#plasticine is a nightmare to work with | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

primordialfell · 1 year ago

Note

He digs a pincer out from the sand, massaging his hands over the absolutely colossal appendage to wake them up.

you've been quiet.

I don't see the point in tormenting you.

that's a lie.

I can't lie.

that is also a lie.

Believe whatever you've gaslit yourself into believing, worm guy. I have no interest in entertaining your hysterical delusion.

then why won't you give me a straight answer. what did you do to me?

Nothing, oh my me. Unlike some of us, I still respect the rules of the game. I haven't even gotten there yet.

you have no idea where i am.

Tell me, which would make you feel worse; knowing I did do it, and knowing I can touch you at any time, or knowing that I didn't, and knowing there are things just as horrific as I in this universe?

you're bluffing.

You wish. Don't worry. I'll be by to delliver the proof faster than you can say 'oneirophagy.'

YOU WAKE UP.

It's not a pleasant sensation and lately it hasn't been for a very long time. You're drowsy inbetween waking and sleeping. Your head is full of spines and static and they all sort of buzz at one another in an angry sound that makes you sick. You're back again. You keep coming back no matter how much you hate it here.

You're so sick. You're so tired. You wish you could just pick one and stay with it. Nothing feels right anymore ever since the nightmare and you hate that you can't go back. You have lost so many things and they will never come back; god damn them for letting your peace be among them.

Tiny hands touch your shell. They would be rotted off were they not belonging to the man that has seen into your soul, to the man whose doom is interlinked with yours.

Tell me, Eternatus; when you look at him and see doom, is it his? Or do you see your own, reflected back through the mirror of his understanding? What a cruel thing he is, to force a mirror upon a beast without a face.

" O' WATCHFUL MINE, " It is all you say, for you are bereft of words despite being their incarnation. Finding the words is so hard these days. Being around anyone is so hard these days. You're getting by, sure, but it's not easy, and you wish you could look at anyone without feeling this gap between you and them, this invisible wall of plasticine that keeps you locked out forever.

But you have learned what becomes of those who drift to close. You have known the arms of another and you have felt blades digging into the part of your mind that wishes to know mortality. It is terrifying. And so you peer at him from atop your high castle of thought, as though you are another regent of articulation ready to writ out decree.

This cruelty isn't like you. It makes you hurt so badly. But you must force yourself to be cruel. You aren't going to get hurt again. You aren't going to let someone else be hurt because you could not be.

I don't want to [abandon you]. But I'm not going to be responsible for your pain, either. It's best if you forget about me. It's best if you all just forget about me. I just need to work up the guts to make my exit once and for all.

" COME YOU HAVE TO SEEK MY WISDOM? OR TO PARLEY WITH THOUGHTS AND BLADES LIKE THE ONES WHO WALKED PAST US BEFORE? "

#redlegend #∞ ic.#∞ ask.#:(

5 notes · View notes

hyenarena · 2 years ago

Text

lets see how tumbler dot com likes…. this little plasticine model of my fursona that i still havent finished…

its 2 in the morning and i feel guilty for making a tumblr account for basically no reason so im really just trying to post anything but this is maybe not the place to go about that? whatever. still feels less public and exposed than twitter

#furry art #plasticine is a nightmare to work with #hyenarena makes art

1 note · View note

sparkmender · 3 years ago

Note

Oddly enough, despite the nightmares that seem to be plaguing others, this dream is peaceful. He is making his way through an archive of some sort, or a museum, it's hard to tell which. The walls are stacked with various items and datapads that are brimming with information, none of it redacted even! There are a few windows that are higher up but the curtains are pulled on them. An archivist kindly informs him that it's to keep out any potential light pollution or particles from outside to better preserve the items for the future.

The archivist is eager, even, explaining how different students and their teachers will come here from across Cybertron to learn about the past. About how to prevent some of the more disturbing facts from repeating again.

As they walk him down through an aisle he can see that there's a pair of mechs practicing different language modules from the Primal Vernacular. The words briefly reach him-

"Council member Six of-"

And then the hand is on his shoulder to turn him down another aisle that focuses on art. The method of developing pigments for painting older styles of framework art is shown step by step. Everything here is so beautiful and well kept.

Then the hands are helping him to step up towards what looks like a glass box. A simple looking throne, the archivist is explaining how the temperatures inside are kept at a level that will ensure no rust could ever start to grow. The casing is air tight so they won't need to disturb the piece that often in order to check it and clean it. Honestly, everything is practically self sufficient in there.

And they help him to sit down, light fingers arranging him and fussing with a polishing cloth to make sure he gleams. Adoring optics looking at him once the glass is put into place once more.

"It's perfect."

Maybe the problem really has been him all along. He was so ungrateful towards his keepers— saying the most terrible things, hurting himself when all they wanted to do was to keep him safe from a world of danger and cruelty.

If they were harsh, it was only because he needed to be punished; if they starved him, it was only because he had gotten too used to over-fueling a frame that needed very little. He denied himself the connection and intimacy his systems demanded, and they’d had to force it on him…

It is a beautiful library. A beautiful casket. He is beautiful, too. Everyone is beautiful. So very perfect he wants to cry, but crying might smudge the delicate gold embellishments painted on his faceplate, and the technicians worked so hard to draw them on just so.

He still weeps, wordlessly, trails of pure energon leaking down his alabaster plasticine and staining this whole glimmering world pink. He’s sorry. He’s really very sorry. He understands, now.

—Rung does not wake, but he shivers, ever so slightly, and smears tears against Megatron’s pillow as he clutches it to his chassis and buries his face in the foam. Whenever he does finally manage to pull himself from recharge, he’s likely not going to make it out of berth, today.

Not for a while.

2 notes · View notes

stuck-in-hawkins · 4 years ago

Text

When He Left: Chapter 1 October 28th, 1993

Stranger Things Fanfic: Byeler

Rated: Teen and Up

Summary: Will looked back to see Mike at the gate, his forced smile starting to crumble. Will had managed to get the chance of a lifetime: a scholarship to an arts college in California. He would be there among the monster makers of the movie industry. He was pursuing his dream, but what was he giving up in exchange?

It has been four years since Will left Hawkins. Everybody went in their own separate directions. But it has been 10 years since the Gate opened and Will's nightmares are getting worse. So, the party reunites and old feelings ignite.

link to read on ao3

October 28th, 1993

Will felt the sunlight across his face and opened his eyes. The covers were insulating the heat from him and the man laying beside him. That thick mop of black hair, the curvature of his tan back. Will reached out and traced the muscles beneath.

Ishaan stirred. Will thought, “Don’t wake up, don’t wake up.” He laid perfectly still. But alas, the man turned over and looked at Will, still groggy but the blanket of sleep quickly wearing off.

Will spoke softly, “Sorry I woke you. I was just gonna make breakfast.”

The man looked away and mumbled, “I have to get to work.”

There it was. The shame. Ishaan was a flame that Will seemed to keep flying back to. He was exactly his type. Tall, beautiful, and incapable of committing to a relationship. They were drawn to each other.

Ishaan was still very much in the closet. But he would come to clubs. He loved that Will had this quiet, inviting exterior. He’d actually told him this. That Will was safe. He wasn’t “that” gay. That he could pass as straight.

Ishaan had no idea about Will’s occasional drag nights.

Ishaan grabbed his clothes quickly with a speed Will had become familiar with. Will had hoped he could open Ishaan’s eyes, and help him learn to love and accept himself for who he was. But when the morning light came, so did the shame. Will embodied all the things Ishaan didn’t want to face and he would put as much distance between him as he could.

Will put on his pj bottoms and walked down the hallway in time to see Ishaan throw on his jacket.

“Ishaan.”

Eye contact.

“Someday, I’d love to have breakfast with you.”

Will could see him try to swallow a lump in his throat.

“I’m sorry, Will.” He opened the door and walked out.

Will padded his way to the kitchen, and opened the fridge, looking at the eggs and bacon sitting inside. He felt deflated. He could feel a familiar tug, trying to pull him back to bed so that he could curl under the covers. But he knew that if he did that, he’d lose the day. And it seemed like a beautiful one to waste. He turned to the window and cranked the handle, opening them. The air was fresh and warmed from the sun.

Will brought out the eggs, bacon, toast, and butter. He’d remembered feeling the same way Ishaan had. He remembered when he first came to the city in college and kept his identity confined to the night. He used to have a similar elitism, trying to separate himself from gay men that seemed especially feminine, doing anything he could to distance himself from the stereotypes that plagued his sexuality. But going to group helped with that. He opened his mind to become more accepting. He even experimented in his identity and found freedom in the exploration.

He cracked the egg into a bowl. Ishaan hadn’t wanted to go to any of the groups Will recommended. He was in denial. He picked up another egg. He thought, 'You're just something he craves.'

Crack.

“Damnit.” He’d gotten eggshells in the mix. He picked them out. Will was beginning to realize that it would take a lot of soul searching for Ishaan to accept himself. Something Will couldn’t help him with. How long would it take? How many more mornings did he have to watch him run out the door?

Will turned on the stove and let the butter simmer while he whisked the eggs together. Dustin’s words rang in his head.

‘You deserve to be more than someone’s secret.’ Dustin didn’t mince words but he was right. And it just seemed like Will was always drawn to the type that didn’t want to come out.

He heard a door open. Dustin groggily walked in from the hallway. “You are a Godsend. Is that eggs I smell?”

Will smiled. “And bacon will be next.”

“Screw all these other guys. Marry me.”

“Pretty sure there are some terms and conditions you wouldn’t be up for there.”

“Forget them. I’ll do all the butt stuff. Just make me eggs every day.”

Will threw the dish towel at him.

Dustin got the grounds out and started making coffee. “Your man-friend still here?”

Will shook his head.

“That’s too bad. He’s missing out on an awesome breakfast.” He smiled, “And some great company.”

Will smirked. He loved living with Dustin.

___________________________

After breakfast Will got ready for work. It was Sunday and he knew he didn’t have to go in, but he needed a reason to get out of the flat. He didn’t want to sit alone, pining for Ishaan. Will could feel that it was ending. It was a transition that he’d done before. It felt all too familiar but still hurt.

The worst part was seeing them months later, out, proud, and in a relationship. He’d be happy for them, but then he’d wonder. Why hadn’t it been with him? Why wasn’t he enough? Why did it seem like they only changed after he left?

But then, again, he knew that wasn’t always true. There were guys that never came out. Like Hartford, who had a wife and kids that were completely unaware of his Friday escapades. Dating him, being his side piece, was a low point for Will.

And then of course…. There had also been Mike.

‘Nope,’ Will thought. He shut down that train of thought and brought out his sketchbook. He needed to distract himself with a project. Studio time helped with that. After all this time, he still had a weakness with Mike. He’d made his peace with pretty much every guy after. But with him, there was a tenderness that had never faded. And if he thought about Mike when he was like this, in the throes of rejection, he’d fall to pieces.

He grabbed his headphones out of his bag as the Metro carried him across town to his stop. These days, his Walkman turned mostly Sonic Youth albums. Today it was Dreamnation. He got off and headed to The WereHouse.

It was a prop house popular among the independent filmmakers and even the occasional large studio. It was owned by two brothers. One ran the historical prop store, located in another part of town. That shop was mostly a gallery of antiques from all different periods, some originals, some reproductions. That had been where Will had gotten his start, running around thrift stores, estate sales, and antique shops trying to find period correct pieces for their inventory.

But when his boss saw Will’s sketchbook, he got transferred to The WereHouse. The other brother’s creative dungeon of fantasy, sci-fi, and horror props and prosthetics. Will was living his dream, getting to make monsters for movies. Though… most of his work consisted of prop dummies that ended up being burned, buried, or otherwise mutilated. Some weeks were spent meticulously painting disembodied limbs, fingers, and heads. Occasionally larger more creative opportunities arose, like the one he was working on now.

The whole project was very hush hush. When studios put out work like this, they were looking for more than monsters: they were looking for talent. Will was pouring in extra hours because getting this deal would mean he’d be part of something big. It wouldn’t just be low cost props for independent filmmakers. They’d have the backing of a studio. It meant potentially being a part of the next blockbuster.

He could be responsible for the next Xenomorph. The idea was both terrifying and elating. As a result, he spent most of his days either drawing or sculpting with the occasional break to eat and sleep. But it took his mind off of the trials and failures of his love life.

He opened the door and nodded to Anderson, who manned the reception desk. He was currently nose deep in the novel, Dune.

Will walked through the vestibule, where some of the past projects were displayed and made his way through the giant room with shelves scraping the ceiling. One row consisted of nothing but body parts: From whole limbs and torsos to severed fingers and toes. On another row, there was a treasure trove of cursed objects: elvish daggers, cauldrons of all different sizes, stitched leather books, crystals of every color.

Will remembered how awestruck he was the first time he came here… well, honestly for the few months. Now, it was just a part of his life. He’d still get these moments of “I can’t believe I’m working my dream job.” But it had become his new norm. He wished the whole party could see it. Dustin had completely lost his shit when he saw it. But they were the only two of the party in Burbank.

Not for long, though. Lucas was nearly finished his last year in the Navy, and Dustin had been pulling every string he could to make sure Lucas got a position as an engineer at the company he worked for, AECOM. Max has been living with her dad on the coast the past few years. Despite being in the same state, she was still about five hours away. Once Lucas was back on shore, there was a chance of them getting back together and her moving closer. But she had that software job and it was more likely Lucas would move up to her.

Over the years, Will had tried to convince Mike to come over to the coast, to get out of Hawkins. Maybe if the rest of them were together, that would be enough to change his mind.

Will walked into the studio, a large space lined with workbenches and cork boards. Mannequins, busts, and chairs for prosthetics and monster makeup were scattered around the room. And the whole space smelled of curing latex, acrylic paint, and plasticine clay. He sat down at the spot reserved for him, that had pictures tacked up as inspiration, along with a multitude of sketches. And there on the bench was a little model, about a foot high, that he had been carving out and tweaking all week. This was the 3rd version.

The studio was looking to create a new kind of monster. Normally, the producer or director would give some parameters of guidelines. But this one was an open book, which meant it was an audition of sorts. Will looked at his board.

In truth, it wasn’t the monster that was terrifying. It was the world the writer built, the atmosphere the director created. The actors, who made the audience care about the characters on the screen. Even the best monster design could be undone with poor timing, shoddy lighting, or terrible acting. They were all vital components of the final product. Once the audience cared about the world, about the characters, they would become invested. Will’s mind began to ponder.

The scariest parts about everything he experienced was the fear of losing it all. Of never seeing his mom, brother, or friends again. Of being alone at the end. Nothing had been more terrifying than losing himself to the mind flayer. To feel his words and body being driven by another. The most terrifying monsters were the ones that you didn’t see. The ones that transformed characters you loved from human to monster.

Will took pictures of his miniature model as it was. He always did before destroying it. Then, he squished the sculpted figure, wedged the clay back into a ball. From there he began the shaping of a human figure. But he arched the back, as if the body was fighting against itself. Where the spine was, legs that were like spiders but out of bone emerged. The muscle tearing at itself, reattaching to the new limbs. The most frightening monster was the one you watched yourself become.

Art was cathartic. It was how he processed everything. It was what got him through the worst parts of college. It gave him power and strength. He had control over his nightmares now. He could create them and destroy them with his own two hands.

In so many ways, coming to California saved him. He learned methods to cope with his identity, with his trauma. He was in a new place where there were less things to trigger flashbacks. The fear didn’t rule his life like it once had. There were days he questioned whether it was all even real. But, lately, he could feel himself backsliding. His nightmares were getting more vivid. They were trying to claw their way into his life here. They held on tighter so that it was harder to wake up. Sometimes, he forgot them as soon as he woke up. He'd be in a cold sweat, the fear shaking him, and he couldn't remember a thing. He was relieved that Ishaan had stayed the night. Having someone beside him seemed to keep the nightmares at bay. This week, he dreamt about the Mind Flayer, about being trapped inside his own head. He remembered sending his friends the code to close the gate. He knew what it meant. He had been resigned to it. It was a cost he had been willing to pay to ensure that the Shadow Monster would be dead for good. He woke up in tears at how willing he had been to accept his death. He cried at all the things he would have lost and felt relief to be alive.

It was because his family managed to pull it from him. His party refused to leave him behind.

He sculpted the man’s pained face. He hoped that if this movie got made, that they’d save the man. That the characters would be as heroic as his friends had been. _____________________________________

Will got off the metro, exhausted, both mentally and physically. Eight hours in a chair, bent over his desk and sculpting, did a number on his back.

He was still listening to Sonic Youth so he didn’t hear the chatter as he reached his floor. He didn’t hear the laughter when he put the keys in the lock. He didn’t hear the voice of the man that used to make his stomach flutter. If he had, he would have prepared himself. He would have made sure to tuck his heart in his chest, instead of on his sleeve.

But alas, he opened the door unsuspecting and the sound he made betrayed himself. It held in it all the love he felt in seeing him again.

“Mike.”

18 notes · View notes

leo-mcmahon · 4 years ago

Text

Stop motion Animation

Stop motion is a form of animation where creators make real life scale models of characters, settings, environments and backgrounds. They can be made using many different kinds of materials such as plasticine, wires, foam, plastic and many others. The animation is made similar to 2D traditional animation where an image is taken and the model is moved slightly and another image is taken to give the impression or illusion of movement.

Stop motion has been around for many years. When the first few different types of cameras were being created, stop motion was starting out, as early as the late 1800’s with the first ever stop motion animation documented being “The humpty dumpty circus.” This animation was created in 1898 and is an animation about a day in the life of a toy circus. While this is the first recorded stop motion we have, there is a lot of speculation as to when it first originated.

Although there can't be footage found of the animation it was the gateway that led to other people eventually creating stop motion animation. Another example of an old Stop motion is “The Haunted house.”

This animation was one that incorporated footage with actual people as well as stop motion of other objects moving around to give the illusion that the house is haunted as random objects are doing their own task and it looks like they're being moved by a ghost.

These stop motion films helped us progress and grow, being able to make more professional looking stop motion films that we see and make today. Today we have animations like “the nightmare before christmas” or “paranorman.” These films are both fully stop motion and wouldn't be possible today without the earlier videos of stop motion. By this point, stop motion animations would use much more advanced techniques and equipment in order to create new films. The would use clay and models in order to animate a moving puppet

A very good example of a recent stop motion film is “Paranorman”

The film was made in 2012 by the company Laika and used the same techniques used in stop motion since it began.

The characters are a specific type of puppet that has a skeleton made from a malleable type of metral and the body being created from a different material such as clay, foam or sponge along with some fabrics in order to make their clothes.

This company also has multiple expressions and mouth movements which they would switch out quickly in order to animate the character talking or expressing a certain emotion. They use this same process in many stop motion films. They either to that or in shows and films such as Wallace and Gromit, the clay that makes the head can be manipulated and moved to change the expression.

Here is an example of the different expressions of a character from “the Boxtrolls.” All these expressions are just for this one character and the quick changing, having one expression on for only a few frames in order to give the illusion that the face is moving normally.

Each character within the production will have a specific list of clothing, expressions and lip syncing which are given to those working on the puppets so they can get it ready for the animators.

Animation is not just used for films and entertainment. There are many different uses for animation. It is used in many other fields of the media industry, this includes: advertisements, video games, individual artists and many other areas. Animation is important for many of these fields and many more companies who rely on it for their day to day life.

1 note · View note

keelywolfe · 5 years ago

Text

FIC: Severed Bonds (Chapter 13)

Summary: Edge, Jedi Knight, is lost in a Galaxy without the Jedi Order and the only one left to him is one who already betrayed them all.

Tags/Warnings: Spicyhoney, Star Wars AU, Darkfic, Angst, Minor Character Deaths, Friends to Enemies to ?, Hatesex…?, Trauma, Implied Possible Insanity, Rough Sex, Lemons, Mentions of Prostitution, Violence, Possessiveness

Notes: It’s been a while, so as a reminder, please read the tags!

Severed Bonds: a Spicyhoney SW AU

CH1 | CH2 | CH3 | CH4: Interlude | CH5 | CH6: Interlude 2 | CH7 | CH8 | CH9 | CH10 | CH11 | CH12 |

Read Chapter 13 on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

When Edge woke again, it was still ship’s night. He didn’t remember falling asleep while trying to concoct a plan to deal with Rus’s nightmares, but a glance at the chronometer told him it had only been a few hours. The bed next to him was empty, not entirely unusual, but the faint rapping on the door was. Something was stirring in the Force, he could feel it. Not a warning so much as an ominous hum. It made him cautious, but the only thing on the other side of the door was BD-7.

It let out a quavering, uncertain sound and that alone gave Edge pause. The little droid had proven to be almost foolishly bold, so for him to be unsettled was cause enough to be wary.

“What is it?” He slid on his boots and hooked his lightsaber to his belt, following the little droid out into the ship proper.

He heard it before he saw it, rustling and loud muttering, the sound of things being slammed around. He knew it was Rus before he even reached out to brush against his shields. But they were seamlessly tight, no give at all beneath his light probe, rebuffing any mental touch.

“Stay here,” Edge murmured. The small droid’s mechanical face was impressively expressive. He didn’t make so much as a beep and it was apparent that he was not keen on this idea. But Edge would not relent; Rus was less likely to try to hurt him and even if he did, Edge was far better equipped to handle it than one droid who didn’t even reach their knees, whose only weapon was a welding tool.

Edge inhaled slowly, settling himself in calm, and stepped into the crew cabin. And directly into a wreck; data rods and star maps strewn everywhere, equipment Rus had been working on smashed, even what looked like a few of their cups shattered into rubble on the floor. Impressive considering that the plasticine should have been unbreakable. Rus was sitting at the table with yet another map laid out in front of him, scribbling on it with an old-fashion stylus. The slashes of black were barely legible and mostly consisted of foul swearing, in every language Edge knew and several other besides.

The dark shadows staining beneath his sockets were stark against the paleness of his skull, but Russ’s eye lights were blazing unevenly, symptomatic of whatever was currently haunting him and Edge only stood there, aching; it was as if every step of progress they’d made towards some kind of sanity had broken along with the cups.

“i don’t know where we can go,” Rus said suddenly, breaking the silence. He was only half-dressed, in his trousers with his tunic hanging open, exposing his rib cage. For all that he was sitting, there was a manic energy around him, his legs jittering, the bare bones of his feet clacking against the deck as he frantically wrote, “we can’t stay here much longer, we’ve already been in one place too long, but i don’t know where—“

He raked the stylus suddenly over the map, ugly, looping scrawls of blackness, then cast it carelessly aside. It fell like a dying leaf, settling silently on the floor with the others.

Cautiously, Edge stepped closer, studying the scattered maps. There was one hanging off the table as yet unmarked and he saw a name he recognized. Pinching the corner between two fingers, he pulled it loose, studying it. “We could go to Ebott.”

Rus stilled and the peculiar heaviness in the air grew. “that’s an incredibly stupid idea.”

“we’d blend in!” It was true; Ebott was their home planet and there would be plenty of their species there. Surely no one would give them more than a second glance, especially if they dressed to match the natives. They’d be nothing more than faces in a crowd, unremarkable.

“we’d stand out like a pair of fools begging to be shot square between the sockets!” Rus countered, sneering, “it’s obvious to anyone who looks at us we’re from two different clans! how exactly do you plan on explaining that?”

"I…" Rus was right, he realized. He had no memory of living on Ebott himself, they'd both been taken by the Jedi when they were still babes in arms. But his own people, the Fell clan, were reported to be violent, warmongering ones and the Swap clan were strictly pacifists. There would be few reasons for them to travel together on that planet unless--

Rus smirked suddenly and his laugh was sharp enough to cut, to leave thin slashes on the surface of Edge’s soul, “ah, i see. you were hoping to pretend i was your slave, is that it?"

“No. No, I would never…” Edge whispered, horrified. He should have backed off, shouldn’t have spoken at all. But Rus’s eye lights were brightening, glowing savagely and his laughter was a bittersweet poison, echoing in the small room.

"if that's how you want to play, you only needed to ask," Rus swept an arm over the table, sending data rods and star maps flying, scattering across the messy floor. He lay back on the cleared table, spreading his legs wide and crossing his arms over his head at the wrist. "i know how to play this one. Come on, master, take what you want."

Edge didn't move, frozen, only the agitated throb of his soul within. He couldn’t move, staring in bleak horror at Rus writhing on the table, on the scarred bones of his rib cage, the savage darkness of Force gathering around him. Some distant, bitter seed deep inside him was amazed that anything Rus did could still shock him, proven when he was suddenly Force-seized and dragged forward, pulled between Rus's knees.

"yes, master, please,” Rus begged, mockingly, wrapped slim legs around Edge’s pelvis to hold him in, grinding against him. ”i'll be a good boy, oh, please!!"

Horrifyingly, his body reacting to being pressed close to Rus, hardening as he listened to those throaty cries. His cock didn't care about the sneering glitter in Rus's eye lights, didn’t care about the pain layered beneath it. Even so, Edge did not fight him, couldn’t, only allowed Rus to press and writhe against him with increasing fervor as he didn’t react.

"oh, i see, i've got it wrong." Rus voice rose again, and this time it held no mocking. His words were desperate and fearful as he pleaded raggedly, "no! no, please, no more! No more, master i can’t—" he shuddered and collapsed limply against the table, like one who’d given up, given in to degradation and it was real, too real, like a memory come to life and—

"Stop it!" Edge roared. He yanked desperately away, stumbling back, but he could still feel the press of Rus against him, the heavy hardness of his cock between his legs.

That false vulnerability was gone in a blink as Rus sat up, and he was laughing again, sharp and mocking, ”go on, jedi. go jerk off and think about me. i’ll be waiting when you’re ready to fuck.”

Edge couldn’t do this; emotions battering against his own shields, his own fear, his shame, and worse, his bitter anger, anger at Rus, at himself, because he knew exactly why Rus was so broken. And he knew who was at fault.

Edge spun on his heel and walked rapidly away, down the main corridor, through the hold and down the ramp to the planet surface. It was darker outside, the dual suns never went lower than the crest of the horizon, and only marginally cooler than before.

He sat on the end of the ramp, breathing in the hot, dusty air that was still cooler than the burn within him. He stared out at the wastelands around him, nothing but boulders and dust in sight, focused on each rock formation, studying them as he calmed. It took a long time, too long, for him to wrestle back his control and only when he had it did Edge reach for the Force. Brief, unwanted fear pierced, that this would be the time it slipped away from him, but the Force only flowed into him as it always had, cool and serene.

Only when his shields and emotions were firmly back in place did Edge venture back into the ship. Rus was gone and BD-7 was there instead, carefully picking up the data rods one at a time and stacking them. There were a lot and it would take him the rest of the night on his own.

Edge crouched down and gathered a handful of them. "Let me help."

BD-7 chirped mournfully, not a protest, but the worried sound of a friend who’d seen something they shouldn’t. With a quiet sigh, Edge patted his head, his bone fingers clattering lightly against metal.

“It’s my choice to be here,” Edge told him quietly. “I won’t leave Rus alone.” He made no mention of his past agreement, that he belonged to Rus, but it was true. He’d made his decision, thrown everything that he was into Rus’s lot, and he would stay here to whatever grim end might await them. But he wouldn’t make that choice for any other sentient. “You don’t have to stay here. We can find a safe place for you, not on this planet, perhaps the next—“

A loud blatting sound interrupted him, wordlessly telling him BD-7’s opinion on that. Edge smiled involuntarily, even as guilty relief thickened in his throat, “Very well, then. Together we go.”

Between the two of them, they cleaned up the crew cabin quickly enough. Data rods put away and the star maps set aside to be cleaned by the maintenance droids. Weariness was pulling on Edge, interrupted sleep coupled with plain exhaustion from days of hard work, but he decided to go to the mines early rather than try to sleep. The sooner they had enough credits, the sooner they could leave this wretched place.

Rus wasn’t in their room, likely hidden away belowdecks, and Edge dressed quickly in his gear, settling the mask over his skull. BD-7 clung to his shoulder as he walked to the speeder, skittering into one of the saddlebags to hide as Edge powered it on and headed towards town.

A few klicks along and the slumped shadow of the mining town was within view. Edge did not see the smaller shadows that separated out, moving behind him, the half-dawn light concealed their dust clouds as he rode on. Multiple trails that followed him through the deserted plains, growing closer, closer, traveling along behind him.

~~*~~

TBC

#Spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #star wars AU #please read the tags

29 notes · View notes

indomitablemegnolia · 5 years ago

Text

I wonder if it’s just me who wakes up in the morning and need help to lift my head? Who hears stories or reads the obituaries and have to quell that feeling of bitter jealousy of the dead? I feel as if I have lived my life for the memorable past hanging from my bloody nails from the cliffside not knowing when I will just release and fall or if I could just dive. Though just out of pure stubborn ritual I can not let that sweet oblivious void swallow my being. I ponder if anyone else knows what it is to die alive? to die alive? I once knew a world of vivid and succulent color, but suddenly it has faded to those trying grays and black and white. When tomorrow is no longer that sweet promise, but an encroaching darkness that terrifies me. Yes, tomorrow fills me with terror and a sick sadness, but to turn, no to look back would undoubtedly kill what is left of my soul.

I don’t know… I am sure you don’t know. I have done my stint, served my dime in hell, and in these reverse dog years, it is already an eternity.

I say I am hurting and I am sure it doesn’t show. Not the way most others let it. It lays me low, oh so low to feel this life slowly drain, feeling it seep from me, I watch it ebb from my grasp before I even lived. I hear some say to just let it go, to accept it as it comes. Accept, I have abided this nonlife, this un-being for it seems an forever. So how can I accept even less? I feel this sensation, like screaming, like rending my soul, grating my voice broken and my throat bloody, but my lips never part, I never make a sound. The rush of falling, but my feet staying planted firmly on the ground.

This keeps trudging on, these feelings rushing at me day after day after day after day. I am a lost lonesome refugee, a fugitive from the island of Dr. Moreau. Some monstrous, creature only existing to spite fate, on the run, the only thought propelling me is if it gets me, will it kill me, an accused never knowing what it was that I had done.

Ah, so this is what that feels like…

Oh, the feelings of late so very foreign to me, I can no longer recognize myself in the mirror. My mother asks me why I am always angry, and I do feel it flare to a atomic flame in that moment, but I try to convince her and myself that it wasn’t always simmering at a high boil. Anger, different from raging, a raging is focused a battle mentality, anger is just there, no vent, no target and there is nothing that can be done. I am able to tamp it down for the most part during my waking hours. Some may think anger is passionate, an inspiring ignition, but no, in feeling it it is a helpless, no it is a feckless feeling, useless beyond any bemused control. I panic because I need all of my control, my power, my skills as a hunter a killer to banish my bane, but the anger is causing this to suppurate and poison everything. I never wanted to be the purple HULK!

Yes, as always I try to Psycho-analyse myself walking myself back to the origin point, but that helps as much as having a extra toe, interesting in conversation but in base and practice eh. Yes, I am depressed, not needing a pint of ice cream and good cry, but that sick and horrible feeling. I go to sleep with an iron clad knot deep in my belly, I wake shivering and panicked, frightened to the core. Petrified I lie still as flat as I can, willing the tremors and shakes to abate, wicking the cold sweat from my brow, from my soul. The trick of the subconscious, when your defenses are down it allows all those fears, losses, grotesque ideas to surface.

All of this wasted time, wasted effort, looking to pay off as well as waging a whole paycheck on lotto numbers. GODS, WHY?? Why me? Why here? Why do I have to drag so much down with me as I feel this battle slipping from my fingers? AGAIN that anger flares and hot tears drench my face. I try to sleep to escape the torment, only to wake with flashes of fear, oxygen trapped, unable to leave my lungs, leaving me unable to draw any more air in, panic and pains brutal edges of malice cut through my consciousness. Disorganized and frantic, my heart breaks again and again, the cold broken shards dig into my numbed flesh. My brain is fractured, recounting, broken, my thoughts a disaster, a train wreck. The broken mangled memories left to bleed on the tracks like an accident victim. My lithe words have abandoned me, left alone in a mine field.

I try to talk my self down, telling me it was just my mind, just my memory. My mind so disassociated, I can’t even work up a panicked sob. A nightmare that’s right, it was a nightmare that woke me, but truly more than a nightmare, less than a dream, a reality revisited. Air and screams trapped, captured; in my throat silence is what greets me on the other side of that wakeful barrier. Petrified I lie still, as flat as I can, willing the tremors and shakes to abate, swiping the cold sweat from my brow, but I can never take it from my soul. The trick of the subconscious, when defenses are down it allows all those fears, losses, grotesque experiences surface, those visitations from the past sneak back up to the top of my brain, I suffer the scourge yet again. Caustic emotions are only thing simmering on the top of my soul, as I surface from a fitful sleep.

Before this feeling only triggered and on a lower level by the date, an action or phrase but always it affects, but at so much a fraction of this nightmare. I swing my legs over the edge of the bed holding my head in my hands, still trying to shake the shivers that rack my body. I push myself up to a standing position and walk as steadily and assured as I can muster out my door down the hall to the bathroom. I don’t even bother to turn on the light I just lean heavily against the sink, run cold, cold water from the tap and splash my face. The water pools refusing to go smoothly down the drain, that anger sparks HIGH, I stop myself from tearing the plug from the throat of the drain and using it to pummel the Plasticine basin. I look up at the mirror, disgusted by what I see, that horrible grotesque characture of who I used to be. The dark circles of unshed tears under my eyes encompass my face. I try to wash the memories away, but since they are scars ingrained on the very core of my soul they taunt me as they course away, “I am there, stealthy still waiting for any break in your armour. I am there beneath the water’s surface, tentacles waiting to wrap around your ankles to drag you under the surface again and starve you of your oxygen, your hope.”

I close my eyes and let my soul scream, trying to cover the taunting, a long loud piercing scream, the kind that will echo through the universe reverberating off of every harmonic alcove.

Ah, for those who ask and inquire This is how I feel, how I am, and I am not sure when it will cease to be…

Ben Franklin famously said Let thy discontents be thy secrets… sorry Ben… I have never been good at keeping a secret…

@pedeka @keeper0fthestars @iamhisgloriouspurpose @writernotwaiting

15 notes · View notes

dukeofriven · 6 years ago

Text

Captain Marvel Didn’t Need A Subplot About Sad Familyman Pain: A Very Late Captain Marvel Review

So I finally saw Captain Marvel last night (like a week ago now but it was the Tuesday before Endgame came out and then this sat in my drafts folder for days and days) - yep, down to the wire almost - so I’ve obviously missed all the Super Important Captain Marvel discourse that Tumblr prattled on about: still, I’ll add my thoughts to the pile.

An incredible cast with great chemistry can do nothing to fix one of the blandest scripts since Doctor Strange, which at least had imaginative vistas and unusual set design to carry some of the story-telling weight. Captain Marvel is possibly the worst-looking Marvel film: at the very least I am confident it is probably the worst-edited, and unquestionably the worst-lit film in all the Marvel canon. Captain Marvel almost consciously doesn't seem to want you to see anything in the movie, going out of its way to shoot scenes at night, in boring and dark spaceships, and in sandstorms at night on dark planets. Lousy fight choreography, coupled with rapid-fire edits with lousy coverage, made the film’s frequent hand-to-hand combat scenes visual nightmares. The worst offender is probably Danvers’ escape from the Skrull ship, in which basic shot-to-shot continuity is lost. The action becomes a literal blur as an anarchic assembly of seemingly-random coverage is cut together to create a confusing mess of movement. A fantastic late-film aerial dog fight and an incredibly powerful 'gloves come off' space sequence make the movie's last twenty minutes its visually strongest, but can't repair the damage done by the previous 90 minutes of blur and uncertain scene geography. (Rogue One has this exact same problem viz. rear-loading the entire movie onto the last twenty minutes.) The movie is at its best when it chucks the undeveloped plot out the window and just lets characters talk to one another, revealing their warmth and great on-screen chemistry, making otherwise forgettable dialogue work through great delivery and comedic timing. This is how most MCU films work anyways: good-to-great actors take weak dialogue and make it work through talent and charm. Off the top of my head I can’t think of any dialogue in the MCU that’s good for reasons other than excellent delivery: Marvel doesn’t seem to care much for writers who have a grip on the craft of dialogue.

The moment the plot reasserts itself, which usually means pretending that anyone cares about Jude Law's one-note bad guy, anything good about the film disappears. There's the bones of a great movie here hampered by incredibly poor framing decisions. Rather than reduce the flashbacks to five-second bursts of mental confusion, a better version of the film would have had two parallel stories A) Carol's quest to become a great pilot while fighting against prejudice and B) A present-day fight to regain that past. As is, the film makes the pretence that it has a feminist theme about overcoming patronizing men, but in practice this is introduced through jumbled flashbacks at the start of the film, essentially dropped for the rest of the run-time, and suddenly re-introduced at the final moments with a triumphant declaration of "I don't need your approval." Had the movie spent any of its middle running time acting like Carol was being patronized by anyone, this might have carried more weight. However, perhaps unwilling to make Nick Fury seem sexist in any way, Carol spends most of the movie surrounded by completely supportive people who do nothing but tell her how great she is. A single shitty stranger on a motorcycle with four lines of dialogue does not a 'triumph against chauvinism' narrative make. Even Jude Law's villain seems to be holding Carol back largely out of a need to follow orders and make sure her brainwashing was working - not out of any chauvinistic impulses. You could make the argument that the brainwashing is an analogy for the way patriarchy brainwashes women into accepting false limitations, but the movie isn’t that subtle: it wears its themes on its sleeve. Besides, you don’t get the sense that the Kree are doing anything out of gender motives - frustrating given that neighbouring franchise Guardians of the Galaxy has proven time and time again that you can still fo Asshole Space Chauvinist without detracting from the heroism of the leading female. (Well, sorta. Guardians 2 does this much better than 1). Part of the problem is that Jude Law spends most of the movie on a ship waiting to get to Carol and having exposition-only phone calls. We get very little sense of Carol's relationship with him outside of the opening punch-up in a dojo - and the weakness is reinforced by Law’s character insisting only that Carol isn’t ready yet to do various things. This could work - there’s more to sexism than blunt and obvious HURR DURR WYMINS CAN’T DO THINGS declaration, but the the narrative repeatedly demonstrates that Jude Law is correct. It takes the whole movie for Carol to learn how to take her own breaks off. Which is a serious problem when she confronts the villain insisting he’d been holding her back. Not... not really, Carol. At no point in the movie did you seem like you were holding back because Jude Law’s voice was in your head telling you you weren’t good enough. You didn’t do X, Y, Z things because you just didn’t know how to do them, and you needed more experience. Jude Law spends the whole movie... not being wrong? It’s an issue. So when Carols stands there and says ‘I've never needed your approval” or some-such it’s great on a thematic level to see a female superhero so utterly reject the so-called necessity of some kind of male mentor (and if nothing else everything Carol learns in the film she learns on her own) - but it’s nonsense in the context of the film itself, where Carol spends most of it ignoring anything Jude Law says to her and doing her own thing, It weird to have her reject a man who has power over her - when he has had no power over her since the pre-credits sequence. She doesn’t listen to him at all the moment they go on their first mission. And, again, despite the text of the movie that framing suggest that Jude Law is not wrong about her not being ready to do the Light Thing until she was ready to do The Light Thing. A better movie would let Larson’s great chemistry with Lashana Lynch sing. I was so hyped going into this movie because Larson was quoted as saying that the “real” relationship of the movie was between Danvers and Rambeau but it’s... it’s not. Maybe in the script Larson originally filmed, maybe it felt that way on set, but if that was the case then it’s completely lost in the edit, where Rambeau has a nice through-line about regaining her place as a pilot but whose relationship with Danvers is mostly relegated to being another “no you’re super great Carol” hype man. Her best scene - where she and Carol sit down and she says how hard is was to lose her best friend - is undermined by some of the most mawkish music ever inflicted on a Marvel film; all the power of the acting marred by a track that sounds like it came out of All My Children. In a better movie we’d get to see Carol live her life as a woman triumphing in a sexist airforce - half the movie should be flashbacks that build to that fatal, final flight. Danvers and Rambeau meet and crush on one another, mutually crush on Annette Benning (because god-damn), fly planes, fly better than anyone else flying planes, and do karaoke together to forget all the shitty airforce dudes in the lives who resent their good, good plane flying. This shitty people might have identities as villains and maybe do double-casting with Jude Law so we can see the parallels in her old life and her new life instead of pretending for an hour that Jude Law is her friend - like hell, movie, we’re not stupid, that’s not a shock. You cut between those scenes and modern Carol - and you do Good Writing Stuff like make New Carol a different person than old Carol: more timid, more cowed by the brain washing, more subservient to this guy who feeds her approval and virtue. You know - the stuff you do when you want to tell a movie about gaslighting like actually feature gaslighting. And we, the audience, who can see old Carol and how incredible and tough and take-no-shit she was, stare at the screen with burning eyes, hating Jude Law’s guts and waiting for the moment Carol beats his shitty ass into the ground and smooches Rambeau. And we see that Carol come back - fighting and clawing against this brain chip. And maybe the Supreme Intelligence could actually be in the movie as a villain like the movie seemed to want, instead of a brief cameo at the start of the film and then a baffling return at the end as some kind of ‘final boss’ that we don’t give a damn about because they sat out the entire movie. The film should come to a head with the crash of the experimental jet coinciding with the moment Carol remembers it in the present - maybe we take it a step further and use that great Skrull framing device at the start of the film: the past and the recent present align in the actual-present in the Skrull machine as Carol both remembers her old life, realizes the Skrulls are just trying to help her, and wakes up. Her eyes Do The Thing and she leaps out the back of Rambeau’s plane and blows the Supreme Intelligence’s armada up (not Ronan, because nobody gave a shit the first time why would you introduce a nobody like this instead of the person you want to be the Big Bad in your movie?) like a badass just like she does in the current film and then beats the shit out of Jude Law for some serious emotional catharsis. A casualty of this would be less screen time for Samuel L. Jackson. Who gives a shit? This is Carol and Rambeau‘s movie not Scary CGI Plasticine Jackson and Really, Really, Really Scary CGI Plasticine Clark Greg’s movie. You might get less Ben Mendelsohn too. A shame but, and I can’t stress this enough this should be a movie about Carol and Rambeau and Anette Bening. Ben Mendelsohn’s need to reunite with his loving wife and daughter has no place here. Did not need a subplot about manpain.

Or, conversely, if you want a movie about a totally badass female superhero kicking ass then cut out the gaslighting plot entirely. Make a different movie. Go the Iron Man route where Tony Stark is allowed to be an egotistical badass throughout and nobody ever patronizes because we don’t write movies about men that way. Just do the same for Carol (but not literally, because Ant-Man already did “Iron Man But Again” and it sucked). Really: you want to write the great feminist superhero movie? Don’t make it about a woman’s struggles against shitty men. Just make it about an awesome woman doing awesome things and stop making The Woman’s Superhero Movie be defined by her relationship with A Man’s World (see also Wonder Woman and almost every period piece about a female character ever made). Stop Othering the woman in her own movie! Finally, Captain Marvel has one of the most generic and instantly forgettable scores, a problem with Marvel generally but actively noticeable here as scenes with good acting are ruined by saccharine music like a bad soap opera. Captain Marvel is a mediocre and forgettable film, another in a long line of movies I got hyped for as some kind of ‘feminist masterpiece’ and discovered a lot of the same old shitty, lazy superhero tropes with the clunky addition of what a boardroom of executives think constitute feminist themes according to their quantitative marketing data. I will say for the eight year old girls out there it was a powerful movie and they were inspired seeing a woman superhero and I won’t take that away from then or pretend it’s not great. But they could and deserved a much better version of this movie - one in which that unquestionably glorious fuck-shit-up scene where Carol smashes through a battle fleet like it’s fucking paper because fuck you I am the biggest badass this franchise has ever seen Thor got punched by a star once who cares watch me atomize a dreadnought with my face! was matched with the same level of care elsewhere in the picture - so when Danvers lands and beats the stuffing out of Jude Law we’re not struggling to remember his character’s name which I haven’t successfully done once this entire review. I have yet to see Endgame but I have high hopes that - much like Paul Rudd and Benedict Cumberbatch - once out of the confines of her own under-written movie Brie Larson will get a chance to really shine, because we don’t get to really see Carol Danvers until that one great ship-smashing scene and that’s a pity. We should have had a chance to know the Captain Danvers of the USAF and to be able to mourn her even as we celebrated the emergence of the new Space Badass Danvers - who isn’t the same person, who can’t be, but is something greater than before. (For the record this isn’t a bad movie. It really is just a mediocre one. It’s far, far from the MCU’s worst film. That would be - despite my biases screaming ‘Ant-Man and the Wasp’ - still probably Thor: The Dark World, which you likely forgot existed again.)

17 notes · View notes

raeblissy30 · 4 years ago

Text

Personal planning blog: fabrication of stop motion puppet research

i looked into various behind the scenes creating the puppet designs sculpting Plasticine ,from the building of the structure of the metal armature , then a silicon and wax mold above is cased to create shape and skin , a lot or detail and texture are put into the puppets , which i am really aiming for.

youtube

Tim Burton’s nightmare before Christmas

https://cartoonresearch.com/index.php/the-nightmare-before-christmas-puppet-fabrication-part-1/

https://cartoonresearch.com/index.php/the-nightmare-before-christmas-puppet-fabrication-part-2/

youtube

these are the various artist who have inspired me through their work and personal branding

Michel Mello

https://www.mellomade.com/

https://www.instagram.com/mellomade/

https://www.instagram.com/stevenwongjr/guide/making-a-sulley-stop-motion-puppet/17868533528221766/?igshid=1rsr52kyrjcdb

Kerry Dyer

Links: https://www.mandy.com/uk/crew/kerry-dyer

Anna Maritzaris

https://vimeo.com/annamantzaris

https://www.annamantzaris.se/about

these are a few quick rough notes i took from her conference

0 notes

mi4011leomcmahon · 4 years ago

Text

Stop motion Animation

These stop motion films helped us progress and grow, being able to make more professional looking stop motion films that we see and make today. Today we have animations like “the nightmare before Christmas” or “paranorman.” These films are both fully stop motion and wouldn't be possible today without the earlier videos of stop motion. By this point, stop motion animations would use much more advanced techniques and equipment in order to create new films. The would use clay and models in order to animate a moving puppet

A very good example of a recent stop motion film is “Paranorman”

The film was made in 2012 by the company Laika and used the same techniques used in stop motion since it began.

The characters are a specific type of puppet that has a skeleton made from a malleable type of metal and the body being created from a different material such as clay, foam or sponge along with some fabrics in order to make their clothes.

Each character within the production will have a specific list of clothing, expressions and lip syncing which are given to those working on the puppets so they can get it ready for the animators.

0 notes

perseus-huntress · 7 years ago

Note

Do you think that the angaran model seems a little like it was copied or based off of other species in the original trilogy, like turians and quarians?

I definitely do. But I also think there is a very good reason for it, namely Jaal.

If Jaal was not a squadmate there could have been more scope for creativity and diversity in terms of Angara design.

But Jaal is a squadmate, and as such has to do the same things that Cora, PeeBee, Vetra and Drack can, run, shoot, preform ability moves, get stuck on shit etc. That does limit him to a certain structure and therefore the Angara in general.

There is also the added layer that you can romance Jaal, and for all his romance scenes to work he has to be vaguely bipedal shaped. Can you imagine if he was more elcor shaped? That sex scene would become the stuff of nightmares. And to be fair as a romance option he should appeal to people, and Andromeda being a big game they do tend to go for an average, and on average a bipedal alien would be more appealing that say a floating glowing orb. On average though, I’m not kink shaming anyone here.

To be honest that’s probably the reason why Turians, Quarians, Salarians, Drell and Protheans look similar in the OT. Practicality. It is a game after all, it needs to do gamey things. If they were all wildly different it would probably take 10 years to make with all the different movements to animate, and you have to make sure they don’t clash and break something random elsewhere as code has a habit of doing.

Having said all of that, I do think Angara are very distinctive. I love their backwards knees, because it allows Jaal to roll up into a giant angry ball to avoid my bullets. What I do have a problem with though is that they all look the same. There is just about zero variation in them. Take Jaal’s rofjinn and visor off and he could be generic Angara #31. I think only Evfra looks truly distinctive. And the females I found strange looking in general, they kind of look like they are made of plasticine? But that’s just me.

Generally speaking though, I think they did a good job with them. They are alien enough without being off putting. And they are definitely different from the other races in game, where the Turians are lithe and tall the Angara are just plain old swoll. I also really like that they don’t all sound the same, the different accents are a great touch.

Tl;dr: Yes they do look similar, but they have to if you want the game to actually function.

Thank you for the ask! ❤️❤️❤️

#Angara #jaal ama darav #mass Effect #Andromeda #the ask and the answer

31 notes · View notes

noahdonnellmarsblog · 5 years ago

Photo

stop motion animation (nightmare before Christmas)

“Stop motion is an animated filmmaking technique in which objects are physically manipulated in small increments between individually photographed frames so that they will appear to exhibit independent motion or change when the series of frames is played back. Any kind of object can thus be animated, but puppets with movable joints (puppet animation) or plasticine figures (clay animation or claymation) are most commonly used. Puppets, models or clay figures built around an armature are used in model animation. Stop motion with live actors is often referred to as pixilation. Stop motion of flat materials such as paper, fabrics or photographs is usually called cutout animation.”

I like stop start animation as it gives off a vintage aesthetic, this style surrounded my child hood with the films a grew up with and even the tv shows, I used to want to try this as a kid but was never able to do it, I would love to use this style In future work even if it failed I feel like it would be an amazing experience and would be challenging but I'm completely willing to use this in my FMP or a future project.

0 notes

anjavsshiloh · 7 years ago

Text

End of project reflection

In the end I decided to switch to producing a 3D model of a market instead of an illustration image due to the fact I am terrible with using digital software which would be essential to make my model into an illustration. If I had had more time I would definitely have pursued leaning more of the digital software but a lot of my time was taken up after a close family member was taken seriously ill and needing hospital care for over a week. This was also part of the reasoning for not experimenting with animation as pre planned, the other reason was making models with articulate limbs as I wanted turned out to be a much longer venture than expected and if followed through likely wouldn't have left me enough time to create a smooth animation like I wanted.

Overall I found using the cutouts was an inventive way to transform the ink drawings of the sound of the market, I had wanted to keep the images as stand alone images and not look into developing them further but I was glad that I pushed myself to try the cutouts as I found they were one of the most successful pieces in the project as I really liked how there was a contrast between the sharp edges of the basic shapes and the messy nature of the ink that made them up. The spray paints which followed were a development of the cutouts came from me wanting to try other mediums with the cutout principle. Namely I wanted to see what would happen if I used the cutout frame as a stencil rather than just a frame. I think it was a good decision to try it out but it didn't work out that well because I cut the lines to thin and the paint seeped underneath the lines which made the image a lot less clear. I could have pursued it further but by this stage I was far more interested in exploring the idea of working with 3D or moving image.

The first experiment with 3D came with the photoset with the Sylvanian families figures, the idea of animals came from exploring Jackie Cockle as most of her work uses animals and I've always found it easier to give animals expressions than people. I was originally going to use stop motion on the Sylvanian family figures before finding out from my photoset that they are a nightmare to pose as they overbalance easily and topple over. Because of this I decided they were way to temperamental to be useful in fluid animation and pursed making my own models instead. Starting off with drawings to get an idea of what my end game animals may look like this was particularly helpful with proportions as I found that if you're not careful a kangaroo can easily become a T Rex. I made the right decision choosing to make the figures a skeleton of aluminium wire first otherwise building up the models into identifiable animals would've been a lot more difficult with nothing solid to attach materials to. My mistake of trying to make the muscles and skin entirely from plasticine helped lead me to trying other ways of building up the figure namely newspaper and then paper mache after the tape used to attach the newspaper began to peel away. The idea of using a physical mask to represent gentrification actually came from re-reading the brief and the phrase ‘the changing face of London markets’. After thinking about what this could mean I decided to take it literally and make my 3D market stall symbolic of gentrification with the kangaroo literally changing faces through the mask for a new audience. I really enjoyed this concept however it is not abundantly clear meaning my final piece needed a written explanation to make this clear which I included.

Overall I was happy with the final outcome even though it did not turn out to be an illustration as I had decided upon at the beginning of the project. The outcome still worked with the brief and included my own spin on the topic of gentrification which I particularly liked as it gave the final outcome a more personal feel.

1 note · View note

1801016-2 · 6 years ago

Text

Media Industries Research

Summary of Research Findings [500 Word Statement]

For this ‘Media Industries: Roles and Practices’ research project, I investigated the higher end, bigger budgeted side of stop motion animation in feature films. From a range of online sources and a the book ‘Stop Motion Animation, Frame by Frame Film-making with Puppets and Models’, I focused my research on the set up of departments, and the materials favoured by the big names in the industry, namely Laika and Aardman. I found that the fabrication teams can consist of around 60 people at one time, and it works in a hierarchal structure from trainees and interns, to juniors, seniors, team leaders, and the head of model making. These roles become more generalist as they gain more experience.

Model making consists of a few teams such as: Sculpting, Moulding, Armatures, Casting, Painting, Hair, and Costume. The initial sculptors work with the director and concept artists/ designers to create production sculpts out of clay before they turn it into a working puppet. This initial model can take around 6 months alone to produce. As for moulding, I discovered there are many more possible types than I first thought: fibreglass, aluminium, polyurethane, silicon, cold moulds, carousel moulds etc. Armatures is an innovative department that makes (usually metal ball and socket) armatures from the joint up, and have found shortcuts in found materials such as guitar tuners. Casting then takes the moulds made earlier, and fills them with a range of materials, such as silicon or foam latex, to make the body, skins, and replacement limbs. These models with them be painted, whether it by by hand with paints, or with an airbrush, or layers of coloured powder. Then they move on to the hair and costume team who again use many different materials to produce the wonderful puppets we see in popular films. These materials include: plant or synthetic fibres, animal hair, tyvek, foam (often disguised as other textures). This entire process can take about 4 months to create one puppet, and film protagonists often have up to 16 versions.

I then looked further into the methods for animating faces, as it is often the depth of expressions that boost the costs of stop motion production. I began with the simpler techniques, such as the entire heads being individually sculpted for ‘The Nightmare Before Christmas’, and the intricate mechanics of levers and pulleys inside the heads in ‘Corpse Bride’, directed by Tim Burton. Aardman still uses multiples of mouths made of their own recipe plasticine, which can be re-sculpted to film in-betweens. Recently, the industry had moved into rapid prototype printing. For Laika’s ‘Coraline’, they first used 3D printing. (I may be wrong but,) I believe they used binder jetting, which layers glue into powder to make a hard 3D model, first sculpted in Maya, then painted by hand, creating around 20,000 faces. They took this further in ‘Paranorman’ by printing in coloured powders, that then needed only to be touched up by painters. In ‘Kubo and The Two Strings’ they found this method couldn’t keep up the demands of the detail they wanted, so they swapped to poly jetting that makes entire faces out of coloured plastic, allowing for around 64,000 faces. Even more was possible in ‘Missing Link’ by printing resin for over 106,000 faces. All of these faces create combinations of expressions in the million, across a cast.

But in conclusion, I found that the industry uses mostly the same materials and processes that low budget animators do too. So it is entirely possible for students like us to produce industry standard puppets. In addition, it is by using found objects that stop motion can often be given its unique charm. In reality, the costs of feature films usually build up because of the large teams who need salaries paid for the years they spend making the film. Then the fact that they use expensive methods like 3D printing on a larger scale.

Word Count: 656 [A little over the desired but, oh well.]

#media #w15

0 notes