I made an interesting observation recently. It is about Lyo and Merly, the mascots for the recent 2010 Youth Olympic Games.
The setting was a chaotic but warm family gathering, with many adults and 3 children. The TV was on, and Lyo and Merly made a brief appearance. Someone asked, "Which one is Lyo and which one is Merly?" Another replied, "Usually blue is boy, what. So blue should be Lyo and red should be Merly."
I instantaneously thought, "Hey, that's a wrong stereotype!" I was using the Power Rangers stereotype in colour scheme. Red is always the main guy; blue is one of the sidekicks, who is sometimes a girl (especially if the blue is close to cyan, like Merly's colour).
The next moment, I questioned my own thought, "Why is that wrong? After all, the boy is usually given the color blue and the girl pink, a shade of red."
I find it interesting that 2 stereotypes I take for granted clash each other in a manner I never expected.
Saturday, September 04, 2010
Monday, July 12, 2010
Vague Art Discussion #1: Rhythm
Now that I will be able to focus on arts (drawing and 3D modeling), I decided to start a series of blog posts in which I write my thoughts about what I learn in drawing and modeling. I'll call this series "Vague Art Discussion" because art discussions feel vague to me most of the time.
Rhythm
Last year, while my sketch group was working on our doujin artbook, I tried reading the book Force: Dynamic Life Drawing for Animators by Michael D. Mattesi, but I could not understand it at all. Recently, the book was recommended for reading by Dom, one of our life drawing instructors. So I am trying to read the book again now, with an additional motivation to make sense of what it says. I still don't understand most of what the book says; it uses many terms that I just cannot understand: "directional force", "applied force", and "rhythm".
(This only reinforces my opinion that art discussions are vague most of the time.)
I didn't pay much attention to the word "rhythm" when reading. It started to seem important in the next life drawing class, when Dom (casually) mentioned the word while demonstrating drawing a series of sketches to depict an action. It made me want to understand this concept.
Before proceeding, let me make it clear that what I write below are my attempt to understand what rhythm means in drawing. I could very well be completely wrong.
I personally interpret rhythm as the regular beat in music. It suggests the need for time. The best way I can define rhythm is "something similar that happens more-or-less regularly".
However, this is life; obviously the next wall comes hitting me in the face very soon after that: the moment I hold a pencil and tried to apply my understanding of rhythm when drawing. The examples given in the book were drawn by people who understand rhythm, so it is easy to see rhythm in these drawings. In life drawing class, however, I see a real life model. Suddenly I realize that I need to find rhythm as an imaginary overlay from a real model. Some poses make it easier to see rhythm than others; most of the time, though, I just cannot see a rhythm on a pose. So that's something I need to be working on, I guess.
NB: Anyone reading who understand rhythm, please feel free to leave a comment. Thanks!
Rhythm
Last year, while my sketch group was working on our doujin artbook, I tried reading the book Force: Dynamic Life Drawing for Animators by Michael D. Mattesi, but I could not understand it at all. Recently, the book was recommended for reading by Dom, one of our life drawing instructors. So I am trying to read the book again now, with an additional motivation to make sense of what it says. I still don't understand most of what the book says; it uses many terms that I just cannot understand: "directional force", "applied force", and "rhythm".
(This only reinforces my opinion that art discussions are vague most of the time.)
I didn't pay much attention to the word "rhythm" when reading. It started to seem important in the next life drawing class, when Dom (casually) mentioned the word while demonstrating drawing a series of sketches to depict an action. It made me want to understand this concept.
Before proceeding, let me make it clear that what I write below are my attempt to understand what rhythm means in drawing. I could very well be completely wrong.
I personally interpret rhythm as the regular beat in music. It suggests the need for time. The best way I can define rhythm is "something similar that happens more-or-less regularly".
- "Something similar" because sometimes beat sound changes, yet I can still understand that rhythm continues.
- "Happens more-or-less regularly" because, again, sometimes the duration between 2 beats changes, yet I can still understand that the rhythm continues.
- When drawing, I start from a position, go to another position, etc, with a pencil/charcoal. I know that I have a certain kind of speed when drawing a line; so I need a certain amount of time to draw a length of a line. Thus, drawing similar length of line takes me similar duration. This may explain the "more-or-less regular" part of rhythm description.
- Now I only need to draw something similar "more-or-less regularly" and perhaps I will have my rhythm!
However, this is life; obviously the next wall comes hitting me in the face very soon after that: the moment I hold a pencil and tried to apply my understanding of rhythm when drawing. The examples given in the book were drawn by people who understand rhythm, so it is easy to see rhythm in these drawings. In life drawing class, however, I see a real life model. Suddenly I realize that I need to find rhythm as an imaginary overlay from a real model. Some poses make it easier to see rhythm than others; most of the time, though, I just cannot see a rhythm on a pose. So that's something I need to be working on, I guess.
NB: Anyone reading who understand rhythm, please feel free to leave a comment. Thanks!
Thursday, July 08, 2010
Hierarchy
Recently, I see the concept hierarchy everywhere. I am attending a 3D modeling class, which includes a life drawing class; and at work I am coding an editor for a web application.
In life drawing, Andrew, one of my instructors, says "Go for the large shape first". I think it's easy to imagine that the same advice applies in 3D modeling. After all, both drawing and modeling are about defining shapes.
In programming, it is more difficult to see how Andrew's advice applies. Perhaps it helps to put programming activity in the context of a development project. A project has goals and time limit. Thus, it is sensible to go for the large items first. "Large" in this case I interpret as "essential" or "must have". Then, I progressively go for smaller and smaller items to refine the system's behavior as close to the ideal behavior as possible. I interpret "smaller items" as "non-essential goals" or "nice-to-have items" and "non-essential bug fixing".
I was uncomfortable with "non-essential bug fixing" at first because, as item#5 in the Joel Test suggests, fixing bugs should have higher priority than writing new code. However, in the tight deadlines I was in, it simply felt right that non-essential bugs should wait. Re-reading what Joel wrote, I think what's important is not a rigid "fix bugs first then write new codes" rule; but finding a compromise between implementing new items and fixing bugs in items already implemented.
Anyway, I thought it's interesting to see a parallel between drawing and programming process. Perhaps I see it only now because the life drawing classes forces me to draw in a very limited time (3-minute poses, 1-minute hands, 10-minute faces, etc).
In life drawing, Andrew, one of my instructors, says "Go for the large shape first". I think it's easy to imagine that the same advice applies in 3D modeling. After all, both drawing and modeling are about defining shapes.
In programming, it is more difficult to see how Andrew's advice applies. Perhaps it helps to put programming activity in the context of a development project. A project has goals and time limit. Thus, it is sensible to go for the large items first. "Large" in this case I interpret as "essential" or "must have". Then, I progressively go for smaller and smaller items to refine the system's behavior as close to the ideal behavior as possible. I interpret "smaller items" as "non-essential goals" or "nice-to-have items" and "non-essential bug fixing".
I was uncomfortable with "non-essential bug fixing" at first because, as item#5 in the Joel Test suggests, fixing bugs should have higher priority than writing new code. However, in the tight deadlines I was in, it simply felt right that non-essential bugs should wait. Re-reading what Joel wrote, I think what's important is not a rigid "fix bugs first then write new codes" rule; but finding a compromise between implementing new items and fixing bugs in items already implemented.
Anyway, I thought it's interesting to see a parallel between drawing and programming process. Perhaps I see it only now because the life drawing classes forces me to draw in a very limited time (3-minute poses, 1-minute hands, 10-minute faces, etc).
Saturday, April 24, 2010
People List
On a whim, I decided to compile this list of people who change my life for the better but I never meet in person.
Reading
(Last updated on 2 April 2011.)
Reading
- Isaac Asimov: for writing I, Robot (my gateway drug to s.f.), The Bicentennial Man, The Gods Themselves, Nightfall.
- David Brin: for writing Kiln People (my other gateway drug to s.f.), Earth, Glory Season, Otherness, The River of Time, & for coming up with the awesome story title Thor Meets Captain America.
- Kurt Busiek: for writing Superman: Secret Identity
- Orson Scott Card: for writing Ender's Game, Speaker for the Dead.
- Arthur C. Clarke: for writing Rendezvous with Rama, 3001, Childhood's End.
- Thomas L. Friedman: for writing The Lexus and the Olive Tree.
- Joe Haldeman: for writing The Forever War.
- Robert A. Heinlein: for writing Starship Troopers.
- Frank Herbert: for writing Dune (which got me interested in s.f.).
- Shimoku Kio: for writing & drawing Genshiken.
- Scott McCloud: for writing Understanding Comics: The Invisible Art.
- Frank Miller: for writing Batman: Year One.
- Terry Pratchett: for writing Discworld novels.
- Joel Spolsky: for writing Joel on Software (both the blog & the book, my gateway drug to self-improvement as a programmer).
- Andrew Aversa (a.k.a. zircon): for hosting VGDJ; remixing Ragol Weather.
- Daniel Baranowsky: for remixing Knuckleduster.
- Patrick Burns: for remixing Revisiting The Ruins.
- Diggi Dis: for remixing And He Returned Home.
- David W. Lloyd (a.k.a. djpretzel): for starting OverClocked Remix, remixing Love Hurts & Twoson Hits the Road.
- wingless: for hosting VGDJ.
- Zac Bertschy: for hosting ANNCast.
- Clarissa Graffeo: for hosting Anime World Order podcast.
- Gerald Rathkolb: for hosting Anime World Order podcast.
- Frederik Schodt: for writing The Astro Boy Essays (my gateway drug into reading about the anime/manga history in Japan & America), Dreamland Japan.
- Justin Sevakis: for hosting ANNCast & writing a travel blog when he visited Singapore for Anime Festival Asia 2009.
- Daryl Surat: for hosting Anime World Order podcast.
(Last updated on 2 April 2011.)
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Some Thoughts on Drawing
I like to look at drawings, paintings, and sketches. Then I found out that I seemed to be better than my peers in drawing things on paper and I became interested in drawing, painting, and sketching. Soon, this interest started to make me feel the need to learn from other people who I think are better than I am.
However, I often cannot understand what (people who call themselves or are called) artists mean when they describe their work and their working process. For example, it was only recently that I found out that "organic look" means something in the line of "non-geometric look". Before that, I never understood what "organic look" meant whenever I read or heard this term.
As I continue drawing, painting and sketching, I found a lot of fuzzy concepts that I learned from going back and forth between practice and reading books on drawing and painting. Examples of such concepts are (1) the reason behind squinting eyes when painting and (2) the difference between drawing lines and painting strokes. I realize I need labels/words/terms/vocabulary to describe these things and organize them in my mind (I personally believe that organizing what I know helps in learning things that I do not yet know). It is at this point that I started to understand why artists usually use words that I did/do not understand. They try to describe fuzzy concepts that they know exist (because they use these concepts when creating things) but people in general are not familiar with. (I wonder if this is a universal problem because of specialization.)
I felt the need to write this article because of my recent experience collaborating with a friend from my drawing group. She shares similar interests in drawing, painting, and sketching (let's put "visual arts" label to this set of things), but her background and experience are very different from mine. There were times that I realized we were having difficulty to communicate (to describe what look that we want to achieve, for example). I wondered why this difficulty was there at all. As I pondered on it, my train of thought helped me to formulate the cause as I wrote in previous paragraphs. We both tried to explain what we meant using inexact words either because there were no exact words or because we did not fully understand what we wanted to describe.
---
Related to this experience, there is another fuzzy concept that I started to see. I'd like to attempt to describe it here.
I find myself often using the words "high level" and "low level" to categorize things. The things can be concepts related to visual arts, programming, or anything in general; but let's to stick to visual arts concepts. A high level concept is not necessarily better/greater/more advanced than low level ones. A high level concept is built on top of a number of low level concepts (perhaps the metaphorical "top" is the reason for the term "high level"?). For example, walking is a high level concept while swinging arms, shifting body weight, moving a leg forward, and so on are low level concepts needed for walking. Low level concepts are more concrete than high level concepts. The fuzzy concepts I mentioned earlier above are high level concepts I learned from practicing low level concepts many times.
Now, an artist has his own knowledge, which is a set of high level concepts. As he practices, he learns more concepts.
Artists with less experience care more about low level concepts, such as drawing the correct proportions, smoothing line curves, tightening up & cleaning up sketches, or even minute details of character (e.g. exact number of spikes in the case of anime hair). At some point, all these would sink to the background. The artist still thinks about all these, but they are in a background process that do not need much attention. It is at this point that he can learn new concepts because his conscious mind is free from all these. It is at this point that he starts building high level concepts using the low level concepts that now runs in the background process.
I think it is also at this point that he starts to use words people don't understand :)
Reality is no doubt much more complex than this; but, hey, that's what I can formulate in words for now.
However, I often cannot understand what (people who call themselves or are called) artists mean when they describe their work and their working process. For example, it was only recently that I found out that "organic look" means something in the line of "non-geometric look". Before that, I never understood what "organic look" meant whenever I read or heard this term.
As I continue drawing, painting and sketching, I found a lot of fuzzy concepts that I learned from going back and forth between practice and reading books on drawing and painting. Examples of such concepts are (1) the reason behind squinting eyes when painting and (2) the difference between drawing lines and painting strokes. I realize I need labels/words/terms/vocabulary to describe these things and organize them in my mind (I personally believe that organizing what I know helps in learning things that I do not yet know). It is at this point that I started to understand why artists usually use words that I did/do not understand. They try to describe fuzzy concepts that they know exist (because they use these concepts when creating things) but people in general are not familiar with. (I wonder if this is a universal problem because of specialization.)
I felt the need to write this article because of my recent experience collaborating with a friend from my drawing group. She shares similar interests in drawing, painting, and sketching (let's put "visual arts" label to this set of things), but her background and experience are very different from mine. There were times that I realized we were having difficulty to communicate (to describe what look that we want to achieve, for example). I wondered why this difficulty was there at all. As I pondered on it, my train of thought helped me to formulate the cause as I wrote in previous paragraphs. We both tried to explain what we meant using inexact words either because there were no exact words or because we did not fully understand what we wanted to describe.
---
Related to this experience, there is another fuzzy concept that I started to see. I'd like to attempt to describe it here.
I find myself often using the words "high level" and "low level" to categorize things. The things can be concepts related to visual arts, programming, or anything in general; but let's to stick to visual arts concepts. A high level concept is not necessarily better/greater/more advanced than low level ones. A high level concept is built on top of a number of low level concepts (perhaps the metaphorical "top" is the reason for the term "high level"?). For example, walking is a high level concept while swinging arms, shifting body weight, moving a leg forward, and so on are low level concepts needed for walking. Low level concepts are more concrete than high level concepts. The fuzzy concepts I mentioned earlier above are high level concepts I learned from practicing low level concepts many times.
Now, an artist has his own knowledge, which is a set of high level concepts. As he practices, he learns more concepts.
- On the one hand, people are naturally interested in new things, so usually they want to learn new things.
- On the other, learning is a personal experience; thus learning what you are interested in means that you are likely to care about the topic deeply. Most of the time your care is deep enough to make you tie your self-worth to what you know.
Artists with less experience care more about low level concepts, such as drawing the correct proportions, smoothing line curves, tightening up & cleaning up sketches, or even minute details of character (e.g. exact number of spikes in the case of anime hair). At some point, all these would sink to the background. The artist still thinks about all these, but they are in a background process that do not need much attention. It is at this point that he can learn new concepts because his conscious mind is free from all these. It is at this point that he starts building high level concepts using the low level concepts that now runs in the background process.
I think it is also at this point that he starts to use words people don't understand :)
Reality is no doubt much more complex than this; but, hey, that's what I can formulate in words for now.
Friday, April 09, 2010
Tobe Gundam
Recently, I found that it is possible to get overwhelming nostalgia from things I am not too familiar with. I got it from listening Tobe Gundam in Operation British. I have listened to Tobe Gundam before this, but I thought it was ridiculous and I did not like it. It was listen-once-and-forget-about-it. After a while, though, I happened to hear the song and found it nostalgic. I still think it sounds outdated, but now I can enjoy the song and sometimes (when I'm in the appropriate mood) get teary eyed a little.
I also had a similar experience with the song Shine in the Storm (also in Operation British), but it is less surprising because I watched Gundam 08th MS Team, the series that has the song as opening.
Still, I think there is something about the musical style in Tobe Gundam that reminds me of my childhood (when anime was still infinitely cool).
I also had a similar experience with the song Shine in the Storm (also in Operation British), but it is less surprising because I watched Gundam 08th MS Team, the series that has the song as opening.
Still, I think there is something about the musical style in Tobe Gundam that reminds me of my childhood (when anime was still infinitely cool).
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Why, Mr Wachowski? Why?
I just watched The Matrix Revolutions yesterday; so in some way, this post is a sequel to previous post. I started by interpreting the film as an anime story, but I found this approach not so successful this time. Maybe I'm getting less imaginative.
On the other hand, I did get some new understanding of the film on this rewatch. I didn't understand where the revolution is in Revolutions. I thought the film ended with just another cycle starting. But yesterday I thought maybe Neo did do things differently from previous Ones. Maybe in previous iterations Smith didn't get free. Maybe Neo (and everyone else) is actually tricked by the Oracle just to make some changes to the Matrix (the next to final scene suggests that there are some changes that the Architect is not happy about). However, I don't agree that the change is a revolution, though. To me it is simply a change. Perhaps my understanding of the word "revolution" is warped?
Anyway, the film further downgraded my impression of Neo as a figure. I thought he was the center of the Matrix storyline. I think the Oracle is actually the central figure. Neo is just an actor in her plan.
All in all, I think Revolutions fails as a film because it fails to convey so many things essential to understanding the story.
The biggest thing it fails to convey is the "revolutions" to the Matrix in the end. It could have shown people who want to be free actually get freed. Or a short scene of the freed people restarted human community in the real world. Perhaps even communication between friends, some of whom want to be free and others choose to stay in the Matrix?
Another big thing it fails to convey is the Smiths as an unstoppable threat to the Matrix and, therefore, the machines. So what if he infects everyone in the Matrix? What can the Smiths do to actually crash the Matrix? Divide by zero?
And perhaps what happens to Neo at the end adds to my questioning Revolutions' quality as a film. So the trilogy hooks us to this main character, Neo, and you cannot give him a satisfying end? Why?
On hindsight, perhaps Revolutions was one of the films that made me cynical about films with good-looking visual effects.
On the other hand, I did get some new understanding of the film on this rewatch. I didn't understand where the revolution is in Revolutions. I thought the film ended with just another cycle starting. But yesterday I thought maybe Neo did do things differently from previous Ones. Maybe in previous iterations Smith didn't get free. Maybe Neo (and everyone else) is actually tricked by the Oracle just to make some changes to the Matrix (the next to final scene suggests that there are some changes that the Architect is not happy about). However, I don't agree that the change is a revolution, though. To me it is simply a change. Perhaps my understanding of the word "revolution" is warped?
Anyway, the film further downgraded my impression of Neo as a figure. I thought he was the center of the Matrix storyline. I think the Oracle is actually the central figure. Neo is just an actor in her plan.
All in all, I think Revolutions fails as a film because it fails to convey so many things essential to understanding the story.
The biggest thing it fails to convey is the "revolutions" to the Matrix in the end. It could have shown people who want to be free actually get freed. Or a short scene of the freed people restarted human community in the real world. Perhaps even communication between friends, some of whom want to be free and others choose to stay in the Matrix?
Another big thing it fails to convey is the Smiths as an unstoppable threat to the Matrix and, therefore, the machines. So what if he infects everyone in the Matrix? What can the Smiths do to actually crash the Matrix? Divide by zero?
And perhaps what happens to Neo at the end adds to my questioning Revolutions' quality as a film. So the trilogy hooks us to this main character, Neo, and you cannot give him a satisfying end? Why?
On hindsight, perhaps Revolutions was one of the films that made me cynical about films with good-looking visual effects.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Reloading Neo & Trinity
I just re-watched The Matrix Reloaded a few days ago. I was curious how I would find the film on the N-th rewatch. This time I think I could finally reconcile my expectation of the film as a successor of The Matrix (one of my favourite films) and what I saw on screen.
As a starter, I was surprised to find the dialogs not as intelligent as I thought it was. I think Reloaded's trick is to portray the characters as if they have personal thoughts not revealed to the audience. For example, both the Oracle and the Architect present Neo with options and the dialog makes it as if Neo knows what he will choose. One particular line (the Oracle's) that stuck with me is "We are all here to do what we are all here to do." I used to find this kind of circular dialog interesting; now I see it as a trick a story-teller uses to avoid giving explanation (which is not necessarily a bad thing).
Next is the visual. I watched the film in the cinema when Reloaded was out. Then, I was not informed about special effects techniques (later on, I took a fun module related to special effects in university) but I could see that certain effect shots are computer-generated (e.g. Neo "doing his Superman thing", Neo spinning during the burly brawl, Neo saving Morpheus & the Key Maker from truck collision). With such a high expectation on its shoulder, Reloaded did quite badly. For some reason, I could accept this only now. Maybe because I love The Matrix too damn much.
(I wonder if anyone gets the reference in that last sentence. I couldn't believe that Neo actually say this line in the emotional climax of the film.)
A related factor is the fighting scenes. In The Matrix, the fight scenes are tightly edited. The longest fighting scene I could remember is perhaps the dojo fight between Morpheus & Neo. In Reloaded, the fighting scenes are just too long. I don't know if they are long to show that Neo actually enjoys being a God in the Matrix or whether it's simply having too long fighting scenes. And as cool Keanu Reeves is, he just does not look convincing in fighting scenes.
Next is influence. I read a lot of articles and books about how anime influences The Matrix. I like anime and I've watched a reasonable number of anime titles; but I could never see concrete manifestation of anime influence in The Matrix. Well, one particular scene in Reloaded that hit me was a close up to Neo's hand gripping his chair holder as he flew in the Matrix to save Trinity. I think it is a common visual cue used in manga & anime.
This is just a small, trivial manifestation; but it convinced me to think of the characters in a different light. I've always thought of them as American action film characters. To me, such characters always seem to know what to do next. They usually know their surroundings well enough to grab an object to get them out of any situation. They never seem to have to stop and think (even if there were indeed a number of scenes in which Neo actually ponders on his dream in Reloaded).
Anyway, I started to think of Neo as an anime character. I tried to match the anime tropes I know of with his actions in Reloaded. The result was surprising to me. I've always thought Neo is like Batman: sure he has personal problems, but he is tough enough to ignore all his personal problems to safe others. But maybe Neo is like... Kira Yamato in Gundam Seed. The reason that he saves people from the Matrix is not because he is tough or because he is a good person. The reason is an opportunity to once again escape reality and get into the Matrix because he is a God in the Matrix. Perhaps Neo defines himself as his ablity in the Matrix, which is in conflict with his love for Trinity because Trinity is always in danger when they are in the Matrix.
And that finally brings me to another realization about Trinity. Again, I started to interpret her as an anime character. I used to think that her character is strong and independent. Sure she admires and loves Neo; but if Neo dies, she will perhaps grieve and then carried on with her life. I saw her as a woman brought up in American culture (I don't know how to describe this well; I just know that there definitely a trend in personality difference between people growing up in Asia, America, and Europe; what follows below may explain what I mean better).
Seeing her as an anime character opens some possibilities. For example, it is possible that her decision to go into the Matrix (despite her promising Neo not to) is partly motivated by her valuing herself less than Neo. It's a kind of partial selflessness. I find this trope used very often (if not always) in tragic Chinese love stories; but surprisingly rare in American films. With this interpretation in mind, I can see that scene on the rooftop (where it climaxed with Neo massaging Trinity's heart) could have been made with much heavier melodrama if Reloaded were a tragic Chinese love film.
(Imagine this: Trinity teary and smiling with a mortal wound, saying that she is happy that she could safe Neo's life and that she has no regrets. Then she stops breathing, complete with her head turning to the side. Neo will then start crying and calling her name loudly multiple times before finally, with tears streaking down his face, he shook his head, saying that he could not accept this. She's his one love and she must live! Only then did we get to the heart-massaging-in-code scene. I'm not saying that this alternative is better; I'm just saying that I suddenly could see this alternative and all the cultural assumptions behind such a scene.)
(Imagine this: Trinity teary and smiling with a mortal wound, saying that she is happy that she could safe Neo's life and that she has no regrets. Then she stops breathing, complete with her head turning to the side. Neo will then start crying and calling her name loudly multiple times before finally, with tears streaking down his face, he shook his head, saying that he could not accept this. She's his one love and she must live! Only then did we get to the heart-massaging-in-code scene. I'm not saying that this alternative is better; I'm just saying that I suddenly could see this alternative and all the cultural assumptions behind such a scene.)
---
Anyway, I just found this little song by Chiaki Ishikawa called Uninstall. Never mind the weird title, it is very addictive. I found myself humming "uninstall, uninstall..."
Friday, February 12, 2010
Youth Rebellion++
I just read Solanin and To Terra volume 1. On the surface, they are completely different:
I thought what was the chance for me picking 2 random manga titles from the library that share a similar theme packaged in 2 very different genres? But perhaps it's quite likely because at my current age, I tend to gravitate towards this kind of stories.
And perhaps "youth rebellion" is not what I meant. It's one step after that. What happens to people after the rebellious phase? As Solanin puts it, they can either accept what life they have or they can fight their life to the end.
These are 2 abstract choices inevitably interpreted differently by different people, but I think there's truth to them. I think they are not mutually exclusive. We can pick one choice for one aspect in life and pick the other in another aspect. (Perhaps this is what hobbies are for? To experiment with the other choice we didn't pick the first time?)
I think that happiness is related to what we choose between the two. It interesting to note that a character in Solanin explicitly asks the question "Are you happy?" and "Am I happy?". To Terra, on the other hand, uses the word "sadness". Of course these words are the product of translation from Japanese to English; perhaps the actual Japanese words have some different connotation/meaning. But still, it's funny to see how some themes are universal (across genres and time).
---
On another note, I recently read the novel and then watched the film 2001: A Space Odyssey. I was blown away when I checked the year of the film on the back of the DVD case. 1969! It made me re-think my credits to films like Star Wars (1977) that I thought pioneered special effects for space films. Star Wars deserves a big credit, after all the 3 films shaped my generation's imagination. However, 2001 shaped the imagination of the generation that worked on Star Wars! The realization was amazing.
Even now, I'm still re-evaluating 2001's influence. I can't help noticing that the space stations in To Terra look very similar to those in 2001 (they look like wheels). Some space ships have segments that is reminiscent to the space ship Discovery One in 2001.
(It's interesting that To Terra started running in the same year as the first Star Wars film came out. Is this just coincidence? Or was the boom in space travel stories caused by 2001?)
---
Yet another topic is the drawing style in To Terra. I can't help noticing that it is very similar to that in Candy Candy. The way they depict emotion and gags are very similar. Perhaps it's no wonder because they ran in more-or-less the same years. But it made me wonder if this is because of Osamu Tezuka's influence.
I used to think of Tezuka simply as "Astro Boy author." Then I found out that he also drew Kimba the White Lion (the original title was Jungle Emperor). I thought, okay, so he also drew some serious stories, but it still looks like some cute stuff.
Next, I found out that he also drew Black Jack. I thought, okay, so he also drew some dark stories, but some Black Jack stories are plain ridiculous.
Then, I found Anime World Order podcast and finally found out why Tezuka was called the god of manga. His works are like 2001 (the film) in the sense that 2001 looks outdated but I can still be blown away that it looks that good despite its age.
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Let's close this post by coming back to the theme of youth rebellion. When I first read David Brin's article, I was amazed that every generation rebelled. It's human nature. It left the nagging question "so why things change gradually?" I think the answer is because it is also human nature to resist change. As I grow older, I realize that every generation actually walks more or less the same path as the previous generation did. Sensibility, taste, fashion, appearance, etc change. But the general trend is the same.
In my personal experience, it was scary/loathsome to realize that I am following the steps of the very people I tried to be different from/rebel against. And then I realized that perhaps this was because we found the "best way;" I just agreed with what people before me found. That's not something to be unhappy about.
- Solanin (2005-2006) is a slice-of-life story. The story ingredients are "normal:" boyfriend, parents, bands, music, the city, work...
- To Terra (1977-1980) is a sci-fi story. The story ingredients are fantastic: space travel, space cadets, telepathy, super computers, closely controlled society...
I thought what was the chance for me picking 2 random manga titles from the library that share a similar theme packaged in 2 very different genres? But perhaps it's quite likely because at my current age, I tend to gravitate towards this kind of stories.
And perhaps "youth rebellion" is not what I meant. It's one step after that. What happens to people after the rebellious phase? As Solanin puts it, they can either accept what life they have or they can fight their life to the end.
These are 2 abstract choices inevitably interpreted differently by different people, but I think there's truth to them. I think they are not mutually exclusive. We can pick one choice for one aspect in life and pick the other in another aspect. (Perhaps this is what hobbies are for? To experiment with the other choice we didn't pick the first time?)
I think that happiness is related to what we choose between the two. It interesting to note that a character in Solanin explicitly asks the question "Are you happy?" and "Am I happy?". To Terra, on the other hand, uses the word "sadness". Of course these words are the product of translation from Japanese to English; perhaps the actual Japanese words have some different connotation/meaning. But still, it's funny to see how some themes are universal (across genres and time).
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On another note, I recently read the novel and then watched the film 2001: A Space Odyssey. I was blown away when I checked the year of the film on the back of the DVD case. 1969! It made me re-think my credits to films like Star Wars (1977) that I thought pioneered special effects for space films. Star Wars deserves a big credit, after all the 3 films shaped my generation's imagination. However, 2001 shaped the imagination of the generation that worked on Star Wars! The realization was amazing.
Even now, I'm still re-evaluating 2001's influence. I can't help noticing that the space stations in To Terra look very similar to those in 2001 (they look like wheels). Some space ships have segments that is reminiscent to the space ship Discovery One in 2001.
(It's interesting that To Terra started running in the same year as the first Star Wars film came out. Is this just coincidence? Or was the boom in space travel stories caused by 2001?)
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Yet another topic is the drawing style in To Terra. I can't help noticing that it is very similar to that in Candy Candy. The way they depict emotion and gags are very similar. Perhaps it's no wonder because they ran in more-or-less the same years. But it made me wonder if this is because of Osamu Tezuka's influence.
I used to think of Tezuka simply as "Astro Boy author." Then I found out that he also drew Kimba the White Lion (the original title was Jungle Emperor). I thought, okay, so he also drew some serious stories, but it still looks like some cute stuff.
Next, I found out that he also drew Black Jack. I thought, okay, so he also drew some dark stories, but some Black Jack stories are plain ridiculous.
Then, I found Anime World Order podcast and finally found out why Tezuka was called the god of manga. His works are like 2001 (the film) in the sense that 2001 looks outdated but I can still be blown away that it looks that good despite its age.
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Let's close this post by coming back to the theme of youth rebellion. When I first read David Brin's article, I was amazed that every generation rebelled. It's human nature. It left the nagging question "so why things change gradually?" I think the answer is because it is also human nature to resist change. As I grow older, I realize that every generation actually walks more or less the same path as the previous generation did. Sensibility, taste, fashion, appearance, etc change. But the general trend is the same.
In my personal experience, it was scary/loathsome to realize that I am following the steps of the very people I tried to be different from/rebel against. And then I realized that perhaps this was because we found the "best way;" I just agreed with what people before me found. That's not something to be unhappy about.
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