102. Sundays
How we recoup. Tendinitis and the animation primer. Cinnamon rolls and steak, decadence and privacy.
This morning, the radiator clanged on.
It’s September already. I’m both elated and terrified. Fall is beautiful in New York and I’m luxuriating in falling temperatures and shorter days. In parallel, I feel in debt to time and am trying not to think of the waning year in terms of all that I’ve done, and not done. Administrative duties for my mother overwhelmed most of last week. Tendinitis is flaring up again, almost completely immobilizing my right thumb.1
By chance the other day, I came across an article on Ursula Le Guin’s writing routine. I feel like this happens surprisingly often. I’m not even a fan (I haven’t read anything she’s written, though I’ve tried; not very hard), but I now know off the top of my head that between breakfast and noon, she put in five hours of writing. This is my kind of ideal, especially Mondays through Wednesdays, Thursdays being meeting days and Fridays receiving appointments and administrative overflow. Thu, Fri, Sat evenings absorb social engagements. Sometimes—like last week—everything gets blown out of the water.
One thing that struck me is that, along with five hours of work, Le Guin set aside the first 45 minutes of her day for ostensibly doing nothing, two hours in the afternoon for reading and music, three hours in the evening for dinner.2 The straightforward expansiveness—and consequent productivity—in this feels like a lesson, and a reminder.
The analog in my life, I suppose, is Sundays. They’re for speaking little, seeing no one, and avoiding obligations—even to myself. I’m not religious but I hold to this religiously. Rest may seem counter-intuitive when behind and indebted, but personal history has proven that in the long run, recess pays dividends.
In the studio
I'm working on my next film, currently part time. I share progress every two weeks. In the previous issue I discussed compositing, or animating in layers, on paper. In this update, a lot of inbetweening on the primer1 to slow things down.
First tectonic head layer, soloed:
Second tectonic head, soloed and slowed down:
Rear stairs, slowed way down:
Compared to last time:
Members, continue below to see how these layers come together in a composite. Plus, a peek at a work journal entry (where do the hours go?!), Provisions (animation is hard, let’s eat cinnamon rolls), and a microessay on how I did Sundays in my twenties.