I have this recurring waking fantasy that I've completed my indie opus: A video game series in the format of an 80's epic adventure cartoon. Think, Mysterious Cities of Gold, Spartakus and the Sun Beneath the Sea or Ulysses 31.
Think gloriously audacious opening sequence, full of expansive vistas and children doing dangerously exciting things. Think catchy title tune by anonymous vocalist that's so bad it's embarrassing, yet so good you secretly 5-star it on your iPod. Think of yourself singing it out loud only to realise you're in a crowded supermarket and then try to do that thing where you act like you don't care but lapse into an awkward tuneless hum. Think rushing home on Friday afternoon to catch the latest episode, only you're 35 now, not 10.
Nostalgia so bad it makes my eyes water.
Episodic games certainly aren't a new concept. Alan Wake used episodic chapters to create a genre film in a game, excusing its pulp horror storyline by cleverly wrapping it up in format that demanded it. Brilliant!
Team 17 took advantage of Xbox Live Arcade's short-order expectations by releasing the remakesequelthing Alien Breed series as a triplet of rapid fire, easily digestable, arcade blast-at-everything-and-scream-a-lot-emups, and I'd argue that they're more entertaining and more accessible for it.
Valve take advantage of an episodic release schedule to bring us the remaining chapters of the Half-Life series far faster and cheaper than full-release sequels. *Cough*
But I'm thinking bigger. Yes, that's right: Bigger than Valve. I'm thinking, completely disregarding the whole one-man-army thing... I'm thinking a series where you sit through the opening credits just because they're AWESOME. I'm thinking that you're talking about the latest episode with your gamer buddies, and making predictions about the next. I'm thinking that you're rushing home on Friday afternoon for the latest episode even though you're 35 now, not 10.
And I'm thinking that somehow, it's entirely economically viable and appealing to a publisher who will agree to sell it for a gold coin per episode.
That is my daydream. I'm not even remotely ashamed of such naive romanticism. It'll happen one day - I even have the story all figured, and the start of an opening sequence playing in my head, title track and all. If I ever find the kind of financial success that lets professionally immature people like me treat business ventures as giant funparks, I'll do it. And it'll be like being 10 again, watching Cities of Gold when Esteban raises the Golden Condor and thinking for a time that magic - like those crazy people who wear crystals and smell like marijuana only vaguely masked by incense say - happens.
Until then, I get an aweful lot of fun just pretending. Babababa BA BA BA! DO doodoodoo DUM DUM! DumdumdumDAAAAA! Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to bed to probably dream about Voltron.
Showing posts with label Random. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Random. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Rant: Games are Too Easy to Create
LANGUAGE WARNING: MA15+
If you're involved in any way with the game industry, I'd bet money you've heard someone say "Games are too easy to make these days". If it wasn't uttered by one of your coder colleagues, perhaps it was during kitchen-meet gossip. You might have stumbled upon a heated thread on a game development website full of programmers wailing and gnashing their teeth in righteous indignation. Or maybe you read it in the subtext when Steve Jobs slammed the banhammer down on Adobe Flash, apparently out of fear of a slew of crappy games flooding the market. As opposed to all of the masterpieces that currently grace the iTunes App store.
If we make it too easy for people to release games, then we'll have too many bad games on the market. Right? Isn't that how it usually goes?
Well, I don't disagree with the symptom. It's why I made the snide remark about iTunes. But I'm going to go right ahead and smack down over the insinuation that these bad games are being made by people who wouldn't know how to make games if toolkits like Unity and UDK didn't exist.
In other words: Bad games, according to the sway of conversation, are the fault of non-programmers.
You know what? Get off your fucking high horse.
I'm getting pretty resentful of this elitist and exclusive attitude. Often when it's not being literally stated, it's there between the lines in the way beginners and *spit* *spit* artists are treated with impatience or sometimes outright disdain on programmer centric forums. So I wildly underestimated the amount of code involved in what I thought was a simple action: on no the end is nigh. Yawn. Let me assume by your latest efforts that you wildly overestimated your artistic talents, and we'll call it even, k?
So it's the internet, and everyone's an asshole. I'm not a princess about it, usually, and it doesn't bother me, usually. But today, I read a post on a community forum that seemed laced with derision, entirely constructed to tear down the naive game maker - a youthful optimist, nonetheless - who woe be him does not come from a programmer background. It rubbed me in a way I do not like to be rubbed, and a ranting, obviously, ensued.
I should temporarily shut off the steam and say in big bold letter that I know a few programmers who I worked with in the past who I do not at all refer to in this post. In fact, I can only think of four people I've actually met in real life who do have this attitude. Sadly, one of them was a CEO.
But if you've read previous posts you'd probably know that a programmer colleague, James Podesta, has been helping me with code and design. I have no intention of biting the hand that feeds. I do suspect that he agrees in essence with the fact that accessibility to game development is resulting in more crappy games, however I would hope that he doesn't jump on that bandwagon of artist/designer/daydreamer hate that shovels the blame onto our underpaid shoulders.
It's made more difficult to argue my case here when one considers that improvements have been made to my game already through James' input. Without him, the movement wouldn't feel quite so nice. I would have eventually solved the collision bug, I'm sure, but it's those anecdotal tips and tricks that make the real difference, such as the 0.2 second fall-jump buffer.
But I'm going to use that example to argue that game development should be even easier. We've heard it a hundred times before: Graphics are not gameplay*. Well, guess what, neither is code. OMG GASP, RIGHT? No one gives a shit about your programming. No one in the real world, anyway. Your designers and artists will love you for it, and appreciate how your skills contributed to the product. You can pat yourself on the back for a job well done. But if you're going to argue that the polygons I push together are nothing more than a necessary component of the construction, far less than the sum of the parts, then explain to me why your lines of script are any different?
We can probably agree that all our consumers care about is the end product: Does it feel good? Does the aesthetic inform the gameplay? Do I have enough challenge and enough motivation to continue playing?
So all it's about is making good games. That's it. Who gives a fuck how you did it? If you take away the barriers to game development, then you open the door to more people who have a story to tell, an idea to sell, a concept to show off, and a real creative talent to make something entertaining and of quality.
Just because you have the rare technical proficiencies necessary to construct a game, does not guarantee that your game is any good. This has always been the case. Even when programmers were the only ones making games.
* I actually believe that graphics are gameplay, but I'll save that shitstorm for another post.
If you're involved in any way with the game industry, I'd bet money you've heard someone say "Games are too easy to make these days". If it wasn't uttered by one of your coder colleagues, perhaps it was during kitchen-meet gossip. You might have stumbled upon a heated thread on a game development website full of programmers wailing and gnashing their teeth in righteous indignation. Or maybe you read it in the subtext when Steve Jobs slammed the banhammer down on Adobe Flash, apparently out of fear of a slew of crappy games flooding the market. As opposed to all of the masterpieces that currently grace the iTunes App store.
If we make it too easy for people to release games, then we'll have too many bad games on the market. Right? Isn't that how it usually goes?
Well, I don't disagree with the symptom. It's why I made the snide remark about iTunes. But I'm going to go right ahead and smack down over the insinuation that these bad games are being made by people who wouldn't know how to make games if toolkits like Unity and UDK didn't exist.
In other words: Bad games, according to the sway of conversation, are the fault of non-programmers.
You know what? Get off your fucking high horse.
I'm getting pretty resentful of this elitist and exclusive attitude. Often when it's not being literally stated, it's there between the lines in the way beginners and *spit* *spit* artists are treated with impatience or sometimes outright disdain on programmer centric forums. So I wildly underestimated the amount of code involved in what I thought was a simple action: on no the end is nigh. Yawn. Let me assume by your latest efforts that you wildly overestimated your artistic talents, and we'll call it even, k?
So it's the internet, and everyone's an asshole. I'm not a princess about it, usually, and it doesn't bother me, usually. But today, I read a post on a community forum that seemed laced with derision, entirely constructed to tear down the naive game maker - a youthful optimist, nonetheless - who woe be him does not come from a programmer background. It rubbed me in a way I do not like to be rubbed, and a ranting, obviously, ensued.
I should temporarily shut off the steam and say in big bold letter that I know a few programmers who I worked with in the past who I do not at all refer to in this post. In fact, I can only think of four people I've actually met in real life who do have this attitude. Sadly, one of them was a CEO.
But if you've read previous posts you'd probably know that a programmer colleague, James Podesta, has been helping me with code and design. I have no intention of biting the hand that feeds. I do suspect that he agrees in essence with the fact that accessibility to game development is resulting in more crappy games, however I would hope that he doesn't jump on that bandwagon of artist/designer/daydreamer hate that shovels the blame onto our underpaid shoulders.
It's made more difficult to argue my case here when one considers that improvements have been made to my game already through James' input. Without him, the movement wouldn't feel quite so nice. I would have eventually solved the collision bug, I'm sure, but it's those anecdotal tips and tricks that make the real difference, such as the 0.2 second fall-jump buffer.
But I'm going to use that example to argue that game development should be even easier. We've heard it a hundred times before: Graphics are not gameplay*. Well, guess what, neither is code. OMG GASP, RIGHT? No one gives a shit about your programming. No one in the real world, anyway. Your designers and artists will love you for it, and appreciate how your skills contributed to the product. You can pat yourself on the back for a job well done. But if you're going to argue that the polygons I push together are nothing more than a necessary component of the construction, far less than the sum of the parts, then explain to me why your lines of script are any different?
We can probably agree that all our consumers care about is the end product: Does it feel good? Does the aesthetic inform the gameplay? Do I have enough challenge and enough motivation to continue playing?
So all it's about is making good games. That's it. Who gives a fuck how you did it? If you take away the barriers to game development, then you open the door to more people who have a story to tell, an idea to sell, a concept to show off, and a real creative talent to make something entertaining and of quality.
Just because you have the rare technical proficiencies necessary to construct a game, does not guarantee that your game is any good. This has always been the case. Even when programmers were the only ones making games.
* I actually believe that graphics are gameplay, but I'll save that shitstorm for another post.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
New Blog Design
A new look for the blog.
Just a header and some CSS at the moment, but I'll expand it later to a whole voxel theme. I do so love them little voxels.
Also, PIXEL HEART OMG.
Don't say I didn't warn anyone!
Just a header and some CSS at the moment, but I'll expand it later to a whole voxel theme. I do so love them little voxels.
Also, PIXEL HEART OMG.
Don't say I didn't warn anyone!
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Creativity: Influence vs Individuality
From time to time I am involved in conversation about the creative industries. A shocking revelation, no doubt. Nevertheless, I find that there's a topic which frequently arises (particularly among students and newcomers) and that is the question of influence versus individuality. There seems to be a common assumption that to earn creative integrity one must develop a personal style - a unique artistic vocabulary - which is utterly devoid of external influence. None of us are strangers to the desire to make a mark; to sign the world with our own unique signature. But what a huge burden it is to expect to earn that mark without influence. Imagine if all industries imposed the same expectations on their practicioners: Would you want to be operated upon by a surgeon who believed he could figure it all out himself?
Well, this isn't surgery, and I don't meant to speak as though I have a lifetime of experience: I am myself only just beginning my creative journey in most respects, and anyone who knows me could attest to how much I have to learn. But nevertheless, I feel I've mostly overcome the creative self-consciousness of having a noisy inner critic.
And I understand just how brutally uncompromising he can be.
I'm no stranger to the fear of being labelled 'derivative'; branded a plagiariser, fleeing the midnight mob of artistic masters that are my peers, amongst angry shouts of "UNCLEAN! UNCLEAN!" But to grow as a creative individual, you need to move beyond the impossible expectations that an inexperienced inner critic demands.
If you would indulge me (and perhaps pretend I'm a wizened old magister of the creative industries with real wisdom to impart rather than a 30-something neckbearded nerd with pacman tattooes), I'd like to talk a bit about creativity and influence.
And why you should probably just get over yourself.
The real problem with being afraid of influence (or afraid of acknowledging it) is that your influences will have some of the biggest impact on you maturing as an artist. Unless you're the single most talented individual on the planet who was enjoying sell out shows by age 4 and is now a retired billionaire who spends his teenage years endorsing arts academies and politely declining the Archibald prize for your napkin doodles on the grounds that any more avant-garde statuettes in your house would dangerously unbalance the Earth's axis, I'm going to bet that you don't know it all. And yet, for many of us, the struggle to find artistic identity entirely on our own is a kind of brutally masochistic right of passage.
There was a time when I wouldn't be caught dead emulating someone else's style. Discovering that there was an artist out there whose work or ideas were similar to mine was mortifying. I'd be desperately assuring my peers that my work had been produced in isolation from this other creator, to the point of arguing so aggressively that I surely looked guilty as all hell of counterfeit. I even became afraid of exposing myself to new work out of fear that someone would be doing something remotely similar.
Then I was exposed to the writing of Carl Jung and Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi. And someone who kindly translated it all for me.
Jung and Csikszentmihalyi are considered among the most influential forefathers of modern psychology, particularly relating to the reflective, cognitive, and practical processes of creativity. I recommend doing some related reading. I'm a low-brow kind of guy myself (I feel much more at home with Dean Koontz than Nietzsche) and I find reading Jung's and Csikszentmihalyi's work is a lot like how I imagine it'd feel to stuff my skull full of cotton wool and then play an aggressively competitive game of Boggle. In Scandinavian. While drunk. And being beaten around the head with a sock full of wet tissues.
But in essence, what it boils down to (thank you, university notebook) is that the act of creation, in all of its artistic varieties, can be most simply described as a three step process of big words:
Fragmentation, more or less, means that we break down those things we gather into simple elements. The film The Matrix becomes 'broody guy' in a 'leather trench' discovers 'world is virtual' and 'real world is apocalyptic' and learns to 'flip around in slow motion'. More or less. Those fragments become entities in themselves, which we then...
...Retextualise into something new and wonderful.
This is the psychology of creativity, and assuming you aren't a new kind of superhuman whose brain operates in ways we cannot comprehend, this applies to you.
And it isn't rocket science (despite needing a degree, extensive linguistics training, and a second tongue to pronounce 'Csikszentmihalyi'). What it is, is validation. Don't be afraid to be influenced by the people, the things, and the aspects of your art form, which surround you. In fact you should demand it, because these things will only make you better at what you do.
A common attribute amongst all of the most talented and creative individuals I have worked with is that each has dedicated many hours of their time to gathering a mental library of references from which to draw inspiration and guidance. This is without exception.
So, don't be a princess about your work, don't be so desperate to reinvent the creative wheel, and don't waste time struggling to generate your style in a creative vaccuum. Expose yourself to as much artistic influence as you can. Saturate yourself in it. Your own style will just happen.
But why did I decide to rant about this? Well, I was once again thinking about the game I'm working on. It's incredibly derivative: Braid, Fez, Limbo it is not. But do I care? Not at all. Don't get me wrong: Those games are incredible examples of our art, and a brilliant argument for investing in uniqueness and originality in your product. As a matter of fact, I have a few ideas of my own floating around in my cotton-stuffed skull which, to my knowledge, are comparitively unique concepts, containing (or in some cases built upon) new gameplay, new story, and/or new aesthetics.
So why am I then resorting to... plagiarism? (Said as he crosses himself)
Well, I make this homage (see whut I did thar?) for a couple of reasons, both creative and practical. Talking about the creative first: I love the things which influence this project, namely the classic 8-bit platformers of my youth such as the Wonderboy series (in particular, Wonderboy III: The Dragon's Trap on the Sega Mastersystem). Not many people make those kinds of games any more. I'm making it for me, and I sincerely hope that I do a well enough job that others enjoy the experience (when it's released in 2032).
And the practical aspects: I'm new to this, but I'm not new to the creative individual that I am. I know my faults; that I can become bogged down in detail, and that unecessary complication can overwhelm and then innevitably disenchant me to an idea. So practicality demands that for this project, which is about me learning the how rather than exploring the greater question of why, I should simplify where possible. Realistically, I should be making a Pong clone before broaching the subject of a microcosm platform adventure with RPG elements, but then I also know that if it isn't challenging enough, I'll lose interest.
So, put simply: I'm making an homage to Wonderboy because I want to. Fun for the sake of fun, so to speak. For now I'll leave the groundbreaking to people far more technically capable than I.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have an appointment with my inner critic, and I suggest that if you're one of the people who are struggling to find their signature, you do the same. I know he exists to protect me from things such as, oh, I don't know, removing my clothes and running down the street singing Always by Erasure. But nevertheless, he really needs to STFU sometimes.
Well, this isn't surgery, and I don't meant to speak as though I have a lifetime of experience: I am myself only just beginning my creative journey in most respects, and anyone who knows me could attest to how much I have to learn. But nevertheless, I feel I've mostly overcome the creative self-consciousness of having a noisy inner critic.
And I understand just how brutally uncompromising he can be.
I'm no stranger to the fear of being labelled 'derivative'; branded a plagiariser, fleeing the midnight mob of artistic masters that are my peers, amongst angry shouts of "UNCLEAN! UNCLEAN!" But to grow as a creative individual, you need to move beyond the impossible expectations that an inexperienced inner critic demands.
If you would indulge me (and perhaps pretend I'm a wizened old magister of the creative industries with real wisdom to impart rather than a 30-something neckbearded nerd with pacman tattooes), I'd like to talk a bit about creativity and influence.
And why you should probably just get over yourself.
The real problem with being afraid of influence (or afraid of acknowledging it) is that your influences will have some of the biggest impact on you maturing as an artist. Unless you're the single most talented individual on the planet who was enjoying sell out shows by age 4 and is now a retired billionaire who spends his teenage years endorsing arts academies and politely declining the Archibald prize for your napkin doodles on the grounds that any more avant-garde statuettes in your house would dangerously unbalance the Earth's axis, I'm going to bet that you don't know it all. And yet, for many of us, the struggle to find artistic identity entirely on our own is a kind of brutally masochistic right of passage.
There was a time when I wouldn't be caught dead emulating someone else's style. Discovering that there was an artist out there whose work or ideas were similar to mine was mortifying. I'd be desperately assuring my peers that my work had been produced in isolation from this other creator, to the point of arguing so aggressively that I surely looked guilty as all hell of counterfeit. I even became afraid of exposing myself to new work out of fear that someone would be doing something remotely similar.
Then I was exposed to the writing of Carl Jung and Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi. And someone who kindly translated it all for me.
Jung and Csikszentmihalyi are considered among the most influential forefathers of modern psychology, particularly relating to the reflective, cognitive, and practical processes of creativity. I recommend doing some related reading. I'm a low-brow kind of guy myself (I feel much more at home with Dean Koontz than Nietzsche) and I find reading Jung's and Csikszentmihalyi's work is a lot like how I imagine it'd feel to stuff my skull full of cotton wool and then play an aggressively competitive game of Boggle. In Scandinavian. While drunk. And being beaten around the head with a sock full of wet tissues.
But in essence, what it boils down to (thank you, university notebook) is that the act of creation, in all of its artistic varieties, can be most simply described as a three step process of big words:
- Appropriation
- Fragmentation
- Retextualisation
Fragmentation, more or less, means that we break down those things we gather into simple elements. The film The Matrix becomes 'broody guy' in a 'leather trench' discovers 'world is virtual' and 'real world is apocalyptic' and learns to 'flip around in slow motion'. More or less. Those fragments become entities in themselves, which we then...
...Retextualise into something new and wonderful.
This is the psychology of creativity, and assuming you aren't a new kind of superhuman whose brain operates in ways we cannot comprehend, this applies to you.
And it isn't rocket science (despite needing a degree, extensive linguistics training, and a second tongue to pronounce 'Csikszentmihalyi'). What it is, is validation. Don't be afraid to be influenced by the people, the things, and the aspects of your art form, which surround you. In fact you should demand it, because these things will only make you better at what you do.
A common attribute amongst all of the most talented and creative individuals I have worked with is that each has dedicated many hours of their time to gathering a mental library of references from which to draw inspiration and guidance. This is without exception.
So, don't be a princess about your work, don't be so desperate to reinvent the creative wheel, and don't waste time struggling to generate your style in a creative vaccuum. Expose yourself to as much artistic influence as you can. Saturate yourself in it. Your own style will just happen.
But why did I decide to rant about this? Well, I was once again thinking about the game I'm working on. It's incredibly derivative: Braid, Fez, Limbo it is not. But do I care? Not at all. Don't get me wrong: Those games are incredible examples of our art, and a brilliant argument for investing in uniqueness and originality in your product. As a matter of fact, I have a few ideas of my own floating around in my cotton-stuffed skull which, to my knowledge, are comparitively unique concepts, containing (or in some cases built upon) new gameplay, new story, and/or new aesthetics.
So why am I then resorting to... plagiarism? (Said as he crosses himself)
Well, I make this homage (see whut I did thar?) for a couple of reasons, both creative and practical. Talking about the creative first: I love the things which influence this project, namely the classic 8-bit platformers of my youth such as the Wonderboy series (in particular, Wonderboy III: The Dragon's Trap on the Sega Mastersystem). Not many people make those kinds of games any more. I'm making it for me, and I sincerely hope that I do a well enough job that others enjoy the experience (when it's released in 2032).
And the practical aspects: I'm new to this, but I'm not new to the creative individual that I am. I know my faults; that I can become bogged down in detail, and that unecessary complication can overwhelm and then innevitably disenchant me to an idea. So practicality demands that for this project, which is about me learning the how rather than exploring the greater question of why, I should simplify where possible. Realistically, I should be making a Pong clone before broaching the subject of a microcosm platform adventure with RPG elements, but then I also know that if it isn't challenging enough, I'll lose interest.
So, put simply: I'm making an homage to Wonderboy because I want to. Fun for the sake of fun, so to speak. For now I'll leave the groundbreaking to people far more technically capable than I.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have an appointment with my inner critic, and I suggest that if you're one of the people who are struggling to find their signature, you do the same. I know he exists to protect me from things such as, oh, I don't know, removing my clothes and running down the street singing Always by Erasure. But nevertheless, he really needs to STFU sometimes.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Ideas in Limbo
I just found this floating around on my hard drive, and thought I'd share it. It's an image I painted for a game I was working on at my last job.
This was to form something of a style guide for the first level in the game, and was rushed onto digital canvas in the early hours of a sleepless night as the realities of global finance marched inexorably towards dire circumstances.
Sound vague? Deliberately so. Business happens.
But to remain positive, it was an amazing team of people, and a really great product (can you believe we were regularly playtesting within a few weeks, and actually fighting for the controller?) Best of all, I had the incredible honour of being art lead/director on this project, and working with some people who truly humbled me. Illustrators like Jeremy Love, Mike Manalac, Richard Lyons, Brendan Deboy, Jared Pullen and Danh Nhan; the best 3D sidekicks ever in Dean Walshe, Kieran O'Sullivan and Stewart Alves; the awesome designers - Paul McInnes, Christian Carriere and Mark Hurst; and the coders - James Podesta and Shane Lontis - making all the cool stuff happen. And of course our producer, John Whiston, who fought the hard fight for us. It sounds like I'm accepting an award... Well, we should have been!
It was one of those periods of creativity where deadlines and schedules and budgets never interrupted the process. We were always on time, always over delivering, and always thrilled with the results of our efforts, despite the usual production difficulties. I've rarely loved what I do more than on this project.
Unfortunately, as I vaguely hinted at above, due to business-type things out of any of our control, the doors were closed and this project, as far as I know, has drifted off into the ether.
[Insert long and wistful sigh here]
This image is obviously unfinished, and it saddens me to think it never will be, especially since I was super happy with the direction it was going in, and had surprised myself a bit with it. But such is the way of the creative industries.
Sometimes bad things happen to good ideas.
This was to form something of a style guide for the first level in the game, and was rushed onto digital canvas in the early hours of a sleepless night as the realities of global finance marched inexorably towards dire circumstances.
Sound vague? Deliberately so. Business happens.
But to remain positive, it was an amazing team of people, and a really great product (can you believe we were regularly playtesting within a few weeks, and actually fighting for the controller?) Best of all, I had the incredible honour of being art lead/director on this project, and working with some people who truly humbled me. Illustrators like Jeremy Love, Mike Manalac, Richard Lyons, Brendan Deboy, Jared Pullen and Danh Nhan; the best 3D sidekicks ever in Dean Walshe, Kieran O'Sullivan and Stewart Alves; the awesome designers - Paul McInnes, Christian Carriere and Mark Hurst; and the coders - James Podesta and Shane Lontis - making all the cool stuff happen. And of course our producer, John Whiston, who fought the hard fight for us. It sounds like I'm accepting an award... Well, we should have been!
It was one of those periods of creativity where deadlines and schedules and budgets never interrupted the process. We were always on time, always over delivering, and always thrilled with the results of our efforts, despite the usual production difficulties. I've rarely loved what I do more than on this project.
Unfortunately, as I vaguely hinted at above, due to business-type things out of any of our control, the doors were closed and this project, as far as I know, has drifted off into the ether.
[Insert long and wistful sigh here]
This image is obviously unfinished, and it saddens me to think it never will be, especially since I was super happy with the direction it was going in, and had surprised myself a bit with it. But such is the way of the creative industries.
Sometimes bad things happen to good ideas.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Changing Allegiance
Ouch. It's been too long. So much for daily creativity, amiright?
Though it might not excuse me, I have a reason of sorts: My life is still transitory. I am here-and-there at the best of times, and sometimes who-knows-where? Not that I'm suffering; as a matter of fact, I feel better about (and more connected to) the important things than I have in years. It has been a wonderful shift in gears. I finally have time to see my friends and family. I've been taking time, just to take time.
I've been watching some television, reading some books, playing some games, and doing some nothing at all. And it's fantastic.
Not to say I've been uncreative. Some days I shoot some photographs. Other days I write a bit, or sketch up some ideas in my notebook. And quite a bit of the time I'm still doing the indy-game-thing.
I haven't been posting my endeavors, partly because I haven't really got all that much to post (it's hard to make code look exciting), and partly because I've been lazy about posting. I'll try to fix that. I am also, for the foreseeable future, going to have to renegotiate my contract. I would love to be in a place where I have at hand the time, the space and the equipment to be so optimistically proactive. But the thing is, I'm loving more right now just being able to coast... Meander... Take a breath and hold it...
So I'll talk briefly about the title of the post, else it makes no sense.
A change of sides; allegiances altered; an utter betrayal: XNA, I have something to tell you... There's someone else. It's not me, it's you. Yes, his name is Unity, and we're totally doing it.
And with that confession, I don't have much more to say right now. There's been a lot going on with Unity and I. Some coding, and designing, and objectifying, oh my! Later, when I'm slightly less transitory than I am at this very instant, I'll post some details of the sordid affair. With pictures. Oolala.
Until then, peace xox.
Though it might not excuse me, I have a reason of sorts: My life is still transitory. I am here-and-there at the best of times, and sometimes who-knows-where? Not that I'm suffering; as a matter of fact, I feel better about (and more connected to) the important things than I have in years. It has been a wonderful shift in gears. I finally have time to see my friends and family. I've been taking time, just to take time.
I've been watching some television, reading some books, playing some games, and doing some nothing at all. And it's fantastic.
Not to say I've been uncreative. Some days I shoot some photographs. Other days I write a bit, or sketch up some ideas in my notebook. And quite a bit of the time I'm still doing the indy-game-thing.
I haven't been posting my endeavors, partly because I haven't really got all that much to post (it's hard to make code look exciting), and partly because I've been lazy about posting. I'll try to fix that. I am also, for the foreseeable future, going to have to renegotiate my contract. I would love to be in a place where I have at hand the time, the space and the equipment to be so optimistically proactive. But the thing is, I'm loving more right now just being able to coast... Meander... Take a breath and hold it...
So I'll talk briefly about the title of the post, else it makes no sense.
A change of sides; allegiances altered; an utter betrayal: XNA, I have something to tell you... There's someone else. It's not me, it's you. Yes, his name is Unity, and we're totally doing it.
And with that confession, I don't have much more to say right now. There's been a lot going on with Unity and I. Some coding, and designing, and objectifying, oh my! Later, when I'm slightly less transitory than I am at this very instant, I'll post some details of the sordid affair. With pictures. Oolala.
Until then, peace xox.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Breach of Contract
So I've gone a few days now without creative exercise. But that hasn't been due to laziness. We're moving interstate, and it's a logistical nightmare. Packing and cleaning: Urgh.
I'll have to make it up with extra effort for each day I miss.
I'll have to make it up with extra effort for each day I miss.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
The Contract
I'm 32 and I want to do everything. That's my intro, and my problem.
Professionally, I am a lighting artist. To clarify, that's virtual. I don't deal with stage lights and gobos, and I don't carry a roll of gaffer tape (though I do imagine if I did I would find plenty of opportunities to use it). My skills have been utilised in television, feature film, and video games. Most recently I was in a lead artist position, which included a lot of art directing, and was something which I enjoyed immensely. And was grossly underqualified for.
I don't think I lack in creative vision. But I do severely lack in an ability to adequately explore and communicate my creative vision. And that has never been so painfully obvious as it was when I was forced to explain visual concepts verbally, or communicate an idea with naive and clumsy whiteboard drawings.
I spent some time sitting beside one of the most talented artists I've ever met. His name is Jeremy Love. Not this Jeremy Love (though he looks very talented also), but this one. This guy is made of awesome. He'd hate me if he knew I was praising him on the internet, but it was hard to sit beside him because I constantly found myself staring at his work in awe, which only made him uncomfortable because it's creepy, and left me feeling slightly embarrassed about whatever I was currently working on.
I imagine it'd be like playing golf with Tiger Woods, or fighting an invading alien species with Sigourney Weaver. It's impossible to measure up.
I had the pleasure of working with him directly on a project, and one particular moment stands out to me: I had this image in my mind, this idea that was so powerful to me it was burning my brain, and I became insanely frustrated with my inability to illustrate that vision. I needed to share it. Jeremy, in addition to being insanely talented artistically, apparently has telepathic voodoo powers, because he said "I think I know what you mean" and then rendered the thing in my head so effortlessly, and with so much clarity, I kind of wanted to hug him and stab him at the same time.
At that moment, the desire to have just an ounce of his tonnes of talent was overwhelming. I rushed home that day, and spent the whole night sketching.
The next day I was tired, a little cramped, and overwhelmingly embarrassed by the garbage I'd wasted hours of my life on. What was that? A hand? A helicopter? Oh nevermind, I think my pen just took a shit on the page.
Okay, so skill takes time and effort. Surprise! But I'm an instant gratification kind of guy. I guess I ended up specialising in lighting because for some reason, it resonated. I was good at it from the start, and quickly saw improvement in my work, so was motivated to continue. With illustration it's a much tougher fight for me. I need a way to force myself to muscle through the disappointing lack of talent, which brings me to the point of this post and in many ways, this blog.
Booniverse is my contract. It began with a New Year's resolution (one I actually want to keep), and is going to facilitate that by giving me a forum in which to... dump, I guess. As I inferred in the first paragraph, I want to do everything; illustration is just one of the things I need to learn. Game programming is another, into which I've made many inroads, but I'll save that for another post. Then there's a short film. Some more lighting work. Photography. Creative writing. Like I said, everything.
But without a forum to put stuff out there, and without signing that contract with myself to stop procrastinating and start doing, then I fear I'd be 50 and still moaning about what I never bothered to do. So here it is:
I, Boon Cotter, do solemnly swear to maintain my commitment with myself to daily pursue creative endeavors, regardless of my mood or disposition, ignoring lulls in motivation and inspiration, always recognising that this is a process of learning and growing and that failure is just successfully identifying an area in need of improvement.
Round two, begin.
Professionally, I am a lighting artist. To clarify, that's virtual. I don't deal with stage lights and gobos, and I don't carry a roll of gaffer tape (though I do imagine if I did I would find plenty of opportunities to use it). My skills have been utilised in television, feature film, and video games. Most recently I was in a lead artist position, which included a lot of art directing, and was something which I enjoyed immensely. And was grossly underqualified for.
I don't think I lack in creative vision. But I do severely lack in an ability to adequately explore and communicate my creative vision. And that has never been so painfully obvious as it was when I was forced to explain visual concepts verbally, or communicate an idea with naive and clumsy whiteboard drawings.
I spent some time sitting beside one of the most talented artists I've ever met. His name is Jeremy Love. Not this Jeremy Love (though he looks very talented also), but this one. This guy is made of awesome. He'd hate me if he knew I was praising him on the internet, but it was hard to sit beside him because I constantly found myself staring at his work in awe, which only made him uncomfortable because it's creepy, and left me feeling slightly embarrassed about whatever I was currently working on.
I imagine it'd be like playing golf with Tiger Woods, or fighting an invading alien species with Sigourney Weaver. It's impossible to measure up.
I had the pleasure of working with him directly on a project, and one particular moment stands out to me: I had this image in my mind, this idea that was so powerful to me it was burning my brain, and I became insanely frustrated with my inability to illustrate that vision. I needed to share it. Jeremy, in addition to being insanely talented artistically, apparently has telepathic voodoo powers, because he said "I think I know what you mean" and then rendered the thing in my head so effortlessly, and with so much clarity, I kind of wanted to hug him and stab him at the same time.
At that moment, the desire to have just an ounce of his tonnes of talent was overwhelming. I rushed home that day, and spent the whole night sketching.
The next day I was tired, a little cramped, and overwhelmingly embarrassed by the garbage I'd wasted hours of my life on. What was that? A hand? A helicopter? Oh nevermind, I think my pen just took a shit on the page.
Okay, so skill takes time and effort. Surprise! But I'm an instant gratification kind of guy. I guess I ended up specialising in lighting because for some reason, it resonated. I was good at it from the start, and quickly saw improvement in my work, so was motivated to continue. With illustration it's a much tougher fight for me. I need a way to force myself to muscle through the disappointing lack of talent, which brings me to the point of this post and in many ways, this blog.
Booniverse is my contract. It began with a New Year's resolution (one I actually want to keep), and is going to facilitate that by giving me a forum in which to... dump, I guess. As I inferred in the first paragraph, I want to do everything; illustration is just one of the things I need to learn. Game programming is another, into which I've made many inroads, but I'll save that for another post. Then there's a short film. Some more lighting work. Photography. Creative writing. Like I said, everything.
But without a forum to put stuff out there, and without signing that contract with myself to stop procrastinating and start doing, then I fear I'd be 50 and still moaning about what I never bothered to do. So here it is:
I, Boon Cotter, do solemnly swear to maintain my commitment with myself to daily pursue creative endeavors, regardless of my mood or disposition, ignoring lulls in motivation and inspiration, always recognising that this is a process of learning and growing and that failure is just successfully identifying an area in need of improvement.
Round two, begin.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)