All heroes cross a threshold into the realm of adventure. The line of demarcation will be represented by railroad tracks and a steam locomotive passing. I’ve decided to create the train digitally and composite it over the stop-motion set.
I really like the negative spaces left behind by the cut-outs:
There’s an old gun in a glass case on the mantle.The chrome and glass reflect the brightly burning fire below.A young man stares.Hypnotized by the flames, the power of violence, the masculinity enshrined within the box.His Grandfather, stoic as always, looks down at him dreaming.Through him.With painted eyes and lacquered sheen the painting dares him to claim his legacy.A barked order from Mother rips the kid from his violent daydream. There are the daily chores.More immediate.Ever more tangible.The pigs can’t wait.Neither can the chickens or cows.The gun can.It can wait forever in its glass coffin.Tedium.Sweat.Filth.The Earthy smell of beasts.The toil exchanges for meat and the meat exchanges for money.Money.Easy money.The gun can bring easy money.Robbing a bank would be preferable to wallowing in pig shit.Hitting a card game is quicker than waiting for a hen to lay a dozen eggs.Nine bullets could set him free in a matter of a single fraction of a second.As the sun sets and the chores are done he sets up bottles along the fence posts.One by one they shatter into stars.The hammer comes back, the bullet flies.Not always true but with six tries in the palm of his hand one will find its way to his purpose eventually.Thunder in his fist.The fury of Zeus exacted through the air.Speedy lead his thunderbolt.All targets shattered.A peace creeps in carrying with it an indigo twilight.He looks down at the power he has in his hand. The weight of it is the scale of justice.Judge, jury and executioner with a simple pull of the rigger.
A spring rabbit sniffs at a bottle shard then continues its search for more tender fare.How easily its fat body slides into his sights.A pink rabbit eye a tempting target.Its wet bulbous animal eye dares then beckons him to put it out.It was made for such sport.It just sits there unafraid munching dandelion greens getting fatter.His hammer pulls back the potential energy of the kill readied…
Coiled like a snake prepared to strike, committed to the violence foreseen by such an action…
A gentle hand on his shoulder distracts him from the rabbit.Coils already sprung spring spinning around to meet the intrusive pull.He meets his mother’s eyes with the barrel of the gun.
I’m forever fascinated by the way point of view influences how an image is perceived. Take these two images for example. The first is a birds-eye view of the animation table. The process of the image is laid bare exposing the construction elements of the set.
High Mesa Animation Table
High Mesa Sunset Composited
Now consider the next shot. The angle is carefully chosen to hide the structural elements leaving only the clean facade of the intended image. Add to that dramatic lighting and a composited background and you have movie magic!
The sky is heavy with dust. I’m not sure where it ends and the dry Earth begins. Try to imagine my horror as a black shadow flits across the only mark of direction. The vultures hear my cracked breathing and begin to circle.
Currently listening to: Leadbelly
“Where did you sleep last night?”
Filed under: Canyon Blue — Gonthromorph @ 10:43 pm
This poem by Robinson Jeffers found me as finished the paper puppet
I had walked since dawn and lay down to rest on a bare hillside
Above the ocean. I saw through half-shut eyelids a vulture wheeling
high up in heaven,
And presently it passed again, but lower and nearer, its orbit
narrowing,
I understood then
That I was under inspection. I lay death-still and heard the flight-
feathers
Whistle above me and make their circle and come nearer.
I could see the naked red head between the great wings
Bear downward staring. I said, “My dear bird, we are wasting time
here.
These old bones will still work; they are not for you.” But how
beautiful
he looked, gliding down
On those great sails; how beautiful he looked, veering away in the
sea-light
over the precipice. I tell you solemnly
That I was sorry to have disappointed him. To be eaten by that beak
and
become part of him, to share those wings and those eyes–
What a sublime end of one’s body, what and enskyment; what a life
after death.
After Months of agonizing over audio, the final cut of Ghost Conversations is here!
Currently in consideration for the following festivals:
Strange Beauty Film Festival
Central WI film Fest
Milwaukee Film Festival
Zero Film Festival – LA & NY
Festival De Du Film Merveilleux Et Imaginaire, France
Hardacre Film Festival
WI International Film Fest
Milwaukee Underground Film Fest
