Steady Ups vs. Doctor Echo

Boar Attack from Jay White on Vimeo.

This is my last animation. There's a few seconds of black before it plays, so be patient.

My new film, "The Perfect Detonator" is about ten times more involved than this one. That's not necessarily a good thing.

I watched a lot of television this weekend and it freaked me out. I hope people watch that shit in a critical manner. It frightens me to think people watch it passively and just let everything enter their subconscious (and therefore, their world view) without really thinking about it and defending themselves from it. How many people believe that a 5-minute news story is capturing all the most vital information about a situation? That the news is telling the most important stories? Do most TV watchers even bother with the news?

How many people believe that happiness is all about good looks and money? That it's important to buy new things? That a cream will make you prettier? That real food comes in packaging?

Actors are no longer beautiful, they're fucking creepy. All I see are facial reconstruction scars and paralytic injections. Sad people. What strange lives they must lead. I can't help imagining how fake and horrified I'd be if I ever found myself at a Hollywood actor party. (I imagine that situation fairly often, and I always end up causing an awesomely uncomfortable scene. Here's hoping!)

The Hours was sweet-ass, though. Dang, there's some good writing and good acting.

I also enjoyed To Have and Have Not, with Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall. This 66-year old black-and-white movie would cost nothing to make these days, and it's more captivating than 99.5% of films made in the last year. I think it's the fantastic story (written by Ernest Hemingway) that makes it. The shadowy lighting and stylish acting really helps. Humphrey Bogary is just fun to watch. Same with Lauren Bacall - sexy! There's some hot hot scenes in that movie, and all they do is kiss for a couple seconds.

Hot hot hot!

what it's all about

"to look life in the face,

always

to look life in the face

and to know it for what it is

at last to know it

to love it for what it is,

and then,

to put it away."

From The Hours

art for the apocalypse

Am I the only one who finds it difficult to paint out-of-season colours? The trees in this scene needed to be summery. So hard not to at least give them fall colours.

These are the colours that come more naturally at the moment. By the way, I like drawing and painting structures. If anyone wants to commission me to paint a pretty version of their house or cabin, let me know. This painting is not yet complete, by the way. But I kinda like it the way it is.

A lot of my ex-students are Facebook-ing gorgeous paintings that they're creating digitally. The new Cintiq tablets are pretty amazing because you can draw right on them. I've been feeling a bit behind-the-times. Shouldn't I be grabbing a hold of the latest technology, keeping up with the world?

The the power died. I just kept on painting. And with candles, I could go all night. So I felt better. How much would it suck to be art-paralyzed if you were without power? I know that all the students I'm thinking of are amazing at drawing non-digitally as well, but it makes me think - children being born right now might never learn how to use an actual pencil.

It's amazing how much people take power for granted. I like living in places where the power goes out sometimes. It keeps shit pretty real. Makes you appreciate the values of a wood stove, an axe, fresh running water, and friendly neighbours with a chicken coop.

last reach of sun

last reach of sun - watercolour - 11" x 15"

It's about -10C tonight. I like this temperature - the coolness on my legs as I sit working, wearing a toque because I'm too far from the woodstove. I like the burn on my face when I'm biking.

I think I'm going to pack my winter bag for city camping tomorrow. I've slept in that bag at -30C, so I'll be nice and cozy (as long as no one comes and evicts me from the park...)

I didn't swim today - the waves were really crashing, and ice was forming on the rocks. I jumped in yesterday, though. I think that was the coldest air temperature that I've ever stripped down and jumped in water. My body was steaming when I got out. I want to get a photo of that sometime this winter, I bet it would look cool.

I've jumped in a lot colder water, though. A lake up behind Whistler, right at the base of a glacier, comes to mind. The coldest water was Marsh Lake, in the Yukon. It was mid-May, when the ice first starts to break up. I found an open spot and jumped in. I think that was supercooled water (water that is still liquid, but below freezing temperature.) The colder it is, the better it feels when you get out. Yesterday I felt like an ocean god. My body was completely alive - burning electric and numb at the same time. I felt like I could punch through bedrock.

no onions

I like sound. I'm going to play with sound in a huge way on my next film. Actually, it's becoming more of a multimedia performance than a film.


On Tuesday night I have a meeting in Vancouver, but it's gonna go late and I'll miss the ferry ride home. Solution? City camping! Check out this honey of a spot. It's going to be -9 Celsius that night, but I have a -10 C sleeping bag. It's an old bag, but I should be okay with a sweater and a toque.

best view from the outhouse

I hate to poo when people are nearby. When I used to work at animation studios, I'd leave the building, walk down the block, and poo in a bathroom in a different building. At one place, I would go into a multistory office building next door. There was a men's room in the hallway of the 4th floor. At another place, I had to use a gas station washroom.

We have a visitor today so I had to poo in the outhouse. PEOPLE: If you ever build an outhouse, it is CRUCIAL to give it a good view, good air, a nice bit of something to look at while you're making your magic. I love this place I'm living in, but the outhouse is terrible. It looks onto an old rusty bucket that someone used as a compost bin. There's old pieces of eggshell laying around, it looks like it should stink.

winter shore

I've lived on the West Coast for over eighty percent of my life, but this is the first winter I've spent outside of a town or city. My understanding and appreciation for the region is increasing with every darkening day.

As the days grow shorter, a quiet, sombre atmosphere is settling in. There's an otherworldly, ancient spiritual feeling in the trees and along the shore. I've felt a similar vibe once before, on Haida Gwaii, but the feeling was way stronger there. On those islands, when you're walking through the forest, or along the windy dunes, it almost felt like the place was watching you.

Here, I feel the same sense of smallness that I did on those Northern Islands. As the animals hole up for warmth and the leaves fall off the alders, more ancient, everlasting things stand out in stark relief. Red Cedar and Douglas Fir tower overhead - the only living beings that can stand tall against the wind and rain of the Pacific Coast. The stones grow a slippery black coat algae, like they have done for thousands of winters, and will continue to do for a long time after I'm gone.

I can see why the people who lived on the coast were so into spirits. That shit is walking around fo' sho'. I wonder if those spirits still live in the cities and towns? Were they driven away with the plants and the animals? Or are they just too hard to notice through all the noise and lights and distractions?

spirit of topped trees

"spirit of topped trees" - detail. work in progress

Julian Schnabel is a painter and a filmmaker. He's the guy who did The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, and Basquiat. He was interviewed on CBC Radio today. It was nice to listen to someone who paints and makes films, because those are my two interests as well. I often think I have to choose between one of the two, but fuck that.

Here are a couple things he said, or maybe things I was thinking while listening. I can't remember who said what, or if I mixed our thoughts in the same phrase:

I need to paint in order to live. It's freedom.

Filmmaking is more like a civic duty. Saying something that needs to be said.

I worked my butt off today, tilling The Old Man's Garden and chainsawing / mulching fallen branches on his property. The harvest season is nearly over, all the ground is turned over and mixed with sand, seaweed, mulch and grass. The only thing left standing are the brussel sprouts, garlic and chives. It's a nice feeling of completion - the end of a cycle, and the start of another season.

Long bikeride back from his property, through the old cedar grove, past farms, people riding horses, a flock of wild turkeys.

Life is a bit like sailing. You're constantly adjusting, trying to achieve some kind of optimal balance, which is impossible to find, really. But sometimes you hit a sweet spot where everything is lined up just right and for a little while, everything feels perfect.