Linlin (BA illustration annimation)

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Playing narrative

Try to make checkers with group members. 

We did sketches of different designs of checkers then find suitable materials to make them. We enjoyed using plasticine to create different characters but we found out that they will take large areas on the sheet while playing and some character is hard to recognize from behind. So we decided to make too side checkers by using papers at last. We designed 2D characters and added more colours to make the checkers more striking. 

Try to develop different games.

We tried to play them ourselves and also invite other classmates to play and give us feedback. We choose the most popular and unique one for the final outcome. We combined the fun part of different games together in the final one and expended the scale so that people will have good experience even though the number of people is four or more.

Tried to make the concept of the game more interesting.

It’s a story of the war of the antiquities and the soldiers in jungle. So we designed different traps and bridges that will occur in the jungle. The checkers (which were actually represent the weapons) of the antiquities contains the elements of jungle and the same colour series with the traps. 

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Hold the eye

life drawing animation

Added a filter and suitable music.

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animation of An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge

Analysis and making processes were in my last post.

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animation of An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge

Fragment selected from An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge:

As Peyton Farquhar fell straight downward through the bridge he lost consciousness and was as one already dead. (...) A fish slid along beneath his eyes and he heard the rush of its body parting the water.

sectional analysis:

Article:

As Peyton Farquhar fell straight downward through the bridge he lost consciousness and was as one already dead.

Background:

I put blue ink and cleanser essence into a bowl of water, then recorded the process of pouring in new water.

Diving process:

I watched videos and animations of people diving. animations of people diving.

Article:

From this state he was awakened--ages later, it seemed to him--by the pain of a sharp pressure upon his throat, followed by a sense of suffocation. Keen, poignant agonies seemed to shoot from his neck downward through every fiber of his body and limbs. These pains appeared to flash along well-defined lines of ramification and to beat with an inconceivably rapid periodicity. They seemed like streams of pulsating fire heating him to an intolerable temperature. As to his head, he was conscious of nothing but a feeling of fulness--of congestion. These sensations were unaccompanied by thought. The intellectual part of his nature was already effaced; he had power only to feel, and feeling was torment. He was conscious of motion.

I repeated the frames to show Farquhar tried so hard to turn because of the pain (the red colour that blowout from his mouth).  

Article:

Encompassed in a luminous cloud, of which he was now merely the fiery heart, without material substance, he swung through unthinkable arcs of oscillation, like a vast pendulum. Then all at once, with terrible suddenness, the light about him shot upward with the noise of a loud splash; a frightful roaring was in his ears, and all was cold and dark. The power of thought was restored; he knew that the rope had broken and he had fallen into the stream. There was no additional strangulation; the noose about his neck was already suffocating him and kept the water from his lungs. To die of hanging at the bottom of a river!--the idea seemed to him ludicrous. He opened his eyes in the darkness and saw above him a gleam of light, but how distant, how inaccessible! He was still sinking, for the light became fainter and fainter until it was a mere glimmer.

I tried to create a sense of humor here to show Farquhar was unthinkable by designing the expression in his eye and the clouds with simple shapes and contrast colours. He absorbed the clouds then spread them from his eyes means he started to travelling through time.

The colours of the eyeball was inspired by Pierre Bonnard’s painting. They represent the beauty of the world that he perceived.  

I make Farquhar’s eyes combined with each other then burst out into many small ones to show how his soul was keeping his faith.

Article:

Then it began to grow and brighten, and he knew that he was rising toward the surface--knew it with reluctance, for he was now very comfortable. “To be hanged and drowned,” he thought? “that is not so bad; but I do not wish to be shot. No; I will not be shot; that is not fair.”

He was not conscious of an effort, but a sharp pain in his wrist apprised him that he was trying to free his hands. He gave the struggle his attention, as an idler might observe the feat of a juggler, without interest in the outcome. What splendid effort!--what magnificent, what superhuman strength! Ah, that was a fine endeavor! Bravo! The cord fell away; his arms parted and floated upward, the hands dimly seen on each side in the growing light. He watched them with a new interest as first one and then the other pounced upon the noose at his neck. They tore it away and thrust it fiercely aside, its undulations resembling those of a water snake. “Put it back, put it back!” He thought he shouted these words to his hands, for the undoing of the noose had been succeeded by the direst pang that he had yet experienced. His neck ached horribly; his brain was on fire; his heart, which had been fluttering faintly, gave a great leap, trying to force itself out at his mouth. His whole body was racked and wrenched with an insupportable anguish! But his disobedient hands gave no heed to the command. They beat the water vigorously with quick, downward strokes, forcing him to the surface. He felt his head emerge; his eyes were blinded by the sunlight; his chest expanded convulsively, and with a supreme and crowning agony his lungs engulfed a great draught of air, which instantly he expelled in a shriek!

After he broke loose, his soul was released and he could feel souls from other creatures across time and space. He almost became them.

Article:

He was now in full possession of his physical senses. They were, indeed, preternaturally keen and alert. Something in the awful disturbance of his organic system had so exalted and refined them that they made record of things never before perceived. He felt the ripples upon his face and heard their separate sounds as they struck. He looked at the forest on the bank of the stream, saw the individual trees, the leaves and the veining of each leaf--saw the very insects upon them: the locusts, the brilliant-bodied flies, the grey spiders stretching their webs from twig to twig. He noted the prismatic colors in all the dewdrops upon a million blades of grass. The humming of the gnats that danced above the eddies of the stream, the beating of the dragon flies’ wings, the strokes of the water-spiders’ legs, like oars which had lifted their boat--all these made audible music. A fish slid along beneath his eyes and he heard the rush of its body parting the water.

Photos of gardens, forest, insects, lakes and flowers that I took.

My interpretation:

The story is about the elasticity of time and spaces. Contrasts between dead and alive, inside and outside, subjectivity and objectivity, reality and illusion. The cruelty of life. And the strong desire to live from Peyton’s soul. The last part of the story is talking about the feelings of Peyton’s soul, that’s why he felts he was in full possession of his physical senses and accepted so many information in a very short time and at a stationary place as well.

[psychiccolourllamaus]

THE CC LAND EXHIBITION: PIERRE BONNARD - The Colour of Memory

photos took in the exhibition

Touched the soft parts of his soul.

Walking though 13 exhibition rooms, until the last painting he created in his life. All kinds of wonderful pleasant connected together, too happiness, I was dizzy. 

There was a feeling that time constantly slowed down and getting faster. 

Oh, the tender but naughty mystery that won’t hurt people.

Looking at Bonnard’s panting, empathy does not feels like strong fiery burning nor illusory dreams but a heart-stirring cure. 

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The frame: Penguin design awards

Book cover design: Wonder

I realized that I focused on the drawing effect more than the design of how to catch the attention of target audiences accurately. 

To make the customer clearly understand the type of this book, I need to add elements that related to primary school and a more specific character design: 

add some study tools between the stars

let the character wear a school uniform 

change the pose of the character to make it more like a kid

change the background into a blackboard 

use uniform lettering 

make the handwriting clearer

Next time, I should separate the background and the drawing at the very first. 

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EVERYDAY CONNECTIONS

Final choice - doppelgänger (fellow travellers)

While facing the long journey ahead, who is walking with you? Friends, colleagues, relatives, lover, soulmate or just ...yourself. 

Connections in this combination:

Decorative patterns on skirts and buildings. 

bags or container

road

people in each photos are connected: physical touch or same style clothes/ uniform

figure

similar tone of the buildings

Souls travel along. 

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EVERYDAY CONNECTIONS

story about circulate

Sometimes, what similar was telling again and again, are loops. It’s like the different forms of liquid. 

Somehow, all the different pieces of the world are all similar. Just like the braking egg shells. No matter how unique their shapes are, essentially, they are all ordinary. 

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EVERYDAY CONNECTIONS

Observe life, which like cobwebs. 

Millions of nooks in the world, millions of perspectives in the world. The similar parts of them are like knots, connect the world together. The whole world is like a cobweb, memories are spider silk, thoughts and inspirations are the reflection of light that can be transient. 

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Experience and Present: storytelling

The Smell of Colors

Miss Blind:

Pingo put its head on my thigh softly again. I knew it wanted to go out for a walk at this time every day. We took a train for one day and one night for this trip. I couldn’t make it alone without Pingo’s care and accompany.

I didn’t have the heart to turn Pingo off. So I gave it a pad on its head to let it know I agree. Pingo was over the moon. So I went out with it, leaving all my luggage just in the room.

At nightfall, I could feel the dry wind of the early autumn on my face. The leaves were rustling over my head constantly. I was the only one here.

There was some sound of a violin far away. Some sweet and thick melody played by a violin. The mellow tune was a bit trembling, but as the sound getting clearer, my heart started to dance with its ups and downs too, turning and sliding. That’s a mesmerizing tango. I smiled at Pingo: “Haven’t we danced for a long time?” Then we ran towards the sound of that violin.

Mr. Achromat:

I love to play the violin in this park so much. The bitter rustling of these dry autumn leaves was the most vivid metronome in the world.

Listen! Only such a lively melody could bring me back to that world full of colors.

That red low-pitch so was burning on the bottom of the rhythm. The heat kept the coldness out of my body; the minor was a lithe one. It’s like a bright yellow burning star around me. I adored such energy which I didn’t have.

Those stably rising musical notes full of colors of green, blue mountains, mist and indigo lakes.

The sorrow downside melody part was full of steamy soft purple carvings. Soon they would fall apart though…

When I finished, I put away my bow and opened my eyes slowly. The world became dim again.

Suddenly, I saw a young lady hugging her dog tightly just in front of me, not far away. They were like two plants in the wind, calm and strong.

Miss. Blind:

The sound of the violin ended.  The leaves were still rustling over my head. Pingo and I stopped dancing. I hugged Pingo tightly to thank it to bring me here.

From then on, I came to that park to dance whenever I could. There was music every night and the music was so beautiful and refreshing.

I carefully collected the fragrance of these melodies and kept it in my heart, especially the occasionally smell of happiness.

Mr. Achromat:

From then on, I came to that park to play every day. Every time I saw this lady, she’s always dancing to my rhythms. Her dog was always dancing with her.

I noticed it was not a normal dog. It’s a guide dog.

Later, we started to talk, and she told me she’s a perfumer and she could hear the smell of colors from my melodies!

Watching her small paces and listening to her brisk laughter, gradually, I was not afraid of opening my eyes anymore. I started to see my dim world with my heart.

She danced with my melodies light-footedly. There were layers of lovely colors and ever-changing beautiful patterns flashing around her dance. Everything is so beautiful.

Miss Blind:

That violinist told me the colors were back to him again. He told me about his memories of those colorful days happily, the colorful swing in his childhood, art shows of his friends, photography in the South Pole with his family and the bright lights in the audience once he played in an outdoor square… His memories were like songs to me. Day after day, the unique fragrance of these melodies was just around me.

Mr. Achromat:

One day, I told her I could compose again. She showed her support immediately.

I was in such a deep happiness when I was staying with her. Someone who could understand me.

At a nightfall of the end of this autumn, I came to meet her again with a song I just composed for her, nervously and eagerly waiting for her.

I didn’t think I should wait any longer. I wanted to confess my love to her.

Miss Blind:

I came to him at another nightfall.

I brought a bottle of perfume I made for him only. There was the smell of his memory in this perfume, as well as the smell of the rustling leaves over our heads.

My trip would end soon. Today, I was going to say farewell to him.

Mr. Achromat:

She’s coming! With her Pingo.

“Hi,” she said. “I will go home tomorrow. I want to say goodbye to you now. Thank you for your music and the colors you show me. Here is the perfume I made for you. I want to give it to you as a gift. Can you smell the fragrance of your melody and memory from it?”

Her voice was so beautiful. It’s early winter now. The dry leaves were sparse on their branches. Words failed me at this moment. Instead, I started to play that tango I composed for her.

Pingo was very quiet tonight.

Miss Blind:

For a long time, he said nothing. His silence was so misty and ethereal. So I approached him with my dance as before. He put down his violin then. He held my hands and danced with me.

This night, I could feel all the riotous colors around us.

(a story between a blind girl and a color-blind man)

[psychiccolourllamaus]

Experience and Present: storytelling

An encounter on a lonely road

I can still remember when the last time we walked two abreast. The sharp cold wind mixed with the pungent smell of tobacco on you. A year went by, I am still on this lonely way of study abroad. I choose to shackle myself with lenient, responsibilities and self-discipline. I won’t look back. It’s winter again, same icy wind, the similar smell of tobacco often roamed the streets around. Life is continuing. Although the encounter of you and me is also like a flimsy, fleeting smell, I am still thankful for what you taught me -- to sense bravely then let go freely. 

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Experience and Present: Materialise

Letterpress Workshop

The process of using letter press machines showed reverse.

We have to put the paper up side down and then puss the handle of the letter press forward then push it back after we finished. 

There are different kinds of ink and typography that we can arrange as well.  

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Experience and Present: Materialise

Photography Workshop

I went to Photography Workshop and did an interview with one of my group members. Here are the links of the video about different working methods and processes about ‘reverse’ in this workshop.

https://illustrationanimationlinlin.wordpress.com/2018/10/17/photography-workshop/

https://vimeo.com/user90726662/review/295603799/8f557560bc

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Experience and Present: Materialise

Moving image Workshop

I asked one of the technicians Mr Phil. He said there is no ‘reverse’ in the processes of using the facilities there but make an animation then play them back and forth is reverse. 

And I found out that the process of developing the actions of characters by using tracing paper on the copyboard is reverse. 

Then I observed the students there, I discovered that rotating photos is reverse. Sometimes reverse appears while sound recording or making gifs.

[psychiccolourllamaus]

12/09/2018 Visual Diary

Hello everyone, I am an octopus that lives in deep sea.

I have trembling ink that really easy to evaporate by rising temperature in my body.

I often slow after beat. Always felt out of place.

My skin was too sensitive that even the friction of a grain of sand could make me feel pain.

I will hide into some unspectacular hole to be away from the noises surrounding me.

But even so, in my life, I found out that I am a natural contradiction! I love the burning sunlight. I love music. I love every tree and bush on the seashore. I love the vivid world that with everything that could hurt me!

When I’m alone, I usually start dancing by following the rhythm of waves; I like to go up to the sea surface to watch the changeable sky, then spit a bubble to act us a magnifier to look at every detail. I love the feeling of forgetting about the time while drawing on the beach by using ink in my ink sac.

Yep, I trust the deep sea... but it’s changeless. So sometimes, I became the shape of a fish, trying to feel their solidarity. Sometimes I wordless like jellyfish, then I experienced the tacit understanding! I even tired to be a cleaner for dangerous whales. I chat with them while working...

I'm always trying to understand every creature around me so I used to feel like: I lose myself. I eager to explore new environment and new me but I'm always worrying about spurting out ink accidentally because of I’m nervous.

In fact, in the past days, tides and whirlpools, human beings and their big boxes wanted to stand in my way to this kind of life I want, but every time when I was excluded, fettered, I use my boneless body and strong tolerance to resist. I never give up.

I used to despair, outburst, but in this huge ocean, art always tolerant the big rise and fall of my emotion, take care of my lonely heart. Art is like my shadow, always rise up the true side of me.

I am proud to be an octopus.