Sixteen plus years of school had conditioned me to consider time in semesters. Despite even my "Winter Break," this concept of the yearly calender, for the first time in memory, began to dissolve. The unsettling shift in worldview presented what I assume is a more adult look at work life. Monotony came in layers- there was no change of classes, no spring break or summer vacation, and uniquely in LA, there was no change of season. Warm-hot to mild-warm was the daily range, another unchanging and uniform new feature that made time feel stagnant. Everyday we worked at the same desk, had one of the same few lunch options, and wore the same weather appropriate short sleeves. Time felt endless and static, not unpleasant but just motionless, unchanging. I sometimes thought that if purgatory existed, I was wrapped in its neutral embrace. I was trapped in the cyclical, ever pumping machine of the entertainment industry- always changing yet always the same, always in motion and always in balance. Escapism found an important place in my life for the first time since the gloomy middle school days.
Color keys for an upcoming short I'm making.
I mentioned before the Egyptian Theater in regards to the Chuck Jones event. The chaos of that first week helped me overlook the specifics, but I owe the place now a more thorough description. Its roots reach deep, to a soil that nourished the prehistoric, grandiose days of classic Hollywood. In 1922 it was opened as a large one-screen movie house, the main stage nestled in its throne beyond the majestic, retro, Egyptian themed facade. Two story tall rod iron gates open to a courtyard discretely sheltered from the onslaught of sidewalk tourist traffic on Hollywood Boulevard. Deep, past rows of palm tress and faded frescoes of Egyptian pharaohs, lives, beyond the hieroglyph decorated columns, the box-office alcove. A humble lobby lies beyond with the familiar creek of old carpeted floorboards. Theaters were simple in those days, to the right a lounge hallway with couches and restrooms, to the left a one register concession stand, and straight ahead a wrap around entrance, through glass doors, to the main attraction: one goliath theater. Heavy, dark red curtains line hundreds of feet to drape the edges of the theater in dense elegance. Tall, narrow, couch filled hallways converge on either side of the theater into the main area. Overhead, sophisticated balcony seating expands upward, meeting with the ceiling, where a gold scarab beetle looms huge in symmetrical relief. I've included below a reference picture which does no justice to the sense of scale or history one feels in the theater. It was more than even all this charm that sold me on my annual membership to the Egyptian. The most important feature of a movie theater are the movies. The Egyptian is a vintage theater, its catalog a carefully curated slice of the best the one hundred plus years of cinema has to offer. There's an entire month dedicated to one of the most whimsical and unique filmmakers to ever live, one of my personal favorites- Hayo Miyazaki. The expanded menu may include in any given month: Spartacus, Barry Lyndon, Akira, Fritz the Cat, the Monty Python films, A Streetcar Named Desire, The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, Chinatown, Taxi Driver, and Its a Wonderful Life- not to mention late night triple features like the Indiana Jones Trilogy and the 1930's, Boris Karloff Frankenstein series.
The tea kettle gift which saw me through so many long nights.
The finishing touches on our living room came in the form of framed pulp movie posters.
Cosmos wrapped around this time and the studio downsized. A still undiagnosed and ever worsening series of headaches, combined with the abject terror of my name on the list of newly unemployed, brought further sweetness to all that movie escapism. The sugar for the bittersweet pill of production's end and layoff is the premiere party. Cosmos premiered on the rooftop, poolside sky lounge of the W Hotel in Hollywood. The lobby of the hotel looks like the shooting location for a luxury liquor ad. Marble columns spilling onto marble floors, spiraling, free hanging staircases, hip minimalist furniture, a long elegant fireplace, and tailored suits swilling expensive scotch helped this commoner feel happily out of place. And yet the exclusive roof lounge is the locked cabinet even above that top shelf liquor. Operated elevators gave passage through a cushioned, red-tinted portal room. A long palatial hallway stood in expert symmetry, pointing us towards the reflected half circle of moonlight on the marble floor at the end of the dark passage. Outside, another series of winding archways led us past rooms of patterned divans and carpets seemingly looted from a Sultan's harem room. Finally we emerged into the balmy, star laden lounge. Crowds were a mixed bunch, ranging from high powered network executives, celebrity cast, crew, and friends- Bill Nye, Seth McFarlene, Carl Sagan's widow and producer Anne Druyan- to us mousy bunch of scared employees trying not to get in the way. We steered clear of those higher echelon operators to enjoy the catering and open bar. All too soon the night was over and I returned home, where I would suffer unemployment and extremely painful headaches.
Kayla and I on a weekend vacation at the Beverly Hills Hilton.
Painting for a friend.
Deli Bus concept painting for Nick Pitch.
My roommate/pal Uriah and I steering the fourth of July grill.
Some animation I did from the G.I. Joe themed Community episode.
A sampling of designs I did on season one of Bojack.
Alex and the studio's fat Godzilla.
The giant studio robot.
Bojack was coming to an end, it was time to regroup, finish some personal projects, and get to the bottom of my headaches. I turned down outside freelance and studio offers and planned to return to work on season two after a long Summer hiatus. Several of my first mornings on break were spent in what was now unending agony: writhing, dizzy, unrelenting pain that woke me up early and wouldn't let up for caffine, darkness, rest, pain relievers, or fresh air. I made my third investigatory trip to the doctors and explained my desperation. We delved deeper into the possible causes and I dropped my lifelong instinct to play down my symptoms and my pain. The doctor asked if I had been going to bed at midnight or later- I had been going to bed around five. She asked if I worked long hours without rest, and if I had been doing so for a prolonged period of time- twelve to sixteen hours a day between personal work, studio jobs, and previously, eighteen credits worth of classes. This had been going on since I started my senior film two years before, and although I got more nightly hours of sleep now, I still worked too long and too late. The answer was simply exhaustion. I would try an earlier sleep schedule for the next several weeks, and if the problem persisted, I had the neurologist's card. The pain receded slowly over the weeks until it was an occasional, curable headache. Recovered, and with savings enough to manage my cheap living expenses, I refused all work to put check marks on my to-do list. Alex and company headed north to draw some nature. I pretended stalwart as Alex led me on the second of many exhausting outdoor adventures. We hugged the foggy, jagged, redwood striped sea cliffs of Big Sur. Serene, curving hills of the Pacific Coast highway held us in the astonished, vibrating silence a country drive. My thirst for nature was met with waves of mammoth forest trunks and trickling, gem colored leaves.
Kayla and her big tree.
Alex and I amoung the trees.
Alex, myself, and many other crew members at the Bojack Horseman, Microsoft lounge premiere. Featuring Breaking Bad's Aaron Paul (the voice of Todd on the show and the host of the party).
The ambiance inspired both my returning patronage and this moving digital painting.
A gouache painting featuring Kayla the clerk.
My now favorite ramen house opened a few stores over from our local drawing meetup spot, the Republic of Pie. A few kind yelp reviews later and our apatizers are on the house. During the times when the headaches allowed my occasional nocturnal relapse, we'd head to the North Hollywood diner for pie a la mode or the four am trucker's breakfast special. My history with diners might have already revealed that divey and kitsch are forever at home with me. The place is a twenty four hour diner open consecutively since nineteen fifty six, without even a key to the front door. Densely pattered and dimly lit, it falls into my cozy collection of charming old weirdo diners. Wall to wall black and white, autographed photos of bygone celebrities and stained glass windows accompany the fifties long counter vibe for a great hangout spot. This whole part of town must have agreed on a cult, B movie basement vibe, because down the street a painted shack laid in wait to amaze me. The third of many exhausting Alex hikes was a Sunday bike ride. LA is divided by and surrounded by Mountain ranges. Head too far in any direction and you could find yourself at the ocean, the mountains, the forest, the dessert, the factories, or even the ski slopes if you were dedicated to getting lost. Alex lives south of the mid-city range and I live north, aka the valley. One day I took the subway down to his place for a bike ride along the LA "river," which is that concrete channel from the chase sequence in Terminator 2. What resulted was an devastating climb around the mountain range, past the curving roads concealing major movie studios, and the heavily trafficked remainder of the fifteen mile urban trek. The silver lining for the tiring journey was, as I finally neared home, the discovery of the often overlooked shack. Outside cheesy pulp movie paintings adorned the cheap looking structure that inside turned out to be a movie haven. Downstairs a hidden basement space of layered posters and discount bins flooded the eye. Eddie Brandt's Saturday Matinee feels like the fanatic collection of a movie obsessed genius-lunatic. Tightly packed shelves of VHS tapes span titles obscure and acclaimed dating back to the eighteen nineties. DVD's and Blue rays are kept in the back storage, accessible through a huge laminated wall catalog of cover sleeves. There are VHS and DVD players for rent, and a lifetime membership is only fifteen bucks. Things of this sort have occupied my leisurely recoperation this Summer. The weeks between then and now were filled with my preferred, movie and TV flavored entertainment. A proscenium dipping into the dark, magical recesses of the Hollywood mountains, the Hollywood Bowl, housed an incredible Simpson's firework extravaganza. Art house film lectures featured my long list of favorite directors discussing their recent works. The micro animation competition, Loop de Loop, featured some of my recent works and treated its audiences to free beer in the screening room of LA's biggest comic shop and on the lawn of Nickelodeon Studios. I topped it all off with a graveyard showing of Rosemary's Baby, and cartoonist-comedian tag team stand up performances. I returned to work this week on season two of Bojack, with high hopes to transition to storyboard artist by Thanksgiving. Kayla works alongside me, having passed the design test and the final threshold to enter the industry.
I'm quite proud of the new Bart Simpson shirt
These are two of my recent submissions for the Loop de Loop competetion:
"Block" theme, also screened at Animation Block Party in New York.
"Childhood" theme, screened at Nickelodean.
The Simpson's Hollywood Bowl extravaganza.
This is where I leave you. This is where I agonize over the wrap-up sentences that serve the chapter ends of so many seminal events. May you have as much entertainment in the places and people described as I had pride in knowing this small audience cared. May the past few years of blogs have allowed some vicarious enjoyment of my experience. And finally, may this have proven a geuine sample of an artist's life, or at least a genuine sample of the human experience. Thank you all for reading, farewell.
My Art Blog