waffles

jeanna and i were married in a judges living room on my lunch hour... i was back to work by 1:30. a few months later we had a reception in the park for our family. it was a small event... very simple and unadorned. we spent the night in a tacky hotel. this image is important... i felt henry move inside of her for the first time.

chipped

the haitian hotel

i bought the truck for $100 and the camper was given to me -- filled with rat shit. i spent a month cleaning it, making curtains, rewiring and re-plumbing the camper. i loved going out to the desert in the spring time and doing mushrooms.

through college, i pretty much lived in the darkroom and sculpting studio. i used to park on campus and sleep here for days on end.

my junior year, i upgraded. sold the truck for $300 and bought a bigger one and a 22 foot trailer. i traveled with my dog, jasper, and made pictures. it was easy to stay centered when all i had to do was point the truck in a direction and drive... leaving nothing (of significant importance) behind. i'd find a town i had never been to, stay for a few days or a week and leave after i had taken what i needed.

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we celebrated our 8 year anniversary this year (10 years together in all). next to raising kids, marriage is the hardest thing i've ever done. when we first came to seattle, my job put an enormous strain on our life together. henry was 4 and jack was on the way, and jeanna was, for the most part, on her own for the first few years while i struggled to find my place and provide for them. there are people who seem to be able to find that work life balance. i walk the line like a drunken sailor...

i have friends who punch the clock and others who have no sense of identity outside their office, and i'm not sure which i feel sorrier for.

This Is Tom.

Tom lives on Vashon Island. He heats his home with wood. Tom said I could take a walk through his rounds and pick out a few good ones for my lathe. Madrone, most likely. I'll take the truck out on the ferry soon and get some. Tom's a good man. I will keep him.

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henry crawling

Really? Seriously?

I wish I could present a screen grab of this particular thing-a-ma-bob, but my technical shortcomings prevent it. So...

American Apparel is no longer using any logos on their banner ads on FaceBook. Interesting. Instead, they're relying on a bit of soft porn poses and a directional. Which, on me any way, worked pretty well. Because I'm a perv at heart? Because I'm immune to most advertising? Who knows.

In any event, I find it fascinating. Much in line with Robert Bourke's "Slouching Toward Gommorah" where he painstakingly outlines the markers of a declining civilization -- this tact feels like a prime example in the awareness war for more eyeballs.

Say, what're you selling? T&A folks, what more do you need?

cliffSide

cliffSide
Originally uploaded by mostrostudios

an image from scene 4, finished up the last of the sets tonight and now on to finish rigging. I am looking forward to actually doing some animation.

(insert ominous Jaws music here...)

Yep, she's coming. If this latest ultrasound's correct, about 3-4 weeks early. She's a big'in. And mom says she's gonna work daddy over like a punk. For reals.

Stop And Smell The Sidecars.

Another late night on the tourism pitch.

Took a break; walked out on the deck. Had to borrow Brian's iPhone for this. A bit dark, but you get the idea.

Nine floors above the train station and all that noise; couldn't have cared less.

God's work.

Some more set work, a little progress

Now that the Tourism pitch is behind us, I have a little more energy at the end of the day to work on 'Regn'. I have a few sets to model yet and a lot of little details to add to them to make sure they feel real and not like lifeless husks. This one is for a simple exterior shot to set up Scene #2, it is the exterior of the house where the action of Scenes 2, 3, and 4 will take place.

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before jack, the three of us would always shower together. i would usually hold henry while jeanna washed him. i remember at first how stressful it would be, once he was soapy... how slippery he would become. i was terrified i'd drop him. it's hard to fit four of us in the shower now — considering henry is more than half my height already and jack tries to climb the shower walls.

i've never been able to color correct this fucking image

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henry (2) and jeanna

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my grandmother (1995)

i come from a small town...

where people revel in mediocrity; vomiting smallness and contentment. i've tried to reconnect to this life many times. i've been to the parades and festivals and tried to reinsert myself into their matrix. at times i come across souls who i get, other times all i see emptiness and people banished to a land of self-perpetuated consistency. i still have a lot of family who call these small towns home.

like father...

it's hard for jack to keep his pants on. i often have to stop him from stripping in restaurants.

More set work

Spring is here, yard work is calling and the days of rainy weekends that give me the justification to sit in the bunker all day and grind away with Maya are over until this fall. Still hoping to get the first episode done this summer but lots and lots of work to do. Here is a shot of the meadow in Scene 1. Like where it is at the moment. no lighting, just textures and polygons.

He looks like me.

Only smaller. Cleaner. Less worried. Like today’s just as good as tomorrow could ever be. And I aim to keep it that way. With. All. My. Might. My intelligent little savage. Faedon.

Buying Books – It’s A Sucker’s Play.

Growing up, my aunts always had books around their house. On the coffee table, on their nightstands, even the kitchen counter.

Compared to us shoddily dressed country folk, they were highly educated women. Cultured.

I remember touching their books. Smelling them. Marveling at their pristine pages; not a single dog-ear among them. And a part of me came to equate books – or better, the luxury to be able to afford your own books – to be a sign of success.

Having moved now about 20 times in the past 20 years, I’ve come to the realization lately that these very symbols of success have become my personal albatross.

I lay awake the other night wondering how many times I’ve paid some sweaty moving guys to lug my treasures up and down stairs. Across state lines. Even into another century.

Silly.

Especially when I asked myself, “How many had I ever read more than once?” Or, for that matter, planned to read again.

So I’m selling off most of my books; some of which have been lovingly packed away in boxes since I graduated college. Selling them for mere pennies. Shedding a tear or two here and there as they go back into the world.

And I feel better.

So take a tip from our Uncle Ter. Consider a library card.

If you love books like I do, unless you’re buying nighttime stories that’ll be read over and over, must-have cookbooks, or (for you bead mumbles) a bible – take the bushel or two of hard earned lucre you would have spent on these papyrus parcels and do something else. (emphasis on the “do” part there…)

Hit the library.

Believe it or not, picking up a well-loved book – with its edges a bit worn, its pages a bit oiled – the very act will actually touch you back.