http://browse.deviantart.com/film/multimation/?order=9&q=shadow+person deviantART RSS for boost:popular in:film/multimation shadow person en-us Copyright 2013, deviantART.com Sat, 18 May 2013 01:17:52 PDT deviantART.com http://blogs.law.harvard.edu/tech/rss http://st.deviantart.net/minish/widgets/apple-touch-icon-precomposed.png http://zacharyhogan.deviantart.com/art/Animation-From-John-to-Phil-238754555 http://zacharyhogan.deviantart.com/art/Animation-From-John-to-Phil-238754555 Sun, 17 Jul 2011 04:06:12 PDT Animation: 'From John, to Phil' nonadult film/multimation ZacharyHogan http://a.deviantart.net/avatars/z/a/zacharyhogan.jpg?2 Copyright 2011-2013 *ZacharyHogan

Traditional set creation (card, watercolour paper), stop-motion animation, digital animation. digital on-location audio recording.



Lune

"Her joy follows the moon,
and tonight
the moon tugs.

I take the rope,
and I pull
back
with everything I have.

I hope it's enough.


From John,
to Phil."





Inspired by the depth/distance creation techniques used in video games (simulated fog), I wanted to create a sense of distance in as little space as possible. I wanted to create a scene that looked, if not realistic, then at least convincing.

The set for this piece took an entire weekend (and lots of trial-and-error) to create. I created a base out of cardboard sheets and folded cardboard supports in the shape I wanted - a tapered road, with banks rising on either side. This tapering (or getting-thinner) of the road meant that the illusion of greater depth would be created when a camera was placed at the wider end, looking towards the thinner end.






I took heavy cartridge/cheap watercolour paper, wet it, and then moulded it over the cardboard base. I dried it with a hairdryer whilst holding it in shape. This ensured that it would keep its form. I glued the sheets of paper to the base.


The colour of the landscape was given reduced contrast and a golden tint as it moves further from the camera position, thus creating the effect of aerial perspective, thus depth.






To create the trees I took watercolour paper and glued it directly to sheets of card. This created stiff forms that would not bend easily. Mounting them on the landscape was difficult, but eventually I found a method that ensured stability.





Shooting proved to be a problem. My original plan to create the effect of leaves falling through stop-motion (paper leaves glued to clear plastic sheets) did not work well: the leaves were out of focus, the movement was choppy and the lights reflected on the plastic. Thus the leaves were redrawn, scanned, digitally recoloured and then animated in After Effects.

The shifting shadows on the ground cast by the canopy above were created by cutting holes in two sheets of paper and moving them relative to each other whilst shining a spotlight through them. Photos were then taken to import into After Effects as stop-motion.

Lighting setup: rear spotlight gives illumination to sky backplate. Upper softbox gives global illumination, side softbox gives directional soft illumination. Side spot gives the trees and shadow-silhouette-sheet harder, more defined shadows.





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The out-of-focus introductory section is my favourite part. The way the leaves look as they float past, blurry, shrouded in shadow is something that really excites me.

Other After Effects work includes placement of Photoshop-based layers to cast shadows on the falling leaves to emulate light shining through the branches.




Sound recording was also an issue. The only trees nearby were also within audible distance of a busy road. Thus I had to cut chunks of the sound spectrum out using Soundbooth. The audio quality was, therefore, reduced. I layered several tracks on top of one another and fiddled with levels and equalisers to get a sound quality that was acceptable. I'm still not happy with the audio.




The poem was a piece written in my Poetry 365 project [link] I chose the poem because I felt that the melancholy mood of the text worked well with the inherent melancholy of Autumn. Inversely, the text's mood contrasts with the warm, inviting, joyful tones of the scene, which is interesting. I included the final line, 'From John, to Phil,' to create a relationship between two characters (and implied relationships between 'her' and the two named characters), as well as to create some ambiguity as to who was reading the text - John or Phil. The mood of the text is altered slightly depending on which character is reading it: John would be hoping for guidance, whereas Phil would likely be sympathetic. The first-person letter format is useful in that it places a character in the scene, out of sight. Perhaps we look through the character's eyes. Wherever the character is in relation to us, we know he is present at this location, and this raises questions (and narratives) around why he is here and who he is.

The narrator is my lecturer.



Development images here: [link]



Inspiration includes: The 'Coma' flash game.



UPDATE: the film is now working in-browser. For some reason it wasn't buffering, but I contacted dA support and they seem to have fixed it very quickly! Thanks guys. ]]> http://altphotoart.deviantart.com/art/HollywierdlandPlacemeatEnding-201931595 http://altphotoart.deviantart.com/art/HollywierdlandPlacemeatEnding-201931595 Tue, 22 Mar 2011 11:58:30 PDT HollywierdlandPlacemeatEnding nonadult film/multimation altphotoart http://a.deviantart.net/avatars/a/l/altphotoart.gif Copyright 2011-2013 ~altphotoart Hollywierd Placemeat Ending..


Feb. 14th, the day that love died.

Never thought I'd be a smoker, but the love you gave me was nicotine stains to my parchment mind. I couldn't live without you, much less food, water, nicotine and alcohol.

You coursed through my acrid veins chasing me with your stagnant reigns impersonating acidic strains as I drifted from one nether world, nether region, to yet another... trying to make up my mind, trying to find if I was just blind, to find out what I couldn't find- the world I would never leave behind, and all of my childhood whines.

I knocked on your bedroom window late that inevitable moonless night. I was the protagonist in some schoolboy haze teevee rerun show. You were that inimitable one, the evasive one... You were Avarathesca, the cat goddess of the night, the purloiner of all plight, and all of my personal might.

The rain was bleating down on my face, causing all out rivulets to form from the lines drawn by my drenched hair clinging steadfast to my schoolboy face. I was standing under that lone lamppost, the lamplighter standing vigilantly ready to awaken the darkening city from slumber, from potential darkness, and with it- the potential evil that lurked behind the shadows. I was one of those, I was one evil lying, lurking, but sometimes, just sometimes I would jut forth for some ungodly but true reason.

You were that reason.

So close, yet so far. I saw you after that 48 hours, my second day in B--. I saw you in your littel French maids outfit leaving the hotel. I knew you were different, 'cuz you wore fishnets. Now I'm getting blatheringly drunk.

Were you the first? I can't remember. I remember so many, so fewe... so far apart. I remember so little sometimes that I wish I had lead a more eventful existence. But, when I think back to that summer when I had a chance to get into the pants of the great, grand, groovy chick- Avarathesca, man- and lost out... I am not sad. I found love, lust, lost it all, thought I fought to get it back and won (thought...) but then, in the bright and shiny land of Laralay, I found out otherwise.

Resting my drunken body against your soft, warm, and sequestered frame was more rapture than lying under the northern lights, playing tag with the moon and listening to the occasional one- liner from the wind (the punchline gets kinda boring- rain!).

But, there I am still- standing outside of your window, pelting pebbles to get your attention, pissed to the gills, and ready to pass out/ piss my pants/ puke/ forget what I was doing in the first place and walk away befuddled... I was not like you, you were my dark star in the night sky. Black hair, gothic smile, snow white skin with devils food black lipstick... I found my wild horses come to rest with you.

There was that fateful day I went away. Told you I'd call. Did I- or did someone else? Did we maintain a friendship over the years, or did we allow other people to do it for us? Or, perhaps we just remained civil long enough to get over certain hurdles with, as opposed to alone... with, as opposed to without. Within, as opposed to with- out. Were we part of something special, or were we just relying on a past that was too long gone to even remember why? Too ambiguous to be worthy of a single sigh.

Feb. 14th, the day that love died within this boyish chagrin, within this frame of ambivalent sin. The cold seeping into my bones as I boarded the hound to T.O.… that gastronimical city of opulence I hated so much. I have raped that city of all it's opulence, only- neither it nor I are truly aware of the loss/ gain for the exact date of the event still has yet to be defined in my own pre- historical debates.

The wind more than caressed my frame as I jumped into the taxi, headed to hound central, man. A few small steps from the 'Tiltin' Hilton.' A few minds breadths away from so much more, so much that was still to happen in the coming years, months, days- I was oblivious!

I was romantik... usually the romantic, this time- I was a little more contrite than convoluted, and thus- more easily understood (the romantic being the most loathsome of individuals, for he (or she, for that matter) has difficulty committing to one person, one monogamous mogul of an individual- be it male or female, and pending individual predilection- of course. But, this is not to say that said individual of definite loathsome qualities is without value, for said individual generally will, as case may be, fall head over heels in lust with a certain individual of their personal predilection. In event this should happen, said individual of such loathsome characteristics may find one thing that more than simply represents the object of their desire in a manner virtually (not virulently) penultimately. Such an instance, one such romantic saw a flower, a rose to be specific, and found that this most beautiful of flowers was nothing in comparison to his (or her) one true love (or lust) and so, he (or she) picked this one flower and gave it to the object of his (or her) desire. There was, off in the wings to this tragicomedy, one known as the romanticist- this one person saw the emotion and passion laid bare, held within the romantic as he (or she) picked the one flower and offered it to the individual of their obsession. This romanticist thought to him (or her) self 'Hm... perchance, I might better my social standing were I to try this one act?' And, thus- the entire Valentines day and floral industry was born. The romantic, caused or fueled by emotion, the romanticist caused or fueled by greed, desire, and copy- catting their way around the world. The romantik... on the other hand is none less than the tired romantic. Not any less creative, emotional, or desire driven, just a bit weary of always losing out to the romanticist. As yet another aside: the romantic usually fails to the romanticist... for the pure of heart are, generally, the self- loathing in the world and feel they are not fully worthy of the most penultimate of desires, no matter how valid they may truly be).

I used else's day for my arrival in your own home town. I met your mom, I met your Da, and I met your friends- probably all famous artists by now. I remember 'the christmas present' (acrylic on board, B. S-----, (c)1987, measurements: huge) and the messages on that machine as I lay, half awake- no toque, no back bacon, just philosophical misanthropy. Just me, my paints, and my very personal impressions. Oh, and that self- portrait I left for you. And that trip to Laralay.

Thinking that we were more than friends... going to visit just friends. I'll never forget meeting MJ in LAX, sipping on bourbon in the lounge, pouring my heart out to this one so long gone, so long lost, and from so long ago. Old friends coming together in a place so disparate as to be almost alien- were we aliens to each other? Were we sequestered, or just apart? Didn't see you for days, not until I was back on the plane heading to that arid zone. Ahhh, the tiny liquor bottles look so cute lined up on my fold out tray...


I swore never to fall in love again, EVER! ]]>