren't teaching on the side. A small handful were. Teaching is something that had always been on my personal fear list and therefore it was something I had to do. If something is a new experience, it's probably something useful. In fact, animation producer Tina Moglia just told my career class that her only factor to stay on a job is, "Am I learning anything?"

So, how do you get an opportunity to teach? First of all, work in the industry. Local schools such as Parsons, Pratt, SVA, and NYU don't require that an adjunct teacher have a Master's degree or even a Bachelor's degree. You only need to be a working professional and that includes most of us! The next thing to do is to be an active member of the animation community. Let others see you running events, making films, and volunteering for organization's like ASIFA-East. This will grow your profile and show that you are reliable and able to juggle multiple tasks. Thirdly, tell animation teachers you know that you're interested in teaching. Current teachers are often the first ones to hear about positions opening. Usually, current teachers get a crack at the first new opportunities, but not all of them are a good fit, and many times a teacher will be able to pass the lead on to their contacts. Lastly, you can also try to set up a meeting with the head of the school's animation department and present yourself as a potential teacher.

The interesting thing about teaching one class is that it tends to mushroom into several classes, perhaps even spread over different schools. Just six months after taking on my first class at Parsons, Machi Tantillo recommended that I take over her Animation Career class at SVA. It was the class that inadvertently launched me as an author when my class plan spun off for the book, Your Career in Animation: How to Survive and Thrive (Allworth Press). A couple of years later, John Canemaker brought me in as temporary teacher at NYU's Tisch School of the Arts, at which I will return to teach a pair of classes this year. School's like to give multiple classes to teachers that are already proven commodities, which only makes sense. But, new teachers crack through every so often, so try to make yourself one of the success stories by following the plan above.

The income that my first class brought in (teaching one 15-week class pays about $3,000) wasn't something I needed in 2003. But, it sure helped me in 2004 when I returned to the freelance life for 10 months, and again in 2007 to the present day when I became a full-time at-home freelancer. Income-wise, teaching has become a life-line, a guaranteed check that I can count on. It represents the very least amount of money I can make in a tough year such as 2009. The other nice thing about teaching is how it flexible it can be. Many times, the teacher can suggest a day and time that works best for them. When possible, I try to do most of my teaching at 6 PM classes, and that way when I have a full time in-house job, the class won't interfere.

Most of all, I really appreciate the way teaching puts me into contact with the upcoming generations of animation artists. It's inspiring to see the work they do and then to see them achieving success in the industry upon graduation. Its nice to know that, as a teacher, you had some small part in that. Not all the work an animation artist takes on in a career is work we can feel proud of...but, I find teaching has always been a rewarding experience. It's become a vital part of my career cocktail. Its the lime in my gin and tonic. A small part, but one the makes a big contribution to the whole.

Office Space

*Note: image above from Janet Perlman's film, HotSeat.

I never know what will touch a nerve in my SVA animation career class. So, I was very pleased when a healthy debate erupted based on the "Desktop Dilemma" section of Chapter 7 in my book, "Your Career in Animation: How to Survive and Thrive." Assuming you have the book (I can dream, can't I?), I'll give you a minute to look that section up. In short, it was a cautionary tale of how an animation artist could damage his reputation by adorning his wall space and desktop computer with swim suit models and scantily clad teen starlets.

Look at any studio's animation cubicles and offices and you'll find personal items such as posters, toys, family photos, doodles, and other decorations at most every workstation. The stuff we surround ourselves with projects an image. Its a public display of our tastes, humor, and personality. But, how much should one share at the workplace? Even when it comes to the creative workspaces in this industry?

In response to the "Desktop Dilemma" story above, one female class member explained that if she sees pictures in the workplace that objectify woman, it feels like a personal attack. It makes her feel as if she is being looked at as a sexual object around the office.

The particulars of office culture comes into play when trying to understand this complicated issue. A preschool series tends to have young children, mothers, child development specialists, and female network executives walking through the office on a regular basis. Its easy to understand why it would not be desirable to have anything potentially offensive on display.

One male student objected and felt that the images described in "Desktop Dilemma" were not offensive to him... and, besides, another studio in town that animates edgy adult swim and comedy central series' had much worse on their walls. The difference, I explained, was that the edgy studio was an independent company, set up to reflect the taste and personality of its owner. For some, that might be reason enough to not want to work there. Not everyone is the right fit for every situation. And, on the male students first point (he did not understand what was offensive about swimsuit pictures), I told him the issue wasn't his personal definition of what was offensive. Instead, the point is to be sensitive that somebody else "might" take offense.

I'm not sure I got this point across either. Later that night (after class), a trusted friend suggested that for men that didn't understand what could be offensive about female swimsuit pictures posted at the office,...maybe they would understand it in other terms that might be offensive to them. There's a long list of potentially offensive material that I wouldn't recommend displaying in the workplace: images that are racist, anti-Semitic, anti-Muslim, anti-Christian, homophobic, etc. Think of the what might offend you and understand that there are some women who might be offended by your sports illustrated swim suit calendar or copies of Maxim magazine.

The bottom line is that the office, desk, chairs, stapler, computers, and walls, are not your property. You are only keeping the seat warm for the length of time you are on a project. You are working in someone else's home in a highly collaborative process staffed by men and women of all kinds.

I tried one last time to reach this male student. I asked him, "Is it worth the risk of harming your reputation to prove a point that you're entitled to express yourself no-matter-what the circumstances? Not quite sure if this was understood either, I asked, "What are your goals on a job? Are you there to conduct a sociological experiment to determine what percent of a staff might be offended by your wall-hangings?...Or, are you there to be an animation artist working in harmony with the rest of the team?

The Book Gets a Cover

I supposed I'd be a terrible self-promoter (Tom Warburton and Cartoonbrew have already be me to the punch) if I didn't mention that my upcoming book, Animation Development: From Pitch to Production was available for pre-sale on amazon.

http://www.amazon.com/Animation-Development-Production-David-Levy/dp/1581156618/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1238182340&sr=1-4

Writing a book such as this is such a long-term project. A year-and-a-half to write, and then months of waiting until Allworth Press's edited manuscript dropped back into my hands. The task now at hand is for me to reread the entire book and answer the highlighted questions the editor marked here and there. The good news is that my publisher, editor, and their sales agents are already very happy with the book.

In a couple of weeks, I'll return the final manuscript. The next step will be for me to approve the galleys, which is the first stage in which I get to hold a print-out in my hands and see pictures and text woven together for the first time. The last stage happens on September 8th, when the book finally hits shelves. Whew!

I still remember the feeling I got when I opened the box containing copies of my first book. There's something about a book that is different from a film, (besides the obvious differences, of course). A animated film is like magic; an illusion. Richard O' Connor recently remarked (in a comment on this blog) that animation is essentially a process. He's correct. Animation is series of frame-by-frame images that only come together the moment we flip drawings, ram preview, render, press the dvd play button, or tweak the knob of a projector. That's when this process comes to life, albeit it only for the length of the animation. It doesn't really exist outside of that moment of play.

Even when you hold the dvd in your hands, its not really the same as holding a book: leafing through its pages, smelling the ink, and (over time) making your own signs of wear and use visible to its spine. A book comes alive in the reader's hands. I'm very grateful to have had this experience, and I'm tickled that I'll soon have it again.

There's something different about this book from the last. The first book served as a sort of walking tour through a potential career in animation. A career in animation could not have been a broader subject. There was so much to cover, and over the years I'm finding more and more to include if and when we are fortunate enough to print an updated edition. By its very nature, the first book had to assume that a good portion of its readers might be beginners or students.

This time out, I have a book that has the benefit of a more concise subject. And while the book will certainly appeal to beginners and students, there's an even greater likelihood that Animation Development: From Pitch to Production could appeal to established animation artists, writers, directors, filmmakers, voice artists, producers, development executives... in short--anyone that dares to be closer involved towards the creation or production of an animated series.

A while back I took some slams on the asifaeast.com "exposure sheet" blog after touting of the value of relationships to any career in animation. I'm still scratching my head about that one. My current freelance job, as the supervising animator of a prime time network pilot, sprang directly out of a relationship I fostered with its creator after we met six years ago while serving on a film festival jury. In a few weeks I start a new freelance gig that sprouted out of a relationship I have with the producer (in fact, I helped recommend her for that job by arranging an introduction to the network's senior director of programming).

Fostering and nurturing relationships not only leads to employment opportunities...it can also help you get well known characters on your book cover. It took three or four months of e-mails and legal back-and-fourths, but relationships I had with friends Tom Warburton, Brown Johnson, Linda Simensky, Angela Santomero, and Traci Paige Johnson... allowed my new book to be adorned with some very recognizable characters, and for that I will always be grateful.

Unlike my explanation about the different natures of books and films, relationships have no trouble bridging that great divide.

Collected Wisdom

What's the secret to a thriving career as an independent animation filmmaker?

You may have already heard Bill Plympton's three rules for being a successful indie animator. He advises others that wish to follow in his wake (earning a living through his indie films) to make animated films that are: short, cheap, and funny. Of course, there's more to it then that... so, towards the end of fostering an even smarter and savvier NY indie animation scene, I thought I'd round up a list of tips pulled from the masters of the game.

1-Make good films (or at least confident films).
There's no way to get everyone to agree on what is "good" by any standard of judgement... so maybe its more important to produce films with confidence. Confidence is undeniable. Bill Plympton has made so many films by this point that not all of them can be masterpieces, but they ARE all confident works. They all demonstrate his solid chops in creativity, humor, and draftsmanship.

2-Make a lot of films.
Don't stop at one. To continue with the example of Bill Plympton, his dedication to making at least one short a year has helped define him beyond the quality of any one of his films. Most importantly, he is a brand. He is building up a body of work that is stronger than the strengths of even his single strongest film. One indie film does not an indie make. More examples include PES, Signe Baumane, Pat Smith, Andy and Caroline London.

3-Become known for a style.
Is there anyone who could watch a new film by PES, Signe Baumane, Bill Plympton, PES, Pat Smith, Paul Fierlinger, Emily Hubley, or Don Hertzfeldt and not recognize its author? All of these filmmakers have honed an idiosyncratic style that, along with the quantity and quality of their films, helps define their brand. Pat Smith took this one step further with another identity as a fine artist exhibiting and selling in galleries. Note, Pat has a gallery opening this very week: http://www.blendfilms.com/taste.html

I do think its possible to throw out this rule and aim for a wider diversity in personal style and still be a success, but, more often than not, an identifiable brand identity wins the day.

4-Enter a ton of festivals and program your own events as well.
All of the above filmmakers do this and are not shy about getting their work screened. One veteran NY animator recently complained to me about being shut out of the ASIFA-East festival for several years. When I asked him what other festivals he entered, the answer was, "none." Success at the ASIFA-East festival does not an indie career make (I realize I sound like Yoda). If you're not promoting your film, don't complain when others are promoting there's.

All of the above filmmakers are also active in programming some film festivals and hosting some of their own screenings and events. For example, Signe Baumane regularly programs one-shot events wrapped around holidays such as Valentine's Day or around themes such as sex. Why not do the same thing yourself? You can choose Thanksgiving and abstinence as your themes. Set up a screening. Get a venue. Promote it. There's nobody stopping you. All it takes is a little effort on your part to get it off the ground... and then, organizations like ASIFA-East will help you promote it for free...not bad, eh?

5-Make your own DVD compilation.
Again, taking a page from the book of the filmmaker's above (with their Avoid Eye Contact vol.I and II; pictured above), get a collective of like-minded filmmakers together and produce and sell your own compilation DVD. ASIFA chapters around the world will help you spread the word. You can try to interest animation festivals such as Annecy to screen your compilation as they did with Avoid Eye Contact. Again, there's no monopoly on ideas. What worked for others can work for you. I am proud owner of compilations collecting the works of Michael Sporn, John Canemaker, John Schnall, Emily Hubley, George Griffin, The Krause Brothers, Pat Smith, and Signe Baumane.

6-Share your films on-line for free:
PES could be our greatest inspiration in this area. His philosophy has always been to get his work seen by as many people as possible, and the on-line viral success (eatpes.com) of his films from "Roof Sex" to "Game Over" has helped PES grow a worldwide reputation for snappy little films of the highest quality. The visibility has allowed PES to score funding for further indie projects and was instrumental in launching his successful career as a commercial director.

7-Get qualified for the Oscar.
While some of the filmmakers listed here have not yet scored an Oscar nomination, most of them have qualified for an Oscar nomination with every film. Oscar eligibility requires savvy on the filmmaker's part. A top prize at certain festivals will automatically qualify a film, but that is but one way to get on the list. Some indies have been shrewd enough to organize their own Oscar qualifying screenings at specific L.A. theatres, ensuring that their films will be eligible for animation's top prize. There's nothing stopping others from doing the same, on an individual or group basis.

In conclusion:
I have spent the above list focusing on the most active indies working today, but these are by no-means the only indies worth noting. The filmmakers profiled above were not necessarily selected for their artistic contributions to indie animated films (although they have contributed much). I chose them for their almost in-human dedication to making an animated short just about every year, and (most importantly) then promoting the hell of them. The inspiring part for me is how applicable so many of these ideas are to upcoming indie animators as well as to established indies wishing to learn a few new tricks.

Embrace the Differences

I'm currently writing a third book on animation––and its got my wheels spinning about what distinguishes animation from live action. This seems a little counter intuitive because many of us spend a lot of time and energy explaining that animation is not a separate genre of film. For instance, some wish that the animated feature Oscar would be abolished, allowing animated features such as Wall-E to compete head-to-head with the likes of Slumdog Millionaire for a best picture nomination. In fact, I am planted firmly in that camp. But, despite my belief that animation is not a genre limited to one type of film, I don't think animation can or should go every place live action goes.

Case in point: I recently saw Dillinger is Dead (pictured above right), a 1969 Italian art house film directed by Marco Ferreri in a revival screening at BAM. To quote from Wikipedia, "...The story is a darkly satiric blend of fantasy and reality. It follows a bored, alienated man over the course of one night in his home." For most of this film, we are watching the leading man cook dinner, eat dinner, tidy his house, find a gun, take apart the gun, clean the gun, reassemble the gun, watch TV, and watch his own home movies projected on the living room wall. Sound like fun? It was actually fascinating at every frame. So much of the film's power is what a living actor can bring to a role. Why else would it be interesting to spend all this time with a bored middle aged man going through his nightly routine?

I can't imagine a clearer example than Dillinger is Dead for what animation can't do well. The lead actor in Dillinger is Dead, Michel Piccoli, brings pathos with his posture, brow sweat, skin moles, thinning hair line, and with every nuance in his subtle performance. Now-a-days, some 3D animation attempts to replicate such ordinary details that make up a living individual, but 3D has yet to recreate the human spirit that goes along with them. That's what is so tragic about 3D animation. In its goal for total realism it moves further away from what animation does best, which is simplification of detail and caricature of action. An animated character going through the mundane tasks shown in Dillinger is Dead would be a dreadful bore of a feature film.

When it comes to animation, less equals more. Incidentally, 3D animation is not the first form of animation to walk away from what animation does best. When Disney finally returned to feature animation following WW II, the move was towards more realism of movement and design. In Cinderella (1950), Ward Kimball's cartoony cat stands as a remnant for what was lost–– a holdover from a time where an entire feature might be done with a lighter touch, as last seen in 1941's Dumbo (pictured above left). But, even when 2D features took the realistic path, at least there was still simplification and abstraction that comes with making a drawing. 3D could travel down a far more interesting path if only it would get over the fact that it can recreate a realistic looking world.

There's another aspect to why a film like Dillinger is Dead works in live action. The live action medium provides an instant reality. It's real life. We automatically relate to people, things, and places seen in a film. Its as if we are looking in the mirror. Because live action is based in reality, creative filmmakers have been able to play with separate realities within the reality of film. And, this has been one of the reasons that live action film has taken so many directions over the years. French new wave director Jean-Luc Godard provides a good example. Check out any of his 1960s films and you'll see the director playing with the nature of sound, continuity, etc. Even his actors step in out of character and in and out from the confines of the story. Goddard's efforts are bolstered by the built-in reality of film. And, it didn't hurt matters any that he cast sexy leading actors like Anna Karina and Jean-Paul Belmondo to keep us watching.

Animation succeeds best when it builds and supports its own reality, one that is separate from live action. We know mice don't talk. We know elephants don't fly. But, when we watch Dumbo we are charmed by its many appealing elements such as simplicity of design, clarity of story, and the very emotional character arc of the titular character. Each frame in Dumbo is purposeful and moves the film ever closer to its conclusion. Unlike Dillinger is Dead, Dumbo is not interesting because of the time we spend with him during an ordinary eventless evening. Dumbo utilizes the power of simplicity and caricature of animation to make us watch, care, and cry.

Animation and live action are in parts similar and different, but I would suggest that we best unlock the power of animation when we embrace the differences.

On Buddy and Bakshi

What kind of career would you have if you only had 2 & 1/2 years to make your mark? That's exactly how much time Buddy Holly had from the moment his single "That'll Be The Day" rocketed to number one on the charts. While at SVA, I had the opportunity to take a contemporary music class taught by the Rolling Stone music critic Billy Altman. It helped me meet one of the elective requirements for my Bachelor's degree. One day Altman played us music from a double disc set that turned out to be the Buddy Holly Collection. The next class I came up to him and said, "Your last class cost me 30 bucks." He shot me a puzzled look before I explained that I had no choice but to buy the Buddy Holly Collection on the way home.

As far as I see it, there are two tragedies to the Buddy Holly story: his sudden death and the fact that it has come to define him. Another way to look at his legacy is to examine what he accomplished in so short a time. Nobody has a crystal ball to reveal their fate but, Holly certainly didn't waste the time he was given on this Earth. The body of work he left behind is astonishing in its quality, originality, and durability. How often can we say the same about singer/songwriters that have the gift of decades of time in which to develop their talents? Holly is one of my creative heros as well as a reminder to make every day count, both in life, and in career.

On that note, I seque to a great anecdote told by Ralph Bakshi, as interviewed by Don Duga at SVA in 1998. To a standing room only audience of students and industry professionals, Bakshi shared a story I will never forget. He had recently visited an old High School friend who had long given up on a career in the arts. Bakshi complimented a wonderful painting hanging on his friend's wall, a painting that his friend had created decades ago.

Bakshi said to his friend, "That's a great painting. Did you ever think about making another one?" After this, Bakshi explained to us that its a LONG life and that we should make each day and each year count. Unlike the case of his friend's painting, if we are serious about our art, we should never be finished. Our dreams need not remain hung on the wall and under glass.

Its now ten years later and Bakshi is still not done creating. He paints on a regular basis and rumor has it that he still has animated projects in the works. His long-life legacy was recently celebrated in a terrific coffee-table style book, Unfiltered: The Complete Ralph Baskhi by Jon M. Gibson and Chris McDonnell.

My teacher, Billy Altman, finished off his lesson on Buddy Holly by playing a song called "Learning the Game" from Holly's "apartment tapes." For those not in the know, these were the home recordings found in the singer's Greenwich Village apartment after his untimely death. A short while later, I was able to track down my own bootleg of these recordings, but it was not until a month or so ago that they were officially released as part of two new retrospective sets: Buddy Holly Memorial Collection and Buddy Holly: Down The Line- Rarities.

Its nice to see two of my creative heros recognized with these special career-spanning tributes! I can't think of a better way to re-examine these unique talents. Now, if only someone will erect a statue of John Ritter next to the Lincoln Memorial... I'd be all set.