For Terry Brain 1955-2016
It was one of those shots.
I was animating on Shaun the Sheep at the time in the hot, uncomfortable haze of a studio encased in metal, glowing in the hot summer sun.
I was animating Shaun’s sheepy pals. In contrast to the rest of us steaming hot individuals, they were having a whale of a time, splashing about in a luxuriant pool of liquid azure.
By contrast, I was steadily going the colour of a chopped radish. White in the centre, and yet all the way round, that prickly red colour, blooming to the surface. A sweat borne of temperature & concentration mixed with a sprinkling of frustration was slowly forming on my brow.
I may have been listening to some comedy podcast at the time, I usually did this when concentrating hard- my mind smothered with mirth to act as a kind of comedic morphine drip to get me through a particularly painful creative birth.
As usual in these prickly circumstances, the sheep did nothing to show empathy for my pained expressions. Far from it, they seemed to be enjoying it, a fragment of timely pleasure captured in filmic amber while beyond their realm of perception, the humans work supersonic, to breathe into their metal limbs, the kiss of life.
Under normal circumstances, frolicking with Nick Park’s Sheep was a happy, creative pleasure, however, on this particular occasion, I’d had enough. The heat from the lights fell into the atmosphere with all the angry, heavy force of a vengeful god. Fiddling with the delicate movements of swimming sheep was not a preferred method of relaxation.
I needed out. Under these circumstances, I have to leave my post, lest the animation that I create descend into complacent expediency. I needed to see friendly face that wasn’t made of plasticine.
I looked down at my bag.
I’d better do it now. Just get it over and done with.
I reached in, and pulled out a DVD copy of The Trap Door which I had bought the previous week.
I was leaving the production soon, and I thought it would be a good idea to get one of my heroes to sign something for me before I left.
I don’t do signings. Not normally.
When I went to see John Kricfalusi actually creating free caricatures of the people who had witnessed his lecture, I walked away. It didn’t feel personal. I didn’t feel I had… earned anything. I felt this time that it was different. He and I had worked together on the same project- TWICE! The first time, unfortunately leaving before I had a chance to say my farewells, though I had at least declared my love of his work. Who wouldn’t?
When I first had met him, I hadn’t known his name, and in conversation mentioned Trap Door as something I thought still stood the test of time, not knowing HE was the creator!
Recalling it now, it all sounds like some sort of Machiavellian plant to get him to like me, and I don’t remember why I mentioned it at all after all this time. But mention it I did, and he smiled that friendly, wide smile of his and told me who he was.
I was suddenly embarrassed. To stand that close to someone who really did create the sort of magic you witnessed as a child was eerily mundane. How could this man exist in the same room as me? It was an unerring situation. Not that he knew any of this, of course. I tried to speak to him as a fellow human being, as if this were all perfectly natural, though in my head, I may as well have been on Mars.
Since then, I got to know him a little and realised how… normal he was. He may have created this incredible thing which millions of kids happily watched over their Crunchy Nut Cornflakes on Saturday morning, but his demeanour was more that of a proud farmer than a creator of a modern classic. There was no pomposity. No pretension. Just a down to earth intelligence, mixed with a dash of modest anarchy and a scoop of smiling irony.
Even though I knew him- and technically on this production, was an equal to him, there was still a massive sense of supplication towards him, though he would never have wanted me to think that.
I couldn’t help it. It was like working next to Thor.
I left the unit. A cube of fermenting rage and fury left to cool as I reached for human contact.
It was always nice to visit Terry. I never bother animators while they were working without a proper reason. That would be one of the most irritating things to do anyone who’s taken up animation. Doing this job is often the artistic equivalent of juggling with knives and having to count how many rotations each blade makes while making a paper tower from doilies. However, the curtain to his unit was open and I could see him prepping something on his table before doing another shot. I poked my head round.
“Hi Terry,” I said. “How you doing?”
“Hey! Hello Oli!” He said. He greeted everyone like this. It was as if he hadn’t seen you for years, and was excited you’d remembered him. “You alright?”
“Oh, I’ve been better!” I laugh. “Just having a bit of a moment with swimming sheep.”
“Oh dear. One of those!” He laughed.
Already feeling boyied up by this acknowledgement that yes- we animators are crazy and shouldn’t really have started on this yellow brick road to madness, I pressed on with my quest.
“I’d better do this before I forget” I said. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“What’s that then?”
I produced the DVD which I had deliberately held from sight. The weight of the plastic case becoming strangely heavy in my withering hand.
“I was wondering if you would sign this for me.” I squeaked. The DVD by now weighed more to me than a route-master bus.
His face was of bemused merriment. He got up from his chair and with a delighted smile took the permanent marker I had ready for him- that too weighed more than an Ford Escort.
After he signed it, embarrassed, but happy he handed them back to me. I think he jokingly said that it actually made him happier than it made me, but I had whited out by that stage. Whatever he was saying, I just smiled and giggled at like an idiot. I didn’t want to get sentimental, lest I do something completely bonkers like cry from terror.
His stuff seemed to resonate with me. The anarchy mixed with gentle good humour. The subversion, mixed in with tireless eccentric invention.
Over the years, I was happy to be involved with Terry’s life in some small capacity. It’s down to him, proudly mentioning the work of Guksack, that I met his son Dave and his friend Dan, and started my own pilgrimage to self sufficiency within the realms of YouTube animation.
I felt honoured every time I was invited to his house to help him with the technical side of his new venture. The house, filled with the calm magnolia tones of everyday life was often offset with the sharp spice of creativity and achievement- the Cyberman helmet in the kitchen. The collection of horror movie figures on the shelves. The colourful stills and models from his films. It was great place to visit. We would often talk about each other’s projects and I felt elevated to a fraudulent state of equality whenever he praised my work.
To say you have been lucky enough to meet one of your heroes is an achievement. To say you’ve been admired by one of your heroes is sautéed ecstasy- my subsequent bike ride home from his house something reminiscent of the last scenes of ET.
He was often asking if he could pop over to see my own little studio, which I was always more than enthusiastic about, though sadly, it never happened.
Apparently according to Dave, he mentions me in one of the last notes on his desk before he died.
To have the honour of being one of the last concerns of a great man is something no DVD signing can ever touch.
Thank you for that, Terry.
‘Best wishes to ya’ too. x
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