Everything I draw ends up wearing a bow-tie

my crappy sketch process press J to skip

pretty much always but I’m bad at tutorials and I’m tired so here have a bunch of WIP screencaps or something

so yeah first get that diggity darn basic sketch down, here I pushed Fred’s pose to look more like the cartoony double-bounce step walk I reckon he would have but his proportions are pretty humany so he’s not too different structure wise

needed reference for how the cuff would crease so I took a shot of my own sleeve (egads whodathunk you can use yourself as reference)

I tend to draw things a few frames after the reference if it’s moving; it’s a habit from animation, but basically to get away from that stilted rotoscope look that some heavily referenced pictures get I try to ‘animate’ the picture and draw it as if it’s the next key frame in a sequence, so here the coat has been pushed forwards by Fred’s hand and the folds are following that through

slapped on the rest of them clothes because ain’t nobody wants a naked android strutting about, also he’s not going to be on a catwalk in the picture so I threw in some blustery wind to help that hair and action line out. You’ll probably have noticed that I also leveled out the floor so his feet are both more duck-toed and at a different perspective

throw in a loose map for the lighting and there’s your goddamn scribbley-ass sketch. After this I red line it and fix all the mistakes I’ve made before going to inking and yes there are a metric shit tonne in this one but I’m hella tired so this is as far as I got :|

hope that helped somehow but yeah, reference; it’s great, use it, but don’t copy it, copying leads to dead awkward poses that your character wouldn’t do and really you don’t learn as much from copy pasting even if it’s by hand

Pull faces.
No, really. Look at this dude;

This is Ward Kimball, a super good animator who really influenced my own work, especially in the expression department, but almost all animators do this. You want a serious piece of advice? Grab a mirror, think about your character’s motivation and just get silly.

I’ve always had quite a rubbery face and people constantly tell me that I am a ‘cartoon’ of a person, but you don’t have to be extrovertal in real life to be able to pull faces back at your desk. Sometimes you don’t even need to be looking at yourself for it to help with drawing expressions; just feeling how the muscles of your face move helps, and it gets you in the mind set of the character. A lot of people do it naturally- ever found yourself drawing something and pulling the same face as the person you’re drawing? Good. Keep doing that.

Animation is acting, you just do it through drawings; illustration or even just scribbling a character with a certain emotion is just as involving and important for me. If you want to draw a character feeling sad, feel sad. Don’t just imagine them being sad, think about what would make them sad; understand why it would make them sad, and in what way. There’s a thousand ways to be sad and a thousand ways to look each type of sad. Don’t be simple, don’t be complicated; be deep. Know what you are drawing from the inside out.

The very word 'character’ tells you that the subject you are drawing, be it a human or a robot or a shoe with a face, has a personality. There are all sorts of tutorials out there about the anatomy of the face and typical expressions, which are really useful and I do recommend looking up, but for me the most critical part of the process is what is inside; realizing that you are drawing something with emotions, not just trying to draw 'an’ emotion on that character’s face. You have to understand what you are drawing. What is an emotion? A reaction. What are they reacting to? Why are they reacting that way? Make it mundane or make it dramatic, but give your character a reason to look the way they do.

Characters are people. Respect them for it, and they’ll help you find the expression that you’re looking for.

Well, before I go into TL:DR land, which it appears is inevitable, I will summarize it to the very boring and obvious answer of; I dress like this because I like to.

To clarify that statement, I have always liked to. I have always liked ties, bow-ties, cravats, waistcoats, brogues, spats, dress shirts, tuxedos and suits of every description, except skirt-suits. Not that I dislike them on other people, and I am generally of the opinion that everyone else in the world looks better in any set of clothes than I do, but I’ve never felt comfortable wearing a skirt. At both of the schools I attended uniform was compulsory. At Grammar school girls had to wear a skirt. Primary school was, initially, the same, but after voicing my preferences to my parents, and a discussion with our very wonderful headmistress, trousers were also permitted for girls.

I was the only girl in my class who wore trousers.

Did I find it embarrassing? No. Did I find that I could do cartwheels and hang upside-down on the climbing frame and run around in windy weather without being embarrassed? Yes. Was my basis for wanting to wear trousers simply practical? I’m not sure. At the time I suppose it was the largest reason, so it was the one I used to argue my case, but I had always hated wearing dresses and having people tie up my hair and generally attempt to make me look ‘pretty’. I was never a 'girly’ girl. I hated the colour pink, played with snails in the back garden and had an action man. I don’t think I thought less of people who liked Barbies and ponies, in fact I loved horses more than anyone else I knew- but I wasn’t into that realm. I liked horses and going riding because it was exciting, and I constantly read about Dirk Turpin, Robin Hood and King Arthur.

I liked adventure stories. Who were the people that I looked up to the most in those stories? Men. I am not saying that there weren’t female protagonists out there, or no female characters that I liked, but they usually didn’t interest me; they didn’t live lives that I wanted to live. There are more these days who would appeal to me, increasingly so, but we are talking about what was, and the fact was that associated with the male characters, and that if I ever grew up I didn’t want to be a lady, I wanted to be a gentleman.

I still don’t see anything particularly wrong with it as an aspiration, and I’m certainly not a grown up yet, so, I play at being one. I make believe, as all children are wont to do, visually as well as personally. Wearing bow-ties and tweed jackets makes people smile, and I like that sort of look anyway, but secretly (or not so secretly after this) I really just want to be a gentleman towards people. It’s my costume, yes, but it’s also a way of living.

Life is play. My wardrobe is my dressing-up box, the world is my playground, the gentleman is my character, and that’s fine; because no matter how other people put it that’s exactly how life is for them too. I just make it clear that I’m playing because I have so much fun.

TL:DR - I have no idea what just happened or how I should feel about it

So I’d been cleaning the house this morning, and since it’s nice outside I thought I’d treat myself and go buy lunch. Decided to stretch my legs while I was at it so I ended up having a walk and going into a Tim Hortons that I don’t usually pass by.

I’m making my order, and the girl behind the till does this little ‘take’. It’s a little reaction that I’ve got used to seeing people do when they realize I’m not Canadian. I give her the usual polite, slightly wane smile that forgoes the inevitable 'are you English?’ question that usually follows this reaction (to which my response is generally 'it was the teeth that gave it away wasn’t it?’ but that’s another matter).

She did not ask me if I was English. She looked rather pleased and quietly excited and asked if I could recite anything.

Naturally I was rather surprised by this. I think I blinked and looked rather unintelligent for a moment, but I looked around-  there was barely anyone in the place, and nobody in the line behind me- and I sort of thought to hell with it and nodded.

So I recited 'You are old Father William’ to a complete stranger in a coffee shop, all the while feeling uncommonly like Alice herself and wondering if all that cleaning I’d done this morning had just been another of those exhausting and frustrating dreams that you wake up from and find you have to do all the work again. In the mean time the girl’s work colleagues, supposedly similarly bored, came and stood and listened and I swear by this time my cheeks were the same colour as my hair.

I was considering the prospect of diving through the nearest window with some sincerity by the third verse, however, I am not a stranger to making an idiot of myself in public, and in for a penny in for a pound. I finished the whole poem and there was some giggling and muted (I supposed) mock applause from my small audience. She finally handed over my order and I paid, and then I asked why she had wanted me to recite.

It turned out that her grandmother had passed away not so very long ago, and she was English too. She used to recite poetry and prose by heart that she’d been taught in school, and this girl, this stranger behind the counter, had listened to that voice and loved those stories, but as much as she had tried to do the same she said she had never 'had the right accent’. When she told me that I said that it doesn’t matter what accent you use, the words are the same, but she just sort of shook her head and said 'no, they’re not.’

So I gave her a rather awkward sandwich-laden hug across the counter and said something embarrassed and supportive and she didn’t cry but I suspect she nearly did. I waved to her friends as I was leaving and I was suddenly aware that they hadn’t been joking when they’d clapped.

Anyway, I’m not quite sure what to make of all that, and I felt a bit dizzy walking home, but it’s a very nice sandwich.

Why do I have such strong feelings for film?

No, really. Honest question. I don’t know. I’m not sure why. It’s just, I have these insanely strong emotions when it comes to film and cartoons.

Like, not even individual films, just the entire medium. I love all types of art, but there’s something about film that I feel inherently connected to. I see a reel of film or an animation cell and I legitimately get emotional about it. Damaged nitrate film makes me genuinely sad. I get tingles when I see the circular countdown numbers and hear the pips. Seeing film restoration documentaries make me cry more than ones about saving kids in third world countries. I know, I’m horrible, but I have more immediate feelings for film than other human beings.

Don’t get me wrong I love living things too, and yes okay I would save the puppy from the fire before the two-reeler if I had to choose, but I don’t know if I would save me before it. I’m not even being dramatic, I’m being pragmatic. Maybe it’s because I’ve always had trouble understanding what reality is, or, rather, how people decide what is real. I remember having a real argument with an adult (I can’t remember who) when I was a kid about cartoon characters being real. They kept telling me that they weren’t, but I couldn’t accept that; because both of us knew who they were, what they were like, how they spoke and felt and what they’d done, and more people knew about that person than about either of us. That character was known to the world, and influenced it. To me, that meant that we were less real than the character, and I think I still believe that- we’re certainly less permanent.

Anyway I don’t know why this came up I just had a really weird night’s sleep and sometimes I have feels about things.

Oh HO HO

Okay, so, usually I would just ignore this and move on but-

EXCUSE ME FOR JUST A MOMENT BECAUSE I’M OFFICIALLY GOING TO LOSE MY RAG.

ACTUALLY SOD THAT THE RAG IS NOT MISPLACED, I JUST CHUCKED IT OVER THE BALCONY. THEN SHOT IT. WITH A BAZOOKA.

Find a good comfy chair and sit your royal posterior the fuck down, my dear Anon, because you are going to listen and listen well.

Point one: Animation does not automatically mean that it has to be cute. Have you seen Grave of the Fireflies? I’m guessing not. If I mentioned the name Jan Svankmajer you’d probably say ‘bless you.’ At least tell me you’ve heard of South Park, because if not I really am going to despair of there being the slightest chance of any of this penetrating the congealed porridge of your stagnated mind.

Animation is a medium. It is an art form. It can be used to any ends and be applied to any audience. It can be horrifying or adorable, it can be disturbing or heart warming, but even if it is frightening and disturbing that doesn’t mean it isn’t inspirational or beautiful.

Point two: clambering back all over your words and saying sorry sorry sorry is just disgusting, stop that. One apology would have been enough. To say sorry can be a difficult thing if it is sincere, and then it is only required to be said once. Words are a precious commodity, do not abuse them, and especially not the words that matter the most. Repetition echoes insincerity.

Point three: I did not ask for you to apologize on your standpoint. You are perfectly permitted to have your own opinion. I actually enjoy critique, if it is well placed, and will always strive to improve my work, which I know is always in need of improvement. The thing that got my back up was the callous supposition that I would adjust my style for you, because clearly I will listen to one anonymous person who knows much more about character design than I do after studying animation for four years and being an active professional in the field.

Point four: Fuck you.

Point five: Time zones. An odd thing to consider I know, but, if you do 'love my work’ I assume that you have been following me for long enough to know that I am situated in Vancouver. I also assume that you know that tomorrow is Monday, a working day from nine to six for me, which will involve, what? Drawing. Lots of it. Now, why am I drawing for a living? Because I’ve studied it? No, because I love it. I live for it. It burns inside my mind and heart like ten thousand hot coals from dawn to dusk and if I did not draw I would probably explode from sheer enthusiasm. The thing is that burning coals, no matter how hot they are, can be doused with water. If this is all getting too metaphorical for you let me be plain; fruitless criticism is water. Constructive criticism, on the other hand, is wood- I can use it to improve, to burn brighter and hotter and produce more and better work. To get this frozen heap of horseshit landed on my emotive state, which I will admit is not very stable today (perhaps because I’m ill or, hell, I don’t know, one my favourite human beings was mugged today and I can’t do a damned thing about it), is not very beneficial for a person who relies on her artistic motivation to make a living.

Point six: Refer to point four.

Thank you very much to everyone who has been supportive of me in regards to this, but we all know how one piece of negative thought can all but eclipse one hundred good ones.

Right.

Fuck this I’m going to bed.

TL:DR - stuff about life I guess

Wow, two very hard questions to answer, especially the second because I don’t know if I do- I just, try not to think that I know anything. I suppose that is one of the most important things I’ve learned, or rather, one of the most important things to avoid- the illusion of security.

One of the things I like about animation, but which a lot of people seem to find off-putting about it, is that it’s contract based. In other words, as soon as you’ve finished with your contract, that’s it; you’re out of a job, and there is no guarantee that you’ll ever work with the same company again. The reason I like that is that I will get to move around, work in different places, meet more people and use different styles. I find that people who have stayed in one place doing the same thing for a long time develop this idea that things will always be there and will always be the same, which, of course, they might not be.

It’s always hard to talk to people who have had this mind set when things have changed, because they are hurt by it- they trusted something in life to be stable, and they feel betrayed and lost. It isn’t their fault, but it is a dangerous mindset to develop. There is a long standing fear of change in society, but to fear change is to fear evolution, spontaneity, creativity. At the same time, to forget your own history is to be doomed to repeat it. Perhaps that is a hard thing, to hold onto the knowledge of everything that has passed whilst accepting and exploring the new, but it is possible. Everything is possible.

This is not to say I haven’t had a secure and comfortable life or had that mindset myself, very far from it- I can’t imagine having had a more peaceful and stable upbringing. I have never been in want, and I hope I have never been ungrateful for that. My family and friends are supportive, kind and wise. I have never even moved house before I moved over here to Vancouver. I have solidity and stability in my life, but I know, as scary as it might seem, that it might not always be that way. It might be, but it might not. It’s a grim truth to accept, but chance is a startlingly prominent factor of our existence. People are fragile, lives are fragile, and lives end. People end. We wish that wasn’t true, but it is, and it must be.

Sometimes it feels as if everything is against you, but afterwards, you see that, if it hadn’t happened, things might be much worse now. If I hadn’t fallen and damaged my wrist a few weeks ago, I wouldn’t have the job that I have and love now. If I hadn’t had such a terrible last year of study at university, I wouldn’t have come to Vancouver at all. I have certainly had at least one near-death experience that put my mortality in stark perspective, but I think even before it I knew how much I loved being alive, and how unlikely it was that I ever came to be in the first place.

Basically, life is confusing and dangerous and full of mad coincidences and unfair situations. It will hurt, and it will end, but if it didn’t it wouldn’t be life. Do not believe in constancy. Nothing is forever, but don’t be afraid of that- be excited by it. Believe in those crazy ideas you have at 3 in the morning, those are the ones that people will remember you for. Say those kind words to that person you admire, but were too shy to talk to- they need to hear them as much as you need to say them. When it comes down to it we are only as much as our thoughts amount to. Don’t hide your thoughts away, or worse, hide from the thoughts of others. Find them. Dig them out of books and drain them out of songs and hold them when they come to you for help.

Be as mad as the world around you. It will never play fair, and it will never make sense, but what fun would it be if it did?

TL:DR Britain is weird okay?

Wow, points for probably being one of the most interesting and hard to answer questions I’ve had to date, and yes, I know precisely what you mean. Probably shouldn’t be flattered that you get that from the comic too, but cheers all the same ;)

I’ve considered the fact myself a couple of times, and really I can only suppose it’s because death is such an integral part of our history and culture. It’s not something that we gloss over or pretend doesn’t happen- I was always very aware of what death was and what it meant to people from a very early age. Certainly, you use phrases like ‘kicked the bucket’, 'pushing up the daisies’, 'joined the choir invisible’ etc. but that doesn’t diminish the concept for us. It’s a part of everyday conversation, it’s a part of our childhood stories, it’s a part of the games we play and the nursery rhymes we sing in the playground. British comedy, too, is obsessed with it. Taking one of the heaviest taboos of philosophy and turning it into something hilarious is an everyday activity; because that’s how humans deal with things like that. Laughter really is the best medicine, and death is an ever present fact of existence.

There is also a very prominent obsession with time, and how little of it we have. When I moved to Vancouver one of the hardest things I had to get used to was the more casual approach to time. Showing up 'on time’ included being five minutes late, later for some people, depending on where they were from, and even now at my job they don’t mind if you show up at half past the hour as long as you work that extra half hour in the evening. In the U.K. being late is one of the worst sins imaginable- or, at least, that was how I was brought up to see it. School, work, even just meeting up with friends to see a movie. The idea of being late, wasting time, not wearing a watch- it’s just not done. I’ve seen people boasting to each other about how accurate their timepieces are, it’s that big of a deal.

The U.K. also has a long standing reputation for murders, ghost stories, fairy tales that would scare you right out of your wits- but there’s no real way to tell where the myths and facts cross over. My country has a horribly bloodstained history. A lot of the time the blood was on our hands, but, being an island, we’ve also been a gigantic target since the dawn of time. Vikings, Romans, Normans, you name it- why do you think the English language is such a mad mashup?

So, yes, Britain is dark, and there is always an acknowledgement of death in what we do- be it ominous or absurd. It was a country built on blood and salt water; there’s was never going to be any way for it not to be dark and twisted, but it’s still home. It’s a charming, welcoming, ravenous little beast of a country with a crooked smile that’ll go for your jugular as soon as offer you a cup of tea.

Do visit some day if you have the time.