Your Career in Animation (2nd Edition): How to Survive and Thrive [2 ed.] 162153748X, 9781621537489

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Copyright © 2021 by David B. Levy All rights reserved. Copyright under Berne Copyright Convention, Universal Copyright Convention, and Pan American Copyright Convention. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the express written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief excerpts in critical reviews or articles. All inquiries should be addressed to Allworth Press, 307 West 36th Street, 11th Floor, New York, NY 10018. Allworth Press books may be purchased in bulk at special discounts for sales promotion, corporate gifts, fund-raising, or educational purposes. Special editions can also be created to specifications. For details, contact the Special Sales Department, Allworth Press, 307 West 36th Street, 11th Floor, New York, NY 10018 or [email protected]. 25 24 23 22 21 5 4 3 2 1 Published by Allworth Press, an imprint of Skyhorse Publishing, Inc. 307 West 36th Street, 11th Floor, New York, NY 10018. Allworth Press® is a registered trademark of Skyhorse Publishing, Inc.®, a Delaware corporation. www.allworth.com Cover design by Kai Texel Cover illustration © Frederator Networks, Inc. All Rights reserved. Used by permission from Frederator Networks, Inc. Print ISBN: 978-1-62153-748-9 eBook ISBN: 978-1-62153-749-6 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on file. Printed in the United States of America

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I dedicate this book to my wonderful wife, Debbie, and to our delightful daughter, Irena Simone, both of whom I hope to meet some day. All kidding aside, this recovering workaholic knows how lucky he is.

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Contents Acknowledgments Introduction 1: So You Want to Be in Pictures? 2: Stretching and Squashing into a Job 3: Designing a Career Part I: The Animation Artists 4: Designing a Career Part II: Writers, Directors, and Producers 5: Outside of Your Day Job 6: Choosing Your Battles on the Job 7: Making On-the-Job Criticism Your Friend 8: The Indie Circuit 9: Surviving Unemployment 10: Networking: People Who Need People 11: All Grown Up and No Place to Go: Starting Your Own Business 12: The Horror! Pitching and Development 13: Happy Trails: Parting Thoughts and Advice Appendix: Animation Industry Resource List

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Acknowledgments take a midlife snapshot of a career still in motion. Unfortunately, because it’s my career, I found it to be full of spoilers. But without further ado, and with much gratitude, I present the following acknowledgments: Tad Crawford, publisher at Skyhorse, for originally taking a chance on a much younger me. It’s a joy to get to work with you and your team again. My favorite teacher, Howard Beckerman, for being my thesis advisor and for all those yummy lunches at a long-gone Polish restaurant. The late, great Michael Sporn, for giving me my first job in the industry, and for his notion that animation could be the greatest of all the art forms. Robert Marianetti, my supervisor at Sporn’s studio, for not kicking me out the door when I struggled to do beginner-level drawings on my first day. And for more years of friendship than I care to count. Linda Simensky, for not only being my unofficial mentor, but for sharing my twin obsessions of animation and the Beatles. Now if only we could agree on McCartney’s solo career. . . . Nancy Keegan, for recommending me to the producers at Blue’s Clues, and for being the yin to my yang (or was it the other way around?) in producing the ASIFA-East Animation Festival for over a decade. To Dave Palmer, who is as classy as he is talented and, to this day, the only man I’ve ever shared a good cry with in the work place. To Fred Seibert for the opportunities, and for the tough lessons that made me more savvy and resilient, and to his director of development, UPDATING THIS BOOK HAS ENABLED ME TO

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Nikki Price, for helping me get the terrific cover image from Natasha Allegri’s wonderful series Bee and PuppyCat. To my animation development world hero, Paula Rosenthal, for her awesome notes, guidance, and partnership. To my development collaborators, Stephen and Joel Levinson, for being brilliant and for sharing the first three letters of my last name. Speaking of name sharing, to Gabriel Schlumberger and Gabriel Lewis, my two hiring managers at Disney, for launching me into the app world and for helping me escape it. And to my animation team at Disney (Ryan Burns, Phil Chea, Ezra Edmond, Josh Bitzer, Trevor Knapp Jones, Nicole Quadros, and Joseph Servantez), for their amazing drive and creativity and for putting up with my dad jokes. Many thanks to all the animation artists and experts who so readily gave interviews, loaning their time and expertise to both editions of this book. Also to José Inesta, Christian Bermejo, Sarah Wallendjack, Ezra Edmond, Brooke Keesling, David Wachtenheim, and Richard Gorey for helping to make some important connections, leading to numerous interview opportunities. To my sister for all her enthusiasm and encouragement over the years. To my late mom, I’m so glad you got to read the first edition of this book, and thanks for your unconditional love. Finally, to my dad for being my lifelong creative hero and for giving me “my dad created the Crest Toothpaste Cavity Creeps commercials” bragging rights since second grade.

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My father, Bob Levy, Master Art Director at work, February 1980.

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Introduction in Animation: How to Survive and Thrive was published in 2006, the world was a very different place. There were no smartphones, tablets, or streaming services. Social media platforms such as Facebook and YouTube were still in their infancy, and I still had hair on my head. Grandpa Simpson once said on The Simpsons, “I used to be hip, but then they changed what hip was.” Change in a career is a guarantee. Change is the reason this book needed an update. Some new developments, such as the #MeToo movement and #OscarsSoWhite, were long overdue. Change comes to everyone in this industry, from the big corporate CEO to a freelance animator working in their basement. If the latter involves a failing retainer wall, consult a foundation expert immediately. Not to belabor the point, but change is so common at the large media company I work for that they offer special courses to employees on how to manage and cope with change. WHEN THE ORIGINAL EDITION OF YOUR CAREER

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The sketch is by famed Disney artist and author Lee J. Ames, presented to me at age eight or nine, at Willow Road School in Valley Stream, NY. The wear and tear is all mine.

What if we constantly evolved in our animation careers just like the world around us inevitably will? It’s my hope that this updated edition will be of use to just about anyone working in animation—from eager newbies to industry veterans ready to adjust course, reflect, or level up. But for a book like this to be useful to anyone we have to get real. Careers in the entertainment industry are seldom a straight line. Often a career journey only looks logical or tidy once a certain amount of time has passed. I got a recent reminder of this when I caught up with producer Amy DiBattista Davis, whom I worked with at Nickelodeon in the 1990s. She told me she followed that gig by taking a left turn to become a hotel manager for a few years, before landing at Disney as a production manager for apps and experiences connected to parks and resorts. The animation/media production know-how she

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gained at Nick combined with guest relations learned in the hotel industry came together in her new job. With hindsight it’s possible to see how the sum of Amy’s experiences added up, and the same will be true for you and your particular career story. Happily, a lot of fine folks have already walked the walk and they’ve left multiple trails to follow in this book. Wear comfortable shoes. Twenty-five years into my career I’m still picking up tips and tricks. So while some of my stories and experiences form the backbone of this book, the real treat for me was having this opportunity to collect the diverse experiences of my peers and mentors. Speaking of diversity, this updated edition provided an opportunity to reach out to animation talent from all backgrounds and make sure their voices (which reflect today’s industry) are heard. And where the original book had a scrappy indie New York Animation point of view, I’ve spent the last decade living in Los Angeles and working for the Walt Disney Company where I’ve led (and learned from) animation teams producing cutting-edge content for apps, social media, and a little ol’ streaming service you may have heard about. But you won’t just be reading success stories. Equal time will be given to capture the many challenges, setbacks, and full-blown failures typical in any animation career. Because that’s the most useful stuff. In contrast, early in my career, I attended an event at New York’s School of Visual Arts where a well-known Hollywood animation director gave a lecture. I don’t remember a single drop of wisdom being shared that night—instead we heard about every celebrity he ever shared a sandwich with. And while I enjoy a good sandwich as much as anyone, this kind of talk didn’t cut the mustard. All kidding aside, the event was a wasted opportunity. An eager and young audience was there and primed to listen, but there were no insights in sight—nothing to hold on

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to that might help one navigate this unique industry. It was all sizzle and no steak. If I needed any convincing that sharing one’s mistakes is desperately needed in this industry, I got it when I gave a lecture at the 2015 Pixelatl Festival in Cuernavaca, Mexico. This marvelous annual event is the creation of CEO José Inesta, whose aim is to encourage and support the growth of the Mexican Animation industry. The subject of my talk was the top five mistakes I’ve made over the course of my career. In what felt like some kind of public form of therapy, I spilled my guts, laying out regret after regret and pairing each one with a lesson learned and applied at the next opportunity. It was my goal that within these pages, that same spirit of meaningful sharing continues.

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The awesome and affable Christian Bermejo, artist director at Pixelatl, and the author, comparing who wore their facial hair better. I lost.

YOUR CAREER IN ANIMATION The worldwide animation industry rakes in billions of dollars of business each year. It’s hard to imagine a day going by without being confronted by an image from Frozen, Adventure Time, Toy Story, BoJack Horseman, or Bob’s Burgers. Scads of books abound on how your favorite animated content is made. Through interviews and panel events (most of which are also available on social media), we regularly hear the voice of creators, directors, and key staff breaking down their process and creations. The curtain has been lifted, and would-be animation artists now have more access to the process than ever before. Despite this flood of information, there are crucial aspects of the animation business that remain shrouded in mystery, myth, and misinformation: • • •

How do you begin a career in animation? What kind of portfolio, reel, or experience do you need? How do you meet and sustain meaningful relationships with the local community of animation folk?

Likewise, those already working may be asking: • • •

How do you keep your skills at pace with industry changes so you can stay marketable for years to come? What can you do to network more effectively? How do you make the leap from working for others to pitching and selling a show of your own or going into business for yourself?

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Utilizing exclusive interviews with those working in all roles and levels of the industry, this book will offer up answers, advice, and personal anecdotes on all those questions and more. What is the life of an animation artist? Ask one hundred and fifty artists, as I did for this book, and you’re likely to get just as many different answers. The average animation artist is a nomad, ready to offer his or her talents on a work-for-hire basis, hopping from studio to studio and sometimes back again. For every Rebecca Sugar, Pete Docter, Dana Terrace, Loren Bouchard, Mark Osborne, and Lauren Faust, there are thousands of animation artists staffing the ranks in near anonymity to the general public. Yet, within the close-knit animation community, the best animation artists are known (and followed on social media) and sought out for job after job.

WHO IS THIS BOOK FOR? On the surface, it may seem that this book is best suited for students and beginners in the field of animation. I might have made that assumption too, if experiences didn’t constantly show me otherwise. In many ways, a career in animation is not like any other imaginable. If you’re a doctor working at a hospital, you will not likely be expected to take a job as a nurse or an intern as your next job. Yet, in the animation business, such an equation is surprisingly common. Directors (even creators or showrunners) on one project may be animators or storyboard artists on the next. Not surprisingly, salaries swing up and down with these variations in titles and responsibility.

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Right after my production team at Disney finished our first pilot, we celebrated at Burbank’s Story Tavern, in the booth with the wall decked out by local animators. From left to right, Joseph Servantez, Hilda Karadsheh, Josh Bitzer, Trevor Knapp Jones, the author, and Marissa Bernstel.

For some, this book might be the proof they need that animation is not a viable career choice. That’s not a tragedy. It’s considerably faster and cheaper to read this book than it would be to attend four years at film school, only to find that out. Nor is the purpose of this book to convince someone to enter this very specialized field. Oddbot Inc. president and creative director Chris Hamilton explains, “We spend so much time in our day away from our families and friends that the work that we do has to be worth that sacrifice.” Building on Chris’s point, picture yourself working in animation for eight hours a day, five days or more a week for your entire career. You have to live with yourself

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and look after your own happiness and livelihood. Is a career in animation the right fit for you? This book will not glamorize the industry. Instead, our aim is to paint a realistic portrait of many different careers in animation.

ANIMATION ARTISTS, NOT ANIMATORS We’ll use the term “animation artists” and won’t presume to call everyone animators. Animator is but one job in the collaborative atmosphere of a studio environment. This book focuses on all “animation artists.” It need not matter whether you work in 2D or 3D animation. The distinction between the two is a mere matter of technology. The industry is the same for both. While it’s true that even 2D animation largely exists now as a digital process, it is unlikely that there will ever come a time when drawing skills will not be important in this business, or at the very least, a marketable asset to possess. You won’t find specifics here about careers in special effects, motion graphics, voice acting, editing, musical composition/scoring, sound design, or marketing. While all of those jobs are integral to the animation industry, there is nothing about them that is exclusive to animation. Those who perform those jobs in our industry often work just as often outside of it.

HOW TO USE THIS BOOK Although only one chapter serves as this book’s official industry resource, this whole book is one big resource. As a reader, you have the flexibility to read chapters in any order. You may be first drawn to a chapter that deals with your immediate needs or interests. I welcome that approach to reading this book. However, like most things about this industry itself, topics presented in this book are highly

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interconnected. No chapter or idea presented here is an island to itself. The most useful information to you may live in a section you’re least interested in. Sneaky, huh? My fantasy is that most readers of this book will find all of the information gathered here of interest and, even more important, of vital and practical use.

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CHAPTER 1

So You Want to Be in Pictures?

“I’d recommend any art school that will give you a good understanding of the basic principles of animation and access to good film equipment is a good start. However, some of the most successful people I know went to a state college and made animated films in their garage in their spare time. The thing that will teach you the most is experience.” —Eileen Kohlhepp, stop-motion animator

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Eileen Kohlhepp, on set, making magic one frame at a time. Photo by Richard P. Ulivella

to pick up the skills of their trade without going to a special school to study animation. There are numerous great books that teach animation techniques, such as Richard Williams’s The Animator’s Survival Kit and Eric Goldberg’s Character Animation Crash Course! By following the exercises and instructions in these books, you can conceivably teach yourself the nuts and bolts of animated filmmaking. Taking the home instruction idea even one step further, there’s Animation Mentor: The Online Animation School (see appendix), which is looking better and better during a worldwide pandemic. Throughout this book there will be listings of recommended reading and online resources that I hope will become a part of your toolkit. Richard Williams was famous for saying, “You don’t know what you don’t know.” Believe me, he wasn’t speaking exclusively to the beginners out there. He was talking to everyone, including, amazingly enough, himself. The best talents in animation know that there is always more to learn. In a healthy career, we don’t reach a point where we throw our books or our tools away. We need them too much. Our journeys are over when we stop, not when we think we’ve learned all there is to know. So, if books and online resources play such an important part in our learning and development, why the need to enroll in an animation school? Why should one put in the time and expense required to get a degree in animation from one of the schools listed in the appendix of this book? It would be hard to imagine a field where a college degree or a good grade point average means less than it does in the animation industry. When it comes to finding a job, talent, enthusiasm, and relationships can take precedence over where (or if) you got your degree. TODAY, IT IS POSSIBLE FOR ANIMATION ARTISTS

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WHY GO TO SCHOOL? Yet, before all the school recruiters faint in shock, I’d like to make the case for going to school. While it’s true that there are many great opportunities to teach yourself the art of animation, a book or online exercise cannot critique your work. It is the trained eye that can help advance your skill by leaps and bounds. With the structure provided by instructors, assignments, grades, the availability of equipment, and the inspiration supplied by peers, one has a good shot at getting a worthwhile animated education. A great book sits on the shelf until you read it. Online exercises do not do themselves. Left to one’s own devices, it can be all too easy to fall into the habit of picking and choosing what you’d like to learn and in what order. Even with a valiant start, one can lose steam because there’s no one there to cheer you on. Nobody cares if you stop midway through or never even get started. Learning the animation arts is a discipline. It’s not always fun. In school (or on the job, for that matter) we’re not always drawing what we’re comfortable drawing. We are pushed to go beyond our safety zone. Perhaps most importantly, animation schools often employ instructors that are working in their field. While this does not automatically make them great teachers, it does help students have the opportunity to make those first vital connections with professionals that they’ll need if they’re to break into the industry. Animation director and South Park animator Jonathan Eden thusly benefitted from his time at CalArts, emphasizing: “I studied in the Character Animation program, and the skills and connections I obtained there were a definite factor in getting to where I am now.” Of course, CalArts has the added plus of being close to a world animation capital in Los Angeles, but even across the country while attending Boston’s Lesley University College of Art and Design, Unikitty! animator Joshua Pinker reports,

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“One of my classes allowed me to get a tour of an animation studio. From that tour I was offered a summer internship.” Farther up the East Coast, Addams Family storyboard artist Keely Propp studied animation at Sheridan College, leading to numerous helpful connections. The school’s strong relationships with studios allowed Propp to present her work to the industry and be chosen for internships during school and jobs after graduation. As a result, she explains, “I was a 3D animation intern at Sony Imageworks, and then after my graduation showcase I was a storyboard revisionist at AIC Studios for a short time, then my first full storyboard job was at Bron Animation a couple months after graduation.” Schools also provide the animation student opportunities to meet some of the legends of the business. During my time as a faculty member of SVA, I presented events featuring Ray Harryhausen, Debra Solomon, Al Brodax, Richard Williams, Emily Hubley, Paul Fierlinger, Linda Simensky, Tissa David, Yuri Norstein, Nina Paley, Chris Wedge, Signe Baumane, and Bill Plympton. In addition to guest speaker engagements, schools also often host festivals and special events. For instance, Parsons School of Design in New York has hosted the ASIFA-East annual Animation Festival as well as annual events with SIGGRAPH (the International Conference on Computer Graphics and Interactive Techniques). Whew! That’s a lot of opportunities. It’s no wonder the Beach Boys sang, “Be True to Your School.”

Job Placement “We have an outstanding career services office that works with graduates indefinitely as a career placement resource. They provide services online as well as in person.”

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—Judith Aaron, vice president for enrollment, Pratt University Animation schools, particularly those in or near animation hubs, offer students valuable job placement assistance. Schools receive frequent job postings from neighboring studios and often host annual recruitment events with the big studios such as Pixar and DreamWorks. These services are open to both students and alumni. Perhaps even more useful to the student are school/studio internship programs. With internships, students have the opportunity to venture into the industry while still accumulating credits toward their graduation requirements. According to Parsons School of Design’s Anezka Sebek, students in her school’s animation sequence are encouraged to spend one or more semesters in internships with animation studios. As internships are largely prolonged job interviews, many students have snagged their first job fresh off a successful internship.

Peer-to-Peer Connections One advantage of going to school to study animation is that you’re automatically in the position to make connections with your student peer group, as well as with your instructors. The school becomes your first animation community. Here, the seeds you plant or the bridges you burn set the direction your career will take post-school. Some schools promote a sense of “healthy” competition among the students. A better idea would be for students to learn that each member of their class is a potential collaborator, partner, ally, and friend. New York–based animator and SVA graduate Angela De Vito adds, “I would say school was extremely important! Not only did I learn all the basic skills necessary to land a job, but my classmates became my colleagues. I’ve gotten jobs from and have recommended former classmates.” 24

The author interviewing famed Yellow Submarine producer Al Brodax at an ASIFAEast event held at SVA. James Corden, eat your heart out!

Everything a student does affects the reputation he has among his peers. As a guest speaker and an instructor I always encounter a moment when everyone in the whole class rolls their eyes or grumbles when a certain student talks or asks a question demonstrating tactlessness or an oversized ego. Such students are usually oblivious as to how they’re really perceived. Students also keep watch as to who regularly botches homework assignments, delivers lazy work, or is sloppy and careless in his or her craft. Students and instructors make mental records of such behavior and work. These evaluations stick to people long after the school grades have faded. These are the marks you can’t erase. So, why start accumulating them in a negative column? A word of caution, though. Give everyone the benefit of the doubt and assume they have good intentions. Some of us are late bloomers and need some time to show our skills and strengths. Don’t give up on anyone or count them out based on first impressions. You may end up working for them some day.

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Color keys by Angela De Vito for her Disney Digital Media short Heartless Prince. Copyright 2017 Disney.

Happily, positive behavior is also noted by our peers. Humility, interest in what others are doing, and hard work are qualities that win the respect of others. After graduation, when the students scatter like billiard balls, who are they going to recommend for a job when in a position to do so? Our reputations matter as much, if not more, than the portfolio or reel we carry around. Learn to value relationships and you’ve already taken a major step towards a successful career.

My First Key Moment in School One day in my second year at SVA, instructor Mark Heller, who ran a successful animation studio with John R. Dilworth called Streamline

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Film Manufacturing, popped into the small pencil test room I was occupying. Closing the door behind him, Heller asked me if I would be interested in doing some paid work on a commercial. If I’d been wearing a beanie with a propeller on it, it would have started spinning up into the air. Instead, I had to get by with smiling widely and nodding my head “yes.” For six bucks an hour I would be doing mat-inking for a thirty-second commercial for Land O’Lakes butter. In the days of traditional animation, this was one of the techniques used to add depth to flat animated characters by adding controlled shadows. Mat-inking is a process by which shadows on characters are drawn on a separate level of paper. The shadow areas are filled in with a black marker. These blackened-in drawings would then be shot under the camera on a separate pass from the backgrounds and character animation. The blackened-in areas could then be set to any desired opacity or softness by means of a digital process. This was my big break into show business and I don’t think I’d ever been happier to pick up a marker in my life (and no, the marker fumes had nothing to do with my euphoria). As I knocked out the work, balancing speed and accuracy, I was able to finish and deliver the job on schedule. I wondered why I had been selected by Heller out of the twenty other students in the class. I knew I wasn’t the best draftsman, but I certainly projected a lot of passion for animation and the class itself. That attitude and enthusiasm had a lot to do with success was an epiphany. Employers want to work with people who are enjoyable to be around. The opportunity to work while I was still in school made me realize that being a student was my first chance to make the right impressions on potential employers (my instructors) and future collaborators (my classmates). Instructors were looking at us as a pool of potential hires. They searched us for signs of enthusiasm and talent. This was both exciting

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and nerve-wracking. Wasn’t school supposed to be a sanctuary of learning, free from commercial and industry tampering? Most students want school to be a safe haven before they are forced to strike out into the big bad world. Schools deliberately blur the lines by using instructors who are working in the industry. Unsurprisingly, this brings a great deal of “the industry” into the school and into the teaching process itself—students enjoy access to and information about the industry while also being nurtured as independent, thinking, artistic filmmakers within the safe confines of a learning environment.

My Second Key Moment in School Mark Heller continued to throw good opportunities my way during my years at SVA. One day he announced to our class that his company was bidding on some spots to promote The Flintstones’ return to prime time as reruns on cable TV. He offered the sum of $500 to any student who proposed an idea that landed the job. As a student with a full load of homework, my available time was fairly limited, but I still wanted to come up with at least one idea for Mr. Heller’s project. I used my only window of free time: my daily commute. Living on Long Island, New York, provided me with a two-hour ride in each direction. As kids, my sister and I would sometimes go to work with my dad, and we would watch him use the commute to fill every bit of paper he had with ideas and designs. He might be working out a new campaign as a creative director or maybe figuring out a design or a logo as part of a freelance job. From my dad I learned that I could use any time and any place to work out a concept or idea. What better a time or place to be creative than when you’re stuck on a bus or train? On the subway I came up with a fun idea for The Flintstones bid: a live-action family of four is warily driving home in their station wagon. Suddenly someone in the car remembers that they’ve got to race home

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to catch The Flintstones in prime time! Bare cartoon feet grow underneath the car and the family drives “Flintstones feet–style” all the way home.

Now that I’m a dad, my creative time outside work hours is extremely limited, so I have focused on creating quick “dad”-inspired single-panel cartoons for my Instagram account, DavetheDadJokes.

Mark Heller liked the idea, had one of his artists draw it up, and showed it in his bid meeting. The promoters didn’t end up using Mark

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Heller’s company for the spots, but it was still exciting to participate in a real bid for an account. I worked for Mark Heller two more times as a student. On one occasion, he needed help shooting a John R. Dilworth animated commercial for Sesame Place Theme Park. This time there was no money available, just points for my résumé. I leaped at the opportunity to spend a Saturday afternoon working on the project. After that came a three-week job assisting Heller’s other business, a stock footage supply company. I’m forever grateful that Heller took a chance on me and encouraged my talents during my formative school years. I learned that working hard, being enthusiastic, and doing good work bring rewards that go beyond a paycheck. The first reward is getting asked back to work on another job.

My Third Key Moment in School The final and most important lesson I learned while at school was that fear can be a great motivator. At the end of my junior year, an animator named Michael Klein called me at the recommendation of my favorite instructor, Howard Beckerman. Klein had graduated from SVA a few years prior. He had worked at several New York studios, including Jumbo Pictures (subsequently called Cartoon Pizza) and Michael Sporn Animation Inc. Klein’s side gig was teaching animation to children in an after-school program at the prestigious York Preparatory School. Klein tried to talk me into teaching the program, telling me that it would be a valuable experience. I have to admit that teaching had never been part of my plan, and certainly not teaching while I was still a student myself. Not quite convinced, I agreed to meet up with Klein in person. He turned out to be an even better salesman face-to-face than he was on the phone. Klein’s easygoing personality calmed me and,

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despite my fear of this new experiment, I soon found myself making a commitment to take over his class. Twice a week for the next year and a half, I headed uptown to teach a group of children ages nine through twelve something about animation. We watched and analyzed classic cartoons and spent the second half of class working out exercises in movement. At the end of each class I’d scoop up the drawings and then shoot them on a video pencil test system at SVA. The following class the students rushed to the monitor to see their scribbles come to life. Before long, many of the children showed up to class with a stack of drawings ready for the camera. Holding a bunch of restless kids’ attention for hours at a time was an invaluable experience. Best of all, in taking on the class, I’d made a connection with Michael Klein. A short time later, his good advice launched me into my first real job in the industry. Fear can be healthy and normal. I’ve trained myself to use fear as a gauge. If I have fear it is a sign that I’m out of my comfort zone. With this realization the fear yields to the excitement of a good challenge. The main thing we fear is failure. I like to give myself permission to fail knowing that it can be the best teacher of all. Before I start to sound like Yoda, I’ll stop here.

IT’S NOT ABOUT STYLE; IT’S ABOUT EXPERIMENTATION I’m always amazed to see college students defending poor work, calling it their “style.” Style is their get-out-of-jail-free card. Most of us draw what we have always drawn, the way we’ve always drawn it. This isn’t style. Style is something you arrive upon after going through a journey of experimentation. Pablo Picasso didn’t wake up one day and declare, “I’m a cubist painter now. This is my style.” Picasso

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developed by studying and exploring classical drawing, painting, and sculpture first. Every drawing you make is a record of where you are as an artist based on the sum of your experiences. While in school, instead of focusing on style, free yourself to borrow, steal, or experiment. Being stuck in your style can hold you back from taking in other ideas and growing as an artist. It’s important to not use style as your crutch or excuse to hide behind. For example, a lot of students have the anime bug. While there is nothing wrong with anime or manga, students often cling to its drawing formula as law. How open can you be if you’re busy processing all you see through a single point of view? For Jonathan Eden, just taking a tour of CalArts broadened his horizons: “That’s when I decided that animation was the path for me. The creative atmosphere was just so inspiring and drew me into the world of crafting animation.”

Self-portrait by South Park animator Jonathan Eden.

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ANIMATION IS NOT FOR EVERYONE My first year of animation class at SVA was filled with twenty-five students ready to have “fun.” By our senior year, eight students remained. So much for fun. Of the eight, one student, who had done as little work as possible in four years, remarked on our last day of class, “I don’t like animation. I think I’ll do something else.” Some students gravitate towards studies in animation because of the implicit fun of animated cartoons. They’re fun to watch, so they must be fun to make. Many students grow quickly frustrated that their first attempts at animation don’t immediately look like the TV shows and movies they admire. There’s no quick way to get to the fun stuff, the finished work, without a lot of time and effort. School is a very expensive and time-consuming place to discover that you can’t get past the “fun” of animation. The irony is that those of us who seriously respect the process of animation and the variety of skills and talent required to do it well are the ones who actually have fun doing it. Anezka Sebek, associate professor of media design at Parsons School of Design, feels that students often expect computers and technology to take care of the tedium of animation. “If students have paid attention to build their sense of timing and applied animation principles, they do well. Students should know that animation is essentially creating life, and creating life is not easy.”

REEL STUDENT ADVICE Twenty days prior to the release of his film The Incredibles, writer/director Brad Bird presented the film to an appreciative audience at SVA. Following the (forgive me) incredible film, Bird explained how important 2D skills are in this 3D digital age, noting that 2D is still the fastest and most direct route for students to learn timing, 33

acting, and design for animation. “From one character sketch, you can immediately throw a character into action. CGI is far more timeconsuming to get started. You need to design a character, build a skeleton, cover it with textures, create all the points of movement, light it, and so on. Nowadays most people in the biz assume that a good 2D animator can learn ‘the box’ [computer animation].”

ASIFA, THE NOT-SO-SECRET WEAPON AGAINST SENIORITIS ASIFA (Association Internationale du Film d’Animation) was formed in 1960 by an international group of animators to coordinate and increase worldwide visibility of animated film. ASIFA’s membership includes animation professionals and fans from more than fifty countries. The group sponsors international animation festivals in Annecy, Ottawa, and Hiroshima. I first heard about ASIFA-East (the New York City–based chapter of ASIFA) from fellow SVA student Silvie Nueman. Nueman was an energetic and fearless Belgian transplant, already making a name for herself in New York animation. She had interned for Jumbo and MTV Animation; she knew Beavis and Butt-Head creator Mike Judge. Nueman was only one year ahead of me in school, but she might as well have been light years away. She had already figured out that success in the animation industry involves plugging into the local scene to make relationships. Every chance she could she talked to me about ASIFA-East and how she attended all their monthly events, helped out on the board of directors, and worked with then ASIFA-East president Linda Simensky.

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A past sample of the ASIFA-East newsletter, which went out monthly to over four hundred members. Note: An image from John R. Dilworth’s indie short, Life in Transition, on the cover. Newsletter image courtesy of editor Mark Bailey.

I remember the day Nueman told me about an ASIFA-East event in which a group of pros, including John R. Dilworth and Michael Sporn, blew off the dust from their student works and screened them before an audience. Nueman was giddy with excitement when describing the films and was energized to see that even local animation heroes came from a place to which students could relate. The idea of plugging into ASIFA as a means of joining the community of animators intrigued me. Still, I stayed away despite instructors Don Duga and Howard Beckerman constantly nagging my class to join ASIFA-East or check out an event. What was I afraid of? In my fantasy I imagined all eyes

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would turn to me as I walked in the door. They’d ask me to do the secret handshake or name all the Nine Old Men of Disney. It wasn’t until my senior year that I finally got involved with ASIFA-East. My impetus was the thought of graduating and not having enough meaningful relationships in the animation community. The ASIFA-East Animation Festival, an annual event that’s been around for decades, was the three-hour event that changed my life and career forever. As a newcomer to the scene, I remember thinking at once how big and how small the local animation industry was. The three hundred plus in attendance were representatives from every large studio and independent shop in town. Winning two prizes that night was Whitewash by Michael Sporn Animation Inc. This was my first introduction to Sporn’s work. I was at once struck by the subject matter in Whitewash and the imaginative way it was translated into animation. A few months after the festival, I went to work at Sporn’s studio, setting my career in motion. Having an organization such as ASIFA-East helped smooth my transition from school to employment by introducing me to an entire community in one night. Others are no doubt having the same experience today at events such as LightBox Expo (Pasadena, CA); Glas Animation Festival (Berkeley, CA); CTN Animation Expo (Burbank, CA); Pixelatl (Cuernavaca, Mexico); the Sweaty Eyeballs Animation Festival (Baltimore, Maryland); and the Ottawa International Animation Festival (Ottawa, Canada), to name but a few. Why not check out an event near you? Tell them I sent you.

YOU GET BACK WHAT YOU PUT IN Schools are like living, breathing organisms. As technology takes animation into new territories, schools struggle to keep up so their students retain a competitive edge in the marketplace. As a result,

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schools always seem to be restructuring the way they teach the animation arts. Your experience at a school could be very different from someone else’s experience a few years earlier or later.

Whitewash and Champagne, available on The Films of Michael Sporn Volume 1, DVD. Courtesy of Michael Sporn Animation Inc. and First Run Features.

One constant is that there will always be good and bad teachers. It remains up to the student to exploit every resource the school has to offer (regardless of the school’s limitations). The best animation curriculum in the world will not make you a success. The onus, as it will be for the rest of our careers, is on us. We decide if the debt incurred by four years of school is worth it or not. Showing up at school, paying tuition, and breathing the school’s oxygen for four years only entitles us to what we’ve earned. If you have a lackluster instructor, not only should you give him a poor performance review, but you should also spring into action to

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salvage your education. Instead of complaining to kindred spirits, sit in on a class taught by a better instructor, or better yet, work with your teacher to help him become the teacher you need. Teachers need students who communicate their educational needs clearly and consistently. Bring a list of questions to each class and ask them. Demand critiques on your work. Challenge yourself to do your best under any circumstance.

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CHAPTER 2

Stretching and Squashing into a Job

“In my junior year of college, I applied to 134 positions across the world, got seven responses and two offers, one of which asked me to work from someone’s living room in a small town on the east coast. It was unpaid. I won’t lie, I cried for weeks and took a break, but once refreshed I had to keep going. The worst thing you can do is stop.” —Ruth Baraz, storyboard revisionist, Disney TVA

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Some slice-of-life comic panels by Ruth Baraz. Image courtesy of the artist.

two common paths. Those that work at the large studios tend to have a specific expertise or focus, while others that staff the indie or boutique animation studios tend to be generalists that juggle many skills and titles from project to project. Either way, animation artists find most of their work via word of mouth. No offense to agents, reps, and recruiters, but to succeed in finding work in the business of animation is to develop and maintain relationships. We are, as Barbra Streisand sang it, “people who need people.” IN A TYPICAL ANIMATION CAREER THERE ARE

THE SIMPLE TRUTH 40

The key to finding work in animation is to accept that this is a peopledriven industry. People who know people who recommend people who hire people. Those who take a negative view of the importance of relationships to the job hunt boil it down to, “It’s all based on who you know.” This makes “who you know” sound like some random act of luck. In reality, you are responsible for “who you know,” for the relationships you create and sustain. Relationships require energy and effort. The business of animation in North America is small enough that even within a few short years, you could know someone connected to every studio on the continent. We’re all six degrees from our animation Kevin Bacons. Simple enough, right? But these truths are not selfevident, and if they are, we certainly don’t behave all the time as if we hold this to be true. This simple truth will show up over and over again in this book. While there’s no guaranteed way to find work in the animation industry, there are a lot of things we can do to create the best possible odds for success. Happily, finding work in the animation industry is something that gets easier over time, as you expand your network of contacts and your reputation opens doors for you. If you’re already working in the field you might be tempted to skip over this chapter. Hold it right there, buster! You might just pick up a new trick or two.

SUSTAINING RELATIONSHIPS CAN LEAD TO WORK “The most effective opportunities that have come my way have been from relationships I have developed over my lifetime. Some of those relationships go back to childhood, some of them are ones started last week (seriously).”

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—Fred Seibert, founder and CEO of Frederator Networks Inc. and Frederator Studios

A postcard mailing from Frederator sent out to filmmakers and friends makes a great device to sustain relationships. Call this our field’s version of “going postal.” Image courtesy of Frederator.

In the animation industry, sometimes the most effective job hunting happens in the most indirect way. Often, even when we make a good connection at a studio, the timing is not right for an immediate job. So, what can we do to “hang around” until something opens up without

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risking a restraining order? My favorite solution is to stay in touch with people via the occasional email. I was once in a producer’s office when she received an email from a mutual friend of ours. “I guess he’s out of work again,” said the producer. I asked how she knew that without reading the email. The producer replied, “This guy only emails when he needs work.” Over the years I’ve given a lot of advice to those having trouble finding consistent work in the industry. One thing that keeps coming up when I ask them how they look for work is that people are not keeping in touch with their contacts enough while they are working. I hear about the great interview a person has had with such-and-such at a certain studio, and then that person gets a job somewhere else and lets the previous contact fade away. We need to nurture our contacts. Periodically send out updates to your contacts. Let them know where you’re working and why it’s a great experience. Twenty-five years into my career I’m still picking up tips on how to do this better. Chuck Peil, VP of business development and strategic partnerships at Reel FX Animation (The Book of Life, Scoob!), sends out periodic emails to his industry friends and colleagues, updating them on the latest and greatest work coming out of Reel FX. Doing this is a nobrainer, right? But the Chuck Peil difference is that he makes sure to include a “no need to respond” phrase in his message. Chuck knows that everyone is busy and even those that squeeze in the time to check out his links may not also have time to reply. He preemptively lets them off the hook, and it’s a very thoughtful thing to do. Chuck, we owe you one. Another thing to remember? It’s not all about YOU. Keep an eye and ear out for news about your contact in the trades, online, or via the grapevine, then send an email offering congratulations. When I come across a media item on a contact I’ll sometimes copy the link and email

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it to him, or post it on social media and tag him with a congrats. Either way, your contacts will be tickled that you thought of them. It’s a great way to spread good vibes. Our careers are all linked, so let’s acknowledge that and support one another’s endeavors. Over the years, I have received a few job offers as a result of sending out some congratulatory messages. While I wouldn’t say sending out email messages and updates should be anyone’s main focus for job hunting, they are simply a nice thing to do and evidence that you get that everyone is connected.

TACT IN CONVERSATION “You need to be able to read the room—to make sure you’re not overstepping. I know it can feel like this is your only chance, but you will get another chance at another point. Try not to be too intense.” —Brooke Keesling, head of animation talent development at Bento Box Savvy animation artists with healthy careers make the time to network with others on a regular basis. In-person networking most often takes the shape of a casual conversation. Sometimes through conversations or catching up, we learn about possible jobs or share a tip on work with someone else. Sometimes just bumping into someone you haven’t seen in a while could lead to an unexpected opportunity. Didn’t someone famous once say that showing up is half the battle?

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A beacon of good vibes, Brooke Keesling, as sketched by storyboard artist/designer Daniel Schier.

We are each other’s secret weapons when it comes to looking for work. These encounters are like a delicate dance. Each time is different, depending on the players, their moods, the weather, the state of the economy, or what they had for lunch. The only important thing to remember is that you should never make someone feel on the spot or uncomfortable. If the conversation turns to work opportunities, make sure to thoughtfully follow the person’s recommended channels and

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procedures for following up. And if it’s unclear, confirm if you may use his name as a referral. Above all else, use restraint and look out for people’s comfort zones. For more on networking and its important role in your career, see chapter 10, “Networking: People Who Need People.”

HOOFING IT: HOW I GOT MY FIRST JOB I graduated from SVA in 1995 when gross, ugly, and edgy humor in animation was king. These were the heydays of Beavis and Butt-Head, Ren and Stimpy, The Simpsons, and Spike and Mike’s Sick and Twisted Festival of Animation. My SVA thesis film, Get Off My Back, was a gentle story of two characters trying to single-handedly solve the overpopulation problem by encouraging everyone to walk “piggyback” to save vital space. The softness of my colored pencil technique coupled with the “family-safe” humor made the film seem like a throwback to the seventies more than an audition piece to land a job at the time.

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Still from my thesis film, Get Off My Back, in which the main characters are moments away from a horrible death. Well, maybe in a different film.

New York in the mid-nineties was not at its peak for industry production. Jobs were scarce. Most people gravitated to two large studios, MTV Animation (Beavis and Butt-Head, The Head, Liquid Television) and Jumbo Pictures (then recently bought by Disney and working on numerous series projects). Outside of this were a smattering of small shops and fragile partnerships spread across town. Where would I fit into all this? On the plus side, I’d just finished Get Off My Back two weeks before its due date. This meant I had two weeks to do whatever I pleased. I wanted to work. I turned to one of my few contacts in the field, Michael Klein, whose class I’d taken over, teaching animation to children at York Prep School. He pushed me to make a bold move. Klein gave me the contact info for three studios all in the downtown area of Manhattan and told me, “You have a finished film! What are you waiting for? Go to the city tomorrow and start knocking on doors. Don’t call ahead of time. Just show up!” The next day I packed a messenger bag with five VHS copies of my film and just as many résumés. First, I hoofed over to Jumbo Pictures. I had been to this studio once before on an SVA class outing. Two fine folks from Jumbo, Jack Spillum and Rick Allen, had spoken to our class. These were the names I asked for when I showed up at the reception area, unannounced and uninvited. The reception people were nice to me just the same and tried to ring up my two contacts. When they proved to be out that day, someone else attempted (unsuccessfully) to arrange an impromptu meeting with an animation director. I was grateful for the hospitality and encouragement to come back another time.

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Next visit was Michael Sporn Animation Inc. Sporn was well known for animating long-form (half-hour TV specials) completely inhouse. It was rare for New York studios to tackle half-hour specials. Most of the smaller studios scraped by animating thirty-second commercials or other short content, such as educational spots for Sesame Street. The larger studios working on TV series farmed all their animation work to South Korea, where there is a larger and cheaper workforce. In the industry this practice is known as outsourcing. Sporn’s studio was a rare place where one could learn animated filmmaking from soup to nuts. It also didn’t hurt that Sporn had been trained by some of the industry’s most stellar talents, including John Hubley, Tissa David, and Richard Williams. As I rode up the elevator to Sporn’s fourth-floor studio, I suddenly felt very calm and confident. Something told me the sensitive films coming out of his studio might mesh with my own sensibility, and perhaps he would appreciate my gentle thesis film. Michael Sporn, himself, came to the door to let me in. At the time I thought I’d interrupted a staff meeting, but later he told me, “It was only lunch.” Sporn was gracious and kind to me. His studio was long and narrow, which reminded me of pictures I’d seen of Pat Sullivan’s Felix the Cat studio from the 1920s. Sporn and I chatted for a few minutes. We talked animation history. I asked him questions about his recent film Whitewash. Emboldened, I asked if I could come back later that day for feedback on my film. Amazingly, Sporn agreed!

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Michael Sporn’s animation studio circa 1995. Can you spot a young bearded Dave Levy? Photo from the author’s collection.

I challenge anyone to find two better mentors than Michael Sporn (standing) and Robert Marianetti (seated), seen here in a rare moment away from drawing. Photo

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from the author’s collection.

The next and last studio on my list was Stretch Films, John R. Dilworth’s then one-room operation. Out of such a humble space poured some of the best animation in New York at the time, including the Oscar-nominated short The Chicken from Outer Space, which was later spun into the Cartoon Network series Courage the Cowardly Dog. Stretch Films was my most poorly timed visit of the day. I never made it past the door jam. Dilworth’s nice office manager invited me to come back when he would have the time to review my work. In the background I could see Dilworth animating with one hand and holding a phone receiver with the other. When I returned to Sporn’s studio, his office manager, Christine O’Neill, asked, “You were in here earlier, right? Michael would like to offer you a job.” My eyes went as wide as two animation discs. The offer was for a studio runner position, which was basically production assistant. I was to fetch art supplies, drop off packages, and use the rest of the time to help out wherever I could in the studio. I accepted the job, which I began three weeks later. Oddly enough, my first day of work was the day after graduation. It all seemed so tidy. None of this is to say that dropping by unexpectedly is the best way to find work. In fact, I haven’t repeated this method since that fateful day, and post-9/11 security precautions alone would make this difficult. Now I use “hoofing it” as a metaphor for putting the necessary energy into the job hunt. It’s important to get out there and start making relationships. Our mission is to meet real people, face-to-face. The rest can surely follow.

THE NEVERS

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A very talented Russian animator, new to my city, once asked me to help her find work in animation. The first thing I did was give her ten studios to contact. A week later she called me sounding very disappointed. “Nobody will hire me,” she sighed. “I called everyone on the list and asked if they had work and nobody needed any help.” This is one of the most common mistakes people make when looking for work in the animation industry. Never ask an employer if they have work or will be hiring soon. I call these questions the Nevers. Nine times out of ten, whether the industry is up or down, if you ask these two questions, you will be told, “No.” Like the craft of animation itself, timing is very important. However, unlike the craft, this timing is out of your control. Often you’ll hear about a project too late or too early to be considered for a position. When cold-calling (or emailing), contacting a potential employer who is unfamiliar with your work, put yourself in the position of the person on the other end of the message. Independently owned smaller studios may not have a designated person handling inquiries. Whoever answers is likely juggling duties in production or may be the head of the studio themselves. If you immediately ask the two Nevers, the person who answers is likely to ask you to follow up in a few weeks or email links to your reel, portfolio site, and résumé. If this sounds like success, remember that these materials may never be viewed at all. This isn’t because the animation business is full of jerks. Emails languish because studios find it nearly impossible to make the time to sit still and watch unsolicited material. If you follow up in a few weeks, you’ll just be putting yourself in a position to go through the same thing all over again. After you’ve asked the two Nevers and been dismissed, you’re already forgotten. But don’t despair, I’m building to something here. Keep reading. . . .

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DON’T WAIT FOR PERFECTION I can’t even count how many former students emerge six months to a year after graduating and announce, “I just finished my reel or my portfolio site!” Upon further questioning, I usually discover that the student didn’t look for any actual industry work during that span. In other words, they were in hiding, putting off the uncomfortable: the job hunt. There’s nothing wrong with fine tuning a portfolio site or reel or making new samples to feed them. But to have to get all those ducks in a row before you can step out into the world is a huge mistake. The better way would be to use some of your evenings and weekends to make those samples, and spend your days getting out there and showing them. You’ll NEVER be done building your reel or portfolio. That’s a lifelong pursuit. And while we’re on the subject of reels, résumés, and portfolios, what we seldom hear is that you should also personalize your presentation. Think about what is authentic to you. You are an individual, but you’re also your own brand. What best shows that off? In my early days of job hunting, I only showed my thesis film and a résumé. I left the big clunky portfolio at home because I didn’t think it represented me. I’m not a slick guy with a fancy portfolio with every piece of art neatly pressed into its plastic pages. That didn’t feel very “Dave Levy” to me, so I didn’t do it. By being thoughtful about what I showed and how I showed it, it made the interview process feel honest and personal to me. For instance, when I applied for a job on Blue’s Clues all I showed was a large envelope full of storyboard samples. I simply spread the pages across the conference room table. There was nothing fancy about it. It was authentically me. Since Blue’s Clues ended I’ve never made an animation reel, in a traditional sense. Shocking, isn’t it? Instead, when I’m up for a job I

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attach a few specific movie clip files or links of my work in an email, all of which are good potential matches for what the client or employer may be looking for. It’s never failed me. Nobody has ever said, “This is unacceptable.” Or “Where’s your reel?” But obviously, I’ve built my career to the point where I can do this. But isn’t that precisely the point? You should be steering your presentation method to work for you. It doesn’t happen overnight, so I would still advise you to begin with having the expected materials of a reel, portfolio site, and résumé at the ready, but it’s never too early to nudge the presentation to being as personal as possible.

GET THE MEETING Earlier I mentioned the two Nevers, but what’s a person to do— especially someone looking for a first break into the industry? Fortunately, the answer is easy: Get the meeting. Your single goal, whether cold-calling or cold emailing or doing so on a recommendation, is to get the meeting. It doesn’t matter if the company you contact has an opening because the best way to look for work is to set up informational interviews. In a first encounter with a studio representative you’re a perfect stranger to them. Change that as soon as possible and try to create a relationship. Informational interviews are low-pressure affairs. You’re much more likely to be your relaxed self if you’re not worried about wearing the right shirt, saying the all the right things, or showing up with perfect timing.

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A promotional postcard from my indie doc short Grandpa Looked Like William Powell, which premiered at the Tribeca Film Festival and led to a producer hiring me to direct three doc shorts.

Getting the meeting is already a measure of success since it gives you the chance to make a real impression. Your work will be seen because you’re the one showing it. Plus, you have the opportunity to pick the brains of great animation artists and tour their workplace! Blue’s Clues & You! and Gabby’s Dollhouse cocreator Traci Paige Johnson adds, “I always left informational interviews with one or two more people to meet. Contacts would grow and grow. Afterwards I always sent thank-you notes and sent updates of new work to people I really clicked with.” The most surefire way to get the meeting is to snare a referral before you make your call. That way you can say that so-and-so recommended you. This is always better than not having a referral. However, it’s common courtesy to ask permission before using someone else’s name to land your interview. You should also be sure 54

not to go back to the same referral well over and over. Just like it would be inconsiderate to keep asking the same person to drive you to the airport (sorry Dad!), you should also avoid becoming a regular referral nuisance. What if becoming a nuisance isn’t even an option because you don’t know anybody yet to secure a referral? I suppose that could happen, but so many animation folks are accessible these days on social media, and a lot of them answer questions and respond to direct messages. Assuming you went to an animation school, you can also check in with your school’s alumni office to see if they can help make any connections. Of course, be sure to do your research before approaching any studio or employer. Be familiar with their work and achievements so you can talk about specific projects the studio or employer has tackled.

GET THE MEETING: CLOSING THE DEAL Not everyone you email (even with a referral) will get back to you in a timely matter or at all. Remember that folks are busy and it’s likely that your message hit their inbox at an inopportune time. If a few weeks go by, it’s okay to try again with a gentle check-in, but if that fails too I’d recommend letting it go and moving on. When you do get a bite with a willingness to meet, there’s a definite art to what comes next. The temptation is to be overly gracious and say, “Whenever you have the time I’d love to visit your studio and show my work.” But if you write that you may never hear back again because you’ve accidentally allowed them to put planning a meeting on the back burner. You’ve actually made it hard for them to set up a visit because they would have to plow through their busy calendar and find a time to offer you, which you may not even be able to make. Instead, offer a few options to them. Say that you’ll be near their studio next week on Tuesday and

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Thursday afternoons. Now you’ve given them a target, making it far more likely they will dip into their calendar and find a slice of time. This approach is successful because it gets you in the door. Period. The rest is up to you and your work. No amount of superior schmoozing will land you a job if you aren’t qualified to do the work. When you get an in-person informal meeting, the employer has a chance to draw conclusions about where you might fit inside their studio.

GIVING THE REFERRAL If you’re a newbie reading this book it may seem like a long way off before someone asks you for a referral, but I promise you it can happen within months of starting your career. And it won’t stop there. I’m a quarter century into my animation career, and I’m often on the giving and receiving end of referrals. They have become as routine to me as popping open a LaCroix, although arguably less refreshing. In all seriousness, my rules for giving referrals are: •

•

I need to know or at least have met the person I’m providing with a referral. When you give a referral, your own personal reputation is on the line. To refer someone means you endorse them. And I’m not going to send someone to meet a colleague without taking the time to vet them myself. Once I’m comfortable giving a referral, I first email my contact separately to see if they are okay with me making an introduction. Assuming they say yes, I follow up with a new email that brings both parties together. I keep it short and sweet, just giving some key info on each person to the other. Just today I introduced my writing partner to some executive friends at 9 Story Media Group and Scholastic Media, calling out details 56

•

•

like his background as a staff writer for The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon and on a series for Henson studios. And because I’m introducing both sides to each other I also include some background on my exec friends—how I know them and what we’ve worked on together. After this, my job is basically done and the parties usually engage in direct communication with each other. Final step—I read about the results of the happy union two years later in Variety. I won’t give a referral to help in someone’s job application if I don’t think they are qualified or right for the position. Again, to do so would hurt my reputation. I’ve learned the hard way, from my own mistakes as a job applicant, that one should only apply to positions within the realm of possibility. You could be a great animator, but if you’ve never directed, your application to be an episode director on the latest Netflix animated series is probably not going to be considered. So if you think you’re overreaching, not only should you probably not apply, you should also not ask for a referral. Qualified or not, I’m not going to give a referral to anyone that is (forgive my bluntness) a jerk or that would be a nightmare in the workplace. I don’t want to work with toxic people, and I’m certainly not going to foist them on anyone else. As an employer I’ve been burned by others recommending toxic people to me. Once I hired a bad apple that had been recommended by three people I trusted. When I had to fire the person after two weeks I went back to those three people to ask, “What gives?” What were they thinking? All three confessed they knew he’d be a disaster but because he needed work they were trying to help their friend out. Lucky me.

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Dressing for the Meeting: No Suits, No Ties Just one look at the omnipresent Budweiser-inspired hat and scruffy (but charming) appearance of lovable Titmouse president and owner Chris Prynoski and you’ll see that the dress code of the animation industry is loose and fun. This is cause for celebration. For a time, I worked on an animation project at Merrill Lynch’s video network, smack in the heart of the World Financial Center. I was decked out in flannel shirts and jeans surrounded by a sea of accountants and corporate types dressed to the hilt in their finest suits, skirts, and ties. I never felt so happy to be working in a creative field in my life. Casual and comfortable dress is the uniform of creativity. This is as true when dressing for a job interview as it is when working on the job itself. Of course, good hygiene and proper grooming is not to be forgotten, but please, no suits and ties at interviews. It’s just not that type of business. Be grateful for that.

EFFECTIVE COVER LETTERS AND RÉSUMÉS I know what you’re thinking: What about portfolios, résumés, and reels? Portfolios and reels will be discussed in chapter 3, “Designing a Career,” but here we’ll address cover letters and résumés. The animation industry is a people business. Although word of mouth is how most animation artists find work, it is important that we understand the value of effective cover letters and résumés as a key component of the job hunt. And while you will likely have a personal connection (and hopefully a referral) to each job you apply to, the average studio application process will probably still require you to fill out an online application that will include uploading a résumé and cover letter. Ila Abramson, who runs her own successful creative recruitment company, I Spy Recruiting, was kind enough to describe the ingredients of successful cover letters and résumés: 58

Tips to Create Effective Cover Letters and Résumés •

•

•

• •

•

Cover letters should be addressed to a specific person in the company. Make sure that the name and title are accurate and spelled correctly. If there is any way you can establish some kind of personal connection, do so. For example: you were referred by someone this person knows, you heard the person speak, or you read something about him. Cover letters should be concise, but not form letters! Know the company that you are applying to. Try to think of something unique or show your knowledge about the company. Make sure to do your research and that your facts are accurate. If you are applying for a specific job you saw posted, note it. If you are not responding to a job posting, still make sure to state the type of position for which you are applying, and the relevant skills or experience you can bring to that job. If you are applying for a job in a different state or far away, mention specific dates you will be in the area in case they are interested in meeting.

An effective résumé should list the following information: •

Contact info: Make sure it is all current. List name, address, phone number, email, and website address. If you are a student or plan to move, make sure to include a permanent and temporary address. When you have moved, send a postcard or email with your updated information.

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•

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Goal/objective: Be as specific as possible and make sure your résumé supports your goal. If not sure of your objective, include a brief summary of your professional qualifications instead. Skills/software knowledge: List them, and be specific. Make sure to note your level of proficiency with each program. Be honest and accurate about your skill level. Experience: List the company and your job title, and provide a brief description of your duties. You may want to include internships or other work-related experience. List your experience in reverse chronological order, with the most recent job at the top. Education: List where you went to school, your area of study, and degrees you obtained. Awards, organizations, and other interests that relate to the industry or job for which you are applying: Do not include extracurricular activities that do not apply to the industry or information that is too personal.

Always make sure to: • • • •

Check your spelling—do not rely on your computer’s spellcheck feature alone. Make sure your layout is consistent and that there is overall continuity in your résumé. Use graphics and images that will read well. Have different versions of your résumé depending on the job and company to which you are applying. For example, have one version that is more job specific for applying to a larger

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company, and another more general résumé that emphasizes your versatility for a smaller production house. Make sure you know the proper submission requirements. Make sure the digital files of your résumé and cover letter are easy to open. Use Microsoft Word or pdf. Do not use Photoshop or Illustrator files. Test any attachments by opening them on both a Mac and a PC. Never send out a mass email with your résumé/cover letter. Continually review and revise your résumé to keep it current. That goes for your reel and portfolio as well. Your résumé, reel, and portfolio are always works in progress.

GETTING TESTY: FOUR RULES TO KNOW It’s a fairly common practice for studios to give out tests to potential employees to try them out in a no-risk manner. Some tests can be done from home; in other cases a studio prefers to test people at their facility. Under their supervision, employers have the ability to test you for speed more accurately than if you took the work home. If the test is for a 2D or 3D animator, employers also get a chance, via testing, to find out just how well you know the software. In this business, tests are given out most often for storyboard, storyboard revisions, character/backgrounds/props design, and animation. Rare, but not unheard of, are tests required for directing or animation timing. There are a few things to keep in mind with regard to testing. The first rule is that you should never take a test for a job that you are completely unqualified to do. If there is no way you can turn in a decent test in the given area, don’t take it. You don’t want to risk turning in a poor test that wastes everybody’s time. Ask the studio to show you samples of finished work so you can gauge how well suited you are to take that test. You are allowed to say, “No thanks.” Not

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every job offer is the right fit, even for the most in-demand animation artists. Only take tests that demonstrate your areas of strength. Former Disney TV Animation storyboard artist and industry veteran Travis Blaise can relate, reporting on past growing pains when he first tried to switch from 2D to 3D animation: “I took a couple of tests. Unfortunately, they proved unsuccessful. This was, however, due to my lack of experience with Maya.” The next rule of testing is that time is always a factor, no matter what you’re told to the contrary. Animation is a business with tight deadlines. Slow turnaround times can cause projects to go over budget and fall behind schedule. Meeting the deadlines on a test displays efficient time management skills, which makes you a less risky proposition. Early in my career, I took a traditional in-betweening test at a studio that did commercials. To complete the test, I needed to create two drawings placed in between two extreme positions. The director gave me the test on the premises and advised me to take as much time as I needed. I painstakingly sketched out the two inbetweens and then spent even more time doing cleanups on the roughs. Three hours later I reemerged with the two completed drawings. “You took too long,” said the director as he pegged them and began a flipcheck. I didn’t get the job, but I did get the lesson. The third rule is to stay on script. Know the particular rules of the project in terms of style, budget, and its intended audience. It’s easier if you’re testing for an existing show because you can research the material easily. When I took the storyboard test for Blue’s Clues, the show had only been on TV for six months. In anticipation of the test, I ordered cable and started watching episodes of the series as a reference. This research proved invaluable and gave me the confidence I needed to wrap my head around the show’s idiosyncrasies. Upon

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reviewing my test, the producers were impressed by how well I knew the show. I got the job.

A sample page from my storyboard test for Blue’s Clues. This particular test took me four days to board out fifteen pages of script (which was nearly a full half-hour episode!). In case you’re wondering, that is one of the longest tests you could ever be asked to take.

When testing for a project that’s not already available for reference, ask lots of questions and get them answered before you begin. It’s not enough to simply learn the rules of a project when testing; you’ve got to follow those rules. One animator I know learned the hard way that testing is not the time to show how a project could break new ground or be flipped on its ear. This animator, also a skilled and gifted writer, took a writing test for the TV series he was working on. He decided to use the test to write a sample episode that broke every rule particular to the series, even forsaking its intended audience, young children. Unsurprisingly, the test was met with bafflement, and the opportunity

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to write for the series was wasted. We should always assume that there won’t be a second chance. Last, but not least, tests are really tests of employability. Dave Palmer, as the supervising director on the original Blue’s Clues, had an ingenious system for getting the most out of the testing process. He would give out a ten-second scene, in which the tester would animate a frog interacting with the live-action host, Steve Burns. The short test demonstrated an animator’s level of familiarity with After Effects and her grasp of the principles of animation. Yet much of the assessment happened after the test was turned in. Palmer would sit down to critique the work in a meeting with the animator. He would poke through the After Effects project structure to see how expertly the animator had set up the work. After asking the animator to explain her creative choices, Palmer gave notes on the work. Animators that really wanted the job were excited by the notes and by the chance to take their work to another level. This interaction simulated the collaborative process by which the director and the animator would work together on the job. One last thought on testing: While tests might seem like they are deciding your fate, it’s only true for the one opportunity in front of you. Don’t be discouraged by failure because tests don’t measure your chances of long-term success in the animation industry. My friend and creator of the long-running Codename: Kids Next Door (Cartoon Network) and current showrunner of Muppet Babies (Disney Jr.), Mr. Warburton, told my SVA animation career class that while in college, he took a layout test to work on The Simpsons. Even though he didn’t really know how animation layout worked (“What’s a 12 field?”), he submitted the test and waited. Mr. Warburton never heard anything back. But a couple years later, after establishing an animation career in NYC, he had an opportunity to

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go to LA and tour Film Roman where The Simpsons was produced. During the visit he flipped through a binder of model sheets that showed staffers how to properly draw Bart. On one of the pages was a very off-model Bart standing beside a correct version of the character. The real Bart had a speech bubble that read, “I’m Bart Simpson. Who the hell is that?” You may have guessed that Mr. Warburton recognized the poorly drawn sketch as his own. Mortified, Mr. Warburton never told anyone. At least not until many years later when, after creating a hit series for Cartoon Network, he found himself sitting next to Simpsons creator Matt Groening at an industry event. He recounted the story to Mr. Groening, who listened impassively until finally stating, “If it makes you feel any better, I can’t draw the characters either.” Mr. Warburton had to laugh.

When two tall guys try to fit into a selfie: Mr. Warburton (“or Tom” as I’m allowed to call him) and the author, reunited in LA at an internal Disney event to celebrate the Disney Junior premiere of Muppet Babies.

In another example that tests aren’t everything, a current supervising director at a major animation studio once handed in a very questionable test for a storyboard revisionist position at a top studio. He hadn’t followed directions, didn’t draw on model, oddly rewrote the script adding in bizarre jokes that didn’t make sense, and rendered his

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drawings in blotchy, sloppy Sharpie instead of the usual pencil. Reviewers of the test were baffled. Hopefully stories like this may help to take the pressure off any setbacks you may face, and again this candidate ending up being super successful in the long run. No single test defines what we may achieve down the road.

PATIENCE IS KEY; DESPERATION IS A TURNOFF “Just be kind, be nice, stay humble, stay hungry! Nothing happens overnight and it’s always a learning process. Don’t be afraid to fail because I know I have MANY times. I still fail!” —Gabby Zapata, senior visual development artist, Disney

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Illustration by Gabby Zapata. Image courtesy of the artist.

OK, let’s say you’re chomping at the bit to land a dream job or your first gig in the industry. You’re bursting with enthusiasm. You’ve been building up to this moment, and now you’re ready, by golly. Use this energy to help yourself stay motivated during the search. Create new

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samples for your reel and portfolio. Attend every animation event in town. Don’t obsess on any one job lead or studio contact. I’ve seen otherwise sane people go down this path. One student in my career class mentioned a storyboard test he’d taken just after the conclusion of an internship months earlier. All semester he obsessed over this one opportunity. He tortured himself by wondering what had happened and if he should contact the employer one more time to get the final word. He rationalized the panic because the employer had told him the job needed to be filled quickly. “Surely, the company needs someone now. They said so,” he said. I replied, “They know when and if they need to fill a position. I’m sure they haven’t dropped the ball. Consider the time on the test well spent and move on to the next thing.” My words fell on deaf ears. On another occasion, a more seasoned animation artist blew a job opportunity after leaving a string of increasingly desperate voice mail messages for a studio department head. This affair was particularly sad because someone at the studio had recommended this person as a potential hire. The contact was deeply embarrassed about the friend’s behavior. Needless to say, this desperate person didn’t even make it to an interview stage. These examples probably sound extreme, but we all risk this behavior, including me. Not so long ago, four years into my Disney career, my growth and opportunities had stalled so I began to look for a job elsewhere. I found what I thought was a dream opportunity, applied, and secured a referral from a colleague. After speaking with the recruiter I was called in for two interviews with the top studio brass. One of those interviews even included a two-hour tour of the whole operation. It looked very positive for me, and then I went home, and my insecurities got the better of me. What if came down to a few final applicants? How could I make sure I stood out? Ignoring that I

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had already made a good impression (and that I already had a referral in the first place!) I thought a few other endorsements couldn’t hurt, so I asked a few contacts who had prominent positions at the same studio to write recommendation emails for me. Looking back, it’s clear to me that this was overkill. It was the definition of desperation, and I shouldn’t even have to point out that I didn’t get the job. But how can an otherwise reasonable person make this mistake? It has to do with us being “ready.” We feel that because we just graduated, ended a job, or decided to apply for a dream job that somehow the universe should be attuned to our needs. It ain’t so. And while my desperation was a temporary condition, to my would-be employer it was just what they needed to know to not choose me.

THE HARD SELL As a director on a TV series, I interviewed an animator who was more than qualified for a job that was open. For three years he had been doing similar work on a different production at the same network. He had experience with TV deadlines and knew many people on the crew. At the time of his interview we needed to hire four people. We gave this animator a take-home test, and he turned it in a few days later. He nailed it. Sounds like he should have been a shoo-in. Yes and no. Although he was technically qualified, it wasn’t that simple. For one, the animator was well known to badmouth our show and disrespect our team when he was working on another production. Now, out of a job, he came to us with his hand out. We were willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, but there was another cause for concern. In the interview and testing process he would often declare, “My work speaks for itself.” Then he would go on to speak anyway, boasting and bragging. He was arrogant, cocky, and downright demanded the job. We let him know we’d be making our decision after two weeks.

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He showed up several more times over these two weeks ambushing me and the other two directors in our offices. His tone grew more insistent and desperate. In our eyes, his star was fading with each encounter. My supervisor was the one who had to call him to let him know he didn’t get the job. When he came in to retrieve his test CD, he walked into my supervisor’s office, grabbed his stuff, and marched out. That was a very ungraceful display and certainly not the actions or attitude of someone who was genuinely interested in working with us. We felt vindicated in our choice not to hire him.

CAST A BIG NET If we all run the risk of desperate behavior when we’re on the outside looking in, what can we do about it? We all have different personalities. Some of us may behave desperate because of insecurity. Some of us just lack experience. Heck, some folks are just wired that way, right? I propose a plan to help all types: cast a big net! Don’t focus on one job opportunity. Who is more likely to get a bite, the fisher with one pole in the water or the one with ten? I like to cast a big net because every informational interview I set up is another chance to practice presenting my work and myself. I get to read how I’m coming across. I can use that knowledge to tweak my next presentation. Often, taking a meeting will lead to acquiring more contacts. With the big net method, we stay fresh, open, and increase our chances exponentially. An important thing to point out is that casting a big net doesn’t mean applying to any old job lead, roles you don’t really want at places you don’t want to work, or for positions you are not qualified to have. Don’t waste your time or that of recruiters or hiring managers. Think back to the rules of referrals. You don’t want to spend a precious referral on a random job application.

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A GOOD PROBLEM TO HAVE I’ve observed that many animation artists fear the problem of overlapping jobs or having different opportunities occurring at the same time. That would indeed be a good problem to have. However, there are times when overlapping opportunities may put you in a potentially awkward position. Once, not so long ago, conflicting opportunities appeared at my door. I wish I could say that I handled it properly, but I did not. I went against my better judgment, hurt a friend, and nearly damaged an important business relationship. It happened during my post–Blue’s Clues run of freelance work. For six months straight I was never without a gig, and I was usually juggling more than one at a time. One of my most reliable clients was a small studio run by two good friends of mine, David Wachtenheim and Robert Marianetti (let’s call them W&M because I’m lazy and don’t want to type this again). They may be the nicest people in the business today. As a cool sidebar, they recently left their business for a while to function as heads of story on Hotel Transylvania 2. Back to my story: while working full-time at Blue’s Clues, I occasionally sacrificed evenings and weekends to work on their cool projects on the side. This usually involved working until the wee hours of the morning, but it was always a good experience. Post–Blue’s Clues, I was on the freelance market again, and they gave me two back-to-back jobs right away. It was nice to work with them again and even nicer to have the time to focus on their work as my only priority. My mistake came a few months later when they called me on a Thursday offering yet another freelance job. I agreed to do the work, which would start sometime the next week. As a freelancer it’s not uncommon to see projects canceled or delayed even after one has agreed to do the work. I used that knowledge to justify one of the worst

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lapses of judgment in my whole career. Shortly after I accepted their work for the following week, a different client called asking if I could work on a TV series. They needed help with animation timing. The pay was good, and they needed someone right away. It was a chance to work with new people, at a new studio, and on a new TV series. Plus they dangled the opportunity of much more work to come. There was a good possibility that taking on their work would lead to a full-time job with benefits. Without thinking, I said, “Yes.” I kidded myself into believing that my previous commitment to W&M would get delayed or canceled, so I didn’t bother to call my friends and let them know that I’d accepted another job. Four days later when they called me asking if I could come in and pick up the assignment, I knew I had done wrong. It mattered little that I was able to recommend a replacement for myself, whom they hired. The issue wasn’t that they wouldn’t be able to replace me, but that I let them down. Looking back, I could have done their job, which would have lasted a week or two tops, and then taken the job on the series. As it turned out, the series job used a bunch of people to handle the demanding job of checking animation timing on exposure sheets. I could have jumped in and worked with them at any time. Regardless of what the job could have led to or whether I could have done both, my loyalty should have been to my friends who had offered me the first job. Even if they weren’t friends of mine, this should have been so. It’s just good business. We are our word. No opportunity is worth risking your reputation. If you suddenly find yourself in a position where you have to make a tough choice, ask if you can give your answer later that day or the next day. Consider all the options and then decide. Yes, opportunities will come up, and sometimes hard choices will have to be made. Yet,

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one should always give the proper notice and honor original commitments where possible. I’m lucky and grateful that my relationship with W&M survived my mistake. To their credit, they gave me another chance and offered me more work a short time later. This is one mistake I don’t need to make twice. And it gave me great joy to be able to recommend them for a project some years after. I was also able to hire David Wachtenheim as a freelancer on one of my first Disney projects (he animated a killer walk cycle of Rapunzel’s horse Maximus) and on a personal project a few years later.

He gave me so many opportunities, so it felt good to return the favor and hire David Wachtenheim to animate on my short indie film Foul Weather Friends (2019).

Years later, as an employer, I saw someone make a similar mistake to mine above. I had just gotten the role of directing an animated series for an out-of-state client, which involved contracting a wrecking crew of animation artists. I had just worked with a young animator on an inhouse 2D Flash (now called Adobe Animate) series and thought she was very easy to direct and did fine work. On the job, you make a

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mental note of people you’d like to work with again, and she was on my list. Now I was in a position to hire her, so she was among the first folks I reached out to. But it didn’t turn out to be so simple. She had just finished working on a pilot for another studio. And they liked her work too and planned to have her back to work on the series spawned by the pilot. The only problem? The series wasn’t a sure thing. But she took their word as sacred. So she explained that she wished she could take my job but needed to stay available for this inevitable series that was supposed to happen in six months. Once begun, it was supposed to be over two years of work! I tried to convince her to change her mind. My job was for an Adult Swim series and she didn’t have any work for this older audience on her reel. It could be a great opportunity for her to stretch out of her usual comfort zone. She wouldn’t budge and instead told me that mine was the second job offer that she had to turn down. Another employer had offered her a seven-month gig, but because it would overlap with the expected series for a whole month she said, “No.” What followed was pretty sad. After turning down the two job offers, she waited . . . and waited . . . and waited. The series she prioritized was delayed over a year, but worse, once that production finally started it lasted a whole four months before gross mismanagement caused the investors to pull out their money. The series was canceled, and the whole crew suddenly lost their jobs with a day’s notice. It’s wonderful when studios want to work with you again, and it’s comforting to think there’s a job lined up down the road. But meanwhile you have to be in the business of you. You have bills, responsibilities, and your life and career to look after. Navigate these waters with both eyes open and a little common sense. Maybe even use one of those Ouija boards—although the spirits may not know much about the animation industry unless they’ve read this book.

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Before we move on, one more story. When I lived in New York I was a regular speaker at the Rhode Island School of Design (RISD), where I got to meet many of the talented students there, not to mention connect with their wonderful animation professor, Amy Kravitz. Some students would follow up with me after my talks, and that’s when I heard about a recent RISD grad that was having a lot of trouble finding work. The problem? He was only able to work legally in this country for a year, not being a citizen. And he was telling all possible employers this when he met them. I advised him not to tell them that. After all, so much animation work in New York was short term. Why scare off a studio by telling them you won’t be around in a year? Unless they are offering long-term employment, that’s nothing they need to know. He listened to me and began a new round of job hunting following my advice. Shortly after, I was leaving the lobby of a building in Lincoln Center to drop off some completed work (yes, we delivered on hard drive back then!) to Sesame Workshop when I heard someone call my name. It was the former RISD student. He informed me that he got a job in the building doing CG animation for another department at Sesame Workshop. He got the job after heeding my warning to not mention his year-long residency issue.

NOTHING BUT NET: SOCIAL MEDIA AND OPPORTUNITIES “I often look for talent on social media and have hired several artists by scouring Twitter and Instagram.” —Andrea Fernandez, art director, Netflix, Warner Bros. Entertainment At a lunch with BoJack Horseman supervising director Mike Hollingsworth, he confided to me that some years back he had gotten 75

disenchanted with pitching. He had spent a lot of time writing and developing art on a few projects only to see them not move forward to pilot or series. He was eager get back to making something that he could put out there, something that would actually be seen, so he turned to creating his online animated comic series Stufffed Animals. Happily, the comics quickly gained a following, and that included one Claire Curley, who was the senior vice president of digital content at Nickelodeon at the time. Claire reached out to Mike to express that she really enjoyed the comics and to offer him a spot in their pilot program. This eventually led to him making the pilot episode for Low Life. Somehow by going back to doing what he loved, for himself, he found the key to opening the development door he had been pounding on unsuccessfully for so long.

A still from Mike Hollingworth’s Nick Animation short, Low Life. Copyright 2016 Viacom International Inc. All rights reserved.

Everyone in today’s animation industry has some kind of online presence, whether it’s occasionally posting work or career news on 76

Facebook, updating employment status on LinkedIn, sharing bite-sized content on Instagram or Twitter, uploading short-form animation to YouTube or Vimeo, maintaining a portfolio site, and even publicizing a would-be project on GoFundMe or Kickstarter. The common perception is that social media can be impersonal and alienating, but on the flip side it can also foster a sense of community. And as Andrea Fernandez reported above, the work you share doesn’t necessarily just stay within the community gates. Art directors like Andrea are always searching for new talent, techniques, trends in design, and she may discover you. Development executives such as Claire Curley (in the above example) often scour social media for new storytellers, unique voices, and offbeat points of view. So what’s the downside? There really is no downside. Social media allows one to easily create, maintain, and grow their brand online. It’s basically a free, universal, and always accessible (well, except that time I spilled a whole glass of water on my Wi-Fi router), archive of your work. The old days had animation artists (and other creative people) toiling away on their art and craft in dark corners with very few ways to show it off. Now, we are all publishers and publicists as much as we are artists. And we can do it all in our pajamas. Maybe even while eating a papaya. Okay, that’s enough p words. Before we move on, Oscar-nominated filmmaker PES explains why branding and promotion are so important: “If you have something new to say, it’s only half the job to make it: you have to get it out there. Otherwise, you don’t give it a chance to have an impact and you lose out on the opportunity to experience any benefit the film may bring you. Promotion is a very important part of the equation. “This weird thing happens when people get familiar with your work. For better or for worse, people start seeing you as a kind of brand: your taste, the ideas you have, the way you tell a story, the pacing you set.

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This is your fingerprint. People latch onto your name as a symbol that stands for the combined identity of all these things. ‘Have you heard of this guy, PES? Oh, he’s the guy who did that Nike thing,’ or ‘Oh, the chair guy,’ or ‘That’s very PES,’ stuff like that. I believe it’s very important for artists to carve out their identities in the marketplace, really develop a distinct voice. When advertising and music video, television, and film people know about you, they not only enjoy your films but they also keep you in mind for future commissioned projects. Unless you have a trust fund or are happy getting paid outside the industry, this is valuable turf for you. Do not underestimate the value here. It’s only a matter of time before they bite,” PES concludes. While this book has a lot more information on how to maximize inperson experiences on the job and within the industry, it’s not because of my belief that your social media presence is not important. It is because many folks reading this book were issued an email address at birth. In short, social media is a part of everyone’s daily life from Gen Z to middle-aged me to lots of baby boomers as far as I can see (insert your own Dr. Seuss– inspired illustration here).

QUANTUM LEAPS “The biggest challenge I’m currently dealing with is making the leap from kids’ animation to prime-time animation. It’s a very separate world, and I’m having to prove my value all over again.” —Minty Lewis, cocreator, The Great North, Fox Broadcasting Company

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Creator Minty Lewis—my team and I had the pleasure of working with her on three shorts for Disney.

During my eighteen years of working in the New York animation scene, I always made the job hunt personal. This meant I relied on a blend of networking, informational meetings, and word of mouth. I had a résumé and a LinkedIn profile, but they were seldom needed. Instead of keeping an updated reel, I simply created new samples to win bids for my virtual studio. These methods won me a variety of work from directing gigs to writing a treatment for an animated feature. But all that changed once I got the opportunity to work for Disney. It started familiarly enough in that I was called in to interview through word of mouth. An old friend from my Blue’s Clues days, Alison Sherman, was now working at Disney as a production manager on a new digital team concentrating on apps for the iOS space. As their slate of projects grew they planned to build up their in-house capabilities. That’s where I came in. This was one of those rare moments where the hiring manager and creative director, Gabriel Schlumberger, was able to see potential for me in this space, even if I didn’t have much

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experience working in animation for apps. During my interview I confessed, “I don’t have an iPad, and I never download apps on my iPhone.” He said, “We’ll get you an iPad, and you can learn the rest. You know how to schedule, budget, resource, and lead animation projects. You understand story. You are connected to a wide network of talent we can lean on.” All that added up to Gabe concluding that I had “full product knowledge.” I got the job. The catch? I found out during the hiring process that to take this job meant moving to LA within four months. My wife and I were up for a change and decided to give it a go. The first three years were pretty great. I built a lean, mean in-house animation team that could tackle any Disney, Pixar, Lucas, or Marvel animation style (in both 2D and 3D), to support up to thirty apps a year. My profile grew within our division, and I was eventually given the opportunity to create some original short-form animated content that spun off our apps. The results were so successful that our business segment grew a whole team devoted to creating short-form series to support all of Consumer Products. The bad news? I wasn’t permitted to transition over to the new team. After my third year in apps, I was starting to get burned out. My original boss and benefactor, Gabriel Schlumberger, had moved on to another role at Disney, so I was punted between three other bosses over the next year. My star was fading, but by then the whole app business as we knew it was beginning to wane. The writing was on the wall—when eight senior-level members of the staff left in a row there was no backfill. It was time to move on for a variety of reasons. But how did people find work in the LA animation scene? I was pretty disconnected, having focused inside my Disney bubble. I wasn’t networking on a regular basis, and I hadn’t written books, made films, or pitched shows in a while. All of this had been a part of my natural

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circulation in New York. It seemed almost effortless back then. Everything I had enjoyed doing, in turn, had done a lot for me. But now I was in uncharted water. So I tried a job-hunting strategy that seemed to make the most sense. I applied to jobs!!! Crazy, right? I blew the dust off my résumé, drafted up a cover letter template, updated my LinkedIn profile, and gathered my samples. But what type of jobs should I apply for? For a guy who wrote a book touting animation career strategies, I had none. My background was diverse, which up until now always felt like a strength. But the job listings I was seeing in LA favored applicants who followed singular paths. Think about it: animation development executive positions are most likely filled by someone who began their career working in development, probably starting as a coordinator. While the sum of my experiences could offer an intriguing alternative, it poses a risk to a recruiter or hiring manager when their job is to find a safe bet. I applied to many jobs. I landed a decent number of interviews, including some second interviews, but nothing clicked. A year and a half went by. I was in a good position in that I still had a job. And I should point out that I continued to give that job my all and accomplished some of my best work during that time. If I wasn’t willing to do that, even while looking for outside opportunities, I’d have no business sticking around. But applying to job listings, uploading résumés and cover letters was not how I had ever gotten work. Nor had I ever before applied to singular path positions that favored specialists, not generalists. No wonder I was having so much trouble! So this forty-two-year-old finally took a page from his twenty-oneyear-old self. If I couldn’t fit into his thirty-two-inch-waist jeans, at least I could walk in his shoes. All I had to do was figure out a job-

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hunting strategy that was authentic to me. It just so happened that right at this time our apps team at Disney was folded into the larger Disney Interactive division. We were strongly encouraged to reach out to new colleagues across the campus. Since I wasn’t interested in continuing a career in interactive media, I reached out to a further outpost of Disney Interactive—Maker Studios in Culver City, where they made narrative content. Oh how I missed storytelling! Purchased by the Walt Disney Company in 2014, Maker Studios was a YouTube-focused MCN (multichannel network) tackling original production (Epic Rap Battles) while supporting a stable of the top influencers in social media. Oh, and they had an internal animation studio where a small team had made a huge impact making the successful short-form series I Wonder, starring a 3D-animated cat named Stampy, born out of the Minecraft phenomenon. A quick search on LinkedIn helped me find and contact Maker’s VP of animation, industry veteran Cella Duffy, and after a couple of messages back and forth we set up a coffee date. This was what I used to do several times a week in New York, where this survival skill had become second nature. Now I was tapping back into that, and it was exciting! Cella invited me for a tour of Maker Studios and to meet her animation team. They were a great bunch and made a strong impression on me. Over coffee she and I compared backgrounds. I was blown away by her tales of working in the London animation scene in the 1970s, where she rubbed shoulders with my heroes at TVC Studios London who had made the Beatles animated feature Yellow Submarine. Later, after relocating to Los Angeles, she became the senior vice president of animation production, television, at Klasky Csupo during their glory years between 1991 and 2005. For two hours we compared war stories about heading small, scrappy digital animation teams at Disney. It reminded me that I had

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value and that my experiences weren’t rubbish. Feeling underutilized in the last year on the apps team and not being able to find a new job had messed with my head. This day was a nice shot in the arm. The whole visit had been so much fun that I was moved to invite Cella and her team to visit Disney’s Glendale campus, where I worked. Two weeks later we arranged that trip, and it was another pleasant afternoon. Over the next couple of months, Cella and I kept in touch until one day her work email stopped taking messages. Did she leave her job? A quick search at Disneycareers.com (this is a great site to look for employment opportunities at Disney, by the way) revealed her job was, in fact, open! In a LinkedIn message, she confirmed it was true. After more than four years at Maker she needed a change—it’s funny, that was now the same length of time I was at my job, and I needed a change too! Maybe us animation folk get a four-year-itch? And if so, is there an ointment for that? Long, long story short. I applied for the job and also reached out to Cella’s old team to let them know. They were a huge support and lobbied their leadership to hire me. Six interviews followed over a span of two months. During Christmas break in 2015, my phone rang with the job offer. I was going to be director of animation, heading the team at Maker Studios. Oh, crap. Now I had to drive to Culver City every day! So before finding success again, what did I learn through my year and a half of floundering in the job interview circuit?

Don’t Apply to Every Opportunity Just because I know (or think) I can do a job, and even if I believe the sum of my professional experiences prove that out, it doesn’t make it obvious to the recruiter or hiring manager. I should have thought about how it might look through their eyes. What was I really best suited to

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do? The Maker Studios (Disney) opportunity used every bit of my diverse background—it was all right there in the job description.

Don’t Forget about Fostering Relationships What I knew by rote in New York I had to relearn the hard way in LA. Jobs come and go, but relationships are forever. There was no specific job opportunity in sight when I reached out to Cella Duffy at Maker Studios, and I had no idea how beneficial it would be to meet her and her team. But if we take the time to connect with people, who knows where something might lead? At the very least, I would have made a great group of new friends.

Get Out of Your Rut Quickly It probably didn’t need to take me a year and half to realize I was making the same mistakes over and over again. In production we use the term “fail quickly” because to do so means you can begin to apply those lessons as early as possible. If I could do it all over again I would have slowed my roll and taken a deep look at what was going wrong. It would have saved me a lot of embarrassment because who wants to be remembered as the guy that applied to every job? Okay, I didn’t apply to every job, but it was certainly too many jobs. I took a huge risk doing that because it could have scuttled my chances when the right position opened up. And you know what? There’s probably still some damage done and that I may never be able to undo. Spare yourself the same consequences.

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CHAPTER 3

Designing a Career Part I: The Animation Artists

“One of my favorite things about working in a studio environment is being surrounded by so many talented artists five days a week. Everyone is at the top of their game, from storyboards to character designs, layout to background paint —it’s so inspiring to see the quality of the work every artist brings to the table.” —Jordan Koch, storyboard artist at Netflix you don’t put off to think about tomorrow but rather actively build up slowly each day. Careers are the progression of someone’s working life or professional achievements. While careers imply careful planning and a disciplined focus of energy, there’s some degree of chance involved as well. Opportunities happen seemingly at random, but only those who have made themselves ready can take advantage of an opportunity wherever and whenever it may strike. Even the smallest of opportunities grow a career like a snowball rolling down a snowbank. I WOULD DEFINE A CAREER AS SOMETHING

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Jordan Koch during his days at Nick.

The function of this chapter is to flesh out (in the most realistic manner possible) the professional life of an animation artist. Find out what happens when art meets commerce. The experts are waving us onto the tour bus now. Stand clear of the closing doors and make note of the emergency exits.

CAREER PATHS: STORYBOARD ARTIST The storyboard is the visual shot-by-shot translation of a script and is the basis for the entire production process that follows, including design, background and layout, animation, and postproduction. Despite changing technology, storyboards are still mostly drawn by hand, although they’re now usually drawn with digital tools using a program such as Toon Boom Storyboard Pro, where the storyboard panels and character poses can be simultaneously and efficiently built into an animatic.

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Storyboard sample by Otis Brayboy from a pitch, Teddy and Annie, written and created by Debbie Staab and the author. Image courtesy of the author.

Storyboards represent the finished product long before great time and expense goes into a project. The storyboard artist, working in the style and voice of the production, maintains storytelling continuity, breaks down the script into scenes or shots, establishes the size relationships between characters and props, and indicates the acting by hitting strong poses on each story point. In addition, the storyboard artist is often the first to rough out new background locations, characters, and props. A storyboard artist balances strong drawing skills with a good knowledge of anatomy, acting, directing, staging, and the ability to think creatively and quickly. With such commanding skills, storyboard artists often develop into animation directors. In typical TV animation production (including broadcast, cable, streaming, and distribution means yet to be imagined) the main two types of storyboarding are script driven and board driven.

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Script-Driven Storyboards What examples do we have of script driven animated series? The list would include titles spanning the last sixty years and counting, with such notable examples as The Flintstones, Scooby Doo, He-Man, The Simpsons, South Park, and Bob’s Burgers. In a typical script driven animated show scripts are written à la live-action sitcom scripts and then given to a storyboard artist to break down visually. According to Jordan Koch, on a script driven show, you’re given the full script, including all the dialogue, scene locations, montage beats, and so forth. “A good script provides you with the strong narrative of the episode, while still leaving a little elbow room for the board artist to visually elaborate on a joke or scene,” he reports. Koch has also boarded episodes of shows that record the actors’ dialogue before the episode was handed off to the board artist. “That can also be a benefit because the directors have already chosen the specific line reads they want, allowing you to board directly to the actors’ performance—much like an animator will animate to a dialogue track,” notes Koch.

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Diane Kredensor, sandwiched between her characters Ollie and Moon. Image courtesy of the artist.

Veteran storyboard artist and creator of The Ollie and Moon Show (NBC Sprout), Diane Kredensor, describes the daily duties of a storyboard artist on a script driven series: “First, you go through the script and thumbnail out your shots. Then you pitch your thumbnails to the storyboard supervisor or animation director for notes and changes. From there, you flesh it out, adding the acting, into a full rough storyboard. Once your rough board is approved by the director, you make it pretty, putting everything on model, and then you’re done (and ready for the next script!).” Scott Cooper, who has storyboarded in Los Angeles and New York City on such script driven projects as The Boss Baby: Back in Business and Wallykazam!, says that a storyboard for a half-hour TV episode usually needs to be completed in three weeks. “After my thumbnail sketches get approved, I try to board about a script page a day.”

Board Driven Storyboards Board driven animated shows have a process closer to how cartoons were created during the “golden age” of Hollywood cartoons (1930s through the 1950s) in that they are written by artists as they draw. Jordan Koch explains, “On a board driven show, you’re given the premise and/or outline of the episode, but written out like someone’s telling you a story, rather than in the format of an actual script. This requires more initial planning on your part and collaborating with the director to address any questions in terms of pacing, settings/locations, etc. as you map out your plan for the episode.” Some examples of board driven shows include SpongeBob SquarePants, Chowder, Adventure Time, Uncle Grandpa, and Steven

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Universe. Board driven shows tend to be less grounded in reality and more likely to exploit the surreal, spontaneous, and hilarious possibilities that animation has to offer. The board driven storyboard artist balances this with the responsibility of also writing the actual lines of dialogue for the episode. Mike Roth, currently engaged in development at Disney TV Animation, recalls it was tricky to source board artists up to this challenge when he was a supervising producer at Cartoon Network. The solution? “We went into the comic world. We checked out what the comic artists were doing because they write well,” Roth reports. A nice by-product of this was that it helped break up the decades-old boys club that used to represent much of animation production, which Roth found really encouraging. “We found there were a lot of women comic book artists. It was great! It wasn’t a plan to find female artists, but they were the ones that best matched to the assignment,” he recalls. Whether scripted or board driven, both methods have their own pros and cons, but Jordan Koch suggests to always approach a storyboard from a purely visual point of view: “Imagine watching your episode from across the room with the sound turned down really low or maybe even off entirely. Are your characters’ poses strong and dynamic? Are the facial expressions as clear and illustrative as possible? Are your scenes engaging, effective, and entertaining?” If you meet Jordan in person one day be sure to have your answers at the ready.

Features and Story Artists While the title “story artist” may imply that story artists have a different role than storyboard artists, former Walt Disney Animation Studios story artist (Frozen II) and current story artist at Sony Pictures Animation Donna Lee found that there was no difference between the two, minus that feature studios use the title “story artist.” In terms of

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process, Lee begins each new project with research: “When I get started on a new project, I watch any of the movies that the director might have mentioned that could help me get inspired to do certain shots. I also love traveling to specific inspirational locations because there’s something that you can always pull from in real life that you can plug into your scene. It’s what makes the story more authentic and unique.”

Story artist Donna Lee, during her Disney days.

In Donna Lee’s experience, the feature story artist sometimes works from a locked-down script, where the director or writer know exactly what they want. But that’s not always the case. “Sometimes it’s the opposite where they look to you to help them ‘plus the pages’ and figure out areas that they weren’t able to get to. I find it so much fun when I’m given an outline because it gives me the freedom to try new

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things and be able to have some kind of ownership in the scene,” she adds.

(Autobiographical?) sketch by feature storyboard artist Keely Propp. Image courtesy of the artist.

In the world of midrange-budget animated features, where there is less time to marinate on the story because of money and time restraints, it tends to be more script driven. Storyboard artist Keely Propp (The Addams Family) explains, “Basically, you get launched on the script and you are the hand that draws it and no more; no freestyling, no pitching new ideas or dialogue, get it done.” But the experience can be different depending on when Propp joins a production. When she’s on the team early enough there can be more of chance to be involved in the writing process. She says, “On that type of project, we do a lot more sit-down meetings talking about story, drawing beats, roughing out sequences where we can pitch new story points and dialogue.”

Storyboard Skills That Pay the Bills What kind of training and skills does a storyboard artist need to develop to start out and to keep advancing in her career? According to Diane Kredensor, you want to be a good drafter, able to draw the

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human figure in a variety of poses. “Other skills should include strong storytelling, cinematography, staging, and composition. Storyboards should clearly communicate ideas to the entire production team, so strong communication skills are an important asset.” Kredensor never went to art school, but she knows a lot of excellent artists who have gone to CalArts and NYU. Her best advice: “Take any classes you can find on storyboarding, and look for a mentor, someone whose work you admire, and just start boarding as much as possible and use their feedback to keep learning and improving. If you can land a job doing storyboard revisions, it’s a great way to immerse yourself in it and get paid at the same time.” Chris Siemasko, story artist at Blue Sky Studios (The Peanuts Movie, Ferdinand), had a varied career in animation before gravitating towards story art in features. He explains, “I did almost every different job in 2D animation, plus motion graphics, a little bit of 3D animation, screenwriting, graphic design, and some editing. My wife and I had moved to Rockland county, which is geographically close to Blue Sky Studios, to get out of New York City for a little while. I looked at the Blue Sky jobs page one day just to see if they had any work that I could do. There was a posting for an animatic artist. It required someone with experience in After Effects, Flash, Maya, and Photoshop, experience in 2D animation, storyboarding, and painting. Editing and screenwriting was a plus. It was like reading my résumé in the job description. The job was basically previs [the visualizing of complex scenes] for the story reel. I did this for about five years and then I transitioned to storyboarding. It has been a long road for me! I have met a lot of other artists who did this in one simple step.”

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A Chris Siemasko storyboard sample from I Am Big Bird: The Caroll Spinney Story. Image courtesy of the artist.

Keely Propp wanted to be in a leading creative role, and long before she understood career paths in the animation industry. Knowing she wanted to write and direct stories Propp started studying animation at Toronto’s Sheridan College. She says, “I focused more on being a 3D animator as it was the most direct path to working in feature early in your career. At my graduation showcase, after I presented a 2Danimated short film, I was asked by studios if I was interested in being a storyboard artist. I think my love of 2D animation and drawing, in combination with wanting to write and direct, led me to build up the skills needed to start storyboarding.” Sheridan College’s strong relationships with studios allowed Propp to present her work to the

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industry and be chosen for internships during school and jobs after graduation, including a first storyboard position at Bron Animation.

Pitching Perfect A lot of animation artists like to give their performances behind the anonymity of a pencil, paintbrush, or stylus, but storyboard artists (working in both animated series and features) also have to get up in front of a group (gulp!), stand in front of their work, and pitch their little hearts out. In this way the storyboard artist brings jokes, drama, and pathos alive, while also providing a sense of pacing through how long they linger on each panel. Oh, and they also act out the dialogue and even key sound effects and music cues. As overwhelming as this sounds, one thing to hold on to is that nobody knows your boards like you. Who better to pitch them? And with our team of expert advice, you’ll never really be up there alone. Keely Propp was lucky to have a parent who studied acting and who encouraged her to audition for plays and talent shows when she was young, so she had a base level of skill when talking in front of a group. She adds, “But pitching for storyboard is its own animal, and I’ve learned the most about it by being surrounded by great artists and great pitchers, taking the time to observe and learn. If you are on a board team, take time to watch everyone’s pitches. See what works and what doesn’t. Don’t be afraid to be dramatic, overact, sell the emotion.” Interestingly enough, Jordan Koch also had an acting and theater background. For him it comes down to confidence. He explains, “When you pitch a storyboard, a sequence, even just an idea—the more confident you are in what you’re pitching/selling, the stronger your work will be presented. I’ve seen gags pitched that are funny, but the way they’re boarded and the delivery of the pitch makes the gag

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hilarious, completely selling the idea. Be confident. No one knows the material better than you.” Confidence doesn’t always grow on trees, but one evergreen (forgive the pun) idea is to take an improv class. My current lead designer at Disney, Trevor Knapp Jones, took an improv class that greatly improved his effectiveness and confidence in group brainstorms at work, for instance. Koch also recommends, “Study the work of great character actors like Lucille Ball and Jack Benny, look at which onscreen performances have been awarded the Best Actor and Actress accolade, study them, and find out why.” Koch isn’t finished yet: “Remember when you were a kid and someone would read you a story? Wasn’t it always more fun if they’d do different voices for different characters? How did they make you laugh at the funny parts? Or make you squeeze your pillow tighter as they whispered the scary parts? Apply the same approach to pitching your work. Don’t just read the story, tell it.”

No one is safe from being drawn during a meeting if Trevor Knapp Jones is present. Here he captures the big boss, moi. But I don’t know whose head is looming in the corner. It’s freaking me out.

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With all the advice giving we shouldn’t lose sight that pitching can be fun! In fact, it’s Chris Siemasko’s favorite part of working in story for features. Siemasko adds, “I spend about three weeks working on a board; the planning and drawing is all hard work. I practice my timing and go through the dialogue so I don’t trip over the lines too much. But then when it’s time to pitch, it’s pure enjoyment—especially when I can make a room full of people laugh. If it doesn’t go so well that can feel a bit bad. But the sting doesn’t last that long, and just makes me want to get a better response next time. Getting laughs is addictive.”

A Day in the Life of a Board Artist If you could walk in a storyboard artist’s shoes, you should wait until they take them off first, because two in a shoe can be very uncomfortable. But once the walking begins, what might you step in? For Jordan Koch, while working in beautiful downtown Burbank at Nickelodeon, the workday started with a cup of coffee, sometimes accompanied by a warm-up doodle on a sticky note or checking emails. “First thing I did when I opened the Storyboard Pro file for the episode I was working on is scrub through the panels I boarded the day before to bring me back up to speed with where I left off. The majority of my day was spent at my desk working on my episode.” Depending on the day of the week, Koch might be in a storyboard pitch for a different episode, have a lunch meeting, or engage in quick five-minute doodle breaks peppered throughout the day. Whatever studio he’s at, he adds, “It’s important to me to keep my storyboarding work within the confines of the workday. It keeps me focused while I’m at work and it allows me to work on my own projects at night, or just spend time with my family and watch a movie after dinner.”

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Jordan Koch’s warm-up doodle and warm-up coffee.

Meanwhile, during her time at Walt Disney Animation Studios, Donna Lee began a typical day doing some warm-up drawings before going to any meetings and rereading the scene she’d been assigned to in order to assess how much she’d have to be boarding for the day. “Sometimes we had pitches scattered throughout the week and most of the team including the directors were there to give notes or feedback on the scene,” Lee says. Three thousand miles away on the other coast, and might I add sporting a killer mustache, Chris Siemasko reports there are different phases of the story workflow at Blue Sky Studios: “When you first get the scene, it’s a lot of thinking, research, talking it through with the director, head of story, or other board artists and doing some sketching. I like to do thumbnails on Post-its, so I’m away from my computer a lot that first week.” Just before the pitch, the pace quickens for Siemasko, finding him furiously drawing: “The last week, my nose is pressed against the Cintiq.” Having completed our “A Day in the Life of a Board Artist,” we create a distraction, return their shoes, and make a barefoot run for it!

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Storyboard Samples Whether you’re aiming at doing storyboards for animated series or features (or any other formats in between), there is some common ground on what to include in your portfolio. Scott Cooper advises showing only your best work. “You can always show additional work in an interview.” Cooper adds, “Sequential art like comic books or newspaper strips are good to show as well. Also have some life drawings, both human and animal.” For those just starting out, with no professional board samples available, both Cooper and Koch (they sound like a pair of TV cops: Cooper and Koch) recommend finding a script sample on the web and simply boarding it out.

Political cartoon by Scott Cooper. Courtesy of the artist.

Koch elaborates, “Select a scene from a comedy script, ideally from a film or play you haven’t seen/are unfamiliar with, and go from there. Working from established characters, dialogue, and settings allows you 99

to focus entirely on your work as a board artist. After all, on a script driven show, we’re given all of that material up front.” But what about creating samples for board driven shows? Koch recommends trying to develop and board a story based on newspaper headlines or reinterpret a scene from a familiar fairy tale. “What if the Three Little Pigs weren’t little and the Big Bad Wolf wasn’t big?” asks Koch. His simple suggestion to reverse the character traits opens up an entire new landscape for gags and visual comedy. Fun!

Career Advice Keely Propp recommends maybe starting in a revisionist position if one is available, because you will learn vital skills. She says, “If you are having a hard time getting into revisions, try a production assistant position and ask to learn from the artists. I know multiple people who rose up through the ranks from production assistant to revisions to boards.” You’ll hear this over and over in this book, so it’s no wonder that Propp advises to keep making your own stuff. But she clarifies, “No, that does not mean you have to draw every day when you just got off a job where you are drawing for eight hours a day. Separate yourself from your job, you are much more than a board artist, or an artist at all. Go out and live, you can’t tell good stories if you never lived any.” Donna Lee agrees that this is key, adding, “I truly believe that every story artist can bring something to the table and it’s their own personal experiences that can elevate that.” Because storyboards are the film before the film exists, they must entertain or make you feel something just as the final film will. Koch stresses that you must entertain your viewers with strong poses, engaging expressions, and clear, dynamic compositions and staging. “Does it make us laugh? Do we empathize with your characters? Do we want to see more? Look beyond just boarding a close-up shot.”

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Search for more, he encourages. Koch likes to think of it like a favorite meal growing up: “Anyone can follow a recipe, but it’s the different dashes and pinches of seasonings that give it flavor. What are the flavors you bring to your storyboards? Visual comedy gags, intense action sequences, emotional acting—what makes your work stand out? When you start looking at your storyboards as storytelling, your drawings will come alive.”

The Storyboard Artist’s Bookshelf Recommended reading list: • • • • • •

Directing the Story by Francis Glebas, Focal Press (2008) Setting the Scene by Fraser MacLean, Chronicle Books (2010) 100 Tuesday Tips by Griz and Norm, No Weekends (2015) Funny!: Twenty-Five Years of Laughter from the Pixar Story Room by Jason Katz, Chronicle Books (2015) Invisible Ink by Brian McDonald, Talking Drum (2017) Steal Like an Artist by Austin Kleon, Workman Publishing (2012)

CAREER PATHS: DESIGN AND ART DIRECTION Animation history books pinpoint a time in the 1950s when designers began to dominate the industry. The results changed the look of animation on the screen, TV, and even on Madison Avenue. Animation was pulled away from its comic strip and storybook illustration roots and brought into the modern age, where the new influences were decidedly more contemporary. Art directors and animation designers not only create the final look of what you see on the screen but also

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provide visual development, inspirational images, and conceptual art to sell shows.

A Day in the Life of an Art Director What does an art director working in animation do? If we were to observe one for a day, what would we learn? The first thing you might notice is that they wear many hats, and not just because of changes in the weather. Art director Andrea Fernandez (Netflix’s The Cuphead Show! and Warner Bros.’s Unikitty!) says her duties are many and the workflow is quite frankly too difficult to explain because of how animation design overlaps during a series. She explains, “On any given day I’m looking over six to eight episodes at a time all at various stages of the design. When episodes are back from post and you include previsualization, I can be on twelve episodes at once.” In terms of her duties, Fernandez gets to do a lot of really interesting things. She finds it exciting to spend time supervising and working with very talented groups of background painters and prop, effects, background, and color designers to achieve the look she’s going after for the series: “I also get to spend time with producers, directors, and story artists to get on the same page with them so that the art department is really adding to story beats and mood with what we’re creating.” As the art director, she feels more like a coach than a player, adding, “I get to make the plays, build the team, and make sure that everyone is set up for success throughout the production.”

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Art director Andrea Fernandez, standing in front of a wall of Unikingdoms.

Art director Chris Moreno (Disney Junior’s Muppet Babies) describes his daily duties as including working with the production staff in determining art assignments to the various design departments. He explains, “This usually involves a meeting with the Design Team at the beginning of the week to see where everyone’s at, and what our goals are for the week. I sit in a lot of meetings with our other departments to make sure design needs are met.” For example, Moreno will sit in on storyboard launches to make sure that the board artists have all the designs they need to do their work or answer any questions they have about the designs. “Over the course of the day, I’m reviewing our designers’ work, keeping in mind our design guidelines, which we’ve developed over the course of the series, as well as our showrunners’ and network’s preferences,” he adds. The notes Moreno makes on those go into the work the designers submit for review.

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Art director Chris Moreno in his natural habitat. Photo by Heidi Ryder Photography.

Ever the overachiever, Moreno also describes his weekly duties. These involve reviewing scripts and outlines to determine design needs and potential challenges, where he makes notes for production to incorporate into their asset tracking. He describes, “I sit in route sheet callouts where we review animatics to call out new designs, modifications to existing designs, and FX needs.” Overall, Moreno spends a lot of time answering questions from all departments. He looks at his job as being an advocate and aide to his artists, a gobetween for production and his team, to make sure they have everything they need to do their best.

Character Designers A lead designer at Sesame Workshop, Dagan Moriarty, describes his main job as to design and draw within the visual parameters of the specific show or project and to have fun with it! He adds, “A good

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designer will push to make the project as visually strong and appealing as possible. It’s our job to stay inspired, and to some degree, to keep the whole crew inspired. It’s our designs that everybody must work with day in and day out. An animation character designer helps a show stay visually coherent, too, usually working closely with the art director.”

Design by Teddy Newton for The Incredibles. Copyright 2004 Disney/Pixar.

Moriarty continues, “Design is usually a very collaborative step in the animation process. Most of the time there will be a design team, however small or large, working together on a show.” Veteran designer and Oscarnominated director of Pixar’s Day & Night Teddy Newton agrees: “I’ve often sat with other artists when creating a character. I love to bounce off of other artists such as Tony Fucile and Ricky Neirva.” Most importantly, Moriarty reminds, “you are designing for ‘animation.’ How well will your designs work in motion? You train yourself to think that way.” What kind of training and skills does an animation character designer need to develop starting out and also to keep advancing in his

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career? Alex Kirwan (DuckTales, Wander over Yonder) believes versatility is important. “You have to know how to be just as expressive in a preexisting drawing style as you are in your own, or you have to know how to invent a brand new set of stylistic sensibilities to best suit a new project. If a desire to take apart household objects to understand why they function designates a future engineer, then the same has to be true of almost any type of designer. You have to want to examine all sorts of art, graphics, and drawings, and break them down into their components to find out what makes them tick.” Creative director at Sesame Workshop, Ian Chernichaw, explains that all animation designers have one thing in common: a thorough understanding of the animation process. “Animation designers need to know the current technologies, trends, computer software, and programs. You should also know how to animate because you will often have to supply animators with angles, positions, and turnarounds, and will be expected to be familiar with animation lingo.” Debra Solomon, who created the design of the animated Lizzy McGuire, thinks an animation designer should be able to create characters that feel real to the viewer and can emote. Solomon adds, “Drawing skills are important but some acting ability is good, too.” Now how do you best show off your animation design skills in a portfolio? Alex Kirwan talks about two criteria he looks for in a portfolio: appeal and imagination. Kirwan explains, “Appeal is a broad term which covers a lot of things, but I use it here to describe an artist’s use of proportion, line, and shape in a balanced way to deliver the idea of a drawing most effectively. For some, this comes very naturally; others have to work at it a little harder, but this can be okay if it is compensated with imagination. Imagination could refer to the quality of the ideas presented in the drawings, the amount of personality or humor in a drawing, or the originality of the approach.”

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Ian Chernichaw stresses that a strong portfolio has continuity. “Organize your work carefully. A good presentation needs to be organized by style, content, and flow. You should also group vertical images separately from horizontal images; it makes for easier viewing. Consider your audience and create a special portfolio geared for that person.” Chernichaw concludes, “Your presentation should leave people saying, ‘Wow!’” Teddy Newton feels that a portfolio needs a distinctive “point of view.” “Good drawing is sometimes not enough. H. R. Giger and Charles M. Schultz may be very different in skill, but there is no denying the clear identity they both have created for themselves by having a distinctive point of view,” he says.

Design by Teddy Newton for The Incredibles. Copyright 2004 Disney/Pixar.

Finally, Dagan Moriarty shares his secret for keeping a portfolio fresh. “I have a funny little ritual that I like to do about once a month. I take out my portfolio and flip through it casually, front to back. If I put

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it back down feeling mostly content with what I just looked at, then the work is still working for me. If I come away telling myself that twelve of fifteen pieces need to be pulled, it’s time for an overhaul.” While physical portfolios are seldom seen these days, all the above advice certainly applies to your online or pdf portfolio. I see a lot of online image galleries doubling as portfolios, such as the type artists generate on their Instagram pages. In a few scrolls of my thumb on a laptop track pad I might see sixteen pieces in a couple of seconds. The more uneven the work, the faster I scroll because I’m automatically starting to dismiss the artist in my mind. We’ve all heard the expression “You’re only as good as your worst drawing,” so why include anything questionable? I think the problem is that we often are not the best judge of our work. It can be very useful to have a trusted industry friend poke through your work and give you some honest feedback of what to keep and what to ditch.

Career Advice Alex Kirwan warns that it’s important to balance being very confident about your work with being open to suggestions. He recommends that it’s better to create a simple design that everyone involved can feel some ownership over than it is to “show off” with something complex that no one can recreate (including you). Kirwan concludes, “I’ve learned to not present my least favorite option, and to never provide a drawing that I wouldn’t want to see on screen.” Kirwan’s advice to not present a least favorite option is good advice for routing any aspect of the creative process for review. For instance, one of my producers and I made the mistake of including a voice-over artist we didn’t like in a set of auditions we liked better. We had included this option because we thought maybe it would be good to present a broad range of choices, but we should have been more selective. The internal stakeholder

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ended up picking this actor and we were stuck with it. It’s a lesson I’ll never forget.

Design by Alex Kirwan for Frederator/Nickelodeon’s My Life as a Teenage Robot. Copyright 2005 Viacom International Inc.

Teddy Newton believes designers should have more understanding of how to tell a story. He says, “The problem I find with most designers is that they don’t think of how their designs fit into the film. Some people may be able to paint beautiful pictures, but they don’t think about how it works in a sequence.” Newton also warns that sometimes too many outside views spoil the design. It can result in overworking a design to the point of not recognizing what it is supposed to convey.

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Collage design by Teddy Newton for The Incredibles. Copyright 2004 Disney/Pixar.

Still from Debra Solomon’s award-winning independent film Everybody’s Pregnant, showing off her design style. Image courtesy of the artist.

The Animation Designer’s Bookshelf Recommended reading list: •

Understanding Comics: The Invisible Art by Scott McCloud, Harper Paperbacks (1994)

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• •

•

• • •

“I’m a sucker for ‘art of’ books. I think they’re great learning tools for seeing what kind of art styles and designs and what sort of stuff goes into that work title,” says Gabby Zapata. The Art and Flair of Mary Blair (Updated Edition): An Appreciation by John Canemaker, Disney Editions Deluxe (2014) “I would listen to podcasts instead or seek out interviews on YouTube with artists that work in the industry. Those are better firsthand accounts at what working in a studio might be like,” says Andrea Fernandez. Batman Animated by Paul Dini and Chip Kidd, Harper Paperbacks (1999) Anatomy and Drawing by Victor Perards, Dover Publications (2004) “Vintage design books from the fifties and sixties and any fifties-era Hanna-Barbera book. My studio is filled with Picasso books and Bill Watterson’s books. I really recommend having a wide variety of books, art books, comics, magazines, whatever you can go to in a pinch for reference or for inspiration. A huge and well-organized reference ‘morgue’ is essential to an animation designer,” says Dagan Moriarty.

CAREER PATHS: BACKGROUND ARTIST Background art may be a supporting player to the main action occurring in the foreground, but that doesn’t make it any less important to the finished production. As animation artist Kyle Neswald (Star vs. the Forces of Evil and Fanboy & Chum Chum) puts it, background artists build a stage for the characters and tell the part of the story that the characters cannot.

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The development and refinement of background art in animation parallels animation history itself. Howard Beckerman, the author of Animation: The Whole Story, hosted a New York animation event showcasing background art through the decades. Beckerman’s presentation showed that early on in animation history there was a bare minimum of background detail or design in cartoons. As animation developed, background art became sophisticated, innovative, and stylistically diverse. Today’s background artists follow in that tradition, although now usually putting stylus pens to a Wacom Cintiq to create background art.

Background art by Adrian Urquidez for the Adult Swim animated series Assy McGee, which was created by the hilarious Carl W. Adams and Matt Harrigan.

Nashville-based animation director Mike Lapinski, who has done background design for Sesame Workshop, says that most individual designs are so time intensive that there is a heads-down, plow-through sense of completing a painting. “There are rarely sketches or drafts to start from. To really get something to work, you need to zone in on it, finding the shapes and harmonies. I often listen to music for a two-hour stretch while working on a painting.”

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What would be the ideal background or skill set of a background painter? Beatriz Ramos, background artist and founder/creative director at Dancing Diablo, answers, “Background artists should have a strong knowledge of composition, space, volumes, and a sophisticated sense of color and understanding of light. They should be proficient in Photoshop and Illustrator and versatile in the styles they can handle.” Ramos also values speed, organization, and the ability to work well with others. She concludes, “If you understand the complexities of animation production from beginning to end, you’ll be able to do a better job. What you know or don’t know is always reflected on those backgrounds.”

BG design by Mike Lapinski for an episode of Blue’s Clues. Courtesy of the artist. Copyright 2005 Viacom International Inc. All rights reserved.

Unruly Studio’s creative director, Paul Zdanowicz, answers that observation is the best practice for a background artist building their visual toolbox. He adds, “Every day on my walk home from work I pass a baseball field. I can tell you what color the grass is right before or after a storm. How shadows fall when it’s bright or overcast. Looking and remembering is something you will be doing the rest of your life. Whether you are taking in a tree or a style you like from a

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show you saw on television, to retain and be able to call upon those visual memories is invaluable.”

Career Advice Former art director on Cartoon Network’s Steven Universe and current art director at Netflix, Liz Artinian recommends avoiding getting locked into exclusively being a background artist. “The jobs are few and very competitive. It’s important to constantly remind people that you exist outside of the realm of animation background painter. You can draw, design, paint, and maybe animate too, and it’s important to keep that information on the tip of your tongue.” Beatriz Ramos shares her personal mantra: “Once the background looks nice, what are you going to do to make it look amazing?”

Painting by Liz Artinian. Image courtesy of the artist.

Paul Zdanowicz reports, “My least favorite experience has to be anytime when you think you nailed a background and a director shoots it down. There is a reason they are the directors and nine and a half out 114

of ten times they are right, so as much as I dislike when that happens, it is vital to the learning process. Taking any criticism personally is an easy mistake to make but a mistake nonetheless.” Kyle Neswald says his greatest mistakes usually came from overthinking what the director wanted. “Most of the time, intuition is a good guide for your design. Second guessing yourself can often lead to overworking your design. The greatest key, I have learned, is to keep design simple.”

The Background Painter’s Bookshelf Recommended reading list: • • • •

The Fleischer Story by Leslie Cabarga, Da Capo Press (1988) Walt Disney Animation Studios: The Archive Series: Layout & Background, Walt Disney Animation Research Library (2011) Layout and Composition for Animation by Ed Ghertner, Focal Press (2010) “Whatever art books would be in a painter’s/illustrator’s library: Caravaggio, Degas, Mondrian, Disney, Ryden, and everything in between, including great comic artists like Bisley and Miller,” says Liz Artinian.

CAREER PATHS: CHARACTER ANIMATOR Character animators work in 2D or 3D or in dimensions yet to be discovered, bringing life to talking rabbits, dancing hippos, anthropomorphic cars, nearsighted fish, and more dysfunctional families than you can shake a stick at (if that’s your idea of a good time). The principles of animation, including stretch and squash, weight, anticipation, and overlapping action, were fully developed

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(largely at the Walt Disney studio) by 1942. Since then, character animators have applied these principles to projects with an infinite amount of stylistic variation, from full (feature-quality) animation to lower budget (limited animation) for the web, social media, or TV (network, cable, and streaming platforms). The character animator is an artisan, accumulating experience and expertise over the course of a career and a lifetime. What kind of training and skills does a character animator need to start out and also to keep advancing in their career? Former feature animator Travis Blaise (Brother Bear) and current storyboard artist, based in Seattle, advises starting with the grass roots. “Try to attend a school that teaches the fundamentals (figure drawing, painting, sculpting, art history) along with traditional animation.” Award-winning independent animator and TV commercial director Mike Overbeck, currently working as an After Effects coder and developer answers, “It’s also important to understand storytelling, continuity, and acting.” Lead for the drawn animation team on Our Cartoon President, Chris Conforti feels it’s less important to research technical “how-toanimate” books and more beneficial to find books on your favorite artists or illustrators. “It’s better to develop your own voice and it’s easy to get stuck animating the way everyone else does.” Setting the glamour of working in show business aside, what are the daily duties of a character animator? Animator Angela De Vito, who has worked on both commercials and TV series (The Midnight Gospel, Home: Adventures with Tip & Oh), feels both are similar in that she starts out looking at the animatic of her assigned scene. She continues, “Then I go in and nail down the keys that are in the animatic. I might add some in-betweens so it’s fluid, but I wouldn’t fully flesh it out until the director has seen it and approves the direction I’m going in. We

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usually have ‘dailies’ meetings one to two times a week where the team sits down and we watch each other’s work. This is when the director will normally give notes and we figure out any ‘global’ notes that all animators should be addressing or watching out for.”

Illustration by animator Angela De Vito.

De Vito finds the main difference between working in commercials and for TV series is time. “So for a commercial, you’re working on a thirty-second spot and I typically have two to three months to work on five to six scenes. That gives me ample time to really flesh them out and for these jobs I always work from rough to clean,” she says. But for TV animation she usually operates on a quota system, where every animator has to have about 350 frames (roughly fifteen seconds) of animation approved a week. De Vito explains, “Depending on the production, that could mean you only had to tie down your animation so it could be sent to a cleanup department or you have to rough out and clean/color your scenes within that week.” 117

While De Vito’s experience is pretty comprehensive, there are other scenarios animators work in. South Park animator Jonathan Eden works in a far different production model. “My schedule at South Park is very unique, essentially it is crunch time while the season is in production with workdays ranging up to twelve to twenty-four hours. We produce one episode a week, so each animator is responsible for approximately two minutes of approved animation, something very daunting to get used to, but necessary to get the show on air. It is very different from other jobs I have had where there were more relaxed timelines or shorter hours, but every project has its own benefits,” Eden reports. Another aspect of working on South Park is downtime between seasons, which can last seven or eight months. Lucky for me and my team at Disney, because we’ve often been able to snap up Eden for freelance during his off-season. Toronto-based animator Joshua Pinker (DC Super Hero Girls, Unikitty!) has another version of the so-called “typical day.” Pinker describes, “I sit at my desk, which has a Wacom Cintiq and extra monitor, surrounded by my toys. I like to start by watching a couple of puppy-related videos on YouTube to wake me up. I log into all my accounts and web pages that show me where I am at with my work schedule. I will be doing a mix of animating a scene or downloading a scene to make corrections. I am always listening to music to get me into the zone.” Pinker and his team, while sharing an office space, are also connected on Google Hangouts, where they are always talking about work and sending funny gifs. “If someone writes something really funny it will cause us to get out of the chat and talk out loud to one another. Sometimes we will share cool animations we are working on. We all sit close in rows of workstations. It’s very chill and I have experienced this workflow from multiple studios I have worked for,” Pinker concludes.

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Doodle by Unikitty! animator Joshua Pinker.

Character animators, whether they work in 2D or 3D, need to keep up with technology to stay employable. For the longest time Pinker was only working in Adobe Flash, now called Adobe Animate. “I love that program and was lucky to find a lot of job opportunities using that program,” Pinker recalled. But then a studio he was working at wanted him to work on another show that was animated in Toon Boom Harmony. The studio gave him a one-week, in-house, paid training to learn the software and learn how to work on the show. Pinker adds, “I was very lucky to get that opportunity. Getting that experience qualified me to work on other Toon Boom Harmony–animated projects at other studios.” Meanwhile for journeyman animator Jonathan Eden, most of his jobs have involved either Maya, Adobe Animate, or After Effects. “Every once in a while a new project-specific program will pop up, but most techniques seem to transfer relatively smoothly between applications,” says Eden, reminding us that no matter the software, the principles of animation transcend technology. As much as technology has changed the tools animators use to do their job, there are some consistent strategies to presenting your work in a demo reel. For Angela De Vito, it really depends on what you want for your career. She explains, “If you are looking to become a director, 119

developing a personal style is definitely the goal for your animation. Commercial studios especially look to represent animators with a unique style that can bring something new to the campaigns they work on.” But De Vito feels it’s different if you want to work solely as an animator. If so, she advises that diversity is extremely important. “I’ve had to adapt to many different styles for the shows and spots I’ve worked on. For example, I’ve worked on quite a few McDonald’s spots where I had to animate well-known characters, such as Princess Bubblegum from Adventure Time or Greg from Diary of a Wimpy Kid.” While De Vito describes two specific paths above, there are some universal truths when it comes to reels. Firstly, always include walk cycles and acting scenes with dialogue/lip sync. Ideally these would include both bipedal and quadrupedal characters. Of course, after a time, much of your reel will be comprised of scenes from the variety of projects you’ve worked on. It’s good to remember that it wouldn’t hurt if your reel itself is entertaining, especially in the light of trying to have it stand out. But don’t emphasize style over substance. In the end, your skills need to be the star. Also, keep it short and sweet, no longer than two minutes. Avoid obnoxious and or loud music because it will not only annoy a potential employer, but it also implies you might be overcompensating due to some weakness in your animation.

Career Advice Travis Blaise feels that the most common mistake in this industry is miscommunication. “We work in an industry that calls on teamwork. When the lines of communication break down you can rest assured mistakes will happen. Try to listen and take notes whenever possible.”

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Illustration by animator Travis Blaise. Courtesy of the artist.

Joshua Pinker reminds us that having an amazing portfolio or killer reel and being super talented is not everything. “Animation studios also value someone who’s able to be a team player. You can be the best animator ever but if you cannot take direction well, then you probably will not get far.” Of course, advice based on being a team player or taking direction well implies you are already in the door and working. But the hard part early in the career of an animator might be getting hired in the first place. A lot of employers prefer to hire animators that have worked on similar content already, but what if you haven’t yet? While I’ll go into this in greater depth in chapter 11, “All Grown Up and No Place to Go: Starting Your Own Business,” consider making new appropriate samples that may give a would-be employer some assurance that you could do the job. At the very least, creating new samples shows sincerity that you want the job.

The Character Animator’s Bookshelf Recommended reading list:

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• • • •

• • • • • • • • • •

A New History of Animation by Maureen Furniss, Thames and Hudson (2016) Framed Ink by Marcos Mateu-Mestre, Design Studio Press (2010) Character Animation Crash Course by Eric Goldberg, SilmanJames Press (2008) The Queens of Animation: The Untold Story of the Women Who Transformed the World of Disney and Made Cinematic History by Nathalia Holt, Little, Brown and Company (2020) The Animator’s Workbook by Tony White, Watson-Guptill Publications (1988) Animation Unleashed by Ellen Besen, Michael Wiese Productions (2008) Talking Animals and Other People by Shamus Culhane, Perseus Books Group (1998) 50 Greatest Cartoons edited by Jerry Beck, Turner Publishing (1994) The Encyclopedia of Animation Techniques by Richard Taylor, Running Press (1996) The Natural Way to Draw by Kimon Nicolaides, Houghton Mifflin Company (1990) The Illusion of Life: Disney Animation by Frank Thomas and Ollie Johnston, Hyperion Press (1995) Creating Unforgettable Characters by Linda Seger, Owl Books (1990) The Animator’s Survival Kit by Richard Williams, Farrar, Straus, and Giroux (2012) Cartoon Animation by Preston Blair, Walter Foster Pub (1995)

CAREER PATHS: STOP-MOTION ANIMATOR 122

Stop-motion has never enjoyed the same attention in North America that it has received in other parts of the world. Europe and much of Asia, for instance, have a long tradition and appreciation of puppets and marionettes, which predate the birth of film. Understandably, there is a larger market for stop-motion animation in these territories. Historically, North America’s stop-motion industry has been a stepchild to the 2D and 3D animation industry, the same way animation is a stepchild of the live-action film business. A niche within a niche, if you will. But this has slowly started to change beginning with Tim Burton’s influential The Nightmare before Christmas (1993), followed by the successful domestic box office of Aardman Animation’s Chicken Run (2000) and Laika’s continuing string of beautifully crafted hit films from Coraline (2009) to Missing Link (2019). However, lead stop-motion animator Eileen Kohlhepp (Tumble Leaf, Robot Chicken) points out that England still seems to be the nation with the largest stop-motion industry. “Unfortunately, the possibility for Americans to find work in England is rather difficult due to strict labor laws. Canadians, on the other hand, might find it easier since they are offered work exchange opportunities through their country. In any case, if you can get a company to sponsor your work visa, you’re in.” Kohlhepp describes a typical day animating on a stop-motion project. “A normal production day might start around 9:00 a.m. Each animator is assigned a stage where she will spend a few days or sometimes a few weeks. You spend a few moments checking with the animation coordinator to clarify what shot you’re doing that day. Then you head off to gather everything you need. First stop is the set department to get the set and props. Next is the puppet department. They supply you with all the characters you’ll be working with on that shot. Then, you pick up the exposure sheets from the track reader.

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Stop-motion animators such as Eileen Kohlhepp bring life to a great range of characters and objects in front of the camera.

“Once you have everything on your stage, you block out the shot according to the storyboard. You set the camera in a temp position and get the director of photography to come to your stage and take a look. The DP spends anywhere from five minutes to an hour lighting the set and adjusting the digital camera to the proper position and settings. Usually while the DP is working, you spend that time marking and numbering your X-sheets with directions. You listen to the voice track a few times; note the emphasized syllables and time out when certain actions should occur. “The next person you speak with is the director. She gives the set a once-over and suggests any changes. Then she usually gives direction, explaining the most important aspects of the shot. You add these to the

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notes on the X-sheets, fix any suggested changes on the set, and get ready to start your shot. Depending on the length of the shot, you can spend a few hours to a few days animating. Most animators focus a great deal while working and don’t like to have their concentration broken. This translates into many hours alone, just you and the puppets in a small room, experiencing little successes, little frustrations, and lots of problem-solving. “When you’ve finally finished, you make a QuickTime movie of the shot and present it to the director. Once it has been approved, you start the process all over again with the next shot,” Kohlhepp concludes.

Split screen of dynamic directing duo Max Porter and Ru Kuwahata, working on another mini-masterpiece.

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Rhode Island–based husband-and-wife stop-motion duo, the Oscarnominated Max Porter and Ru Kuwahata, balance client projects (Ben & Jerry’s, Ralph Lauren) with indie self-authored projects, describing different experiences depending on which they are working on. Ru and Max explain, “With client jobs, the objective is always laid out in the beginning. Though the creative steps that follow may resemble our artistic practice, it’s actually very different. Client work is always collaborative problem-solving—finding ways to best articulate the client’s message with the given resources. Because of this, a lot of time is spent communicating creative decisions and making sure the clients feel heard.” With their own projects, there’s no specific goal attached, except maybe to make the thing in the first place. “It’s all very vague in the beginning—an idea, a feeling, a concept—and making the project becomes this ongoing process of finding, losing, and rediscovering what we want to say. This can be a winding and circuitous process because, unlike client jobs, there’s no checkpoint where someone tells you ‘Yes’ or ‘No,” the pair concludes. What kind of training and skills does a stop-motion animator need starting out and also to keep advancing in her career? Eileen Kohlhepp notes that although she studied animation/illustration at Rhode Island School of Design, most of her animation knowledge came from on-thejob experience, reading, and what she’s learned from friends and coworkers. She adds, “As far as schools for stop-motion, there is an experimental program at CalArts that has produced some great animators.” Seamus Walsh, cofounder of the stop-motion studio Screen Novelties, where he and cofounder Mark Caballero have handled stopmotion sequences on a ton of shows (Chowder, The Marvelous Misadventures of Flapjack), believes you don’t really need to go to a

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school to learn stop-motion, adding, “If you have a feel for movement, you can just experiment on your own until you’re proficient.” The stop-motion animator straddles a line between working in animation and live action. How much does a stop-motion animator have to know about lights, cameras, lenses, and the latest technology? Mark Caballero believes like any industry, the more you know, the more invaluable you become. “The animator should know the whole process as well as appreciating and understanding all the hard work that goes into it.”

Stop-motion animators Mark Caballero and Seamus Walsh finished a short begun by Ray Harryhausen in 1952 called The Story of the Tortoise & the Hair. Courtesy of Screen Novelties.

As your career progresses, and if you have ambitions to transition to direct stop-motion films and projects, for Porter and Kuwahata that means that you need to be good at a lot of things, explaining, “The obvious is the creative aspect—to be able to develop ideas and execute them, the tenacity to see a project through to the end, the self-reflection to continuously evolve as an artist, and the drive to keep making work. And of course once you have a team to direct, soft skills become just as important: the ability to communicate your intention clearly, the sensitivity to maintain the balance of a team, and the foresight to anticipate problems that might arise.”

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While Porter and Kuwahata may look like they’ve figured it all out, they report they are still learning about a great many things, such as “talking about your projects publicly, convincing partners to help you make the project, negotiating and managing finances, multitasking multiple projects at the same time, and so on.” Kohlhepp agrees, “It’s helpful to know as many aspects of production and the business as you can, especially if you want to make your own films.” However, she points out that on professional projects it really depends on the size of the production you are working on whether you will need to do tasks outside your specialization. “Generally, if you are an animator, you just animate. The puppet department just works on the puppets. The director of photography deals with the cinematography and lighting. Everyone has their job to do and they are all very well trained in their area of expertise.” Kohlhepp described how technology has changed the way stopmotion animators work. “The introduction of digital cameras to the field helped television and commercial productions to shoot cheaply without much loss of quality. The development of frame grabbers like Dragonframe helps animators see their animation in real time while they are working. Every production I work on has a different setup, so I learn new programs and work with new camera equipment every time I start a job.”

Career Advice Eileen Kohlhepp recommends interning or working as a production assistant as much as possible at first. “It gets your foot in the door at a company and if you’re a great intern then you’re showing the company you could be an even better employee. Everyone pays their dues; in the beginning I did my share of taking out the trash and making coffee. Volunteer. Watch people work. Ask questions. You’ll be surprised how

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many people love to talk about what they do and want to help you learn. Watch films. Watch people on the street and study their movements. Talk to other animators online and become part of the community. Lastly, people don’t get into stop-motion animation because they expect to make money; they get into it because they truly love it.” Seamus Walsh notes that stop-motion jobs tend to come around in cycles, so have something you can do as a backup way to make money. “There can be periods of several years when there’s almost nothing happening in stop-motion . . . then a project comes along and they need twenty animators . . . quick.” Walsh continues, “Always compare your work to the best stuff you’ve seen and don’t limit that to stop-motion only. Look at traditional animation and learn from the beautiful timing and acting found in some of the old UPA, Fleischer, and Disney stuff. Don’t worry about ‘smoothness.’ Concentrate on good timing and dynamics. Learn as much as you can and be passionate about the history of the medium and learn how to build your own puppets.” For Ru Kuwahata and Max Porter there’s really no one-size-fits-all response when it comes to advice. Working as part-time teachers at various colleges, they see students graduate each year with unique goals, life circumstances, and economic realities. Still, they do have advice that might be applicable to one but could be completely off base for another. In fact, the word “advice” makes them uncomfortable, saying, “So rather than frame it as advice, these are things that have helped us grow after graduating: •

Finish what we start. This might sound obvious, but there’s so many reasons to abandon ideas or feel like you’re not ready to get started. We’ve learned so much by simply finishing projects and moving on to the next.

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•

• •

•

Looking for opportunities in unlikely places. Big entertainment studios in LA aren’t the only places making animation. We’ve found interesting avenues outside of the United States and outside of the established animation industry. Learning from the people we work with. Taking care of our bodies and emotional well-being. Early on, we would go full burnout mode on projects—late nights, no exercise, high stress. It took a while to realize that this didn’t make our work better and wasn’t sustainable long term. Keeping a sketchbook. Some of the most profound ideas that we’ve had came from mundane observations in sketchbooks. It’s easy to forget the little things that make up most of our lives.”

There’s a lot to unpack in this still from Max Porter and Ru Kuwahata’s Oscarnominated short Negative Space. Produced by Ikki Films and Manuel Cam Studio and MIYU Distribution.

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The Stop-Motion Animator’s Bookshelf Recommended reading list: • • • • •

Ray Harryhausen: An Animated Life by Ray Harryhausen and Tony Dalton, Billboard Books (2004) Creating 3D Animation: The Aardman Book of Filmmaking by Peter Lord, Harry N. Abrams (1998) The LEGO Animation Book: Make Your Own LEGO Movies! By David Pagano and David Pickett, No Starch Press (2016) The Advanced Art of Stop-Motion Animation by Ken A. Priebe, Cengage Learning PTR (2010) A Century of Stop Motion Animation by Ray Harryhausen and Tony Dalton, Watson-Guptill (2008)

CAREER PATHS: OFF-SITE FREELANCER COVID-19 shut down animation office spaces worldwide, requiring a lot of us (including my team at Disney) to work from home. But before that there were those among us that chose to work in the luxury of home, forsaking the hassles of the daily commute, the politics of the office, and the need for bathing (just kidding). Off-site freelancers have usually spent years in the on-site workforce learning their craft, establishing their reputation, and creating valuable contacts. Not every job in a studio can be outsourced, but storyboards, design, background painting, animation, and sheet timing may be assigned to an off-site freelancer. And with all apologies to our friends at Federal Express, today’s off-site freelancers rarely need to ship or receive any physical media or elements to do their job. These days, just about everyone has a high-speed internet connection and access to free or low-cost filesharing sites such as Box and Dropbox, so raw files and finished work are easily transmitted into the cloud. 131

Veteran animator and celebrated professor and academic director at New York University Dean Kalman Lennert (Ice Age, Beavis and ButtHead) describes his average day as an off-site freelancer working from home: • • • • • • •

4:00 a.m.–8:00 a.m.: animation. 8:00 a.m.–10:00 a.m.: feed the family. 10:00 a.m.–2:00 p.m.: animation. 2:00 p.m.–3:30 p.m.: lunch and housework. 3:30 p.m.–8:00 p.m.: animation. 8:00 p.m.–10:00 p.m.: have dinner. 10:00 p.m.: Good night!

As Lennert demonstrates, off-site freelancers need to organize their day very carefully for the work to get done. He adds, “You learn very quickly that being surrounded by the comforts of home equals being surrounded by the distractions of home. And what seems to be a minute here and a minute there away from the animation table quickly add up to an hour lost here and an hour lost there.” Working off-site usually requires contracts between client and freelancer. Lennert reports, “Contracts vary from client to client. For those folks that I have worked with for many years and trust completely, I find that while delivery dates are established, we don’t necessarily discuss money until after the job is completed. On the other end of the spectrum, I have signed contracts with companies that spell everything out down to the letter: my compensation for the work to be provided, delivery dates, and how missing the latter can and will affect the former. Most of the agreements, however, fall in the middle ground of discussing money and delivery date, and filling out a W-2.”

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Dean Lennert and Dean Lennert. Starting animation on his film Dear Anna Olson in June 1989 on the left and completing it in June 2019 on the right.

At the start of a project, the client usually requires the freelancer to fill out an NDA (nondisclosure agreement) before they can share any details on the project. It’s usually a pretty simple one-page document. For clients you work with again and again, it could be easy to dispense with the formality of contracts, but I think it still behooves a freelancer to at least summarize the details of the assignment back in an email, noting the work they’ll be performing, key delivery dates, agreed-upon number of revisions, and payment milestones. So take the initiative to put this in writing yourself, and make sure to get a reply confirmation. It could also be useful to be on the same page as to what happens if raw files that you need to do your job are late. I once contracted a freelancer I’d worked with before to animate on a new project for a client. The client ended up being late to deliver our raw files, and the freelancer still wanted to charge me for the day, even though I had

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given a twenty-four-hour notice that we had to delay the start by a day. When that blew up I tried to be understanding, but I still couldn’t pay a freelancer for not doing any work. My solution? I offered to give the freelancer a shot to animate on my personal film for the same day rate. She politely declined and dropped the issue, and we were able to work again the next day when the raw files were finally ready. But I haven’t worked with her since, and while I respect her need to be her own advocate, the whole experience left me feeling like she didn’t really want my business. I could have given her a lot more work after that, but she hadn’t considered that in the position she took.

Work/Life Balance Tips During my career to date I’ve worked from home as both a freelancer and as the owner/operator of my own virtual animation studio for a combined seven years (and currently again for nine months and counting during the pandemic, heading an animation team at Disney). Working from home these days finds me chasing after a toddler for half the day and constantly switching gears between teacher, dad, and worker. It’s a bit of a mess, but you get through it. And my wife, who also works for Disney (she’s a copywriter for a different division), is the best partner I could ever hope for. So, I can at least split the chaos with another person who is just as exhausted as me at the end of the day. When you work where you live, finding a proper work/life balance can be tricky. My workstation was in the same living room where my wife and I relaxed on the couch to the latest offerings on Netflix. So having a set and disciplined schedule allows one to compartmentalize work hours and life hours. If I got a late start each day, not only would clients not be able to trust that I was on the job, I would have to work during the evening to make that time up. But as focused as I was it was

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still tough. I’d periodically check my work email in off hours to make sure there wasn’t a question from a client or one of my freelancers that needed attention. It was hard to fully shut down, and I’m not sure I ever really did. I should also point out that the above describes a day where I stayed in, but I’d also leave the house at least two days a week for coffees or lunch to catch up with friends, industry colleagues, and so forth. And one or two evenings a week I’d attend or produce (through ASIFAEast) animation events where I’d hear inspiring speakers, watch incredible animation, and go out for drinks after where there the conversation and good times continued. These days, living in the LA suburbs with a family, life is very different. I still try to circulate and participate in the animation community outside of my day job, but it’s much harder. Regardless of your family situation, the working-fromhome element of your day can feel very isolating, so having a means to get out and about can work wonders for your state of mind. Married couple and stop-motion filmmakers Ru Kuwahata and Max Porter, who work together in their home studio as Tiny Inventions, found achieving a work/life balance to be a challenge from the beginning. The pair laments, “A nice dinner would quickly turn into an evening discussing a project, or we would wake each other up in the middle of the night with a solution to a story question. We’ve always thought that there’s nothing more romantic than making art together, and that’s how we’ve lived.” But Max and Ru were readying for change: “As we are welcoming a baby girl shortly, we think that it’s more likely that we’ll find ways to integrate art into our everyday life, rather than trying to separate it completely—maybe we’ll become that family that goes all out on Halloween costumes? Or make bizarre themed lunches for our daughter? Or build her a workstation in our

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studio so she can do her thing alongside us? We’ll have to check back with you about this in a couple of years.”

Productivity Tips My friend the multi-award-winning animated filmmaker and artist Patrick Smith is known for his metaphorical animated short films such as Drink (2000), Masks (2011), Pour 585 (2018), and Gun Shop (2019). While he spent the formative part of his career years working in-house as a storyboard artist for Disney and an animation director for MTV, followed by running his own commercial studio in New York City, Smith has since been working from home for the last decade. Seeking to help others newly working from home in the era of social distancing, the animator recently revealed his productivity tips online, and he was kind enough to share them here too:

Animation director Pat Smith working in his home studio, with a little help from a young assistant.

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Go to bed early, get up early, punch out early: it has been shown in neurological studies that our brains function better in the

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morning, particularly after a good night’s sleep. But that’s only the beginning of the advantages to becoming a lark. The world is quiet in the morning: email is silent, family is asleep, the world outside hasn’t woken up yet. It is a perfect time for the key element to working from home: focusing without interruption. Get dressed or don’t . . . but establish a routine: a lot of people who work from home claim it’s important to get dressed like you’re going to an office. But what they are really expressing is the importance of establishing a routine that puts you in the working mindset. If this is getting dressed, great! But any routine will work. Routines create habits, and habits are the magical thing that will triple your productivity, especially when working from home. Reserve a separate room for your studio, or get good headphones: I’m fortunate to have a converted garage as a studio. This allows me to have a small commute every morning and separates me mentally from my house (particularly the kitchen, which is arguably the biggest obstacle to being productive at home). The basic reason is to avoid interruption and increase your focus. For those of us with families, this is key. If you don’t have a separate room, good-quality noisecanceling headphones can accomplish the same thing. If you listen to podcasts, favor the longer ones: few things will kill your productivity more than searching for something new to listen to every ten minutes. One of the reasons I love podcasts like Joe Rogan’s is that they’re two to three hours long! I also love audiobooks and talk radio—again, because they just go on and on. Better yet, ditch the spoken word and just listen to music or ambient sound. Of course, as animators we often can’t

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listen to anything at all due to audio sync. Probably a good thing. Create a system of accountability: Working from home has a major accountability problem. Most of us lack the discipline to get work done alone, so we need someone who will check up on us. Your spouse is the perfect person for this job, as they typically have skin in the game. Every evening, my wife (who is also my producer) and I go through what has to be done the following morning. In the morning, she checks in on me intermittently, looking over my shoulder to make sure I’m not on Facebook. But it can also be a friend or coworker who is now on lockdown. Team up, and reach out to make sure they’re working (or awake). Create a challenge with a fellow artist to hit a certain goal or keep certain hours. Use the pomodoro technique: Named after the tomato-shaped cooking timer, this technique is a time management tool developed by Italian author Francesco Cirillo. It’s simple: start low, set it for twenty-five to thirty minutes, and get to work. Take a five-minute break, then set it again. I got so good at focusing that I wouldn’t even notice the timer go off—I’d just keep working. It’s magic. Start with simple tasks: for those who struggle particularly with procrastination, there’s one piece of advice that may help and that is to start often. For me, the most difficult thing is to just get started. What has worked so far is to start on the simplest and easiest task you have in front of you, and set your timer. I’ve found that it’s the large, hard tasks that foster the most procrastination. So break apart large tasks and do the easy stuff first.

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Simplify and declutter: creative people can be really messy. Even if you keep your desk at work clean, chances are your home is less than decluttered. I have gone minimalist: nothing but a sturdy table and desk chair, my Cintiq, and my computer. Clear desk, clear mind. See people (on Skype), go outside: I prefer Skype over regular calls, partly because it helps with isolation. I’d also recommend going outside when you need a break. This won’t only help with the feeling of isolation, it is also a great way to get your creative fire back. Exercise and meditation can really boost your creative performance and improve the quality of your work.

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CHAPTER 4

Designing a Career Part II: Writers, Directors, and Producers

“My first boss in advertising production once told me that a good producer will always maintain a creative vision but guide the production in such a way that everyone else is credited with the good ideas and ultimately the project’s success. I think this is as true about animation as it is about advertising. My most satisfying projects have been the truly collaborative ones where good ideas are welcome from the entire crew.” —Melanie Grisanti, senior vice president, production management, at Sesame Workshop is sometimes known as the senior staff or team leads, made up of directors, producers, and department supervisors of all kinds. Most of these positions are filled by individuals who have come up through the ranks of production, from the roles outlined in the previous chapter. Their time working in the trenches of production serves them in their supervisory roles. This THE TOP ECHELON OF THE ANIMATION STUDIO

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insider’s perspective ensures that they know what it’s like to do the work, how long each task takes, and what systems and conditions allow each employee to do their best. The paradox is that, although these important positions are the result of years of dedication and hard work, the very nature of these jobs may take you away from why you got into this business in the first place; an animation director no longer animates, a storyboard supervisor no longer storyboards, and so on. It’s not all loss, however. The senior staff member has the opportunity to focus on the big picture in ways that those devoted to individual tasks cannot. Supervisors not only shape the entire production, they also help create the process by which the work is done and have a responsibility to set the work culture and collaborative environment itself. This is a far more sweeping influence than animating any one particular scene, for example, would be. For many, a senior staff position is the natural progression of a career in animation. Certainly it was for the good people who share their stories below. This chapter aims to demystify what it’s like to contribute to a production as a member of the senior staff. Not so long ago, an animator asked me what it was like to be an animation director. I answered that it gave me a chance to fail from a much higher place with far larger consequences. All kidding aside, leadership roles come with increased expectations and responsibility. Despite the differences between worker and supervisor, I see much common ground. First, there is the shared goal of best serving the project. After that, whether you’re an animation artist or a member of the senior staff it requires talent, hard work, and the building and maintaining of trust and relationships to succeed in the workplace. Without further ado, let’s meet the senior staff experts waiting for us below. Remember that they are just like you and me, only more

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successful. Just teasing. The paths outlined in this chapter might just hold a clue to the future you.

CAREER PATHS: ANIMATION WRITER As explained in the storyboard artist section of chapter 3, on shows such as Rebecca Sugar’s Steven Universe, storyboard artists are the writers, developing their scripts visually. To recap, animated series that follow this process are known as board driven shows. However, much of TV and feature film animation continues to be script driven, scripted by writers in a traditional sense. Using only words, these specialized writers write visually, staying true to the medium. Animation writers write for audiences as diverse as preschool, tween, and adult. Whatever the niche of animation, the animation writer is a storyteller. According to writer, producer, and creator Adam Peltzman (Wallykazam!, Odd Squad), an animation writer must have a sense of story structure, character, pacing, tone, humor, and so forth. “Without those, you really can’t write a good script, no matter what the medium. Writing visually is especially important in animation. You certainly never want to write a talking head scene and always have to ask, ‘How can I make this scene as visually dynamic and active as possible?’ Also, an ability to think big and exaggerate is important, especially in a comedic script.” For multi-Emmy-Award-winning writer Carin Greenberg (Kinderwood, Tumble Leaf), writing for animation means that you’re not limited by technical challenges to make magical things happen, for example, a character can fly as easily as walk. She explains, “In live action, you’d need complex and expensive techniques to make that happen. That said, animated shows need a reason to be animated—so stories and characters tend to be more fanciful, and I really enjoy

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writing for real characters in real settings dealing with real issues. Not that we can’t do that in animation, but there’s more obligation to make it visually interesting and less realistic.”

Carin Greenberg, winner of three Daytime Emmys to date and the co-exec producer and story editor for Nick Jr’s Kinderwood.

I had the pleasure of meeting the late veteran Canadian animation writer Erika Strobel (Justin Time, Babar and the Adventures of Badou) while attending the Ottawa International Animation Festival in 2004. She believed that because animation is visual by nature, it requires more explanation to detail all the action and visual jokes. She explained, “In live action, a writer can only minimally stage the scene where everything is taking place since the writer has no control over who will be cast as the actor, what the set will look like, what location will be used, what available props there are, and so forth. In animation you can be very detailed because anything can be ‘drawn.’ While ‘less is more’ almost always applies (to writing in general) I tend to overwrite my action sequences to give the director (and storyboard artist) more ‘animation business’ to work with.” To Strobel’s view, you

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must enter the world of your cartoon characters as if they exist (hear their voices, see their movements, feel their natural responses). I recently cowrote a script for a series I created with two collaborators, the awesomely talented brothers Stephen and Joel Levinson. Although we were somewhat new to the official episodic TV writing process, Strobel’s advice to experience the world of your characters was like a guiding light. It allowed me and my partners to sprinkle little bits of visual business that explain character and character conflicts more than words could ever do alone. Thanks, Erika! What kind of training and skills do animation writers need starting out and also to keep advancing in their careers? Accomplished animation writer Allan Neuwirth (Rugrats, The Octonauts, Bubble Guppies) and author (Makin’ Toons) feels that the best school to teach good animation writing, or any writing, is the “school of life.” He adds, “There are a number of really fine universities that can teach you the fundamentals about animation, generally speaking, and it really helps to know your medium . . . but writing is an art, like any other form of creative expression. You either have the talent for it or you don’t. All a school can do is help you to hone your technique, show you some of the rules and templates, and offer you a chance to practice and be critiqued by people who (hopefully) know good writing when they see it.” Meanwhile, Carin Greenberg, who is a graduate of Yale University with a BA in Russian and East European studies, just sort of fell into it, starting out as co-head writer of Ghostwriter on PBS because a family friend worked on the show, and they were looking for writers. Greenberg points out, “But that was a live-action tween show—from there, I got into live-action preschool, then tween animated, then tween preschool. I still do a variety of projects and ages, but almost

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everything now is animated. It really depends on what opportunities are presented to me and which ones spark my interest (and when they do, I get tingles down my back—the tingles have been a great guide to great projects!).” Adam Peltzman wouldn’t comment about his tingles, but like Greenberg, he didn’t specifically set out to be an animation writer. He recalls, “Television writing, screenwriting, journalism, fiction, and comedy writing were all areas of interest. Not too long after graduation I was fortunate to get the opportunity to submit a sample script to a company that was developing a comedic/educational series for kids, and the producer there really took to my submission. She hired me to write the pitch materials for the show and a short pilot script. That show never happened, but I enjoyed the experience so much that I kept pursuing this kind of work. I was soon after hired as a writing coordinator for Blue’s Clues, which was starting its second season of production, and shortly after began writing episodes for the show. This was a tremendous learning experience, and it eventually grew into a head writing job on the show.”

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The author with Wallykazam! creator Adam Peltzman. We both cut our teeth on the original Blue’s Clues, and on this day we cut our teeth on lunch.

The Writer’s Life for Me There’s a romantic notion of a writer as a lone person in a cramped office—maybe even in a remote cabin with only a table, a lamp, and a laptop computer for companionship. I’d throw in a bubble pipe and slippers, but that’s just me. In this age of instant long-distance communication, where do animation writers work? Allan Neuwirth answers, “Even in this era of video calls and virtual chat rooms, it still helps to be in LA. If you can’t be in LA, be in New York, or Toronto, or London, or Paris, or Vancouver, or Sydney, or Bombay. At the very least, be on the planet Earth. There’s animation work everywhere nowadays, but it is easier in a few big cities, where most of the shows and films happen to get produced.” 146

Erika Strobel told me that once you are established you can live anywhere because producers don’t care where you live; they care if the script comes in on time. “The internet makes it possible to live in Timbuktu,” she said. To back up Strobel’s point, I worked with a young writer at Blue’s Clues, the talented Jennifer Hamburg. After writing for a few shows, she eventually left New York City and raised a family in Austin, Texas, where she continues her prolific writing career on such shows as Super Why!, Doc McStuffins, and Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood, to name but a few. Greenberg, whose shows are mostly based in LA, agrees that it’s less important than ever where one lives: “Given the technology available for Skyping and emailing, you can really work from anywhere, with anyone. It’s also easier than ever to share video files. I just finished a show where the creator was in LA, I was co-executive producer in New York, the studio was in New York, though I rarely went there in person, and the director was in Virginia or Kentucky. But we had easy file sharing and collaborated from everywhere. I was actually more involved in the production of that series (in addition to supervising the writing) than any previous one.”

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Writer/producer Allan Neuwirth. If I tried to list all the cool stuff he’s worked on, I’d need another book.

I know what you’re thinking. What about the writer’s room? Why won’t anyone mention the writer’s room??? First of all, calm down. In Greenberg’s nearly thirty years of story editing and writing kids shows, she’s only been on one that had a writer’s room. A writer’s room is the traditional place where two to twenty people gather, comprised of a showrunner, some staff writers, script coordinators, writing assistants, and production assistants to break stories, create the bible, outline a season, break each episode, and begin drafts. But again, this doesn’t have to be done in the writer’s room. Greenberg explains, “Every show has a different process. Sometimes writers pitch ideas, which I shape and try to sell to the producers. Sometimes I work internally at a studio to generate stories then assign them to writers. I work alone when I’m writing a script. The rest of the time, I’m collaborating with others, i.e., supervising writers on shows I story edit—I give them notes, revise their work, get notes from producers or network execs, etc.” However and wherever animation writing is done, it remains a specific, smaller niche within TV and screenwriting. With that in mind, how healthy is the market for animation writers? Is the industry strong enough to provide enough work for animation writers to stay employed year-round? And how long after eating is it safe to go swimming? Okay, scratch that last question. In Allan Neuwirth’s experience, when the economy is strong and business is booming, it’s absolutely possible to earn a living exclusively writing for animation. But when animation work has slowed down, it’s helped Neuwirth to have other outlets. “I’ve always kept my hand in producing and directing as well, and not just cartoons. I’ve made feature films, written books and magazine articles, and even had an internationally syndicated comic strip [with Glen Hanson]. 148

When work-for-hire slows down, there’s only one thing to do: create, create, and create new projects!” Greenberg cautions that even as a creator of a show going to series, “you have to keep reminding yourself that it’s finite—and then you’ll be unemployed!”

Career Advice When Carin Greenberg seeks inspiration on kid-relatable issues, she draws on her own memories of childhood and those of her daughter, adding, “She’s an adult now, so it’s getting harder to remember. Sometimes I research what’s relatable to kids of whatever age I’m writing for, sometimes I put a kid twist on something I’m experiencing at the moment, and sometimes ideas come from the subject matter.” But how does Greenberg know when something is not working as she writes? She answers, “If something’s NOT working, I usually feel uncomfortable and walk away—then good ideas come to me as I’m doing something else, usually something where I’m using my hands but not thinking too hard, e.g., washing dishes or taking a shower. Then, often, a solution will occur to me and I go back and revise.” Thanks, Carin! Now we have another reason to stay groomed and keep the house tidy. The realities of rejection are a common theme in this industry. Allan Neuwirth’s remedy? “Write!!! Write tons of work! Keep writing and writing and keep submitting it, and don’t ever get discouraged when people tell you ‘no.’ If it’s what you really love to do, when all is said and done no one can stop you. (Except maybe a tall mysterious figure in a dark hooded shroud with a sickle in his hand.)” Adam Peltzman feels animation writers should play to their strengths. “If you’re a funny writer, showcase that; if you write good action stories, then show that off. Also, try out different forms of writing. A well-written play, screenplay, comedy sketch, or comic book

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could be a nice addition to a portfolio and show that you have range as a writer. Versatility is very important, because what producers and story editors care about is your ability to capture the voice of their particular show.” Greenberg agrees, embellishing on Peltzman’s advice: “Write two spec scripts that show a range of writing style/ability; i.e., if you want to work in kids, write a preschool/softer/sweeter spec and a funnier/older/edgier spec. If you want to write for a wider age range, I’d write one kids spec and one Adult Swim–type script. Pick a show where you already know and love the characters. Make sure your writing is visual, not just talking heads (that was one of the notes I got when I was just starting in animation).”

The Animation Writer’s Bookshelf Recommended reading list: • • • • • • • •

Story by Robert McKee, Regan Books (1997) Animation Development: From Pitch to Production by David B. Levy, Allworth Press (2009) Makin’ Toons by Allan Neuwirth, Allworth Press (2003) Animation Writing and Development by Jean Ann Wright, Focal Press (2005) The Art of Creative Writing by Lajos Egri, Citadel Press (1995) The Hero with a Thousand Faces by Joseph Campbell, Bollingen (1972) The Writer’s Journey: Mythic Structure for Writers by Christopher Vogler, Michael Wiese Productions (1998) How to Write for Animation by Jeffery Scott, Overlook Hardcover (2002)

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CAREER PATHS: ANIMATION TIMER Animation timing (formerly called sheet timing) is one-way communication, often with someone thousands of miles away who may not speak the same language. According to Ray Kosarin (Family Guy), “The timer’s work begins after the storyboarding, dialogue record, and animatic are done. Our role is to interpret those materials and translate them into frame-by-frame direction for the animators.” Animation timers evolved out of the needs of “runaway” or outsourced productions, which are what we call projects where the majority of the tedious and expensive production work (animation through composite) is shipped to studios overseas, usually in South Korea, India, or other locations where there’s a large talent pool and the dollar goes further than it does in the United States. With the entire animation crew an ocean away, detailed exposure sheets are necessary to communicate the vision of the show and the instructions of the animation director. Animation timers fill this role. In recent decades, North America has seen the return of in-house animation production due to the rise of digital 2D production programs such as Adobe Animate, After Effects, and Toon Boom Harmony. In-house productions usually forsake animation timers, requiring animation directors to work directly with the animation crew, but there’s still plenty of shows that utilize animation timers. Animation timer Celeste Pustilnick (The Simpsons, Futurama) describes her daily duties: “Usually before starting timing on a section, it’s wise to go over it with the director. She may have some specific ideas that she wants conveyed onto the sheets. Once you have your section of the show, the X-sheets, storyboard (or layouts), character and prop model sheets, background designs, script, audio recording, and animatic, you are set to go. It’s the animation timer’s job to give instructions to the animators (anything that is written will be translated

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into another language, so be clear in what you are asking for). You listen carefully to the dialogue to hit all the acting accents and subtleties. For action sequences it is often helpful to use a stopwatch, especially one that includes feet and frames. All the elements should be properly exposed, including characters, effects, props, overlays, backgrounds, etc.” Ray Kosarin adds, “In essence, we’re shaping the animation performance for the animators, which has become important in this era when, at least on series production here in the West, the laborious animation part of the work is typically contracted to overseas studios. Our work stands in for the personal interaction between directors and animators that was more common in the ‘golden era’ of animation. Since we don’t have the opportunity to flesh out the animation through that direct, creative, back-and-forth communication, we build the performance ahead of time. If you think of how a composer prepares sheet music for musicians to play, we’re doing much the same thing, only for the eyes instead of the ears: we’re asking the animator to play this ‘note’ on this frame—and, same as with a music score, you know quite well ahead of time what the finished performance will be, even without being in the same place as where the work is being ‘played.’”

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Animation timing sample by Karen Villarreal. Note the pose sketches and notes for the animators.

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What kind of training and skills does an animation timer need starting out and also to keep advancing in their career? Veteran animation timer Karen Villarreal (Code Name: Kids Next Door), who is now a fine art painter based in Philadelphia, answers, “I started as an animator, which I think was an invaluable help. I had to picture in my head how I would break down the actions if I was drawing it.” Industry journeyman Dev Ramsaran (Arthur) had eight years of animation experience before he was given the responsibility to do animation timing on a series. Ramsaran considers becoming an animator to be a prerequisite to becoming an animation timer. Kosarin agrees that virtually every animation timer he knows has worked as an animator, and many also work as directors (Kosarin included), which he says makes perfect sense: “I started as a character animator, then animation director, director, and supervising director, and also worked as an overseas supervisor at two Korean studios—and all of these experiences have in different ways been helpful. Animation timing is in a lot of ways a hybrid of animating and directing. Spending time in the Korean studios was helpful, because I saw firsthand how they run the animation production, translating the production materials into Korean, handing out the work to the animators, and breaking it down for the assistants. It sharpened my awareness of the challenges they’re facing and influenced how I communicate—in as few, wellchosen words as possible, which are clear and easy to translate quickly, or in a drawing.” Celeste Pustilnick first had a background in visual art and theater. She recalls, “I got into the animation industry as a production person and early in my career met directors who helped me break into timing. I’ve been able to use my acquired skills to help me as an animation timer.” Pustilnick continues, “Skills should include basic drawing ability (you don’t have to draw perfectly on model on the sheets),

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ability to convey what you want legibly, concisely, while including necessary details. Timing is a mixture of right and left-brained thinking. It is creative problem solving and analytical brain work. It takes discipline and would help to not be easily distracted.” Although I didn’t end up specializing in animation timing in my career, it did become a part of my livelihood as a freelancer, timing a pilot for Disney Junior and checking half a dozen episodes’ worth of animation timing on the Scholastic series for PBS Kids, Maya & Miguel. Once animation timing is complete, that’s usually when checkers take over and examine each frame like Talmudic scholars, making sure there’s no mistakes or omissions, which could cost time and money if not corrected. In a lot of ways, animation timers are the unsung heroes of production. Kosarin agrees: “For a prime-time comedy like Family Guy, good timing is essential for the acting and the gags to be as funny as possible, and the producers and showrunners have a deep appreciation of this, which leads to stronger work.”

Career Advice Ray Kosarin says, “If we do our job right, the audience doesn’t think consciously about it at all. But good timing connects with the viewer at a gut level. At the most basic level, we make sure every important visual at any moment is seen and understood. We can never take for granted that our audience is looking in the right spot without our help. So we have to be conscious, on every frame, where we think the viewer’s eye is—and how and when to lead the eye to the part of the frame where something important is about to happen, like a character reaction or an important setup for a gag.” Kosarin continues, “On another level, we have to absorb the energy of a character’s mood, the phrasing of a line, or the delivery of a joke,

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and shape the animation timing to hit its marks at the best possible instant. If a gag hits two frames too early, we might miss it; two frames too late, it’s not as funny. If two characters are arguing, it strongly affects how we understand the interaction, depending whose facial expression changes first. And a lot of the time, humor plays out on an unconscious level—some jokes are funnier if the camera comes to a stop slightly before the character, which almost flirts a little with the audience and lets them feel superior to the characters. Other jokes hit funnier if the camera arrives a frame or two late—like both the audience and the imaginary camera operator got taken by surprise.” Dev Ramsaran advises, “Always keep in mind that an animator here at home or overseas has to stick that sheet on their desk for possibly a whole day or two. You want them to care, understand, and follow your direction, so time that scene as though you yourself will have the joy and privilege of animating it.”

Ray Kosarin, director, animator, and animation timer, and a friend on both East and West Coasts.

Celeste Pustilnick offers, “Early in my career I would get insecure about my work if I saw that my timing was altered by the director. I 156

have learned over the years (and have been reassured) that timing can be very personal and usually the director just sees the timing a different way.” Karen Villarreal cautions, “Be prepared to spend hour after hour alone at your desk, mired in minute detail, with just an audio track for company. Strap yourself to the desk, stare at the storyboard, and force yourself to write and write sheet after sheet until you’ve met your daily quota of pages. Resist the temptation to clean out the basement (or anything) instead of sitting there.”

CAREER PATHS: ANIMATION DIRECTOR Accomplished animation director Yvette Kaplan (Beavis and ButtHead, King of the Hill, Star Darlings) describes her job as being part of everything, hopefully in its proper and sufficient time. “Animation directors make script notes, put track together, oversee storyboards, approve, revise, look at designs, model sheets, create inspirational poses, look at layouts (if there are any), check mouth charts for lip sync, slug track or check slug, do animatics, or approve and revise them, check animation timing, approve color, and start all over on the next episode. On features, it’s more spread out. You can spend days, weeks, with the luxury of thinking.” Former Nickelodeon executive producer and animation director Dave Palmer (Blue’s Clues, The Backyardigans) explains how animation directors sometimes handle all of the above responsibilities while leading a team or department of animators in a managerial capacity. “At one directing job, I was also responsible for the hiring, firing, promoting, and everything else for a staff of over twenty. But that was a show with everyone in-house. The following show I was the supervising director, so it’s all done with an outside studio, so none of that applies.”

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Palmer, who is currently developing two preschool animation projects, continues, “The most important quality for a leader is to be able to stay calm, cool, and collected while on the job. Every project is going to involve unexpected and unfortunate events, but if you’ve planned the project appropriately and are prepared to handle contingencies, you’ll be able to weather anything. It’s like you’re the pilot of an aircraft; the passengers are depending on your skills, talent, and know-how to get them from points A to B. When unexpected events occur during the trip, the passengers will feel safe and secure as long as you keep your head and deal rationally with the problem, but the minute the pilot starts running around the craft screaming, ‘We’re all doomed!’ Well . . . that would be alarming, to say the least.”

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Self-portrait by Dave Palmer showing the life of an animation director. Image courtesy of the artist.

Ray Kosarin (director on a half dozen series in the US and Europe, including supervising director of Daria and the long-running Swedish series The World of Tosh) reports, “The director’s role can vary quite a bit from production to production, but ultimately it boils down to learning, living, and breathing the fundamental concept and world of the show and faithfully nudging every step of the production to be true to that concept and world. Every show I’ve worked on, the director breaks down each episode script into direction for the storyboard artists and may sketch rough designs for characters and other key visual elements. The director then supervises the development of the board, the editing of the animatic, and the other preproduction elements— inviting ideas from and making requests of artists and teams, giving notes and approval on some mix of principal designs, animation timing, color design, layout (when this is done in-house). There’s variation here, too—some shows may also have art, design, or storyboard directors, or assistant directors to shoulder some of this responsibility. Directors may be more hands on in certain areas, like boarding or timing.”

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Self-portrait by animation director Sue Perrotto. Image courtesy of the artist.

Kosarin continues, “After animation is complete, the director will work with the editor to assemble the edit, finesse the timing and cut the episode to length, and identify any retakes that may need to be done. On some shows, directors may also supervise dialogue records or sound mixes.” I think we’re beginning to get a sense of the many challenging duties and responsibilities of an animation director. What kind of training and skills does an animation director need starting out and also to keep advancing in their career? Animation director Sue Perrotto (Miles from Tomorrowland, Phineas and Ferb) feels there is no typical journey to becoming anything. “I know some animation directors that started out as animators and worked their way up, others that started out in storyboards, and some that were producers or theater choreographers.” Yvette Kaplan adds, “The ideal background for an animation director would be developing strong skills in both animation and story.”

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For Palmer, you must have a goal to become an animation director and then take whatever opportunities lead to that goal. He adds, “A little luck helps, too. In my case, I did a couple of small freelance gigs for someone, which led to more work, which led to a pilot, and when the pilot got picked up, I started as an animator on it and moved my way up. Everything for me hinged on taking those first few jobs, doing my best at them, and learning everything I could along the way.” Kosarin explains how directing involves an “organic mix of skills— creative skills, management skills, and especially people ‘skills’—that combines our accumulated experience as storytellers, entertainers, and animators with our own real-life characters. If you’ve learned how to rally a group of people toward a common challenge, whether or not it has to do with animation—maybe you’ve coached volleyball, or organized a camping trip or a food bank—if you’ve learned how to give and earn your colleagues’ respect; make it appealing and safe for them to invest in the outcome; and learned how to recognize, harness, and reward their diverse strengths, individually and as a team; then odds are good you’ve learned more important ‘directing’ skills from these things than if you graduated from even the most prestigious art school in the land.” Are there any differences between directing for 2D and 3D animation? For Yvette Kaplan, who has worked in both, directing is always first and foremost about story and character, but she was surprised to learn how many differences there were between directing 2D and 3D. “In 2D, the shots I have been used to visualizing have been fairly simple, locked, other than pans and trucks. In 3D, in order to be most effective (to really use the medium) you have to understand the camera and all its possibilities. Of course, I still love that static flat shot for comedy.”

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Kaplan explains there are also unexpected limitations in 3D. “It takes a lot longer to build and model something than to draw it. Adding another character walking in the background to keep a scene alive, for instance, is not so easy. A 2D character can just put his hands in his pockets. Interacting with fabric is more difficult with 3D. With budgetary and schedule constraints, some of the things you take for granted in 2D are now out of bounds. I am very proud when I find solutions that not only work within the constraints, but are also funny, effective choices. Ideally the audience should not be aware that you have compromised at all.” Besides the technical differences Kaplan points out between directing in 2D and 3D animation, Kosarin points out in just about any category, studios feel most comfortable hiring people to do what they’ve already done. “It’s completely understandable, because they’re trying to manage risk. I don’t know that there’s any one solution for this, except to be as resourceful as you can and look for opportunities to establish comfort with the people doing the hiring. If you’ve demonstrated with a producer that you’ve done good work in one style, and you’re reliable and good to work with, they may feel more comfortable working with you again than with someone else they have no experience with, and that turns into an opportunity to expand your range,” Kosarin concludes.

Career Advice According to Palmer, great directors are always learning and should never think they know everything there is to know. “Every project is unique in some way, in terms of style, mission, personalities involved, process, etc., so soak up as much as you can, because it all becomes part of the toolbox you’ll bring to your next job, and the one after that, and so on.”

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Palmer explains that directing is to make a lot of decisions. He recommends that before making one: • • • • • • •

Listen to everyone involved. Gather all the information you can. Think about the information. And get more info, or check in with others, if you need to. Make the best possible decision based on the above. Communicate your decision to the folks who need to know (and the reasoning behind it, if need be). Check in to make sure everyone really understands you. Repeat as needed, especially the check-ins. They’re really important.

Kaplan advises that animation directors be true to themselves while being open to others’ ideas. “Especially listen to experienced others if they have a suggestion.” Kaplan continues, “Be true to the project and don’t get attached to small pieces that don’t make a greater whole. Also be true to your characters and really look and listen to what the script is saying. Number one: think about your audience. I can’t stress that enough. Have fun in the process, and be sure those around you are having fun, too.” Kosarin suggests: “Your first directing break will almost certainly come as a combination of both preparedness—having a decent track record of work and relationships, and dumb luck—being in the right place at the right time. So please, at all times, whatever job you’re doing right now, focus on developing your best professional self, so when that lucky day finally comes, you’ll be ready—both your skills and your character.”

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The Animation Director’s Bookshelf Recommended reading list: • • • • • •

Directing for Animation by Tony Bancroft, Focal Press (2012) Directing Animation by David B. Levy, Allworth (2010) How to Make Animated Films by Tony White, Focal Press (2009) Animation: From Script to Screen by Shamus Culhane, St. Martin’s Griffin (1990) Talking Animals and Other People by Shamus Culhane, Perseus Books Group (1998) Producing Animation by Catherine Winder and Zahra Dowlatabadi, Focal Press (2001)

CAREER PATHS: ANIMATION PRODUCER Producers are involved in every aspect of an animated project from preproduction to postproduction. Working within a set budget, they hire a crew, plan a schedule, run the day-to-day management of a production, and are responsible for delivering the end product to the client, network or distribution platform. There is some long-standing nonsense in regards to producers that we should address before moving forward. The outdated notion is that there is an “us versus them” or “the artists versus the suits” mentality in an animation production. The reality is that producers need crews to make their projects and crews need producers to initiate or manage projects. To work in animation is to already be a part of this equation. In the end we are all part of the same (hopefully) winning team. Veteran animation producer and current senior vice president of production management at Sesame Workshop Melanie Grisanti described a day in the life of an animation producer. “There are lots of 164

phone calls, emails, and meetings (especially the first season of a production). There will be meetings with the production partners and broadcasters, production process meetings, schedule and budget creation, staffing interviews, creative (script, design, or storyboard) meetings, negotiations with outside vendors, etc. Once things are up and running in a series production you will have many shows in the pipeline at various stages at the same time. It’s a fast-moving freight train, which requires daily maintenance and problem solving to keep it from derailing or stopping before it reaches its destination. Any good producer should be highly organized, flexible, adept at multitasking, and ready/willing to play a number of important roles, including fearless leader, creative problem solver, juggler, diplomat, negotiator, teacher, shrink, cheerleader, and even babysitter.” There are several different types of producers in the animation business. According to industry veteran Fred Seibert (founder and CEO of Frederator Networks Inc. and Frederator Studios), the show runner is a type of producer responsible for the day-to-day creative execution on a series. She supervises the entire art team and the writers, actors, and directors. Seibert describes a line producer as the person responsible for making the production work smoothly. “The line producer manages the budgets, schedules, and will develop deadlines that allow the series to deliver (hopefully) superior episodes on time and on budget.” The late legendary animation producer Al Brodax (Yellow Submarine), believed, “The line producer does most of the worrying and most of the work.”

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Koyalee Chanda, who said she has so many producer heroes but is especially grateful to Wendy Harris, Angela Santomero, Adam Peltzman, and Claire Curley.

At the top of the chain is the executive producer, who has the ultimate responsibility for the delivery of a show. Seibert says that everyone looks to the executive producer for final adjudications of conflicts, how to deal with the network, and for even things like free Tshirts for the crew. Grisanti adds, “Executive producers may be creators or instrumental in selling the project. They may or may not be very creatively involved and they often step in to handle budget/political issues as needed.” Koyalee Chanda, VP of kids and animation at Hello Sunshine, notes that the executive producer is the showrunner—the creative lead on everything. “They can come from a writing background or an art background, or both,” she notes.

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Producer Dawn Fidrick on the job at Griffith Observatory, probably having an out-ofthis-world day.

If that wasn’t enough producers to keep track of, there’s also the supervising producer. In Chanda’s experience, this role can mean very different things in different places. Chanda explains, “A supervising producer in animation typically oversees all the directors and storyboard artists—so they are the director of the directors in a way. This role can also be called supervising director. But here’s a dirty little secret about titles: If you have ‘producer’ in your title, your name is automatically submitted for the Emmys in any overall show category. So get that producer title!” Chanda concludes, “Finally, meanwhile, the lower-level producer jobs—if they exist—are typically granted in later seasons. It’s a role a coordinator can grow into if they prove themselves. I’ve almost never seen a job listing for an associate producer—since these people are usually found from within the production.”

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Of course, there are also animation producers that may lead individual episodes of a series, parts, departments, or stages of a feature and/or other assorted projects. For instance, at the time of this writing, Dawn Fidrick is currently producing a thirty-five-minute animated show for the Griffith Observatory’s planetarium. As the film’s producer, she described her combined daily, weekly, and projectspanning duties as: • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Show budget Show schedule Attend dailies and give notes with director Develop and maintain outside technology partners Oversee studio facilities operations Oversee systems operations Oversee postproduction Render wrangling when needed Pipeline Team building Leadership Delegating to team Human resources–type duties: hire and fire, remember people’s birthdays

What background and creative skills should an ideal animation producer have?

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Animation producer Ezra Edmond, who reports that working in a small team at Disney on social media means his daily duties change frequently, depending on the nature of the project he’s on.

Disney social media animation producer Ezra Edmond has an eclectic background that stretches all the way back to high school where he got into hand-drawn and stop-motion animation and would make his own short projects, with the occasional freelance job. Edmond followed this with working for a startup animation studio after graduating college, where he helped develop animated features and iOS games. He adds, “I even had to build the pipeline up from nothing, which included grabbing a low-res webcam from Sears and taping it to the back of a chair, so the animators would be able to test dailies. When I started at Disney, I was known as an animator who could also produce, so I was often booked on the smaller crew projects, which I would frequently animate as well as produce!” While Edmond doesn’t usually animate on his Disney projects these days, he still draws upon

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(pun intended) his diverse production background, which gives him a keen insight to every aspect of animated filmmaking. Koyalee Chanda’s path to producing was a very atypical one. Looking back, the only consistent thread she sees was that she worked on content for kids. She recalls, “The first part of my career was as a live-action director. I was directing Blue’s Clues at the age of twentythree (long story). I directed voices for animation, and many live-action projects. But as I went further down the path of directing, I realized that I did not have much impact or control over the creative. The scripts were the scripts. Luckily for me, most of that time, I had the opportunity to work with amazing writers—some of the best in the business. But I could only stomach working on one job where that wasn’t the case. And that was pure torture. So I stopped directing and turned my sights onto producing, where I could be involved earlier in the creative process.” Chanda continues, “Luckily, the moment I made the shift to producing, I already had established strong working relationships with several people in the industry. So although the role itself was largely new to me, I was working with trusted colleagues who believed in me and my abilities. Also, it turns out that CG animation production is not all that different from live action in some respects. Just like you can’t ask for a prop for the first time on the day of the shoot, you can’t add a prop to animation once you’ve started to animate.” Celebrated animation producer and current senior vice president of production at Nickelodeon Animation Studios, David J. Steinberg jokes that as a producer, he doesn’t have to know anything. He reveals, “Don’t ask me to come up with the technical specs for a 3D studio, or use Maya to animate a scene, or place a camera in virtual space and then light that scene. Forget it. The one thing that all animation producers must know is who to ask. That is the skill we all must have.

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To find the right experts, to solicit enough opinions to get enough understanding to hopefully make wise daily decisions on how to keep this ever-more-complex process on track.” Steinberg continues, “Animation is the hardest way of making movies. We start with nothing. I’d say that more than any other brand of producing, we in the animation corner need to have an attention and retention (anal retention?) to the details. As a general rule, I think animation producers have to be pretty good multitaskers, able to keep a lot of detail in their heads at one time and hopefully have the logical ability to connect all those details when weighing in on any given piece of this big million-piece puzzle we like to call a cartoon.” Seibert has known animation producers who’ve been animators, writers, editors, commercial directors, students, or producers of liveaction feature films or former jazz record producers/network executives (like himself). Seibert says, “Story sense helps and a visual flair, too.” Grisanti agrees, “You have to learn how to visualize a story from a storyboard and animatic. Unlike in live action, there’s no shoot to go to, no multiple takes or multiple-camera coverage (at least not a TV series schedule/budget), etc.” Brodax explained animation producers need a good eye and ear for what “works,” and added, “If it’s not in the genes, I’m not certain it can be taught. Trial and error were my mentors. Lots of trial.”

Setting the Culture Assuming that everyone in a studio or on a project is capable and qualified to do their jobs (and we should assume that), the culture in which everyone collaborates is the more likely wild card. Producers of all stripes are leaders and therefore have an obligation to nurture the creative spirit. Dawn Fidrick notes that while there’s a shared responsibility for everyone to participate in this effort, “It’s the

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producer’s responsibility to set the tone and create an environment where artists feel comfortable to unleash their creative process, experiment and ideally collaborate with each other. No two artists are the same in this way, so you’ll need to identify how artists work best and how they will work with each other. You are a matchmaker of sorts!” But how does a producer go about promoting a positive work environment? Fidrick suggests, “If you can create an atmosphere where your artists feel a sense of safety, responsibility, and accountability to achieve, they will. You are looking for people who want to do that for themselves, where that is already their work ethic. And further they feel that sense of responsibility to the team to pull their weight and lift each other up.” Ezra Edmond believes it’s very important to make sure that all voices in the room are heard and that everyone’s feedback is considered. “The best ideas can come from anyone,” he reminds (echoing what Grisanti said earlier). “It’s also important to me to give positive feedback at every step of the production—so that everyone feels valued and that their work is adding to everything that has been done up to that point. When people feel great, they do great work. Keeping it positive during a production is also important because after a production (when someone sees the final project), you want them to remember the fun they had on it, so they’re excited to share it and speak positively about their experience. A positive working experience goes a long way,” Edmond concludes. Koyalee Chanda similarly believes, “There are multiple relationships that need attention: the people on your team, the vendors such as audio facilities and animation studios, and keeping open lines of communication between the show unit and production management, legal and network executives. I cannot emphasize enough how

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important it is to maintain good relationships with your colleagues and teams. For me, it’s always been at the center of my success.” Ray Kosarin, supervising producer on Da Mob, believes, “Ironically, this responsibility seems almost never to get explicitly spelled out, and yet building decent relationships with artists is undoubtedly the single most important aspect of the job. And it’s essential to honor their creative role. I won’t micromanage: before they begin work, I may call their attention to an area I believe we need to approach a certain way, but will do my best to ask them only for the important marks they need to hit—more general, like this part of the sequence needs to be fast paced; or specific, like, we must emphasize a character’s change of expression on one particular dialogue—and have them take ownership of their talent and ideas. And I will welcome their alternate ideas—so long as they’re respectful of the style and available resources and time—and have them run with them. When reviewing their work, I make sure as much as possible to get all my notes and requests in at each stage and avoid asking for a new or different request on a later draft—and on the rare occasion that I might, to respectfully own responsibility for the change. If there’s an unusually difficult sequence, or they go above and beyond what is normally expected, I make sure they know I recognize and appreciate the special effort or accomplishment.”

Career Advice Koyalee Chanda suggests you pursue an entry-level position with people you admire who are making content you love. She expands, “As with any job, be the best at the job you were hired to do. Meanwhile, connect with your colleagues—especially the ones that have roles you would like to have one day. Ask to shadow them for a meeting or two, as long as it doesn’t interfere with your primary job. Learn and listen.

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And once you’ve established yourself on the team, be comfortable expressing to your boss your hopes and dreams of where you eventually want to grow.” Steinberg builds on Chanda’s point, saying that exact point of entry doesn’t matter. “What I find is that people who become producers are generally ambitious people, excited about the medium we work in and committed to looking at every job in the field as a learning experience and a stepping-stone. Putting yourself in the right arena is half the battle. After a summer of varnishing desks at Don Bluth Productions, I took an ‘in-between test’ and started drawing on production. I worked in nearly every department during those early summers in LA, until the leadership at the studio recognized me as a guy who they could count on and who had developed a broad understanding of the production process. And I got along pretty well with people, too, which doesn’t hurt. For American Tail, Don Bluth asked me to be his assistant director, which led me into more and more opportunities to help helm productions,” Steinberg concludes.

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When he doesn’t have on his Nickelodeon shoes, David J. Steinberg writes books such as King Louie’s Shoes, published by Beach Lane Books, which happens to be my daughter’s favorite book!

Ezra Edmond agrees how important it is to simply “learn about animation!” because if you don’t know about animation, you can’t be an effective producer. He elaborates, “‘Knowing animation’ means being able to talk in the proper terminology when speaking with vendors and talent, and also being able to explain in a clear way to clients as well, which may require different word choices and terms. ‘Knowing animation’ gets you respect with the animators you work with, and it helps you build calendars that are reasonable and respectful of artists. If you don’t take the time to learn about the craft you’re producing, you risk ending up with a project that’s overpromised, underbudgeted, and with too short of a production timeline.” Seibert confesses, “Every producer, and I’m certainly no exception, makes mistakes every day. And on any given day, one would hope they’ve learned something, but one is never sure they’ve learned enough. The biggest mistake a producer can make is not trusting the talent of the creator(s) of a film or project.” Additionally, Seibert stresses the importance of relationships and how they’ve impacted his career. Brodax cautioned that leaving some things to chance is a big mistake, and warned, “Chance doesn’t work.” Brodax advised that a producer be in all departments all the time, to open and close the shop. He added, “Have patience and always have a ‘plan B’ in hand.” Fidrick stresses collaboration as being absolutely essential. By collaboration, she means actively communicating with your team. She adds, “I mean see them, find out who they are, what they care about, so you can channel their strengths into the show. You need your team to focus on their part. It is your job as producer to see the whole.” To do

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this, Fidrick recommends not burdening them with things that will distract them, or with things they cannot solve. “Be very careful to protect them from your burdens, from gossip, and egomaniacs. Artists can be sensitive, and for good reason, after all they are spilling their guts out on the table for everyone to see and comment on. It’s best if they feel you are looking out for them, that you have their best interest in mind.”

The Animation Producer’s Bookshelf Recommended reading list: • • • • • • • •

Up Periscope Yellow: The Making of The Beatles’ Yellow Submarine by Al Brodax, Limelight Editions (2004) Delivering Happiness by Tony Hsieh, Hachette Audio (2009) Creativity Inc. by Ed Catmull and Amy Wallace, Random House Audio (2014) Animation: Script to Screen by Shamus Culhane, St. Martin’s Griffin (1990) The Encyclopedia of Animation Techniques by Richard Taylor, Running Press (1996) Producing Animation by Catherine Winder and Zahra Dowlatabadi, Focal Press (2001) The Animation Book by Kit Laybourne, Three Rivers Press (1998) Makin’ Toons by Allan Neuwirth, Allworth Press (2003)

“THE BEST LAID PLANS . . .” “Nothing ever goes according to plan. Ever. And as many films as I’ve worked on the stuff that goes wrong is never the

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same stuff that went wrong on the last project. Case in point, on Pagemaster, our Hollywood offices flooded, and our overseas ink and paint studio burnt down; a third of our movie burnt with it. We’re talking pencil drawings, gone. You know, none of that stuff was on the beautiful plan we had in the conference room.” —David J. Steinberg, senior vice president of production, Nickelodeon Animation Studios

David J. Steinberg, senior vice president of production at Nickelodeon Animation Studios, and a member of the panel discussion that kicked off my original book launch in LA. Courtesy of David J. Steinberg.

As David J. Steinberg’s experience with Pagemaster shows, there are no guarantees on a project no matter how well one plans, just as there are no guarantees in life. As I write this it is month nine of social distancing at my Los Angeles home to help prevent the spread of

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COVID-19. Very quickly a new normal set in, one that challenges anything we previously thought of as normal. Now my eight-member production team that so effortlessly collaborated hand in hand for the last four years is adapting to a land of virtual meetings, instant messaging on Slack, and team project reviews and notes sessions via Wipster link. Of course, we used all these production and communication tools while we had the benefit of a shared office space, but now our basic day-to-day communication, workflow, and success depends on them. Elsa may have walked “Into the Unknown” but we are living it. And there’s nothing like a worldwide pandemic to make you rethink your priorities. Like millions of people, my wife and I are currently working from home while being full-time parents. While work goes on, the most important daily schedule we have now is the one we prepare for our daughter.

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The author’s “dad jokes” in the quarantine era.

Parents have obvious responsibilities to their kids, just as animation industry leaders have a responsibility to their teams, although not everyone keeps this top of mind. As a leader you get to have an impact on somebody’s day-to-day life. Good leaders in animation are nurturing, collaborative, and transparent. Seriously, please go away if you don’t plan to use your leadership position to foster a positive environment. As leaders it’s our job to lift people up, to unblock anything in the way of their success, and to make any missteps along 179

the way into opportunities for further learning and growth. Taking on these heavy responsibilities may not be what motivated you to get to where you are, but consider this as important to your mission as what makes it to the screen.

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CHAPTER 5

Outside of Your Day Job

“I had a strategy for some ‘mom-toons’ where I could do some short ones that I could theoretically produce very quickly. I tried that and even thirty seconds takes me so long to do that I’m having to rethink my approach. But there’s something very important I want to say about having children and I want to say it very badly right now. So that’s what is milling through my mind as my next personal project.” —Joanna Davidovich, freelance animation artist

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Joanna Davidovich, who not only balances being a mom with a freelance animation career, also hosts a successful YouTube channel under her name, where she livestream doodles, gives out career advice, and demos various techniques. IN THE 1934 WALT DISNEY SILLY SYMPHONY,

The Grasshopper and the Ants, the ants are busily preparing for the winter ahead by gathering and storing food and other essentials. All the while they are chided by the happy-golucky grasshopper who merrily sings, “The world owes me a living.” The inevitable winter comes and the grasshopper’s philosophy of living in the moment suddenly leaves him cold. In this business, it’s easy to fall into the grasshopper’s point of view when you’re working on a long-term job. Long-term employment can mean working on a feature, a series, or for a bustling studio with a string of consecutive projects. In such a model, it is typical for jobs to last a year or longer. Emmy-nominated comedy writer Kevin Maher told my Careers in Animation class at SVA that when you go into the workforce, you have to answer an important question: Are you a house

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cat or an alley cat? Knowing I wouldn’t be able to do the rest of Kevin’s analogy justice, I asked for his help, and he was kind enough to provide a fresh telling. Take it away, Kevin: “If someone works a full-time staff job, they’re a house cat. Just like a house cat there are predictable meals, rules for the house, and a boss who can be doting or cruel. A freelancer is an alley cat. The alley cat is free to roam and explore, but also has to hunt, sometimes fight, and find shelter in the rain. One is not better or worse. The lifestyle has everything to do with your personality. And experience will help you figure out which one is right for you. An alley cat might have trouble adjusting to life as a house cat, and a house cat is rarely prepared to be an alley cat. I’ve met a lot of house cats; typically, people who took a college internship that turned into an entry-level position; they’ve worked for years and years and only ever had one employer.

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Comedy writer Kevin Maher, who has looked at cats from both sides now. Photo by Maya Topitzer.

As an alley cat, I find it strange to meet people who only know one workplace. I feel like those people haven’t gotten to know themselves. It’s strange to talk with people who’ve never been fired. To quote the dad in Calvin and Hobbes, those horrible experiences ‘build character.’” Meow. This chapter will try to help the house cat not get too comfortable, because even though you may be enjoying a long stint of employment, that doesn’t mean that you won’t unexpectedly have to become an alley cat. The first challenge when blessed with long-term work is to avoid developing a sense of entitlement. This sort of thinking can have you coasting on the job and ultimately cause you to slip into some bad habits. Most everyone knows the importance of excelling in the main duties on the job, but a lot fewer understand other opportunities that long-term work affords you. Showing up, learning the ropes, and doing your best daily is only part of what you need to succeed on the job and ensure success beyond it. Ironically, one of the best ways to excel on the job is by continuing to grow outside of it. Besides, who else has the responsibility to develop you but you? One of my producers at Disney recently lamented that our job didn’t afford opportunities to develop wholly original content and stories (our focus is on short-form animation that supports other initiatives). A few months later we began making an original animated series for Lucasfilm, but since we didn’t know that at the time, my suggestion was, why don’t you do that at home. What can each of us do during off hours to complement or supplement your experience at work? Storyboard artist Jordan Koch answers (while he was in the middle of working at Nickelodeon Animation for over five years in a row): “I’m a strong believer in the creative process as ongoing, not easily able to 184

be turned on or off at a given moment. I like to have a couple of different projects simmering on the burners at any given time. I’m currently developing a pilot for an animated series I’ve been toiling with for the past couple of months. I’m also in the process of writing and illustrating my first children’s book—something I’m super excited about! The corkboards on the walls of my home studio are tiled with sticky notes, index cards, and coffee-stained napkins of doodles and idea scribbles.” Clearly Koch knows the responsibility for his further development falls on himself.

Jordan Koch offers wisdom by the slice, shown here in his illustration. Image courtesy of the artist.

MODEL STUDENTS

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One of my sketches from a drawing class at New York’s Art Students League.

As commercial animation artists on long-term jobs, we often work in compartmentalized ways. We are hired to do one task or use one type of skill for years at a time. The end result can be a loss of skill in other areas. For starters, are you working at a computer station all day? If so, your drawing skills are at risk of shrinking and dying. Drawing is not like riding a bike. You can’t pick up a pencil after a ten-year absence and resume your peak skills from college. Drawing needs to be maintained. Beat this problem by signing up for life drawing classes on evenings or weekends, or even online! The great thing about taking a class is that it imposes a structure on you. You can’t blow it off as easily as if you were left to your own timetable. Many colleges and community centers offer life drawing for free or at a very low cost. In New York City, the ASIFA chapter has long offered free life drawing once a week for members and students. For a modest fee per class, the Art Students League (also in New York City —can you tell I miss my hometown?) offers life drawing sessions every Friday night. Find out what’s cookin’ in your neck of the woods. If nothing turns up, pool your money together with other artists and hire a model once a week. In the early days of the Disney studio, animators began doing exactly that. Mr. Walt Disney saw the value in those sessions and decided to bring them officially under his studio

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roof. Years later, these life drawing classes, under the supervision of the legendary teacher Don Graham, led to the creation of the California Institute of the Arts (CalArts). Today’s Hollywood animation studios are filled with former CalArts students. What a shadow those early Disney animators have cast!

COMPUTE THIS “As animation artists, we should try to keep up with our industry. The more well rounded, the more you’ll have to offer. The goal for me is to maintain a place in the animation industry, so I have been learning different tools to continue my edge.” —Travis Blaise, animator and story artist

Drawing by Travis Blaise. Courtesy of the artist.

I don’t use the term “traditional” to describe today’s 2D animation. Let’s face it, any “pencil” animation done on paper these days is usually finished with some kind of digital composite or process. So, there’s no real “traditional” work happening. There’s lots of “drawn”

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animation that uses a stylus though, and just because you can’t manually flip pages on an animation disc like Milt Kahl used to do doesn’t mean you’re not creating 2D animation. On a side note, I have no romantic attachment to the tools of the past. Yes, it’s amazing to see what the pioneers of our business did with analog equipment, but I much prefer the modern age where comparatively less expensive digital tools are available to the average person. Stepping off my soapbox, I’d like to point out that many of today’s working animation artists juggle working between 2D and 3D animation. The two animators on my current team at Disney, the talented and versatile Joshua Bitzer and Trevor Knapp Jones, jump between 2D, 3D, and all kinds of hybrid mediums within a single afternoon. In our workflow, no two projects are alike, so Josh and Trevor are a key to our success. But once in a while I buy them pizza, so we’re even. For those working in a specific role with one main software, versatility in being able to jump into different programs for specific needs is a great benefit. When it comes to learning new software, everyone gets there a different way. Some prefer to take classes, which provide structure, assignments, and a live teacher to help you get over any hurdles. Others prefer to sit with a friend who can walk them through the basics in an informal setting. Others learn best at their own pace with a book or online instruction in their home. Whatever your ideal method of learning is, you’ve got to keep using the software for the information to stick. If you can’t use the software on the job, you should initiate a small project of your own to keep pushing forward. Why not take this opportunity to make a new sample for your reel? Make yourself ready for the inevitable and the unexpected.

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“My first self-published comic book led to a long career in animation and TV because the right person saw it and liked it and gave me my next opportunity. And pretty much every leap I’ve made careerwise since then has been the direct or indirect result of some period of introspection, reevaluation of priorities, and forcing myself to work on something of my own.” —Jackson Publick, creator, The Venture Brothers Initiate your own creative project. It could be writing scripts, sculpture, photography, painting, preparing a pitch for an animated series, an independent film, or inventing a new use for cheese. The great thing about your own projects is that you don’t have to be finished to start seeing the value of your effort. Show your work in progress to your peers on the job. Invite them to your script readings, gallery openings, film premieres, open-mic nights, or whatever creative endeavors you have going on. Six-time Emmy Award winner, three-time Caldecott Honor recipient Mo Willems spent nine years as a scriptwriter and animator for Sesame Street. Willems was initially working for Children’s Television Workshop (CTW) as a freelance illustrator in the research department. On the side, he was busy writing scripts and sketches for a biweekly stand-up comedy show performed at a small club in the Lower East Side of New York. Every other week, Willems would be sure to invite his colleagues at work to see his act. As Willems tells it, they never came to his performances, but the important thing was that the folks at the workshop knew that Willems was actively writing and performing. Pulling off this biweekly act meant that Willems had lots of script samples on hand. The day came when CTW’s Sesame Street needed to hire a new writer and they asked Willems to show them some writing

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samples. After eight months of audition scripts, Willems got the writing job and laid the foundation for a wildly successful career as the creator of the Suzie Kabloozie shorts for Sesame Street, Nickelodeon’s The Off-Beats, and Cartoon Network’s Sheep in the Big City. Willems was also head writer for Cartoon Network’s number-one-rated series, Codename: Kids Next Door. He’s now best known for his New York Times number-one bestselling picture books, which have been awarded three Caldecott Honors, two Theodor Geisel Medals, and five Geisel Honors from the American Library Association. Translated into twenty-five languages, his books are published by Hyperion Books for Children. His first book, Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus!, was inducted into the Picture Book Hall of Fame. Willem’s spectacular career was set in motion by initiating and promoting his own creative projects outside of the workplace. It’s a great example of how our personal work can feed our careers. Willems made himself ready for the unexpected (in his case, a writing job at Sesame Workshop). When opportunity comes your way, you need to be ready, otherwise it’s someone else’s opportunity.

MY ANIMATION SALVATION “If you are looking to be a director, developing a personal style is definitely the goal. Commercial studios especially look to represent animators with a unique style that can bring something new to the campaigns they work on.” —Angela De Vito, animator Early in my career, I did a variety of 2D production work at Michael Sporn Animation Inc., including in-betweening, animating, storyboards, layout, and checking art for camera. It was an education I wouldn’t trade for the world. Shortly after a layoff period from Sporn’s 190

studio, I landed a job as a storyboard artist at Nick Jr.’s Blue’s Clues, during the first season of the original series. When I informed Sporn about the new job, he advised me to get all I could out of the experience. I took that advice to heart. For two years I worked as a Blue’s Clues storyboard artist, where I made creative contributions at the earliest stage of each episode and worked closely with the producers, creators, writers, and research department. Despite this, I missed the variety of my work with Sporn, and I missed animating. To remedy the problem I made an indie animated short in my free time. On this film, I was writer, designer, animator, director, and producer. In this way, I was able to forge a separate identity from my Blue’s Clues self, while at the same time increase my value to the series. According to John Hays, cofounder of Wild Brain, “The most innovative directors are the ones who have always created new projects and films no matter what else is going on around them.” Not that I think I’m among the most innovative directors, but the point is that I didn’t have to be. Creating independent films enabled my employer to see me as more than my day job, although I didn’t realize I was planting these seeds. I just wanted to grow my skills outside of my compartmentalized job.

A still from my short Good Morning, which gave me an emotional outlet just after my mother passed away.

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During this time, the late, great animation director Richard Williams (Who Framed Roger Rabbit) brought his three-day animation master class to New York City. I attended the costly class with three other Blue’s Clues folks. Among them was Dave Palmer, our supervising director of animation. During one of the tea breaks in the course, Palmer asked me if I would consider shifting to animate for the series, which was animated on Macs using Adobe After Effects. I didn’t know the program at the time, but soon after I learned After Effects and, with the production’s blessing, transitioned from storyboard artist to animator. Less than one year later, directing my own independent film combined with my prior storyboard experience helped me earn a promotion to animation director. Like Mo Willems, I was ready for an unexpected opportunity by pursuing and promoting outside projects. Who knows to what heights your projects will take you?

STEREOTYPING AND TYPECASTING “Would Nick Jr. call Ralph Bakshi to direct a new preschool show? Probably not, which is not to say that he wouldn’t do a great job at it, or wouldn’t love the job. Simply put, people often only know you from the work you’ve done.” —Dave Palmer, creator and former creative producer, Nickelodeon Animation

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Sketch by Dave Palmer, who should be in the animation hall of fame just based on his lovable design of Blue from the original Blue’s Clues.

Initiating your own projects can have many positive effects on your career. For one, your personal work can save you from being stereotyped or typecast into one genre of animation. Obviously, this becomes an important survival tool to ensure that you’ll be as employable as possible after working for years on one project, in one style, and in a compartmentalized way. Ian Chernichaw, who just celebrated working twenty-five years in children’s television and media (Sesame Workshop, Nickelodeon), faced the danger of being stereotyped head on. He recalls, “I was actually told in more than one interview, ‘You’ve mostly done preschool programming. What makes you think you can design for a big-kid show?’” Besides initiating our own projects, what else can we do to avoid being stereotyped, and therefore, limited in our career choices? One animation veteran offers this answer: “Opportunities to expand your range usually happen because of other factors, such as already having a positive working relationship with a client.” Chalk up another benefit for building and maintaining good relationships. Beavis and Butt-Head supervising director Yvette Kaplan advises beating stereotyping by “accepting a role on a smaller project to get a new sample. Usually a

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successful director who has proven him- or herself over and over will be welcomed with open arms if enthusiasm is expressed for a particular project.”

“YOU WOULDN’T LIKE ME WHEN I’M ANGRY” The Hulk inside each of us can be set off by getting notes, revisions, or changes on the job. Were you asked to change the size of that cartoon mouse to smaller, to bigger, to smaller, and then to bigger again? Did you freak out? Well chances are that you’d keep the commercial work you do in perspective if you worked on your own creative endeavors at home. On your projects, you have full control and the final say. The commercial work you do can never compete with the creative satisfaction and reward you’ll get from doing your own stuff. Commercial work is a team sport, and not about your personal creative vision. As a commercial artist, it is your job to use the time, resources, and skills you have to make the client happy. When you do this successfully, it is a source of great pride, but that should not be confused with the satisfaction of creating on your own terms. Storyboard artist Aaron Clark (Sheriff Callie’s Wild West) adds, “If nothing else, working on your own projects is a good way to keep yourself sane.” You may not know there is a difference unless you go home and create.

THE PERILS OF A LACK OF PERSPECTIVE “Being defensive about my work has rarely helped me, feeling insecure about your work can cripple you too if you really start to believe it.” —Alex Kirwan, art director and character designer (DuckTales, Gravity Falls)

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I know of a talented animation artist who blew many issues out of proportion, working at a long-term job. This artist complained about process, personnel, and procedures on a day-to-day basis. The artist’s behavior, justified or not, clearly indicated a need for creative control and personal recognition. Not surprisingly, this artist was not engaging in creative projects outside of the job. As a result, his job became his main creative outlet, so every workday his artistic ego was on the line. After a short while, it became quite a burden for the producers and coworkers to hear his negative rants so often. For too long the artist offered complaints but no solutions. Needless to say, he was not asked back for future productions at that studio. A bridge was burned. If this sounds like you, take a moment and try to analyze why you complain and risk self-destructive behavior. For some, personal projects can keep a lot of these “artistic” demons at bay. When there is something to complain about consider what you need out of the situation. Do you want personal acknowledgment or are you really trying to create an improved working environment for all? Some issues are worth complaining about, some aren’t. For more on this subject see chapter 6, “Choosing Your Battles on the Job.”

FREELANCE: THE ANIMATION ARTIST’S BEST FRIEND In addition to initiating your own creative projects, freelancing on evenings and weekends offers many potential rewards to the full-time animation artist. So why don’t more full-timers do it? When we’re working a long-term gig, the last thing many of us want to do is to do more work when we get home. For many, evenings and weekends are sacred, even if it’s just to binge shows on Netflix. I’m not suggesting that you work yourself into an early grave, but the nature of our business can be boiled down into a simple sentence: When there’s extra 195

work, it can be worthwhile to take it on. Just be sure you don’t take on more than you can handle, because that can backfire: a great storyboard artist with a staff job once took a freelance storyboard job on the side. The freelance client asked him to create a board in too short a time period, but instead of walking away, he agreed to do the job. As a result, he was forced to turn in a storyboard far beneath his usual standards. The client was unhappy, and the storyboard artist’s reputation suffered for it. Never accept a freelance job in which you cannot deliver your best, for any reason. The wise sage Bugs Bunny said, “Another day, another carrot.” The first benefit of doing freelance work will be felt in your wallet. Extra money (if there really is such a thing as extra money) is money you’ll need to pay bills, rent, and for classes, supplies, and equipment, or even for that richly deserved vacation. In my career, taking on freelance work has provided enough financial security to help me weather lean periods such as 2008’s Great Recession. Who knows what I’ll need the money for? One day I might want to take a risk like leaving my fulltime job. Or my full-time job might lay me off—something that can happen for any reason in a normal year or as part of downsizing from, say, a worldwide pandemic. Tomorrow is another day, and chances are I will want another carrot. The additional income freelance work provides can also prevent you from being petty when offered a small pay raise at work. Most pay raises on the job fall between a 2- and 6-percent increase on your yearly salary. These small pay bumps don’t change your life. They are designed to theoretically keep your income matching the cost of living. However, monies brought in from freelancing a few months out of the year can nearly double your annual income. Now, that can change your quality of life. Tennis, anyone?

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Taking on freelance work can also ensure that you’re making enough connections to help land your next long-term gig. Jennifer Oxley (cocreator of Peg + Cat) was one of the most active and successful freelance animation artists in New York City before launching her own studio, 100 Chickens Productions, to produce her series. Much of her success in the field is due to the fact that through all her periods of long-term employment at such places as Children’s Television Workshop and productions such as Nickelodeon’s Blue’s Clues, Oxley has always made time for freelance work. She has even been known to take her laptop on vacation to animate for her many clients. I personally observed that many staffers on Blue’s Clues had some initial difficulty making new job connections once their show had wrapped production. The problem? Many of these talented artists did not seek out extra work in the “comfortable years” of employment. As a result, they had some catching up to do, almost having to begin again from scratch. Today Jen is a major force in preschool animation, following her wonderful Peg + Cat with being an executive producer on the 2019 version of Clifford the Big Red Dog. Clearly, one of the major reasons for Oxley’s success was her willingness to take on additional opportunities early in her career, even during periods of long-term employment. I should also mention Jen is super nice and incredibly talented. That probably didn’t hurt.

HOW TO INCREASE YOUR BUSINESS SKILLS WITHOUT REALLY TRYING As a freelancer, you also get experience in business. Your time, fee, and the approval process itself are all up for negotiation. With freelance, you learn to estimate the length of time required to do a job. Knowing how to judge time goes hand in hand with knowing what to 197

charge as your fee. Freelancing puts you in contact with a larger variety of people and personalities. One of the most important ingredients to a successful career in animation is the ability to work harmoniously with all kinds of people. It’s the mother of all business skills: people skills.

CONTINUE TO NETWORK: MAINTAIN CONTACTS IN SICKNESS AND IN HEALTH Let’s call sickness “unemployment” and health “steady employment,” for the above heading to make sense. People do notice when you only contact them when you need something. It says something about how you view the relationship and communicates that you’re only interested in speaking to people when you have to. It suggests that you are not interested in what they are doing or what is going on in their lives. At some point you’ll be busy with full-time work and dirty dishes will pile up in the sink and you may easily fall out of touch with your friends in the industry. But cheer up. It used to be way harder when we had a thing called phone calls. Thankfully social media came along, which allowed you to like someone’s status as a way of staying connected. Obviously, that’s probably the least one can do, and it’s not all that meaningful, so it’s still a lot warmer to write an occasional direct message. Make it a point to stay in touch with people every few months. We all move around so much in a typical animation career that there’s often a new job or project news to share. Make plans, when possible, to meet up for drinks, lunch, at industry events, or virtually in a Zoom meeting. In addition, continue to network to meet inspiring new people and help foster a sense of community wherever you live. Make it a point to attend animation events and talk to at least one new person per gathering, and bring business cards. However, be forewarned, most of 198

these informal animation events are geared towards the social and community ends of the business. It’s probably a bad idea to thrust portfolios and other samples into people’s hands while they’re socializing. Make the connections first, be respectful, and then make a plan to follow up to share any work samples at an appropriate time and place either online or in person.

Linda Simensky and the author at an ASIFA-East Animation Festival after-party, just before the paparazzi closed in on us.

Joining volunteer organizations like ASIFA is a terrific way to network and connect with contacts new and old on a regular basis. The wonderful and wise Linda Simensky, the head of content for PBS Kids, has said that she owes much of her people and business skills, not to mention many industry connections and lifelong friends, to her time as president of ASIFA-East (1990–2000). Volunteer groups are fragile. People who are donating their time and energy have the option of walking away at any point if they aren’t appreciated, challenged, or having a good experience. Successfully leading such a group of volunteers over a ten-year period taught Simensky more management

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lessons than she could have learned exclusively from being a TV network executive.

HOW VOLUNTEERING GOT ME WORK! In 1996, I was working full-time at Michael Sporn Animation Inc., and I was a member of the ASIFA-East board of directors. The volunteer work was anything but glamorous. Often it involved me sitting on the edge of my bed processing checks as part of my membership secretary duties. I remember my roommate telling me how I was wasting my time. I knew better. Volunteering made me feel good while providing me with lots of opportunities I wouldn’t have otherwise had.

Hedgehog drawing presented to me by Yuri Norstein, which can be found gracing my bathroom wall. From the author’s collection.

At one of our monthly board meetings in 1996, I met Nancy Keegan, who was working as a storyboard artist and animator for the

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brand new (and still largely unknown) show Blue’s Clues. At that time, Keegan was writing a column for the ASIFA-East monthly newsletter, in which she would introduce the animation community to some new faces on the scene. Having been in the business only one year, I soon became the subject of one of her columns. Over a dinner/interview we became fast friends. From that point on we stayed in touch and reconnected at ASIFA meetings and events each month. Later in the year, I was looking for work and Keegan was kind enough to introduce me to the producers at Blue’s Clues. With her help I was able to get a job interview, which led to a seven-and-a-half-year job on the production! My volunteer work with ASIFA-East gave me connections to a wider body of people than I would have met working on any one particular job, while also providing a means of staying in touch with them at monthly events. The encouragement of members inspired me to stay focused and create my own films to screen at ASIFA-East’s annual animation festival. The organization also enabled me to meet (and discover) so many of my animation heroes, including Paul Fierlinger, Ray Harryhausen, Shamus Culhane, Jerry Beck, Michael Sporn, John Canemaker, Tissa David, R. O. Blechman, Yuri Norstein, Al Brodax, Richard Williams, and many others. Who said volunteer organizations such as ASIFA don’t pay anything? What you can get in return for your time can be priceless.

THE REEL WORLD “Get your stuff on art sites: Behance, DeviantArt, ArtStation, Coroflot, for example, and start following people.” —Linda Beck, artist development

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At the end of every week on the job, round up your designs, animation scenes, or storyboards. Save copies for yourself. Back up your animation on the cloud and also on external hard drives. Later on, it becomes much more difficult to assemble all of these materials once the production wraps or you’ve moved on. Not everything you file away now will make it into your portfolio or reel later. Save the critical assessment of which samples are best for another day. But don’t procrastinate. Your inbox may have a new message tomorrow about a freelance job, and they may need to see some of your most recent samples. Following Linda Beck’s advice above, joining the online community and sharing your personal work on popular animation and art sites can lead to all sorts of interesting connections. At the risk of repeating myself this is another way to prepare for unexpected opportunities. In 2001, the stop-motion animation crew of MTV’s long-running Celebrity Death Match had over six months of animation ahead of them to complete the current season. Suddenly, the series was shelved by the network and the animators’ work stopped abruptly with the frame on which they were working. In a more recent example, Nickelodeon Animation abruptly shut down production on Robot and Monster, and while most of those affected found work on other Nick productions, it’s still a good wake-up call that these things happen. This is a good example of how even so-called guaranteed work can end suddenly. Layoffs happen at the big studios as well as with the little guys. All one can do is try to prepare for the unexpected by continually updating reels and portfolios. You may need them sooner than you think. The end of production on the original Blue’s Clues played out very differently than its Viacom cousin, Celebrity Death Match. Since beginning production in 1996, Blue’s Clues animation artists had never

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gone on hiatus. Seasons blurred together as work continued nonstop on the hit series. However, in the fall of 2001, our animation department of twenty-five individuals was told that Blue’s Clues was going to cease production in two years. This was the most generous notice of time that I’d ever heard of in this business. Armed with this information, some employees prepared by utilizing tuition reimbursement offered at Nickelodeon to take Maya classes. Many others procrastinated and didn’t really set out to work on their reels and portfolios until the final weeks of production, and others did so well after Blue’s Clues ended. At any time during those two years, the network could have yanked away our jobs leaving us with a fate much like Celebrity Death Match. A good motto to live by is, “Hope for the best, and prepare for the worst.”

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CHAPTER 6

Choosing Your Battles on the Job

“On a technical level, all studios are corporate but some have a more ‘corporate’ attitude or work style than others. As a creative person doing a creative job, it can be very stifling to be asked to just ‘be creative’ in a set number of hours per day, five days per week. Especially in a job as challenging as storyboarding, I need to be able to set my own work style and process so that I hit my deadlines. Some workplaces are more controlling of your process, and want things done in a certain way. This can be solved or mitigated by talking with your supervisor about work style and how compromises can be made. I have been lucky that most of the studios I have worked with are smaller, so it is easier for them to make compromises for their artists.” —Keely Propp, storyboard artist

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Storyboard artist Keely Propp, one of the animation artists that makes me confident about our industry’s future.

the difference between choosing your battles and choosing to battle. Situations come up on a daily basis that can challenge even the best-intentioned person. Yet not all these situations are of equal importance. Before you do anything else examine your needs or desires in any given situation. Next look inside yourself to discover your role in the problem. Before looking for a change in others, you have to exhaust the possibilities in yourself. With self-examination you may even come to the conclusion that the problem is not even your concern. At the time I write this, the animation community is abuzz over a former Disney TV Animation storyboard revisionist named Janet Chan. She had posted a confessional video titled “I Quit My Job at Disney!” Five or so years into her career, Janet has had enough and expressed why she’s leaving her day job and going into business for herself. In her confessional, she railed against unqualified development executives, unwarranted promotions, and a toxic environment where others don’t even provide the courtesy of eye contact. Plus she had a sense that she won’t ever get her big break in the form of her own show. It reminded me of the gripe list I’ve heard over the years during after-hours drinks with animation friends and colleagues. Such venting sessions didn’t usually leave the bar, but posts like Chan’s are out there ON A JOB, IT’S IMPORTANT TO KNOW

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for all the world to see. This is her experience as she sees it today. While her time working in the industry probably feels like a long span to her now, in the future those five years may seem like a drop in the bucket as she racks up other experiences and her perspective grows. Chan doesn’t need to change her mind over time. She may feel the same twenty years from now and be glad she got out of animation way back when. While some of Chan’s frustrations are relatable, some of us may want to stick around to be agents of positive change. In 2017, courageous employees at Nickelodeon Animation banded together, alleging that veteran animation talent and creator Chris Savino (The Loud House) engaged in harassment, unwanted sexual advances, and threats of blacklisting. Because of this group action, which rode on the momentum of the #MeToo movement, Nickelodeon cut ties with the creator and the Animation Guild, IATSE Local 839, followed suit by taking the unprecedented action of suspending Savino for a year as part of a plea bargain settlement. The alleged conditions that the Nickelodeon employees worked under were intolerable, and their success in being agents of change should serve as a warning to future would-be violators. In comparison, Chan’s complaints are largely personal, offering her point of view of what’s institutionally wrong in the workplace. It’s also important to note that not all her issues are of equal value. In my Disney workplace, not everyone I pass in the hall makes eye contact with me either, and I’m a director and not a storyboard revisionist like Chan was. But when someone doesn’t make eye contact with me I know there’s all kinds of possible explanations. Maybe they’re having a bad day or lost in thought, perhaps trying to solve a problem. They could be dealing with a really challenging personal problem at home, or maybe they aren’t feeling well. Perhaps they are shy or introverted—something that is far from a crime. Some of the biggest talents in the workplace may not be

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comfortable with social interactions—and there’s nothing wrong with that (or them). Someone not making eye contact with me doesn’t automatically mean “toxic environment.” What if we assumed good intentions from others, until we have a real reason to know otherwise? Nobody should tolerate or enable (that includes human resource departments) the worst offenses as listed above, so it’s everyone’s job (not just the victims) to speak up against a hostile workplace. Having said that, the goal of this chapter is to help communication and collaboration challenges in the day-to-day. An ordinary workplace issue you may want to take on could be managing an employee that is chronically behind schedule, or needing more timely and clear feedback from your director. But before you take on such an issue you must first ask a lot of questions in anticipation: How can you make sure to be solution oriented? What do you really want out of the outcome? How much mutual respect and trust do you have with the person whom you’re about to engage? How might she react? What is the best way to approach the subject? Can it wait until tomorrow, when you might have a more level head or a different point of view? These are just some of the many questions you could ask yourself before acting out a confrontation. Of course, there are times when you may find yourself in a conflict with little or no advance warning. In that case, you won’t have time to go over the mental checklist of questions. In these situations, simply find out what the other person is feeling and thinking. Don’t rush to your own judgments. Ask a lot of questions instead of reacting defensively. The answers to your questions will help you find your footing and probably help both sides start to feel more at ease. Animation is a collaborative business. The relationships you have with your coworkers are just as important as the work itself. You can’t succeed in one while neglecting the other.

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The inevitable complication is that you’re not going to get along with all your coworkers. Despite this, if you take the time to truly understand your own needs and the needs of others, you should have all you need to make a good judgment.

WHEN MOM DOESN’T KNOW BEST It’s usually advisable to wait a day to really think about a situation from all perspectives before taking action. It can be very helpful to use this time to consult a trusted and objective friend (preferably from the business). You want someone who will not immediately fall on your side in a knee-jerk reaction. Although the support would be nice, the advice that comes from this point of view isn’t very useful. It may even be harmful. Mothers, fathers, siblings, and significant others can provide much needed support but are not automatically our best council on matters concerning careers in animation. They don’t know the industry, the circumstances, or the way animation studios function. With that in mind, how can they provide the most informed opinion? Use these home-court allies for unconditional love and the strength that can bring. When it comes to advice we can trust, we need to lean on objective and experienced individuals. These people are not afraid to be critical or honest with us. In turn, we have to be mature enough to receive such analytical advice without taking it personally. If we’re not ready for such honest criticism, this may be why we’re having trouble at work in the first place.

THE DANGER OF BEING RIGHT My greatest mistakes on the job were always caused by selfrighteousness. I was right, and I knew it. Feeling right gives one a sense of power, purpose, and entitlement. All of us need some amount

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of approval from our peers and superiors. However, the need to be right runs counter to everything that is most important. Our primary goal is to serve the production on which we’re working to the best of our ability. Our second, equally important concern is to create and maintain the healthiest possible relationships with our coworkers. Proving that you’re right becomes a game and, as in any game, there are winners and losers. Yet for a production to be all it can be, everyone must be allowed to deliver their best performance. On the job, sometimes we’re right and sometimes we’re wrong. In a healthy studio environment, we’re allowed to be wrong. It has to be okay to make some mistakes and have a chance to learn from them. If it’s okay to be wrong, it follows suit that it must be okay to be right. In a studio, being right might mean having the best idea or the most experience with a particular problem. Okay, let’s say you’re right. So what? It’s how we use being right that counts. When you’re right, your task is to get the other person to come along to your point of view without making him seem wrong. There’s an old expression saying that success has many fathers and failure has none. In today’s workplace, no one need walk away feeling like a failure. The long-term effect of blindly waging battles can take a huge toll on your reputation. Those you’ve squashed eventually get jobs elsewhere. Some of them will act as gatekeepers blocking your path to future opportunities. Ten years down the road, will it matter that you were right in any given battle? At what cost did you prove you were right? If you take the time to think about these consequences now, you can ensure that ten years from now you’ll be greeted by your old colleagues with good will. Those are the benefits of a good reputation. Sounds to me like a battle won. It would be nice to be able to say that I don’t make these mistakes anymore, but I still do. Just the other day I let some frustrations (that

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had built over a two year period) get the better of me. The result was that I sent out an email calling out my title and role as director of animation because I was feeling bypassed by some colleagues. Myself and my team were in fact being bypassed, but more by thoughtlessness then any malice. The heavy-handed way I went about solving it didn’t help. When my boss stepped in, he agreed that I should have been involved, but also used the occasion to caution me why I should avoid pulling rank in an email—how it doesn’t look good, and how it could damage relationships to do so. That’s the frustrating and challenging part, isn’t it? You may have been “wronged,” but the way you handle it can make you “wrong.” If you run into me one day in the future, ask me if I’ve finally learned my lesson. I sure hope so.

LEARNING FROM OTHERS’ BATTLES Early in my directing career, I witnessed a battle between a lead animator and his director. The lead animator, recently promoted, had been promised that he would have some say over what shots he would work on. That pledge had come from the supervising director. Yet when the lead animator began his position, his animation director decided not to honor the arrangement made by the supervisor and instead gave out the animation work according to his own needs. The supervisor had given his directors the right to organize the work as they saw fit, despite the fact that this might contradict previous understandings. Thus began a year-long struggle in which the lead animator’s enthusiasm waned to such a degree that his previously high-quality work suffered noticeably. I did my best to intervene on the animator’s behalf by speaking to his director, but he insisted on following his own plan. As a director of another team, it wasn’t my call to make. Eventually, the director gave up on the animator completely and even

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recommended the animator’s termination. As a last resort, the production assigned the lead animator to my team. At first I was a little wary of working with this animator, but then I thought about why he was unhappy and what I might be able to do about it. The first thing I did was hand the animator the storyboards of our next two shows. “Let me know what you’d like to animate,” I said. He was stunned that I asked him that. Instantly he became the great lead animator he’d been before. In fact, he surpassed his past triumphs. If people are valued, challenged, and encouraged to do their best, the results can be spectacular. I was able to get the desired result with this lead animator by observing someone else’s battle and ensuring that it did not become mine.

CURRENCY Years after I worked with the lead animator in the story above I was employed at Disney, as the manager of animation for apps and interactive experiences. As a manager at the house of Mouse I had access to leadership classes of all kinds. In one such class I learned about “currency,” which is a term that can be used to describe an employee’s motivation in the office. In short, everyone has a different driver, a personal measure of success or feeling valued. For some it is a raise (okay, everyone has that in common), but others crave opportunities and stretch assignments where they can be challenged and continue learning. Others long for public recognition—to be thanked and feel appreciated for individual achievement. For some the title is everything, even without a big difference in compensation. You get the idea. As a leader, understanding the currency of every individual on my team is a key part of our mutual success.

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BATTLIN’ FOR DOLLARS Promotions and merit raises are given out by management in recognition of excellence in the workplace. These rewards are also management’s way of solving problems. For example, when a department head suddenly gives her two weeks’ notice, management will often look internally to fill that position. This allows them to groom key people from within the studio and offer an example to others on the crew that there is room to grow. Likewise, a period of expansion in operations may create a need for new positions and promotions. With such policies, management has good reason to believe that those promoted will be loyal and productive employees, encouraging others to follow their lead. On the other side of the equation, those who are promoted in this manner know they’re likely to have the management’s support, since the promotion solved a need in the production.

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Some of the Disney Digital Network animation team make a pilgrimage to Walt’s restored ol’ office in 2017. From left to right: Sam DelPilar, Ashley Arlow, Cristina Fiumara, Trevor Knapp Jones, Joseph Servantez, the author, Josh Bitzer, Phil Chea.

As an employee, anything you try to initiate in the area of promotions or merit raises is far more precarious. Even if you successfully make your case, there can still be a risk of creating bad blood. If you threaten to leave if a promotion/raise is not offered, it can be assumed that you’d be willing to walk away at any time. Whatever gain you’ve made will likely be short term. You risk status and respect. Remember, good work tends to rise to the top. If you’re stagnating at the bottom, think about what you might be doing or not doing that might be holding you back. Are you impatient? Do you lack faith that the company will recognize your hard work? Are you already being paid a fair price for your work but would simply like to be earning

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more? Maybe there’s not even a business need, operations-wise, for what you are asking for. There are, however, occasions where the pay on a particular project may be unfair. Once I was offered a promotion at a lower percentage increase than others were getting in the same role. The reason? My salary was starting at a higher base than theirs. In an effort to be fair, the producers felt the right thing to do would be to bring everyone up to an equal level of salary, regardless of what their rates were prior to this. This didn’t seem fair to me. My argument, presented in a meeting with my supervisor and the producer, was that it was not possible to preserve fairness with this unfair practice because everyone comes to the table with different skill levels and varying numbers of years with the production. Not only did I end up winning this argument, the rest of the employees promoted along with me were able to have their increases raised too. Not a bad consequence. On another occasion I pushed back when offered a low pay raise after my first year as a director. In that year, I’d helped the series meet their new goal of doubling production. “This raise doesn’t acknowledge what I was able to accomplish this year,” I said in the meeting. Later that day, they raised my pay another percentage point. It was a small gesture but, it made me feel a lot better and more appreciated by the production. I thought that was the end of it, but it wasn’t. Two weeks later, one of the producers called me into her office. “I understand that you were unhappy at your rate increase,” she said. Then she told me that she was raising my salary again. This time by an additional one hundred dollars per week. Management’s change of heart blew me away. I felt vindicated in speaking up. In this case, it was a battle well chosen, fought, and won. There is one thing left to consider when it comes to “battlin’ for dollars.” What happens when they say no? Are you willing to leave if

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you’re turned down? Try to set your own expectations somewhere in the middle of what you’re asking for and what they are offering. Ideally, both sides should feel like they won.

SHOWING GOOD JUDGMENT “Mutual respect is the foundation of these working relationships. First, best as I can, I extend to the artists who work with me the same decency and respect I want from the folks I report to. It’s hugely important to say ‘please’ and ‘thank you.’ And it’s essential to respect their time.” —Ray Kosarin, director, supervising director, animation timer Early in my career I worked on a four-month-long industrial video where I was the sole animation assistant to the director. Two months into the project, my director decided to move the production out of state to his neighborhood. For two weeks I helped him move into his new store-front office space. We picked up office supplies, furniture, and decorations for the new studio. The one problem was that we had deadlines to hit at the same time and the studio preparations greatly interfered with the time that I needed to spend on the work. On top of everything, the director’s work style was very hands off. Working completely on my own, I started to worry that I was falling too far behind. I wasn’t very tactful when I brought up my concerns to the director. I managed to insult him by telling him my time was being wasted on non-work-related business and the long commute out of state. He was so annoyed that he didn’t even want to talk about it. A day later, after the situation had cooled off, my director called me at home. He confessed that he almost fired me but instead decided to give me the option of splitting my time between working from home 215

and working at the client’s office. He also pledged not to distract me with business other than the work itself. In turn, I had to agree to work occasionally out of state, in particular for the final two weeks of production when the deadlines would be tight. With this second chance I truly felt foolish and sorry for the way I had behaved. There is always a way to express yourself without hurting someone’s feelings or challenging their judgment, authority, work ethic, or experience.

GO WITH YOUR GUT! “I would say that I’ve learned to follow my gut. That’s not to say that you shouldn’t take time and think things through, but most of my mistakes could have been averted had I not second-guessed myself.” —Melanie Grisanti, senior vice president, production management at Sesame Workshop I don’t know if you can teach good judgment. Like common sense, we all have it in different degrees. More of us should learn to trust that gut feeling when it tells us that something isn’t right. On one such occasion I was in the middle of a layoff period from Michael Sporn’s studio. It had already been two months since my job ended and there was no telling when the studio would be able to bring me back. Michael was a very supportive man and encouraged me to work on my personal film at the studio. This way I could use his video pencil test system, copier, and anything else I might need. It was a wonderful gift to me and my film. Plus it was nice to have someplace to go each day. For a couple of months I came into the studio each day and merrily plugged away on the film. After a time, my funds were starting to dry up. Unemployment insurance would only stretch so far. 216

Occasionally I would slip away from the studio and go on a job interview or two. I tried to do this as discreetly as possible, although one friend at the studio had the habit of belting out “good luck” whenever I marched out the door heading for an interview. So much for total discretion. Despite going on several interviews nothing seemed promising until I was offered to test for a storyboard position on the original Blue’s Clues. I jumped at the opportunity. For the next three days I sequestered myself in my apartment, banging out the storyboard test. I even ordered cable television so I could watch the show to better understand its style. Each day I put in about twelve hours to do the best job possible. Everything was going on track until I got a call from an employee/friend at Michael’s studio. The message was that a TV crew was going to be filming a segment on the studio the next day. My friend thought it would be super if I could come in and fill a chair at one of the workstations. Otherwise the place, smack in the middle of a layoff period, would look too empty. I really wanted to help, but I was torn because I had to spend the next day on the test. It would be due first thing in the morning the day after that! “You can work on your test here,” suggested my friend. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” I answered. But like a fool, I did go in and like an even bigger fool I did use the studio’s facilities to work on a test for another employer! It was a very thoughtless and ungrateful thing to do (and I did it!). At the end of the day, Michael came over to my desk and whispered in my ear. “It’s very unprofessional of you to work on someone else’s work in my studio.” I could have died right there. Of course he was right. I’d allowed myself to go against my better judgment. I secondguessed my gut feeling, and I had only myself to blame. A studio is like the studio owner’s home. As a guest in their home, we have to be considerate and remember our manners. Our actions define who we are

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as much as our work and our words. It only takes one mistake to damage one of your most important career assets—your reputation. As independent animator Paul Fierlinger says, “By people’s manners I can tell everything about them.” It would be nice if this was a mistake only the young and inexperienced can make, but that’s not so. Only a couple of years ago I was leading my team through their own internal pilot short at Disney for something they had written and developed. We had development executive partners that had been instrumental in us getting the pitch in shape and helping champion us to greenlight. During that process the short had to be cut down from two minutes to one minute because of budgetary considerations, but to myself (head of production) and my development partners it was still the same film, albeit shorter. One day I was chatting on a story point with my team and the two artist/writers defended their position by telling me it was a completely different short now. I was alarmed by that news, which I didn’t agree with at all, but I couldn’t convince them otherwise. At the next opportunity I mentioned the odd conversation with my associate producer who was managing the project for me. I told him what I’d heard, adding, “This could really blow up with our development partners.” My concern was that if our team thought the film was a different film now it would put us out of step with our key allies, and it would leave them in an awkward position with our VP who had been the one to green-light the project. My associate producer looked at me blankly, waiting for me to provide more information or tell him what to do about it. But for a reason I can’t explain, I didn’t. My gut told me this could “blow up,” but I just moved on to putting out other fires on other projects. Unsurprisingly, it did blow up, and we had a big fallout with our development partners, losing trust and doing some damage to all our reputations. It was pretty stupid in how

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avoidable it was. What good is a gut feeling if you have no followthrough? It would be like Peter Parker’s Spidey sense going off and him taking a nap instead of evading the danger.

RIGHT BATTLE, WRONG MOMENT We may have the best possible justification to fight a particular battle and still end up choosing the worst way to wage it. When this happens we dilute our message, risking making our error in communication the main issue on the table. During the last five years before I moved from New York to LA, I ran a successful virtual studio from the living room of my Brooklyn apartment. One of my big clients was a top children’s media company that subcontracted countless projects to me, requiring that I utilize a small army of about eight remote contract workers. The work was plentiful but when the money failed to show up, even after four months, I was getting nervous. In sympathy to my contract workers’ situation, I paid them all one month’s pay out of my own bank account, putting even more pressure on me to recoup that loss. As the weeks ticked by it didn’t seem like the money was about to shake loose anytime soon, and my frustration mounted. I was friends with the president of production, having worked with him in a previous job, but when I seriously expressed my concern with him he would reply with flippant and playful messages like, “I’ll try to have an ice cream soda with the head accountant. She loves ice cream sodas.” On the other end of the email, I could only scratch my head in confusion. What did that mean? It certainly didn’t make me feel like I was being taken seriously. Meanwhile they kept giving me new contracts to sign to kick off more work, and each week I’d get on the subway with an external hard drive (the only cloud that existed back then made rain) to deliver the

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latest round of finished animation. I was always on time, made a point to properly address all client notes, and met/exceeded all their expectations. By around the five-month mark I was out of patience. What could I do, especially now that the brilliant “ice cream soda” solution had fizzled out? Just then an email hit my in-box from a coordinator to set a day and time for my weekly external hard drive drop. I wrote back, “Will my check be there when I arrive? If not, maybe we can plan for a later delivery this week.” Of course, the check wouldn’t be there, so the coordinator worried to the president of production that I was holding up the delivery. I wasn’t actually intending to hold work hostage, but when the president of production wrote me, asking me to meet with him that day, I knew my message had gotten the attention I was looking for. When I arrived I could see that I’d rattled the cage big-time. The prez was trying to be his cordial “ice cream soda” self, but he made it clear how unacceptable it would be if I were to hold up delivery or even suggest that I might. I told him that working for free for five months was equally unacceptable and that he hadn’t proved to me that he had taken my plight (and that of my contractors) seriously. The funds showed up within a week or so of this standoff, so while I was successful in getting paid, none of this felt good. Yes, my frustrations were justified, and the president’s cavalier attitude had thrown fuel on the fire, but my actions were mine alone, and I don’t want to ever compromise my ideals or integrity. Looking back, a far more justified action on my part would have been to politely turn down their next project offer because of the delay in previous payments. That would have let me make a strong point without taking any lumps for it.

BETWEEN A ROCK AND A HARD PLACE

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Early in my career, I was having lunch with my personal Yoda, Linda Simensky, where I shared my shame in having burned a bridge with a coworker. Linda put me quickly at ease, saying, “You’re not working hard enough in the animation business if you aren’t avoiding at least three people.” All kidding aside, Linda’s quote has since served as a good reminder to me that we’re not going to hit it off with everyone in the workplace. In truth, everyone comes to a job with a different agenda—some behave as if they’re living the dream, others behave as if each workday is a nightmare, and many reside somewhere in between. I once worked with a storyboard supervisor who lived on the nightmare side of the fence (maybe on Elm Street?). He was very, very unhappy on the job, and pretty miserable to work with. Once I was in a production meeting where he slammed his palm into a TV monitor and yelled at the show’s creator during a very minor creative disagreement. (It was about if he was willing to move the animated sheep over five pixels. He wasn’t willing to do that.) That was an odd meeting. I couldn’t understand his level of anger and frustration. Another time, this supervisor turned some of that attitude my way. After he explained some work to me, and I either didn’t understand it the first time or maybe asked one too many questions, I heard him mumble “fucking idiot” under his breath as he walked away. The trouble was that I happened to be walking in the same direction. He hadn’t realized that and turned around after his remark and looked embarrassed. I didn’t say anything, trying not to react at all. But the next day, he came to me and said, “Oh, I wanted you to know that I sometimes mutter things, like thinking out loud, but it has nothing to do with anyone else.” But the next problem could not be ignored so easily. One day, this malcontent supervisor quit, giving our producer a two-week notice.

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Because of the nature of the schedule, he had nothing to do for his remaining two weeks. Seeing this, our producer assigned him to assist me for the entire ten business days, something that would help me catch up and make my next deadlines. I should note that my position was created fairly recently in this production, so there was quite a bit of work piled up that still needed attention. This was just the boost I needed to help get my schedule under control. On the first day of the two-week span, my soon-to-be-departing supervisor told me he’d help me tomorrow. But tomorrow, I got the same excuse. The third day, he said nothing and offered no plan of help. The fourth day, same as the previous. The fifth day, he said he was sorry he hadn’t been able to help me this week, but he’d be “all mine” next week. I accepted his answer. What else could I do? Sometime in the middle of this first week, the producer came to me, asking if my supervisor was helping me. I covered for him, lying that he was. I really felt trapped and alone with this problem. The other member of my department was close friends with my supervisor, so that didn’t feel like an avenue open to me. And if I complained to the producer (an idea that didn’t sit well with me), I’d have an enemy for life. The next week came and the same thing happened all over again. Monday and Tuesday, my supervisor gave me an explanation as to why he wouldn’t be helping me that day, always saying he would help the following day. And again, my producer checked in with me to make sure I was getting the help I was promised. Again I covered up the truth. With no solution in sight, I started working late hours to “fake up” the help I was supposed to be getting. By the third day of the second week I was ashamed and angry at myself for letting this happen. Enough is enough, right? So, when our office mate left for a meeting, I decided to close the door and confront

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my supervisor. I told him: “You’re putting me in a very difficult position. The producer keeps asking if you’ve been helping me. And I’ve been covering for you. But where do you think those hours are going to come from? To make up for the help they think I’m getting, I’m having to stay late each day. And even then, it won’t be enough to add up to the two weeks of help that they think I’ve been getting. How should I handle this? What would you do in my situation?” If looks could kill I would have been dead, or at least on life support. He silently fumed for a moment, turning bright red. Then he answered, “You’re out of line. I’m your boss.” And he kept on repeating similar things like that, until he asked me how long I’d been in the business. I answered him, “Two and a half years,” and he said, “Well, I’ve been in the business for four years.” He even threw in a dig about hating the Beatles, well known to be my favorite band. Okay, clearly he had no good counterargument at the ready. Instead, we both just turned our heads and got back to our day. The remaining hours passed without us uttering another word about this or otherwise. The next day he arrived in a very pleasant mood as if nothing had happened and helped me on those final two days. Everyone is allowed mistakes. So, when I recall this story my focus is still on what could I have done differently to help make a better outcome for all concerned. If I could do it all over again, I wouldn’t have so willingly played the martyr. By the second day (when it was clear I wasn’t getting the help I was due) I should have spoken up to my supervisor. But at that moment, early on in my career, I was so eager to please and not make waves (or enemies) that I missed looking out for my basic needs.

CHOOSE-YOUR-BATTLES CHECKLIST Our success in the workplace is tied to how effectively we choose our battles. We may not always choose our battles correctly, but we can

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choose to always learn from our mistakes. Use this choose-your-battles checklist below to prevent tomorrow’s mistakes today: •

•

• •

• •

Think before you act. Ask yourself questions like, “What do I want out of the situation?” Examine your role in the problem. Confide in a trusted, objective person who is knowledgeable about the industry. The goal is not to be right or to make others be wrong. Everyone should walk away a winner or a least a participant in figuring out the plan to get there. Learn from the battles and mistakes of others without having to make those mistakes yourself. Battlin’ for dollars: seek other alternatives for money (such as taking on freelance work) if the production is already paying you a fair wage. If you must battle, aim to compromise with your employers somewhere between your number and theirs. Listen to your gut. Learn to not second-guess your best judgment, and follow through. On the job, look after your duties first and foremost. Be sure you clearly understand your role on the project.

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CHAPTER 7

Making On-the-Job Criticism Your Friend

“getting the message” came from my dad. He had an employee to whom he gave assignments, which the employee would put aside and say, “There’s plenty of time for that. I’ll do that later.” Then the employee would show my dad a personal project he was working on during company time—for example, plans for the world’s greatest clock. The “clockmaker” not only ignored his work assignments, he blatantly spent time on his personal projects instead. All the while he tried to reassure my dad that there was plenty of time to get the assigned work done. Each time this scene played out, my dad asked the employee to put the personal work away. Each time, the employee ignored the message. THE FIRST STORY I EVER HEARD ABOUT

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Abstract painting of a harbor by my father, Bob Levy, from 1963.

Frustrated with the “clockmaker,” my dad complained to his boss. Understandably, he didn’t wish to continue working with the employee. “I don’t care what you do with him, but I’m not going to work with that guy,” my dad said. The boss went one better and fired the “clockmaker.” In a scene that played out like a movie script, the sacked man gathered up his clock parts in a box to make his final exit. Along the way he bumped into my dad and snidely commented, “I suppose you had nothing to do with this.” My dad blasted back at him, “Don’t think you had nothing to do with it.” The story stayed with me over the years as a classic example of someone who didn’t get the message in time. To “get the message” is to understand its implications and then react or change your behavior accordingly.

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GIVING THE MESSAGE: DEFINE SUCCESS, MAKE IT ACHIEVABLE, AND RECOGNIZE IT It seems to me the above heading is one of the keys to succeeding in a leadership role inside an animation studio. Let’s assume that you are a studio department head, manager, or director. You are directly responsible for your team hitting their deadlines, keeping the quality of work high, and jumping all types of daily hurdles along the way. In terms of your authority over administrative issues, you have no real direct power. You may recommend hiring, firing, or promotion, but it is not your call to make. The good news is that within your own limited authority and job description, you can still help create the best possible work environment. Imagine a workplace in which everyone is given the tools and support they need to succeed. Every day is another chance to get it right. A secure and confident leader knows that success can only be achieved if the expectations are realistic. Part of the leader’s worth is to know what can get done in the allotted time with the available resources (crew, equipment, time, and budget). If we temporarily expect our crew to go beyond what is reasonable we have to own up to that fact. We have to define the increased expectation and make the duration clear. In all fairness we should be prepared to appreciate the extra effort through whatever means we have available. When overtime pay isn’t available, even something as simple as a sincere “thank you” can work wonders. Anything less and we risk losing goodwill and respect from our crew. In a healthy studio environment, success is earned and shared by everyone on the crew. The tone of a studio is set from the top on down, so it’s up to the leader to set a clear and consistent good example. Share credit with all of the authors. Publicly acknowledge individual

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achievements. We want to encourage people to do their best every day, while at the same time demonstrating that it’s okay to fail in pursuit of those goals now and then. Sure, as middle management, you don’t have authority to hand out raises or promotions, but there are still many creative ways to recognize good work. My favorite way to show appreciation is to involve the entire crew in the creative process and to delegate the choicest assignments as rewards for a previous job well done.

REMOVING OBSTACLES TO SUCCESS BY SENDING THE RIGHT MESSAGE A TV series animator I worked with was brilliant, but often missed deadlines. His work was regularly finished by his director, a routine in which the two of them worked for well over a year. When this animator was traded to my team I was aware of both his great work and his history of bad time management. I set out to remove what I saw as his obstacles to success. Unfortunately, the road to progress was bumpier than it needed to be. First, before winning over the animator’s trust, I called him in to a meeting with our supervising director and laid out our expectations.

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Dave Palmer sheds his quarantine beard in this sketch from his Instagram account, bydaveplamer. Image courtesy of the artist.

I used our first episode together, in which the animator’s work was two weeks late, as an example of what needed improvement. Hearing this message for the first time and in the presence of the big boss, the animator felt justifiably ambushed. Unsurprisingly, he reacted defensively. The trust between us had been shattered. I had focused so hard on the deadlines that I forgot about the person. After all, my goal had not been to make enemies. The real prize I was after was to help enable all my animators to reach their full potential. Quick sidebar: Not long ago, I asked my friend Dave Palmer, the supervising director of the original Blue’s Clues, if he could go back in time, what advice would he give himself to better handle being a first-time director. Palmer answered, “If I had time to say one thing to myself when I was first starting out—something I really needed to keep in mind every day —it would be, “Knowing about, and caring about, animation can help make you a good director, but knowing about, and caring about, people can help make you a great director.” Okay, back to the story: for a while the relationship between the animator and me was uncomfortable at best. At the breaking point of the crisis, the animator marched into my office to confront me. For almost an hour he cut me to ribbons: I was doing a lousy job as a director; he didn’t feel supported or protected; he was used to having a lot of support. He had come to expect someone to pick up the work he couldn’t finish, and he resented me for personally not doing that. As I listened to him vent, the real issue became clear to me. Having had unconditional help in a near consequence-free environment, he never had to worry about failing. It had been okay that his work was always late and had to be finished by others. He and his entire team had always worked in the same pattern: get a late start, get even further 229

behind, and do a last-minute rush to the finish line. The lion’s share of the work was always taken on by the team’s director, who, by picking up his team’s slack, became his team’s enabler. My very different leadership style frightened this animator. He wasn’t sure he could succeed on my terms, but I was certain he could. By hearing out his complaints, I was back on the road to regaining his trust. The animator and I ended up working together for another year and a half. In that time we both did our best work because we had grown and learned from each other. Long after the dust had settled he marched into my office again to tell me what a great job I was doing. I don’t think I’d ever felt more successful than at that moment. It was a success that we’d both earned. But it didn’t have to be achieved in such a rocky manner. The key is to consider people before anything else. It’s true that issues come up that need to be addressed, but we can’t blindly seek out objectives without respecting the needs and feelings of our crew. That’s what separates good leaders from bad, to paraphrase from Dave Palmer’s advice above.

THE NICK OF TIME A director I worked with had an animator under him who was argumentative, overly defensive, and occasionally rude. The problem dragged on and on. The director developed a strategy of ignoring the problem, instead of handling the situation head-on. The director let the animator blow off steam and would then tell him to take it up with the supervisor. The animator never took his complaints any further up the chain but fell into a safe routine of mouthing off to his director. To top it all off, the animator only worked half the day. The other half of the day was filled with reading comics, watching TV in the break area, or

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chatting with others. Time rolled on, and one day this animator ended up on my team. The animator’s difficult personality emerged from week one of us working together. Every note I gave the animator was battled and negotiated to the point of exhaustion. Yet my first real order of business was to get a fair day’s work out of him for a fair day’s pay. At a meeting with him in my office, I outlined the production’s daily expectations of each animator. It seemed like the message was understood. Next, I explained why we needed to work effectively together so each scene could be its best. I also asked him to tell me if there was something I was doing to contribute to the source of his frustrations. “No, everything is fine,” was his reply. No cajoling from me could get the animator to open up. Instead he reassured me that he’d do better and try harder. As the weeks passed his problem with time management improved. To my frustration, I still couldn’t get the animator to stop battling every single note, so I consulted with my supervisor. “Talk to him again,” was his advice. Fair enough. Three more meetings failed to bring the desired result. Maybe the best solution would be to do what the animator’s previous director had done: ignore the problem and give up. But that didn’t sit right with me. One day I found myself sitting in a rough-cut review with my supervisor, who had a lot of notes on a sequence by my difficult animator. They were all good notes that would undoubtedly improve the animation. My stomach was filling with knots at the idea of having to relay these notes to the animator. Suddenly I wondered why I was being this animator’s partner in a dysfunctional relationship. I was giving him a message that he wasn’t getting. The real question was why wasn’t he getting it? I hadn’t been able to find out so far but, I had a plan.

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After the rough-cut review I showed up at the animator’s cubicle wearing my jacket. “Put your coat on,” I said. “We’re going for a walk.” At first he laughed, thinking I was making a joke, and then his face filled with fear. “What’s this about?” he asked. “We’re going outside to talk,” was the only information I’d give him, and I wouldn’t answer any questions until we got outside. The elevator ride down from the fourth floor was a short one, but I think it must have been the longest ride of his life. I said to him, “You’re difficult to work with. You argue every note on your work. I’ve tried to get you to open up and explain to me what is going on. You always assure me that everything is fine and then nothing changes. And you know what? That’s okay. It’s okay because we don’t have to work together. You don’t have to work here, and I don’t have to work with you.” He was shaken. He asked me if he was being fired. “That decision is up to you,” I answered. “If you want to turn things around, then do it now. If not, then you don’t have to work here.” He finally heard me and subsequently told me about his trouble with authority and his insecurity about his work. After that, the change in the animator was the difference between night and day. He went on to finish out the season and return for the next one, his work improving by leaps and bounds. I learned that, as a director, it’s not enough to give a message; you sometimes have to find both the right message to give and the right way to give it.

GETTING THE MESSAGE Feedback on the job comes in many ways, including officially, unofficially, verbally, in writing, from peers, team members at all levels, and leadership. The responsibility to fully understand the

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message always falls on us. Later, when it’s too late, it won’t matter that we wanted to hear the message more clearly, more consistently, or with the consequences outlined. As adults, we are responsible for ourselves and should assume that feedback won’t always come to us in the most idealized manner. If we accept that, we’ll be more likely to recognize important feedback when we hear it and therefore have a chance to do something about it. There are three stages to successfully getting a message: • • •

Understanding the message. Acting on the message. Results are what matter. Words mean nothing unless they are accompanied by actions. Staying on message. Following through for the long term without sliding back to past behaviors.

Lateness and the Silent Bargain There are so many stories about chronically late employees that I don’t know where to begin. In each case, the problem was exacerbated by the employee not getting the message to come in on time. One such animation artist developed a chronic lateness problem when working as production assistant on a TV series. She was a pleasure to work with in every other way, but she just wouldn’t show up on time. It was an issue because she had key production duties to perform at the start of each day. She got several verbal warnings from two supervisors over a period of a few months. When the problem did not go away, she was finally written up and called into a meeting with the department head. At the meeting she was given the choice to come in on time for the next two weeks or not bother coming back to work after that. It sounds harsh, but the message was actually given with sensitivity and care and with the hope that she would turn it around. The message suddenly hit 233

her all at once. Happily, she turned the problem around and was on time or early from that point on. It’s now almost twenty years later and I count her as a close friend and someone I’ve personally hired on a half dozen projects, including recommending her for a couple of longterm positions, which she both landed and excelled at. Not everyone takes the opportunity for a second chance. Allowing yourself to ignore important messages is akin to playing chicken with an oncoming car. It’s a dangerous game. You have no way of knowing when your time will be up. How many chances will you get to hear a message? One should be all you need. On the surface this all seems so logical. So why do so many people go down this path? The reason is what I call a “silent bargain.” In a silent bargain, a person who is late, for instance, can think of a variety of reasons why it’s okay, even if they’ve heard messages to the contrary. In a silent bargain, one justifies their own actions to themselves: it’s okay that I’m late because I sometimes stay late, or I get all my work done anyway, or besides, everyone else is often late, too. First of all, your employer doesn’t want you to stay late. They’d rather you work the set hours of the day and anything you do beyond that is above and beyond their expectations. Besides, everything is set up, supportwise, for a set period of hours each day. Working late at night means you work without supervision, feedback, tech and HR services, and so on. Second, the excuse that you get all your work done anyway proves that you could in fact be doing more work if you weren’t late. Third, maybe other people are often late too, but you should assume that the problem is also being addressed to them. The bottom line is worry about yourself and not what other people may or may not be getting away with. If you’ve been asked to correct your lateness, get the message the first time.

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Tuning In to All the Messages Some of us have the tendency to hear what we want to hear and discard everything else. It’s called selective listening. In an extreme example of this scenario is the story of a terrific animator who blew all his deadlines while working on a TV series. The production was run very loosely with little to no consequences for late or unfinished work. In this environment, the animator, despite the fact that he always missed his deadlines, was promoted to a lead animator position. In his new role, the animator was supposed to not only finish his work but also take on work to help others. Instead, he always needed bailing out himself. His work had to be given away to other animators to finish time and time again. For a while things continued this way, but like many long-running productions, the standards and procedures changed. Less than a year later, the production tightened its process and increased its expectations of each animator, and especially for the lead animators. This lead animator was warned verbally and then in written form to speed up many times over a period of a year and a half. The expectations were made clear, yet the results were still always out of reach. Generously, the production gave the lead animator a seemingly inexhaustible amount of chances to improve. In the end, the senior staff had to admit defeat. Following a brief production hiatus, the lead animator’s contract was not renewed when work began on the next season. The lead animator was stunned. The only message that had gotten through was the promotion he received a year and a half earlier. He had tuned everything else out, with major consequences. Another lesson that can be learned from this experience is a lesson for management. Not everyone can fit our expectations. Some can do pretty spectacular work, like the case of the lead animator above. A

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smart and fast-reacting production should be able to find a way to work with such an animator to everyone’s benefit. If the issue is one of speed, why not use such an animator in a freelance capacity where he is paid on a flat rate and given only the amount of work he can handle within a set schedule. Management has to get the message, too. It’s a given that communication on the job will not always be perfect. Yet we should strive to understand each other sooner rather than later. Problems tend not to solve themselves.

LEADERSHIP STYLES TO AVOID This chapter covers some of the ins and outs of how to take and give feedback from either an entry-level or middle-management position. But what responsibility does upper management have in the mix?

Reluctant Leaders It would be easy to assume that everyone in upper management is a type A personality that wouldn’t shy away from difficult conversations, but that assumption would be wrong. Some leaders are reluctantly in their position. They like the title, salary, and influence over the projects, but managing people takes a different level of effort. So, some simply avoid doing that aspect of the job. I was a member of a leadership team when our division moved buildings. Within a few days we were all fully settled. That is, except one team. Each week, at our leads meeting, one leader complained that one of his subordinates still hadn’t unpacked any boxes. “I keep walking by his boxes, wondering when he’ll get to unpacking them,” he bemoaned week after week. This went on for months. So all of the rest of us leads got to know the offender’s name really well. But how was this solving the issue? How much more effective would it have been to talk directly to that person?

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It’s easy to see how this passive-aggressive communication style may not be the most effective.

Disruptive Leaders Another upper management fumble happened while I was working as an animation lead on an interactive animated project. The producer, design lead, and I found quick consensus on the creative plan, but we couldn’t come to an agreement with the writing lead. The writer was pulling in her own direction, and no matter how many conversations we had with her, we could never get to common ground. It wasn’t just a matter of opinion either—the writer’s plan was in conflict with the source material of the project, which happened to be a major animated feature. Unable to resolve the dispute, both sides appealed to upper management separately, and we were advised to keep talking to each other. But weeks and then months went by, and we could find no agreement. Meetings got more heated, and a huge rift opened up between the writer and the rest of us. Finally, we all complained to our leader so much that he got us in the room together. What we found out next shocked me. Our leader, whom we had each turned to for support and guidance, had been privately telling the writer to keep fighting, and without even fully understanding the issue. His actions made the writer bulletproof, but none of that could change the fact that the writer’s plan was not workable or appropriate for the project. Finally our leader understood and, with all of us watching, told the writer to follow our plan. The writer felt betrayed after having so long enjoyed unconditional support. The project could finally finish to a sensible conclusion, but the damage was done. As a result of this event, the writer grew hostile, even slamming doors and yelling at coworkers, before she was let go in a subsequent company-wide reorganization. Yes, our collective leader

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had failed us, but my teammates and I blew it too. If we were wiser we would have all gathered as a full team (including the writer) and brought our conflict to our leader together. That way we would have gotten one unified message back, and it would have avoided the bitterness and relationship damage that followed. If we were thinking as a team we would have done that.

Absent Leaders It may sound hard to believe but there are also leaders who give “no feedback.” One wonders how a leader could even choose that path. When my production team got layered under a new leader, she brought with her a manager and an associate producer to combine with my team. The associate producer reported to my new leader, but I never saw my leader manage her or give her any guidance in nearly two years of working together. Unsurprisingly, the associate producer’s career growth stalled, and she seemed to withdraw and become less enthusiastic about her job. When our leader finally moved on to another role in a different division of the company I asked her why she never met with her associate producer when everyone else in our team had weekly or biweekly one-on-ones with their direct reports. She defended herself, saying that she had offered to do one-on-one meetings, but the associate producer didn’t follow up to schedule them. I never heard of such a passive-aggressive style of managing before. Why wouldn’t a manager be the one to set up a recurring meeting with each member of her team? Perhaps reading the bewildered expression on my face, she then recounted her own career success story, spouting tales of her early years where she was the ultimate go-getter, a proactive young employee who made herself indispensable to productions and studios.

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It became clear now why she offered her associate producer zero feedback or mentorship—the associate producer had committed the crime of not being like her. So why bother mentoring someone if they are less assertive than you were at the same age? Either meet my specific expectations or sorry, “No soup for you!” (I hope it’s okay that I’m still quoting from Seinfeld.) Leaders must be leaders to their whole teams. Once our boss moved on, this associate producer was a member of my newly reorganized team, and at the time of this writing she’s already launched three shorts she developed, wrote, and produced herself—something that could never have happened during the days when she was ignored and unsupported by her boss.

Tone-Deaf Leaders It’s important that leaders learn to be open to really listening to their teams. A common trait among bad leaders is to be out of step with how their teams are actually feeling. It’s a real shame because it absolutely kills any chance for team building and greatly lowers morale. I had a leader that told me I needed to stop seeing myself as a victim, but at the same time he was blind to real issues that prevented a more inclusive environment for my team within the larger studio structure. It took him almost two years to come around to the reality that there was indeed a culture problem to fix, but I’m just grateful he finally got it. Another leader I know took any questions her team asked as a sign of negativity, so they learned to stop asking questions. It should be no surprise that her team’s morale suffered as a result. Once I was heading production on animation team when one of my producers was making a series of videos that featured a lot of on-screen text. The studio kept a proofreader on payroll, and we routed our various versions to her for notes and approvals. The only problem was the proofreader was inconsistent, sometimes catching issues and

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sometimes not. Over the three-month production cycle we were set back many times by proofreading errors. My producer and myself did our best to double-check every version of the video that went out for review from animatic to final animation, but we could only catch so much. Our expertise is animation, and we are by no means professional proofreaders. We complained about the problem many times to our leader, but she countered by putting the pressure on us. We were making the videos, so any issues in them were our responsibility. In a heated meeting we tried to tell her our position. While we agreed that we have to be able to stand by our work, we also equally need to be able to rely on others in the important roles that they play. We should be able to rely on a proofreader who is entrusted to hold that job. But our leader wouldn’t give an inch. She displayed no understanding of why we were frustrated. Ultimately, I see her point, and I think we all understood it even in that heated meeting. Yes, we are responsible for our work. The real issue was we didn’t feel heard. There was no acknowledgment that anything should or needed to be fixed outside of us just needing to be perfect from now on. She was basically telling us, I don’t manage that other person, but I can tell you to get your shit together because I manage you. Um. Okay. But as a leader she was supposed to be able to work with other team leads to find solutions and improve workflow and collaboration. She’s supposed to have those difficult conversations. It may sound like we were a bunch of complainers, but at the heart of it we really wanted to believe there was accountability in the system— that things could be fixed and that we have the support we needed to be successful. In conclusion, everyone in the workplace from interns to CEOs make mistakes giving and receiving feedback or criticism. Worker bees who make these mistakes and don’t learn from them run the risk of

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unemployment. Leaders doing the same thing run a far greater risk with a wider fallout far more difficult to measure. If you’re a leader (or an aspiring one), learn to appreciate the real opportunity you have. There’s so much to learn just by listening.

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CHAPTER 8

The Indie Circuit

“Today the only limited resource is peoples’ minds. There’s not enough hours in the day to pay attention to all the good stuff. There’s so much stuff I want to read and look at each day. There’s competition over eyeballs . . . over peoples’ attention.” —Nina Paley, animator, director, cartoonist

A still from director Nina Paley’s second indie feature film, Seder-Masochism. Nina Paley is one of the contemporary indie directors making “the good stuff.”

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perhaps the most romantic is the notion of the truly independent filmmaker. However, the term “independent” is a problematic one. If we’re going to get anywhere with this chapter we need to first establish ground rules for the term independent. Let’s agree on a definition of independent animators make some of their yearly income profiting from self-initiated shorts or features—today this likely means monetized views on distribution platforms such as YouTube or streaming revenue from such subscription platforms as Netflix or Amazon. Arguably the world’s best-known independent animator, Bill Plympton, traditionally took on commercial or sponsored work to help fund his personal projects, but his library of animated films (including seven features!) was itself another source of income when it was acquired by Shout! Factory in 2019. While Plympton saw his decades-old distribution shift from the festival circuit to online, today’s wave of indie animation superstars are online natives—such as Ross Bollinger, who makes shorts for distribution (and monetization) on his Pencilmation channel on YouTube. OF ALL THE CAREER PATHS IN ANIMATION,

There’s something in the water at Ross Bollinger’s Pencilmation YouTube channel. Image courtesy of the artist.

At the end of an interview I did with the late Oscarnominated independent animator Michael Sporn, he asked a question to himself 243

that I hadn’t asked: How dependent are you on others? This was his answer: “It would have been impossible to do what I’ve done without some enormously helpful and faithful people. There were a number of folks who worked their butts off for my projects, and I’m totally, completely, wholly grateful to them. I am my films, but my films would not have been anything without the brilliant work of a lot of other artists.” Sporn taking on collaborators even while maintaining his independence is not unique. I should point out that, both Plympton and Bollinger employ small armies to help create their films. Okay, so we know that while independents may be making the films they want to make, it doesn’t mean that they work completely alone or without creative influence from others. So the term “independent” is really a matter of how much and how often. In my animation career to date, I’ve produced an independent animated film of my own every few years. While that sounds like a lot, it has really only been a partial commitment in my life, taking third and fourth place to the priorities of a full-time job, pitching and development projects, and (most importantly) time with my family.

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Still from Michael Sporn’s Champaign, which takes the animated film to oftenunexplored territory to tackle a serious subject: Champaign, a young girl whose mother went to jail for committing murder.

There are many other animation artists, like me, who are part-time independent filmmakers. There are far fewer independents, like Ross Bollinger, who have forged a unique voice in animation while making a total commitment to their own brand identity. By comparison to most of us part-timers, the independents covered in this chapter seem all the more heroic for their devotion. Whether that entrepreneurial spirit is in us or not, there is still much we can learn from the creative examples and business models outlined in this chapter. Our hats are off to the independent spirit.

ORIGIN STORIES “I found that when I made my first film, Your Face, which was nominated for an Oscar in 1987, it made a lot of money. I thought, ‘Wow, this is great! I don’t need to work for Disney or Warner Bros. I could work for me and still make a living.’ It is possible to make a living doing independent films. Besides, I had made a living as a freelance illustrator for fifteen years before that. That was a similar lifestyle, but now it’s moving drawings instead of still ones.” —Bill Plympton, independent animator Elvis wasn’t born the King, and neither are animation artists born independent animation filmmakers. Most of them have cut their teeth working for years in the animation industry or other related commercial arts fields. Like Bill Plympton, Debra Solomon (perhaps now best known for the animation in the series Lizzie McGuire) had

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decades of success as an illustrator before making her first sequential animated drawings. Oscar-nominated stop-motion wunderkind PES (Fresh Guacamole) labored for years in advertising, acquainting himself with short, punchy films that hold your attention.

Still from Debra Solomon’s multi-award-winning first film, Mrs. Matisse. Courtesy of the artist. Mr. Matisse, eat your heart out.

PES on How He Got Started as an Independent PES is one of the world’s most sought-after directors and stop-motion filmmakers. PES’s success owes as much to his talents as a filmmaker as it does to his marketing savvy. But before I spoil all the fun, I’ll let PES explain how he got started himself:

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“I shot my first film when I was twenty-five. It was live-action and it was a short film, precisely forty-eight seconds long. It was more like a commercial than a traditional short film, with fast-paced editing and a surprise ending. “I spent seven hundred dollars on it and called in lots of postproduction favors. I had to figure it out from the ground up. I wrote it, directed it, produced it, cast it, did the costumes, built models to create my own effects in camera, and I even borrowed a 16mm camera to shoot it. My goal was to discover, in a relatively low-risk scenario, whether or not I enjoyed the process of making a film enough to continue doing it. “At the time I was working in a large advertising agency in New York City. It was my first job after college. I was a ‘creative assistant,’ in other words, a glorified secretary, to an ad executive on the creative side. This meant I had gotten my foot in the door in a fun place to work, but that was about it. I was at the bottom of the totem pole. My days were spent doing menial tasks like booking flights and making popcorn in the reception area. Stuff you could do with your eyes closed. But at least I was getting paid, and I had lots of time to devote to developing some of my own ideas. “The advertising agency was great for many things, one of which was resources. There were people, machines, tape stock, and tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of goods and services. “Another interesting thing about being in the advertising agency creative department was that I was surrounded by creative content from all over the world: commercials, short films, music videos, print advertisements, and posters. I looked at everything in my spare time and was definitely influenced by it. I was drawn to the short storytelling format of commercials. A simple idea, you’re in and you’re out. Leave a viewer with a thought, make them laugh, but more than

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anything: get their attention. Show them something they’ll never forget. The big lesson I learned from advertising is that short can be powerful. “After I made my first film (the forty-eight second Dogs of War) I promoted it to advertising press sources. I slapped a logo on the end and called it a ‘spec commercial,’ a term used in advertising to refer to commercials that were not commissioned but are useful in getting a director paying work within the industry. The press ate my film up, even though it wasn’t a commissioned job. “Calls from agents and commercial production companies looking for up-and-coming directors started coming in: What else do you have? And when can I see it? What’s your next project? Can you send me your reel? Unfortunately I had only those forty-eight seconds to my name.

Still from PES’s breakthrough stop-motion short, Roof Sex. Image courtesy of the artist. Don’t try this on your roof.

“I planned my next films. The second was another live-action short film shot in a desert that could also function as a ‘spec commercial.’ I called this idea Whittlin’ Wood. The third film was a little idea about two chairs that have sex on a New York City rooftop. It was to be an

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animation with objects. Two life-size chairs would need to be moved inch by inch on a real rooftop. I knew immediately I had to quit my job in order to make these films because I would need lots of time to shoot the second one, Roof Sex. On top of that I had to teach myself how to animate. “I took out eight credit cards and quit my job. This was a scary leap, but necessary for me. It was the moment I placed all my faith in myself and my own ideas.”

MAKING A SPLASH IN SOCIAL MEDIA Plympton and PES found their first successes on the international film festival circuit, leading to commercial opportunities. While the film festival route remains open, it’s more likely for today’s indies to selfdistribute on a platform such as YouTube. I first met Logan HuguenyClark when I spoke to his class at RISD in 2010. When I joined Disney’s Maker Studios in 2016, I was delighted to discover Logan was one of the hugely successful creators in our multichannel network (MCN), going under the name LHUGUENY. At the time I write this he has nearly three million loyal subscribers. Logan and I got to reconnect over lunch, and that’s where I first got to hear his inspiring story. Take it away, Logan:

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This pic of YouTube sensation Logan Hugueny-Clark proves that even busy YouTubers manage to get outside from time to time.

“I graduated from RISD with a degree in animation in 2010. At that point, I had no idea that it was possible to pursue an animation career on the internet. Instagram didn’t exist yet, Twitter was in its infancy, and YouTube was just testing the allowing of select creators to make money from ads placed on their videos. My plan at that point was to get my foot in the door of the television animation industry, with the dream of ultimately working my way up the ladder and eventually pitching my own concepts for an animated series. After I found a job (primarily doing lip-sync work in Adobe Flash at an animation studio), I used my spare time to make short animations of my own and started uploading them to YouTube. After about a year, in 2011, some of my animations started getting a lot of views on YouTube, and after seeing that creators were making money off of revenue from advertisements placed on there, I applied to be able to do that myself.” Logan recalls that back then you had to pitch a concept for a video series to YouTube, similar to pitching a television series; however, it was all via emails and online forms. “My first application was rejected, and I had to wait two months before reapplying, but luckily I was approved the second try. I quickly started earning better wages through YouTube than my day job working in television animation. At first, I was reluctant to give up my day job lip-syncing, as I feared that in doing so I would lose any chances of eventually creating an animated television series. But after contemplating for a few weeks, I realized that I already had my own animated show with millions of viewers, except that the means of distribution was different than what I had originally envisioned. So, on that note, I left my studio job and began producing animated content for my YouTube channel full-time.”

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Ross Bollinger, the man and the grin behind Pencilmation.

Meanwhile another animation graduate from 2010 (what is it about that year?!!), is clocking in at over seventeen million YouTube subscribers at the time of this writing. I first met Ross Bollinger when he was a student at SVA. ASIFA-East organized an event to honor the eclectic creator John R. Dilworth (Courage the Cowardly Dog), and part of the evening’s entertainment was a couple of songs by Ross Bollinger and his band. The following year, he was a senior in my career class and toiling away on his thesis film that would win the school’s highest honor, the Dusty Award for outstanding achievement in traditional animation. Ross’s film was called Pencilmation, and it was simple, well-paced, and charming as hell. Pencilmation would also become the name of his YouTube channel. Unlike Logan’s surprise at finding success on YouTube, Ross always had the platform in his sights. Ross explains, “I was always uploading videos to YouTube, and before that to Newgrounds, which was a pre-YouTube animation portal. Finding an audience online was always a goal of mine, and

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when I started working professionally, I kind of made a freelance career out of making animated videos for people—people that I also connected with through the internet. So if I wasn’t making cartoons for fun, I was working for other people making explainer videos for their businesses. I always had a sense that the opportunities provided by the internet and new media platforms were big ones. The segue from freelance corporate videos into YouTube kind of happened naturally.”

Another madcap moment courtesy of Ross Bollinger’s Pencilmation.

Ross doesn’t have experience working for mainstream animation, so he can’t say what it’s like to do that. Ross adds, “But what I do like about what I’m doing is that I’m in the position to serve the audience first and make whatever I want—to the extent that I entertain my audience. Whereas when you work for a traditional platform, they are your client and you need to please them. You have higher-level corporate forces that are affecting your creative work that are completely out of your control. A corporation may simply run out of money or decide to kill a series in its infancy when you feel like it still 252

has potential. In my case I can go out on a creative limb because I’m in full control. Again, as long as I successfully please my audience, because if I don’t do that I won’t have any revenue to produce more work. So in a sense I’m becoming just a small version of a traditional media outlet.” Logan also appreciates how feeding his YouTube channel means being able to jump right into a project without having to convince executives to green-light it. And unlike Ross, he has tried to pitch projects via the traditional mainstream path. Logan explains, “I’ve had the opportunity to pitch series concepts to executives at several television networks after my animations gained notoriety on YouTube. It was always a very long, drawn-out process that eventually had me second-guessing all my creative decisions. The further along I would get in development, the more I would steer the project in a direction that I thought would get the approval of the execs instead of what I actually wanted to do. With producing animation in new media, there’s none of that.” Of course there are downsides to depending on a single distribution platform for your livelihood. Logan reports that YouTube has changed the way that it promotes content several times over its lifetime: “When YouTube first began giving creators the opportunity to make money through advertisements on their videos, the platform was not nearly as oversaturated with content as it is today. It would promote videos to viewers based on their individual performance, and therefore you could spend a lot more time on creating a single animation. Nowadays, since there is so much content on the platform, YouTube’s automated algorithm promotes your content not just based on the performance of your individual videos but also factors in how active your channel is by how often your channel uploads content. A video is considered “new” for a seven-day period, so if you do not upload a video for more than

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seven days, your content will be featured less and less the longer time goes on. This means that you have to be producing content very quickly, which is difficult for animated channels given the heavy workload involved in producing animation.” Logan responds to this challenge by also producing B content, which is like secondary videos in between his main works. This B content might be a behind-the-scenes video documenting an animation Logan is in the midst of producing. “It doesn’t hinder or slow down production to turn on a camera while voice acting or doing a video screen capture of the character designing, background designing, or animating process. Furthermore, it builds hype for the animation itself and allows the audience to see the faces behind the animations they love, creating stronger fan loyalty,” he says.

Club life finds a way on Logan Hugueny-Clark’s YouTube channel. Image courtesy of the artist.

For Ross, the downside is that there’s no guarantee. He ponders, “I could wake up tomorrow and my channel could be deleted. Okay maybe that’s unlikely, but the YouTube algorithm could shift. Or some market force could change that would completely obliterate me. Whereas if you’re thinking in terms of traditional media like Disney or Nick, they have so many hits under their belt that they have very big revenue streams coming in that make them immune to a certain amount 254

of rockiness. They’d be able to weather a storm more easily. It’s like I’m running a startup company. I have to spend a lot of time doing things that the creator of SpongeBob didn’t have to think about, such as designing tools to forecast expenses across whatever series we’re working on, put an HR department in place so everyone is taken care of. When you’re working for a commercial studio you don’t have to think about this.” However new social media is, it’s already built up a history with heroes of its own. First in the hero department for Logan would be Jason Steele. Logan shares, “He is the creator of several bizarre yet hilarious animated shorts, the most well known of which is Charlie The Unicorn. He’s on the top of my list because he created some of the first-ever viral internet animated videos, before YouTube existed. His animations are extremely funny and original, but furthermore I find it extremely impressive that his work was able to get such widespread exposure without having a large platform like YouTube to spread it to the masses. Jason continues to publish new content on his YouTube channel FilmCow, to which I am a subscriber and frequent visitor. Daniel Baxter is another big inspiration for me. He created a very popular animated series (with Tina Alexander) called How It Should Have Ended, which parodies films, showing various alternate endings that he and his team envision. He was one of the first successful animators to emerge on YouTube and has managed to consistently produce entertaining content since the early days of YouTube.” While Logan had no trouble naming the hero pioneers in his field, Ross finds inspiration at the opposite end of the spectrum: “It’s funny, a lot of the people I look up to are actually from very old media. I look at Walt Disney, or the classic Hollywood producers like Adolf Zukor, Carl Laemmle—people who created film studios and creative organizations from nothing. They went from coin-operated

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nickelodeons to full-blown feature films, and they build that industry from nothing. In some ways the chaos of the new media environment feels similar to that.” As Logan and Ross have made clear, platforms like YouTube have given today’s indies a chance to carve their own path, born in creative independence. Ross’s advice? “Just make things. Make things you like and put them online. That’s it. There’s people out there that will find you and will look at your work. You should do it from a place of enjoyment, just focusing on things you like to make, not what you feel like people want you to make or what you’re supposed to make. Work from the heart, and you find an audience.” Meanwhile, Logan reminds, “I would say that new media animation is just as much of a legitimate career path as traditional media animation. Graduating from school and expecting to have a successful animated series from one day to the next might be a bit risky, but in my experience, odds are it will be much more feasible and likely to happen for you in new media than in traditional media. It’s also a process that you can develop and build an audience for over time, the opposite of creating animation for traditional media, the success of which often hinges on a single pitch meeting. There are a lot of jobs in new media animation now, as a lot of studios have popped up that are similar to traditional animation studios that produce television or film but produce content solely for new media platforms. Working at a studio like that can be a great opportunity to get experience and earn a steady income while simultaneously learning about what works and what doesn’t in new media while developing one’s own projects.”

DISTRIBUTION STORIES Logan and Ross use YouTube for their distribution platform, but what are the full range of possibilities independent filmmakers use to get

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their work out there so it can be seen and recognized by their peers and potential clients? Films are generally distributed the following ways, via: • • • •

Social media distribution platforms: YouTube, Instagram, Facebook, Vimeo, Twitter, TikTok Personal websites Film festivals Online streaming licensing agreements (such as Plympton’s library of films on Shout! Factory).

Ross Bollinger has focused on YouTube because that’s where the money is. In the future, the animator would like to expand, but in the short term it’s YouTube. How does he make money on YouTube? Ross answers, “It’s not that unlike making money through traditional platforms. The main revenue streams are advertising, just as TV has commercials, a YouTube channel gets paid to run ads on their videos. The big difference is new media platforms pay a lot less per view for their ads than traditional platforms.” Prior to YouTube (where the PES channel has nearly four million subscribers at the time of this writing), PES’s primary method of distribution is self-distribution via his personal website, the still active and thriving pesfilm.com. PES explains: “An early important decision I made was to create a website where my films could have a home. Sarah Phelps, then my girlfriend (now my wife), was key in this process. She learned basic HTML, and we put it up ourselves in a couple of weeks. I called it EatPES. com, and I offered my films up for free. The idea was to do something simple, focusing on the work. On my website I posted my short animations along with Roof Sex. Roof

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Sex drew thousands of people to my site instantly, since it already had a life of its own. “Traffic on my site began to climb over the following months, completely by word of mouth. People came to the site looking for Roof Sex and discovered a body of work, lots of ideas, and executions. Films I had made two years before were now seen in the context of everything else I had made. This is very valuable to people out there because you suddenly leap from being a one-hit wonder in the public’s eye to an artist with a particular style and distinct point of view. This ‘fingerprint’ is really the most valuable asset you have. It’s what makes people want to work with you.” In past decades, animation festivals could have been called the lifeline of the independent animation filmmaker, providing opportunities for films and filmmakers to get noticed. To the present day, festivals provide a common ground and point in time in which filmmakers from all over the world can gather to share ideas, inspiration, and complaints. To the independent animator, festival play can lead to distribution deals, funding to complete projects, and commercial job offers. Not surprisingly, festivals play the most important role in Bill Plympton’s career: “For me, most of my money comes from selling the films to the markets in the different countries. The buyers go to the major film fests such as Toronto, Sundance, and Annecy. I go to these fests partially as a business opportunity.” As much as festivals can still be a vital boost to some indies, they are not a fit for everyone. Just ask Atlanta-based independent animator Joanna Davidovich, who fell out of love with film festivals when she tried to hit the festival circuit with her short Monkey Rag (2013). She explains, “It was a very emotionally and financially draining process to make any kind of impact at film festivals. They didn’t know what to do with me. Since then I’ve been on the jury of several film festivals, so I

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now know what a crazy process it really is. There’s so much to parse through. You don’t really have the time to pay much attention, I hate to say. So my silly little cartoon slipped through the cracks because it just looked like a cartoon, and that’s not what film festivals are generally looking for—honestly, they want somebody to die. ‘Did somebody die in it?’ If so, it must be meaningful and deep. Someday I want to make a film festival film with every trope that film festivals love, and it will take over the film festival circuit. I don’t think I’ll do the film festival thing again, unless somebody asks to screen a film, but I’m not going to pour thousands of dollars into it like I did before.”

A slice of homelife from Joanna Davidovich. Image courtesy of the artist.

Building on Joanna’s point, there’s also a lot of poorly run and useless festivals that are happy to take your entry fees and waste your time. Such festivals score no press, can’t fill seats, and can be clueless when it comes to programming and scheduling. If you want to try to separate the good from the bad, definitely check out Chris Gore’s Ultimate Film Festival Survival Guide, and, of course, talk to filmmakers and ask them about their experiences. For PES, festival success was fast and furious: “Annecy 2002 is when my life started to change. Roof Sex took a top prize for best first film at Annecy. Overnight it became one of the most talked about films

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in the world. When we returned home to New York the fax machine was flooded with papers, and my first instinct was, ‘What the hell happened here?’ But it turned out to be licensing agreements for Roof Sex. Television stations all over the world had seen Roof Sex at Annecy and wanted to run it. Better yet, they were offering to pay. I was dazzled by the requests; there was a genuine desire out there for short content. It confirmed everything I had been feeling when I first decided that short and memorable was the way to go.”

PES on the set of his short Roof Sex. Image courtesy of the artist.

Some filmmakers use representatives; companies or individuals that rep their films for a set contracted percentage fee and length of time. Academy Award–winning independent animator John Canemaker (The Moon and the Sun) has found successful film distribution through Phoenix Films, Bernice Coe, Charles Samu, and Jane Balfour; by Milestone/Image Entertainment; and more recently on Amazon Prime video streaming. “So I have made money over the years, but I really don’t know how much. The films were never made for money anyway, but for my own personal expression and satisfaction,” says Canemaker.

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Specialized educational online platforms might license your animated shorts too. This author’s breakthrough indie film, Good Morning (2007), animated to a terrific song written by my pal Bob Charde, enjoyed a healthy festival run around the world and years of cable broadcast on Nick Jr. before finally securing a license agreement at Speakaboos, a popular reading app for kids. For a film I spent ten days on in 2007, it’s kind of shocking how long a life it’s had.

Still from John Canemaker’s Oscar-winning autobiographical film The Moon and the Son. Image courtesy of the artist. Canemaker is also the author of many essential animation books, as well as being a professor and animation area head at the New York University Tisch School of the Arts.

When Bob Charde and I signed with Speakaboos, we had the benefit of knowing an executive there to help us feel comfortable making the deal. With all the deals he’s signed over the years, Plympton has learned to look out for certain things. “I think one of the things you should be aware of is if someone buys the rights to show your film and they don’t release it within a year, you should get the rights back. They may have paid you some money, but it’s very disappointing to not have your film out there. Before making a deal with someone, ask who else they’ve made deals with. Then call those people up to get feedback. Did the company pay their bills and honor their agreements? If they are 261

a reputable company they will give you names of their clients,” Plympton advises. As mentioned earlier, one media company that must have measured up to Plympton’s standards is Shout! Factory. On July 10, 2019, they announced their acquisition of the Bill Plympton Library (seven features and over fifty shorts), securing digital and broadcast rights in North America. Pass the popcorn and save me a good seat on the couch.

BILL PLYMPTON’S THREE RULES FOR SUCCESS, AND WHAT MAKES A BREAKTHROUGH SHORT BREAK THROUGH? With two Academy Award nominations to date, seven independent, fully animated feature films, and numerous screenings of his work on television and at festivals under his belt, Bill Plympton knows a thing or two about being a successful independent. Go to an international festival such as Ottawa or Annecy, and you’ll see how Plympton’s reputation goes way beyond these shores, ensuring his place as the world’s leading independent animation filmmaker. To help us capture some of that lightning in a bottle, Plympton offers up his three rules to follow to be a successful independent: “One: make short films (less than five minutes). It’s weird to say, because I also do long feature films, but when you do short films you really have to make them short. For some reason ten, fifteen, or twenty minutes is very hard to sell. Film festivals don’t want to show films that long. Theater owners don’t want to show long short films. Buyers don’t want to buy short films over five minutes. Why do a big opus short film when you can do a short film in half the time and it will be easier to sell? “Two: make them cheap. Keep the budget under $2,000 a minute. If you’re gonna use a lot of fancy digital effects or fancy music it will be 262

harder to make your money back. “Three: make them funny. I don’t know why, but when people see animation they want to laugh. Certainly there are exceptions. A film like Father and Daughter (Michael Dudok de Wit) won an Oscar and was nine minutes and did a lot of sales. But generally speaking, if you do a funny film it will be a lot easier to sell it. The classic example I bring up a lot is [Marv Newland’s] Bambi Meets Godzilla. He did it in a weekend. There were twelve drawings in the film. It’s a minute and a half. It cost $500. It’s gone on to make $100,000. It’s still making money. It’s in, like, every compilation.” If Plympton’s “three rules” can be taken as a business plan to become a successful independent, what about the content of the films themselves? Just what is it that makes a breakthrough short break through? As veteran filmmaker Candy Kugel of Buzzco Associates Inc. says, the recipe for a breakthrough short can be rather elusive: “Is it luck? Timing? The audience? We don’t know if we’ve made our ‘breakthrough short,’ since they’re all different. A Warm Reception in L.A. premiered at Annecy in 1987, where it was in the last half of the last showing. We got no feedback from it at the time, and, although we liked the film and were proud of it, it took a few more festivals before we heard the compliments. When I was at Annecy two years later, I kept on being introduced as the director of the ‘classic’ short, Warm Reception! Since all the films are different in style, tone, and message, we have had a variety of successes and failures, and at this point I’m not sure what it is that compels us to continue making films since both recognition and prizes seem so unpredictable and quirky. Don’t get me wrong, they’re nice, but they can’t be the motivation for making a film.”

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Still from Buzzco Associates Inc. short A Warm Reception in L.A. Image courtesy of the artist.

In my part-time indie career I struggled for years to make films that might connect with audiences, but it wasn’t until I tapped into personal experiences and feelings that I found my voice and made work that resonated with others. While I’ve been making films since I was twelve years old, it wasn’t until I reached my early thirties that I finally started making the films that represent what I want to say. Thankfully my livelihood didn’t depend upon them being successful, and even when they weren’t, they still contributed to my career path as a professional writer/director. But the films themselves were nothing to brag about, and maybe that’s why I never really entered many festivals or worked very hard at promotion. Deep down I knew these weren’t award winners. At best they were my attempts to show various producers and executives that I wanted to be seen as a potential TV cartoon creator. That goal was paramount in my mind, far dwarfing any plans to tell my own stories my way. It’s the difference between trying to be a “me too,” versus an “I am,” and I sadly chose the former for many years. I started turning around my botched indie career in 2007 with the cheerful one-minute short Good Morning, which was a tribute to my mother who had just passed away. But the breakthrough element of Good Morning was not the film’s multiple successes in the market. It was simply the fact that I had finally made something for me.

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INDIES FOR DUMMIES “On independent films you give yourself a deadline. . . . It could be flexible to some degree, but if you don’t give yourself a deadline you could work forever on something . . . or never start it. But it’s hard to finish. You can start something, but how do you keep going? That’s one thing I’m proud of. I can do that.” —John R. Dilworth, independent animator and creator of Courage the Cowardly Dog

Still from John R. Dilworth’s independent film Life in Transition. Image courtesy of the artist.

I’ve noticed a trend. Most folks that make independent animated films do so because it’s in their system. Chances are they start experimenting with animation early in life, before film or art school. These are the filmmakers who were making films (or something quite like films) before there was a grade attached to it. It’s easy to see how these folks

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go on to make their own independent productions in their postschool years. After talking to many independent filmmakers over the years and going through the struggles myself, I thought I’d round up some helpful hints that might give you a leg up in sticking with a project and making it as smartly as you can. The list below focuses mostly on the rigors of making a narrative film, but I think much of this would still be applicable to experimental work.

Invent Your Process! If you’ve got a traditional narrative film, you may want to follow the usual production path: do an outline, thumbnail sketches, a board, and an animatic. But you also have the option to eliminate stages you don’t need. My film Grandpa Looked Like William Powell skipped the storyboard and animatic stage, allowing me to jump right into finished animation. Figure out the process you need because the choices you make can help unlock creativity. I was aiming for a spontaneous feeling in my film, so abandoning the structure that boards and an animatic would have imposed allowed me to tap into that.

Make Your Project Doable! When I was at the School of Visual Arts, there was a fellow student who was going to make the Citizen Kane of animation. He was going to use real smoke bombs and fire to help pull off the realism needed for his twenty-minute opus. All of this before he knew how to animate a bouncing ball. Guess what? The film was never made, and the student vanished from the animation department altogether. Keep your project manageable (the longer your project will take you, the less likely it is

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that you will be able to see it through). Life has a way of throwing up obstacles.

Know When to Say “When!” Remember the classic Walter Lantz short in which Smedley the dog kept offering Chilly Willy the Penguin “more butter . . . more syrup” on his pancakes? Well, Chilly didn’t know when to say “when,” but you can. Since, ultimately, you’re the one you’re trying to please, you must also be the voice of reason and be able to move on after completing something. You could work on something in one stage forever, so set your standard or goal for a particular phase and recognize when you’ve reached it. Also, film festival deadlines work as great incentives to complete your film by a certain date.

Utilize Your Natural Improvement Curve When Working Unless you are Michelangelo, chances are you will have room for improvement and will get better as you go. So avoid the trap of having to redo all your previous work by not working start to finish. Work this way all through production (even in stages like inking or creating backgrounds), and you will end up with a much more unified piece.

Collaborate with Others to Improve Your Production Just because you can do everything yourself doesn’t necessarily mean that it would be best for your production. On the same note, don’t do your own voice-over work unless you are the best possible choice. I can do as many funny voices as the next guy, but that doesn’t make me an actor. When you animate to a great voice track it gives you lots of 267

ideas from the actor reading the dialogue. Remember, you can’t hang a good performance on a bad track.

Show Your Work to a Circle of Friends at Each Stage of Production Make sure these friends are professionals whom you respect, not your family cat or your hairstylist. Your circle of friends will have a fresh eye that only distance can ensure. Chances are they can find areas that you may have taken for granted in being so close to your project, although not everything you hear will be useful to you or in the direction you want to go. Don’t forget that you’re still making your film. You don’t want to end up with a film made by committee.

Use the “Little Elves” Production Style I think many projects get abandoned when one realizes the huge amount of work required to complete a film. It can be very daunting. However, if you whittle away at it for a few hours, a few nights a week, you’ll be surprised by how much you can accomplish. I call it the “little elves” production style because the next day, when you look at last night’s work, it seems like little elves must have worked on it through the night. If real little elves actually show up in your home, contact an exterminator right away.

Test the Specs of Your Finished Film Early On Don’t go too far in the animation stage until you do a small test, taking one scene all the way through to final composite. Take careful note of what works and what doesn’t. This can save you a lot of wasted time.

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Don’t Listen to Hype about Better Software It’s common to hear, “You could do your film faster in another program.” Yet you should do what works for you. While there are time savers around, animation is, by its very nature, a tedious and timeconsuming thing. Exploring software or programs takes time too (not to mention additional expense). That may be a venture best undertaken when you’re between projects. Then you can start a project specifically to test your new software skills. I just blew your mind, didn’t I?

Show Your Final Cut to an Editor Before Calling Your Film Finished This is your last chance to get an objective and trained eye on your work in key areas like continuity, screen direction, pacing, and so forth. You’re going to have to live with this film for the rest of your life, unless you’re George Lucas. To that point, avoid the trap of wanting to go back and redo/revise your earlier works (student or otherwise). Your older works represent where you were at the time, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Now you are in a different place as a human being and a filmmaker. What will you gain by revisiting an old ghost? You have much more to gain by doing something new.

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The talented Willy Hartland drew these storyboards for my film Turning a Corner, and the wonderful composer Bob Charde created an experimental soundtrack for me by playing the inside of a piano.

Collaborate with a Composer/Sound Designer This can be more or less critical depending on the nature of your film. But usually you will benefit greatly by working with a pro to compose a score specially made for your film. Go to any animation festival, and after a while you’ll experience a feeling of disconnectedness watching the films on the screen. I suspect that occurs because a lot of animators don’t respect the role of the soundtrack as much as they should. Sound is half the experience. So much of the pathos, humor, storytelling, and drama will only come out with the correct score.

Exploit Your Connections and Cash in Old Favors

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In big Hollywood moviemaking, no one spends her own money. Our indie equivalent to that would be to develop mutually beneficial relationships with other craftspeople that can work on our projects for free or below cost. Hey, one day you’ll help them too, right? Films shouldn’t cost too much today anyway—the biggest expense is the time you’ll spend working on it.

THE BETTER THE DRAWER One thing that has allowed me to develop my voice as a filmmaker is the notion that animated films don’t have to be about fine draftsmanship, although they could be. In other words, animated films don’t have to be about animation. It’s sounds almost like blasphemy, doesn’t it? But it’s really the idea that conveying a feeling or saying something is more important than perfect craft. Remember that master Disney animator Glen Keane animated Ariel and the Beast with a powerful and emotional tangle of lines that his wonderful assistants at Walt Disney Feature Animation had to tie down to what you see in the final film. Now that Keane has gone from industry to indie, the roughand-raw pencil animation in his Oscarwinning short Dear Basketball (2017) is no longer a step in the process—it is the film. The twice-Oscar-nominated Canadian indie Cordell Barker (The Cat Came Back, Strange Invaders) believes, “The better the drawer, the more the drawing seems to be of the most importance. But I think that it’s the least important of all [aspects]. The simpler the design, the more auteur the feel. The more slick and sophisticated the attempt, the less of a personal brand.” I’m in firm agreement with Cordell, especially since I can’t make sophisticated drawings. So there’s no way that perfect drawings could ever be the point of one of my films. What a liberating idea for any level of artist. Imagine if you gave yourself permission to draw what

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felt right versus what had to be slick or polished? Isn’t that the opportunity of the indie animated film in a nutshell?

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CHAPTER 9

Surviving Unemployment

“A helping hand” in the final scene of my twenty-six-minute animated documentary film Camp Story.

in between jobs, sabbatical, hiatus, furlough—an animation artist is bound to experience multiple lags in employment. This chapter is like a sister to chapter 5, which can be read as preventive medicine to help ward off downtime, or at least reduce it by the following ideas: NO MATTER WHAT YOU CALL IT—LAYOFF, DOWNTIME,

•

•

Initiate your own creative projects (films/paintings/sculptures, etc.) Not only can these projects open doors and opportunities to you, they can also help you avoid being creatively stereotyped. Engage in self-promotion (social media/portfolio sites, etc.).

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• • • • •

Enhance your marketable skills; learn new software, improve your life drawing. Take on freelance. The idea is to work when there is work. Network: attend animation events, maintain connections, and make new ones. Volunteer: join up with volunteer animation organizations like ASIFA and Women in Animation. Build up your reels/portfolios on a weekly basis.

In an interview for this book, a longtime industry vet told me, “You can never change factors outside your control, such as how many shows the networks are looking to buy one year, or which ad agencies have lost which accounts.” An animation artist on The Simpsons adds, “Most of the time you know how long projects will last, but the only downer is when a company pulls the plug on a production, and you get no warning time to plan your next move.” While these events are rare (I’ve only seen it happen five or six times in my twenty-five-year career to date) it does happen. On the other side of the coin, it is empowering to think how much you can control. You decide how much effort you put out there, where you focus your energy, and how it all pushes you forward into the career of your choice. As the old song goes, ‘Let the rest of the world go by.’” One of the primary goals of this book is to paint careers in animation as realistically as possible. Realistically, you can expect to experience some amount of downtime sooner or later since much of the work in this industry is project to project. For this business that’s normal. Now try explaining that to friends and loved ones working outside of the field. Some years back, I had just been through a ten-month blitz of freelancing for five different clients on TV pilots, series, and a feature-

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film documentary. I worked many seven-day weeks and lots of late nights. At the end of this whirlwind of work, I landed a year-long directing gig, complete with health-care benefits. A few weeks into this new job, I was having dinner with some old nonindustry childhood friends. At dinner, they congratulated me on “finally” getting work. It was odd because the last ten months of freelance sure felt like work to me. In the animation industry, we sometimes go from job to job, and that’s normal. Maybe with today’s gig economy, our nonindustry friends will finally be able to relate.

DRY SPELLS At the time of this writing, I have been working for twenty-five consecutive years straight since my last “break,” not even with one week between jobs (insert superstitious knock on wood here). So far, the downtime I have experienced was all within my first two years in the industry. During that time I was without work for a total of four and a half months. I expect that there will be more periods of downtime in my future. There are many different reasons why downtime occurs. I asked some experts on downtime (typical animation artists) to find out how long they were unemployed and why. For one Toronto-based storyboard artist/animator, there were three major factors in her four months of nonwork: “It began as a gamble with contracts. I ended one job when I could have gone on longer with that company, and likely eased into the next project, but I wanted to move on to something else that didn’t pay, but gave me a great creative experience. I had been getting a decent amount of job offers up until then, so I took a chance and assumed it would be easy to jump back into work after my volunteer job was done. That was the first factor: gambling.

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“The second factor: I didn’t know Adobe Animate, and was quite defiant about learning it. I think there was a little bit of pride involved there. I was a snobby, purest, classical jerk. I was getting Adobe Animate offers, but didn’t know the program (but I also didn’t realize it would only take me a week to learn). “The third factor: ethics. Halfway through my big dry spell, I got a couple of offers that would have been great, creative opportunities, but on very ‘adult’ shows. For my own reasons, and for the integrity of some of my other independent work, which screens at churches and summer camps, and is aimed at young teens who are, in their nature, very impressionable, I just couldn’t have my name show up in something like these ‘adult’ shows. I had to make some tough decisions. So some of the lack of work was by choice.” One New York–based animation artist experienced downtime as a result of moving to Boston: “I was out of work for about three months and was learning how to use Adobe Animate while waiting for something to open up at one of the two animation studios in Watertown.” A San Francisco–based animator specifically planned to be unemployed for two years to free up time to work on her indie feature. Sometimes global events out of our control may affect employment opportunities. Many New York animation artists found themselves without any significant work up to ten months after the terrorist attacks on September 11, 2001. One animator reported, “There wasn’t any work to be found. I survived off of savings and unemployment, and living very cheaply. It was my first big dry spell, so I had no idea that it would ever end.” Another New York animation artist I spoke with was similarly impacted, remembering that as far as she knew there weren’t any productions or even commercials being green-lit. She recalls, “It was

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basically a drought in the biz. I ate a lot of grilled cheese sandwiches and just stayed indoors so I wouldn’t be tempted to spend money. I didn’t really try looking outside of animation, thinking that some project would pop up sooner rather than later, of course not knowing that it would take almost a year for things to turn around.” Unthinkable acts of terrorism (or worldwide pandemics) aside, a Los Angeles–based animation director explains, “In a long career in animation you may go several months without a project, and in good times you may have to juggle overlapping jobs. In lean years you may go months at a stretch without a project, and other times work several years at a time on one series without a break.”

USING THE TIME OFF EFFECTIVELY My worst (to date) dry spell lasted three and a half months and came during the worst possible timing: my job suddenly ended with only a two-day notice. Happily, I was eligible for unemployment. Unfortunately, the unemployment office put a hold on my claim, and as a result, I didn’t get any checks from them until two months later. The layoff hit two days after moving into my first apartment. On top of everything else it was my birthday, and just days later the woman I was seeing dumped me. Oh, and I burned the roof of my mouth on some hot pizza, and for a few minutes it was really uncomfortable. Each week I went on several informational interviews, and the timing was always terrible. Positions had either recently been filled, or studios were just finishing projects. My only salvation was in working on a personal film, my first postschool project, Snow Business. Each day I’d wake up at eight and be hard at work on my film by ten in the morning. Working on the film gave me something productive to do between making calls and appointments for more interviews. The film also provided me with fresh samples to show.

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Indie director Nina Paley, whom I had the pleasure of interviewing on stage following a screening of her film Sita Sings the Blues at NYC’s IFC Theatre. Image courtesy of the artist.

In a job interview you inevitably get asked what you’re working on now. Snow Business allowed me to answer that I was working on my own independent film project. That sounds a lot better than saying that you’re waking up at noon and munching potato chips while binging The Mandalorian for the eighth time. However good it sounded to mention my own film, it felt even better to work on it. It was the perfect way to keep my skills up while getting a psychological boost in morale. Animator and cartoonist Nina Paley agrees: “Make a film. Or do something else creative that you love. There’s making a living, and then there’s living. Making art is living. Self-initiated independent films have been virtually my entire career.”

NETWORKING Networking is like your own shadow; you can’t escape it. Chapter 10 covers networking from top to bottom, but we’ll do a quick survey here 278

because networking is something that should be done year-round, in times of work and times of unemployment. Since the most effective networking happens all year long you should not wait until you are unemployed to begin. Downtime affords us the luxury of having time available to devote to networking. Why not get creative and have some fun experimenting in how you network? There will never be a better time to try something new. Storyboard artist Rachel Peters, who is currently getting her master of fine arts degree at OCAD University, got inspired by treating finding her job, through networking, as her job: “I had a lot of fun marketing myself, mailing creative things to companies, fine tuning the art of being memorable but not annoying. If anything, some companies wanted to interview me just to talk to me, whether they had work or not. That was fun, and it built some relationships. You never know when that will come in handy in the future. And if not for a job, new friends are nice, too.” Animation artist and filmmaker Fran Krause, who also teaches at CalArts and is currently storyboarding on Cartoon Network’s The Fungies, recommends networking through animation organizations: “ASIFA has kept me from going stir-crazy by providing job leads and good friends. I think just meeting people that you can find work from in the future is a good idea.” An animation artist on The Simpsons who is also a member of ASIFA agrees: “On one or more occasions, an employer has recognized my name through said organization, and this helped give me a leg up on my competition. You never know who’s hiring.” Perhaps the most fun networking suggestion comes from animator and graphic designer Mira Scharf, who is the former motion graphics designer and content manager for the Disney digital billboard in Times Square, NYC: “Some friends and I once had a big party since we were

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unemployed and had the time. It turned out to be a great networking event and some people found jobs.” Rachel Peters did the occasional minimum-wage “normal” jobs to get by, sold some artwork, and worked at a donut shop for one and a half days before quitting to go to an animation studio’s Christmas party, where she later found her next animation job: “I wouldn’t advise that people quit their ‘normal’ jobs for animation parties. This just happened to work for me.” Downtime is something you shouldn’t experience alone. Networking keeps you close to the action, which is not only helpful mentally but can also help you land your next gig.

HIATUS SURVIVAL GUIDE A decade ago the animation crew behind Nick Jr.’s Team Umizoomi, a New York–based production, began a year-long hiatus between seasons. In this scenario, work was interrupted for a set amount of time, and the crew disbanded, free to explore other opportunities—with the usual result of not everybody being available to return once production resumes. In the case of Team Umizoomi, some of this talented bunch instantly snapped up freelance work, and at least one, the talented animator Andy Kennedy, used the time to finish an amazing indie stop-motion short, Accumulonimbus. I suspect others on that team have simply taken a few weeks or months to catch their breath and enjoy some rare freedom. But after a while unchecked freedom can equal boredom and wasted opportunity. Don’t get me wrong, everyone is entitled to a break, but defining that amount of time up front might be a good first step to making the most of such a long hiatus.

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Still from Andy Kennedy’s short film Accumulonimbus, which he made during a hiatus from his job. Image courtesy of the artist.

When faced with a hiatus you can make three assumptions. One, at best, you’ll have the chunk of time off with no pay to do with as you see fit. Two, the series could be canceled during the hiatus, resulting in no job to return to. Three, even if the series resumes, the hiatus could be longer than the original estimate. All three scenarios are possible and remind me to be my own advocate. This simply means look for work and create my own projects, and all under the presumption that the worst-case scenario could happen. With that, I’d be prepared for just about any outcome and would have used my time wisely.

PEP TALK CORNER Everyone experiences downtime sooner or later, from recent graduates to seasoned and successful show creators. Those with years of experience in the business become inadvertent experts on how to best deal with a bad situation. However, a pep talk, from anyone, would be flat without some concrete applicable advice. As usual, the animation professionals donating their expertise to this book did not let us down. Here’s what the experts had to say. It may just put a little pep in your step.

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Comic-Con and ASIFA-Hollywood brought Animation Superstars to your home via this July 2020 event with a who’s who of LA animation, each one giving great advice.

“You can volunteer at events. If you can’t afford the cost of admission, you can volunteer and then you’ll get to do some of the things, and you might even get to meet and interact with the VIPs. Even volunteering at the ASIFA-Hollywood Annie Awards, checking people in, you’d get to meet some people. If you’re on the East Coast, the Ottawa International Animation Festival is really close. But when in line—talk to each other. Yeah, you’re waiting to get Pen Ward to sign your

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book but you might be standing by the next Pen Ward or J. G. Quintel or an Alex Hirsch.” —Brooke Keesling, head of animation talent development at Bento Box Entertainment LLC “I’ll admit that I’ve felt jealousy at the success of others, but I found it is possible to be jealous and still happy for someone else. In the famous words of Cardi B: ‘Don’t be a “why-her-and-not-me” type of bitch. Be a “how-can-I-getnext-to-that-bitch” type of bitch. Be a “shit-well-if-she-cando-it-then-I-can-do-it-too” type of bitch.” —Ruth Baraz, storyboard revisionist, Disney TVA

Some little mermaids with bite by Ruth Baraz. Image courtesy of the artist.

“I might recommend coming up with some kind of personal project, even if it’s just artwork that one displays on their Instagram—something to show off the range of your

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abilities. If you’re waiting for that one project to find you that is going to showcase your abilities, it’s not going to come faster than you creating that opportunity for yourself.” —Chris Moreno, art director (Muppet Babies) “You’ve also got to be willing to walk away from an environment or task that is toxic to you and your future. For goodness sake, be friendly and respectful of others. If you are starting out and find yourself having to take a job outside of the industry to survive, keep your chops alive by producing your own animations. Keep them small and short in scope so you can achieve it. The important thing is to keep your hands wet. Don’t take time off, jump right in, don’t lose the momentum.” —Dawn Fidrick, producer at Griffith Observatory “Learn to expect downtime. It happens, and if you stick to it, work will come back eventually. It could take a long time, though. In the meantime, keep animating independently to stay sharp. Try to learn new skills.” —Fran Krause, storyboard artist at Cartoon Network, associate director at CalArts “Don’t give up. If animation is really what you want to do, no matter what, then it’ll happen because you’ll make it happen, whether you’re conscious of it or not. I’ve seen a lot of people give up or opt out of the business when times get rough. Perhaps animation wasn’t what was coursing through their veins and that’s fine. Some need stability more than 284

anything else, and they won’t find that in animation. Everyone needs to be happy, in whatever capacity works for them.” —Toni Tysen, character layout artist (The Simpsons) “I love keeping myself open to new opportunities and chances to grow and learn. When I know someone is developing something that is unfamiliar to me, I take the time to Google, read, and learn as much as I can about the subject and process so that if there is an opportunity that opens up, I’m able to take it!” —Ezra Edmond, animation producer, the Walt Disney Company “The internet has created so many opportunities for animators today in terms of both jobs and exposure and it’s really fun to see! In addition to traditional TV and commercial jobs there are opportunities in web series and indie games. A former colleague of mine created her own YouTube channel and now makes a bunch of her own shorts.” —Angela De Vito, animator (Home: Adventures with Tip & Oh) “It can be very psychologically stressful to not have work. Find your identity outside of what you do. Know that even the best of us have lulls. I’ve seen it many times, and sometimes it’s just due to bad timing. Even if prospective employers say they don’t have work for you, believe them if they complement your work. They don’t have to be nice, or

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even respond to you, so when they give you compliments, they’re probably being sincere. Don’t be too proud to work a ‘normal’ job, but don’t get too comfortable in it.” —Rachel Peters, storyboard artist (Mysticons)

A sketch by Angela De Vito for #vamptober. Image courtesy of the artist.

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Illustration by Gabby Zapata. Although we both work for the same division at Disney, we hadn’t met until we were guests of the Pixelatl Festival in Mexico, proving that it’s a small world after all.

“Don’t get discouraged. There are a lot of us out there and someone out there will be bound to find you! Be present in social media and the number one rule: don’t be a jerk. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen potential applicants ruin their chances all because they have been known to not work well with others, etc.” —Gabby Zapata, senior visual development lead artist, the Walt Disney Company “I’d say always be open to trying new things and posting your animations online. Don’t hide your work, no matter how silly, serious, mainstream, or off the wall you think it is. The internet, its trends, and its billions of viewers are extremely unpredictable and you never really know what will be popular next. The first video that went viral for me and kicked off my career in new media was the last thing that I thought would take off, but it did.” —Logan Hugueny-Clark, producer and director, YouTube channel LHUGUENY “While I might be ‘in’ the business I still feel I have a lot of steps left to climb. Sometimes it can feel intimidating when you look ahead at all the steps ahead of you, and it helps to sometimes stop to turn around to appreciate all the steps you have already climbed along the way.”

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—Eric Miller, CEO, executive producer at Eric Miller Animation Studios and Moonward Studios “I would say to just calm down and compose yourself. Then I would say go out there and make something happen, nobody’s going hire you if you sit at home feeling sorry for yourself. I would also say to study your competition and play to your strengths.” —Danny Kimanyen, animation artist (Stretch Armstrong & the Flex Fighters) “It’s easy to be brash when your first job is at a big studio, and it’s important to humble yourself knowing how unpredictable the animation industry can be. Always appreciate the opportunities you get and never take them for granted.” —Alexander Santa Cruz, writer, storyboard artist

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Alexander Santa Cruz makes music in his wonderful sketches. Image courtesy of the artist.

“I love freelancing and have done a lot of it. It is the best feeling when I get to work for a studio on the other side of the country, all the while in my pajamas. As long as you have the free time and the workstation setup at home, you can freelance. I have built great relationships with clients, and they reach out to me when new things come up. Being kind to others is very important and has led to others recommending me for opportunities.”

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—Josh Pinker, animator (My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic)

THE INSPIRATION DEPARTMENT: KNOW YOUR HEROES I taught the School of Visual Arts Animation Career class from 2003 to 2012 and began with a little game I liked to call Know Your Heroes. This encouraged the class to learn the rich history of animation and the names of those who continue to help shape the craft, the art, and the industry. To play Know Your Heroes, I asked the students a series of questions, the answers to which hopefully helped them discover each other’s heroes. Correct answers were rewarded with animation swag (prizes of posters, DVDs, toys, books, stickers, etc.). This sort of “game show” got the blood pumping at the start of each class. Knowing the history of your medium is not just a trivial pursuit. To be inspired to create something new and meaningful in this industry we need to know the achievements of the past as well as the innovation of today. Downtime might just be when we need this inspiration most. None of the animation artists interviewed for this book had any trouble naming their heroes. “I love what Dice Tsumi and Robert Kondo have done, I think they are pushing their art and the industry with their innovative studio practices. I also really admire Kevin Dart for similar reasons, I love that he came up with such a unique style that really shifted the look of modern cartoons. Some really unique designers that inspire me are Annette Marnat, Claire Wendling, Robin Joseph, Tuna Bora, Sylvain Marc . . . the list is long but I think there’s certain designers who are

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always pushing for something new and those keep me coming back.” —Andrea Fernandez, art director (The Cuphead Show!, Unikitty!) “Don Bluth, Gary Goldman, and John Pomeroy, the producing team for the old Bluth studio, were tremendous influences on me. They self-sacrificed, fought for a vision, and rallied a team to often do the impossible. They gave many people opportunities, including myself. Those are unsung heroes of this business. I hope that they find their rightful place in the history books for reinvigorating a great American art form that almost died thirty years ago.” —David J. Steinberg, senior vice president, production, Nickelodeon Animation Studios “Some of my favorite board artists are people I’ve worked with and I keep copies of my favorite boards that they’ve done to use for inspiration. Barry Caldwell is one of them, a great board artist that I worked with on Pinky and the Brain. Sharon Bridgeman, another brilliant board artist, has worked in TV and features. Sharon is incredibly funny and talented. Rob Davies, who I worked with at Warner Bros., is hysterical and just such a great artist. Rob is one of the creators of Atomic Cartoons animation studio in Canada, and the show Atomic Betty on Cartoon Network.” —Diane Kredensor, creator (Ollie & Moon) “I was always super inspired by the shows I grew up with like Powerpuff Girls and Dexter’s Laboratory. Some of my

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biggest creative inspirations, however, came from early internet animations like Homestar Runner and ancient flash animations. It was really motivating to see how many hilarious cartoons could be made by random people online, which made me feel that even I could make a whole animation by myself.” —Alexander Santa Cruz, writer, storyboard artist “My storyboard heroes are Bill Peet, Brad Bird, and Ted Boonthanakit and my comic heroes are Albert Uderzo, Asterix the Gaul, and Walt Kelly, Pogo.” —Scott Cooper, storyboard artist, Blue Sky Studios “I was very fortunate in not only meeting my top two animation heroes, Frederic Back and Richard Williams, but I also maintained regular correspondence with both of them. I actually encourage my students to write to their heroes and try to strike up conversations.” —Dean Lennert, freelance animator, director “I long to work with other producers . . . but haven’t really. . . . There are three directors who have taught me. Karen Rugerio, high-school theater director. For all intents and purposes she was a producer. She taught me show, don’t tell. Ric Murphy, theater director undergraduate study, very unconventional approach, another style of directing. He taught me how to think outside of the box. Jeremy Carr, film director, taught me how to DIY.” —Dawn Fidrick, producer at Griffith Observatory

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“The old Disney guys were my heroes when I studied animation at CalArts. I was thrilled to have them for teachers or have them come in to lecture. Ultimately though I feel I learned more from my classmates back then, which is exactly how the school was meant to work. Might not have fully appreciated it at the time, but many of the students later became the new animation heroes. I still get inspired by time spent with Joe Ranft, Brad Bird, Henry Selick, or Peter Chung, to name a few.” —John Hays, cofounder, Wild Brain “Jan Svochak was my mentor. I fought diligently at Perpetual Motion Pictures to be his assistant exclusively at a time when this process was no longer done. I’ve also been so lucky to work with artists, designers, cartoonists, and illustrators who are also my heroes: George Booth, Don Martin, Neal Adams, Garry Trudeau, Maurice Sendak, on and on. . . .” —J. J. Sedelmaier, cofounder, J. J. Sedelmaier Animation “I have a lot of heroes, but T. Hee, who I wrote with, was my teacher and mentor. Also Marc Davis and Cal Horward.” —Bob Kurtz, Kurtz & Friends “I had the incredible experience of working side by side for years with two of my childhood heroes, Bill Hanna and Joe Barbera; two of my three favorite cartoon shows growing up were The Huckleberry Hound Show and The Flintstones. Joe and Bill were real-life examples of how the cartoon business kept one young. They were forty years older than I was, and somehow I always felt they were smarter and working harder

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than me. Most of all, I’ve uniquely been able to meet my future heroes, the dozens of creators we’ve made short films and series with over the years.” —Fred Seibert, founder and CEO of Frederator Networks Inc. and Frederator Studios “My first has got to be Aaron Blaise. He was my mentor and he believed in me. He gave me the boost and confidence to find myself and to keep pushing forward. I’ve also gotten a chance to work with Mark Henn on a project which was such a delight! The other heroes are Mary Blair and Eyvind Earle. Their vision for shape and design is so simple yet so appealing.” —Gabby Zapata, senior visual development lead artist, the Walt Disney Company “I know he’s practically my age, but I would have to say, I’ve always wanted to work with Lou Romano. Over the years I’ve been lucky enough to collaborate with him on various projects. He really is a genius. Not only has Lou taught me bundles about design, he constantly surprises me with his versatility and ever-widening range of talents. I was so impressed with him, I wrote and produced a film revolving around his life.” —Teddy Newton, character designer (The Incredibles) “I loved and admired Craig Bartlett from Sesame Street and Pee-wee’s Playhouse and we both ended up having corresponding shows on Nickelodeon.”

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—Traci Paige Johnson, cocreator of Gabby’s Dollhouse, Blue’s Clues “Matt Groening is my brother-in-law. I enjoy walking through the Comic-Con with Matt, because that’s a world where every single person knows who he is. The guys who started drawing The Simpsons, David Silverman, Wes Archer, and Brad Bird, were just a bunch of guys at Klasky Csupo once upon a time, when we were starting Rugrats, and now they are big shots. Brad’s career has been amazing. If you go to festivals, you can meet the international animators like Bill Plympton, Marv Newland, Joanna Priestley, Paul Driessen. These indies are always very nice people.” —Craig Bartlett, creator of Hey Arnold!, Dinosaur Train “When I was young I got to work at the National Film Board of Canada. I met so many fantastic artists like Caroline Leaf, Janet Perlman, John Weldon, Derek Lamb, Kai Pindel, Sheldon Cohen, Ryan Larkin, and that whole seventies era of great NFB artists. Later, when I went to film school in England my fellow students were Nick Park and Mark Baker, who became close friends, and of course Alison Snowden.” —David Fine, cocreator of Bob and Margaret “There are many animators that inspire me, from legends to friends, but I would say watching shots animated by Milt Kahl, Glen Keane, or James Baxter always leaves me in awe. Also, I can’t forget my mother, an artist and my earliest inspiration to get into the arts. My family members are my biggest supporters and I am grateful for all they have done.”

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—Jonathan Eden, animator (South Park)

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CHAPTER 10

Networking: People Who Need People

“I don’t love the word ‘networking’ because to me it sounds like you are making friends in order to ‘use’ them. It’s definitely making friends and trying to help them when they need help and maybe they can help me out when I need help, but I never think of someone I’d want to meet because I can use them to further my career. It’s very important that when people are networking they should just be thinking about making genuine bonds with people, and be giving of your time with other people. If you give more of yourself you’ll get it back in cool ways that you can’t even think of.” —Brooke Keesling, head of animation talent development at Bento Box Entertainment LLC

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A drawing of Brooke Keesling surrounded by buddies, a gift drawn by artist Citlalli Anderson, who was then interning at Disney TVA.

in one word it would be “people.” It sounds like a cliché, but animation is a “people” industry. Networking, for our purposes, is the delicate art of reaching out, meeting people in the industry, fostering relationships, sparking friendships, and helping grow a community. Sometimes to become effective networkers we have to fight our own solitary natures. Many that gravitate to careers in animation are shy, introverted, and private people who do their best work at the end of a pencil or pixel. The work we do tends to be isolating, especially when you’re working from home (like everyone is as I write this). In spite of this, healthy relationships with colleagues, employers, and potential clients are undeniably important. In fact, you can’t have a successful career in animation without them. While this can sound intimidating, recruiter Linda Beck supplies the good news: “I’ve always found animation people to be super nice and IF I COULD SUM UP THIS CHAPTER

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welcoming. The ones that aren’t, aren’t generally worth the time . . . even if they’re famous.” I think for many newcomers, the idea of networking can be a lot scarier than even a job interview because the latter at least has some level of standardized steps to the transaction. In comparison, networking can feel like there are no rules or shared expectations for what might happen in even the simplest and briefest encounters. Brooke Keesling wants you to know that when you’re nervous to approach people, just remember that they’re probably nervous too. She adds, “Most artists tend to be introverts, so knowing everyone is nervous might make you feel more comfortable. When you go to an event, try to set a goal to make yourself talk to three people that night and introduce yourself, and be warm and friendly and if someone is not receptive you just say ‘Okay, nice to meet you,’ and walk away and go to another person. Eventually you’ll connect with someone. This helps with social media connections later because if you’ve met in person at least you know a little bit about them already.”

BURNING BRIDGES “I have burned a few bridges in the past and the plumes of smoke still waft in to choke me occasionally . . . it’s a very small industry. Word travels fast. So if you have a great reputation, it will travel faster. Learn to balance ‘creative integrity’ with ‘professional etiquette.’” —Erika Strobel, animation writer Savvy animation artists are careful not to burn bridges, or put more bluntly, permanently sever a relationship. The animation industry is so small that it’s really not possible to burn a bridge and not have it come back to haunt you at some point or another. We’re all connected by 299

default. Bridge Burners beware: you’re not just closing one door with one company and its employees at the time. Nothing happens in a vacuum. An unprofessional act of rudeness or dishonesty will haunt your career. The door you close today will close others for you tomorrow. Word of mouth is how most animation artists find work. Habitual bridge burners narrow their employability over time. Is it worth the small amount of temporary satisfaction you gain by telling off your boss or coworker? While damage can be done in one single event or action, you can also burn a bridge with an accumulation of smaller things over time, possibly without realizing it. If this is all obvious, then why are there bridge burners in the first place? The answer is that it’s all too easy to trash relationships and move on. Bridge Burners emphasize the importance of the work, systematically undervaluing interpersonal relationships and seeing themselves as the smart people trying to navigate a studio full of idiots or, at best, competitors. These “idiots” are the real challenge for a habitual Bridge Burner. I once saw an example of this in Post-it note form. I was checking x-sheets for the Scholastic series Maya and Miquel to make sure there were no mistakes before the animation was outsourced to South Korea. Freelancing from home, it was fun to pore over the animatic and x-sheets and double-check every frame of this entertaining show. I would get in the zone, and hours just flew by. But once I was jolted out of my bliss by a note left by the animation timer that read, “Fucking idiot track reader made this mistake. . . .” Quick sidebar: a track reader is the person that meticulously scrubs the soundtrack over a play head (or these days through a digital process) and transfers the phonetic syllables that make up each line of spoken word onto the dialogue column on the x-sheet, so that the animator may accurately animate to the vocal performance.

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But anyway, that note was so harsh. I thought, what if I knew the track reader? What if the track reader was my friend? It’s okay to have suggestions to improve another stage in the process or address issues with a team member, but this method of messaging helped nobody. If the Bridge Burners didn’t see people as obstacles they might appreciate that they are surrounded by people as excited about animation as they are. Bridge Burners also make the mistake of thinking that the only bridge that they can burn is with the boss or management. Each relationship in a studio, from the boss on down to the intern, is a bridge to future connections. Stop-motion animator Eileen Kohhlepp adds, “It helps tremendously to get along with your coworkers. You never know where they will wind up. Your coworkers will sometimes notice more about you than a producer or supervisor can. If you’re a slacker, always coming in late, and always checking your email, they’ll remember.” I feel the need to point out that while we should attempt to avoid burning bridges, work relationships can be complicated and some fallouts with people are inevitable. One shouldn’t go so far to avoid burning bridges that they become a doormat. At twenty-five years into my career, I had to cut ties with two or three animation people, and I don’t think that’s unusual. In one case, a friend that I had hired and helped find work on many occasions couldn’t wipe the smile off his face when I told him the series I was directing was canceled by the network. He was delighted in my setback, even though I had been supportive to him when he was in the same situation only two years before. When I added that together with a string of other incidents over the years, that was my limit. Everyone has their limits, so remember you are entitled to yours.

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THE INTERNATIONAL SCENE: FESTIVALS AND EVENTS “Much of my knowledge of independent animation comes from festivals. And that’s where I meet many of the people I’ve worked with, even those who are not independent animators. Animation industry people who love animation tend to be very motivated: they go to festivals, they go to events, they meet people, and they also pitch. So it goes together that you’ll meet the people most eager to get themselves and their projects out there at these festivals. It’s the same for emerging live-action filmmakers and festivals such as Sundance.” —Linda Simensky, head of kids’ content, PBS Kids Those in a North America animation production hub city like New York City, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Portland, Atlanta, Mexico City, Guadalajara, Toronto, and Vancouver have it easier. Newcomers and veterans can plug into the animation community through monthly events, screenings, and industry parties. If you don’t live in or near an animation production hub city, fear not. Maybe consider doing your in-person festival networking in a few bold strokes a year by traveling to animation festivals such as Ottawa, Annecy, and Hiroshima, which not only present the best in international animation, they also offer ample opportunities to schmooze. Ironically, when I lived in NYC, there were numerous local animation artists that I hadn’t met until I attended far off festivals in Canada and France. Sometimes you have to travel far away to make local connections. It feels surreal to share this advice during the time of a worldwide pandemic, where unessential travel is currently discouraged or outright prohibited. But let’s cross our fingers that the

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new normal allows for some kind of group events again as soon as it’s realistic and safe for all concerned. While most of us start out attending animation festivals and events as newbies and spectators, before long you may find yourself invited as an official speaker or as the representative of your own film in competition. Roughly four years into her career as a feature film storyboard artist, Portland-based Keely Propp was an invited speaker at Pixelatl 2019, a wonderful animation festival in Mexico. Propp recalls, “It was an amazing opportunity to meet young artists working hard to break into the industry along with meeting my industry peers. I enjoy being a part of these events very much as I find seeing all the art very inspiring.” Propp’s personal philosophy is to not look at them as “networking” events where she’d go and try to get a job. “I think people can really tell when you are trying to get something out of them, and it’s very off-putting, so I just try to talk to everyone as a possible new friend and if a career opportunity comes out of it later then it is just a bonus,” she concludes. My introduction to the talented Propp makes at apt example: she and I were strangers when we happened to sit down next to each other during a group dinner at Pixelatl, allowing us to chat and helping me to discover that her experience and unique outlook would make her a great interview subject for the updated edition of this book! Lastly, while a key point of festivals and events are to bring a farflung community together, there can be some nuances to be aware of. Linda Beck explains, “You’ll have people catching up with old friends who might not be enthusiastic about giving an eager, new person some of that limited catch up time.” Building on Linda’s point, as you log more years in the business and spend more time attending festivals and events, you grow an extended family of friends and peers that you sometimes can only catch up with at such gatherings. So be respectful

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because this will be you one day, and you’ll want the same level of consideration.

NETWORKING, OUT OF THE BOX “One day I taped a day’s worth of Nick Jr. and by watching the credits I figured out whom to contact at the network. I wound up as an administrative production assistant on a series at the network.” —Eric Weil, writer, creator (with designer/director Jennifer Oxley) of Janie and Jerome on Sesame Street One drawback to attending international animation festivals is the expense involved. Happily, festivals aren’t the only way to network. Try a search online for animation studios in your city to find out where they are and the names of the major players. Try to arrange to pop in for an informational meeting (see chapter 2 for specific advice on how to do so). Then stay in touch after that, but while heeding artist development consultant Linda Beck’s advice: “I try to keep communication as organic as possible and try as hard as possible to keep my ‘asks’ to a minimum. The last thing I want is for someone to feel like I’m adding another thing to their to-do list. Also, I absolutely hate being on the receiving end of the ‘I’ll follow up again in two weeks,’ email. I don’t want to feel guilty for not getting back to someone when there was no reason to in the first place. And I don’t like to do that to anyone else.” Now that you know the etiquette, keep your eyes and ears open because out-of-the-box networking opportunities can present themselves at the oddest times. Back when I lived in NYC, I was watching a local TV news report about Callaway Press, which published Madonna’s children’s books and the successful line of Miss 304

Spider books, which became a hit 3D cartoon animated at Nelvena for Nick Jr. I looked up the company’s website, and a week later I had a nice informational meeting with the president of Callaway Press, Nicholas Callaway. It turned out that the company needed a CGI animator to capture illustrations from the animation files so they could be used in print work. I recommended a CGI animator, Doug Vitarelli, who landed the job. Being able to recommend talented colleagues for cool opportunities is such a joy! Another great networking opportunity began as result of Blue’s Clues animation artists Paul Beard and Michael Lesko founding a Blue’s Clues softball team. They designed and ordered special hats and T-shirts for their team and organized official games with other television productions across town. Scores of people that would otherwise never have met were suddenly thrust together on the ball field. The games would inevitably be followed by a fun evening of dinner and drinks for all. I once used the occasion of finishing my film Snow Business as a networking opportunity to wander around the floors of Nickelodeon setting up impromptu screenings with various creative executives. Out of the afternoon blitz, a relationship was forged with the late wonderful Carol Forsythe, then head of Nick’s Creative Lab. Seven years later, we played a role helping each other land full-time jobs outside of Nickelodeon. Another off-the-cuff meeting at Nickelodeon led to talks of a development deal to make more shorts based on Snow Business for Nickelodeon International. The executive believed that the visual storytelling of my film could translate across many languages and cultures. While nothing came to fruition, it still showed me the potential of what could happen if I create and promote my own work outside of my day-to-day job.

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Another unexpected connection happened to me while listening to the commentary track (remember when commentary tracks were a thing?) of a favorite science fiction film on DVD. I noticed the film’s director give out his personal email address. I quickly dashed off a message to him praising his film and describing its impact on my life. This started an email exchange, which serves as a reminder that the creative heroes in this business can be accessible and that certainly makes networking easier and more fun! The most joyous networking experience I’ve had was a Sunday animators’ brunch that my friends and I sustained for almost ten years. Over eggs and toast, we discussed the latest animated films, books, and TV shows. We talked shop: shared war stories and offered a sympathetic ear to one another. We learned from each other. We supported each other. All these years later, breakfast meetups are still my favorite (big shout out to fellow breakfast buds Dan Meth and Fran Krause). In fact, my last trip to a restaurant before quarantine was breakfast with the wonderful Lisa O’Brien, the former VP of original content at NBC Universal Kids. Let’s hope that the new normal, whatever it is, comes with a side of hash browns.

PAYING IT BACK Over a typical career one meets a whole host of amazing characters, and I’m not talking about the ones on the screen. I can’t even count all the help and support I’ve received throughout my career. Sometimes these “helpers” appear at key moments of your career like they were set down by Zeus to prevent your own Greek tragedies. Enter Chris Prynoski. You may know him today as the president and owner of Titmouse, an award-winning animation production company with divisions spread across LA, New York, and Vancouver. Flash back to more than twenty-five years ago—I’m in my junior year at the

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School of Visual Arts, majoring in film and animation. It’s a late night, and I have to record and mix sound for my film, but I’m having trouble patching the predigital recording console together. (Side note: I do not miss the analog days of filmmaking one bit. Anyone with a nostalgic view of the clunky and exclusionary process that used to be animated filmmaking has forgotten what a pain in the ass it was.) Back to the story: in the middle of my technical frustration, in walks “Chris P,” a quirky animation senior doing one of his many late nights in the school. He was already sporting his iconic look: beard, fisherman’s hat, shaggy clothes, constant smile, tendency to say “right on,” and an original artistic vision matched only by his killer work ethic. Chris P was a combination of the best aspects of 1960s hippie culture mixed with the DIY early 1990s indie film spirit. Seeing me struggling, he asked, “Need some help?” That was him. He was always helping everybody, and this night was no exception. In a few minutes he fixed my botched attempt at working the patch bay and had all the equipment up and running. If that wasn’t enough, he also stayed with me the whole night and helped me with my sound. He was that kind of guy—caring, giving, and a natural mentor. Flash forward decades later and Chris P and I are both members of the LA animation scene, he with a studio empire and me heading an animation team making apps at Disney. It had been a long time since we caught up, so I popped over to Titmouse for a quick tour, and we followed that with lunch. It was great to spend some time together again, and it was a neat surprise to find that he had so many questions about apps. Chris wanted to create an app that would promote his next Smash Party while also being a stand-alone experience, complete with in-app-purchase opportunities. Besides the amazing animation that Titmouse cranks out, they are also known for their annual Smash Party. During this event, party goers put on protective goggles and gear and

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go into a caged area where they can pick a baseball bat or golf club and use it to destroy old TV sets, cheap dinnerware, outdated fax machines, and so on.

Chris Prynoski: there ain’t nobody like him, as this picture proves.

Chris didn’t have a budget to hire a producer for this app, but after four years working in apps I had a lot of the experience that could be of help on this project. This was my chance to help Chris. I volunteered to produce the app for nothing. Although he tried to talk me out of that, I wouldn’t take no for an answer: “I’ll never forget how you helped me back when we were students. Please let me return the favor now.” Paul McCartney sang, “And in the end the love you take is equal to the love you make,” and in my case it just happened to take twenty-five years.

UNUSUAL ANIMATED OFFERINGS

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The front “self-portrait” side of John Serpentelli’s thaumatrope, an innovative animated offering and “the perfect fidget toy.”

Animation artists use a variety of “leave behinds” as a means of networking. These are usually simple, cheap, and fun items that can be given to a potential client or employer at the conclusion of a meeting. Animation artists are supposed to be semi-eccentric, creative types. So why not think out of the box when creating a bit of self-promotion? Independent animator John Serpentelli did just that: “I think the best piece of self-promotion I’ve come up with was at the very beginning of my career. I decided to make a business card that was a thaumatrope with an image of my shaved head (unusual in 1997) on one side and a light bulb on the other. Of course, when the thaumatrope was spun my bald head and the light bulb became one. This turned out to be a big success, as Brown Johnson (then executive creative director of preschool television, Nickelodeon) told me ‘this is the perfect fidget toy,’ and because of this gimmick many people remembered for years.”

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The back side of John Serpentelli’s thaumatrope—a light bulb showing that he brings good things to life.

Indie animation king Bill Plympton turned a lemon into lemonade, creating a unique animated offering: “For Mutant Aliens we ended up with an out-of-sync film print. I clipped up frames from that film print and I gave those away inside those tiny little plastic photo viewers. I made one thousand of them with my name and contact info printed on the side. It was a good way to attract attention and get my name and film out there.”

Drink Ghostmilk for strong ghost bones and teeth. Snazzy glassware from the folks at Toronto’s Ghostmilk, now called Pyramid Attack, given to the author as a housewarming present.

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Storyboard artist Rachel Peters likes to make personalized gifts for her top desired job picks: “People like candy. For one of the companies I worked at, I had decorated a little bucket (in a style I knew they’d appreciate, because it was reminiscent of their work), and I filled it with chocolate kisses. The sign on the bucket read, ‘Rachel Peters kisses up.’ Then I meticulously tied a note to each kiss, which read, ‘Hire me??’ and gave my name and contact info. By the end of the next two days, I think just about everyone in the studio knew my name. I got work one week later.”

“Happy New Year rocks” from legendary animation artist Don Duga. Who said it’s bad to get rocks in your stocking? Image courtesy of the artist. Rocks courtesy of the Earth.

Showtime’s Queer Duck director/designer/animator Xeth Feinberg, bought cheap wall clocks at Kmart, and replaced the paper face of the clock with a design heralding his characters and MishMash Media company logo. It made a shrewd animated offering. I’ve seen Xeth’s clocks hanging in offices from New York to Los Angeles. This “leave behind” ensures that people see his work all the time. Best of all? Even when the clock’s batteries die it will still be right two times a day. I first met the multitalented storyboard artist/director Otis Brayboy (Cave Club, Puppy Dog Pals) when I enlisted him to create some pitch boards for me. Brayboy did a top-flight job, and at its conclusion he

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gave me a complimentary T-shirt with the logo for his then company, Chick’n Skratch Animation, on it. For several years Brayboy was always one laundry cycle away from the top of my mind. Clever man.

THAT TRUSTY STALWART, THE BUSINESS CARD “I like making paper dolls or something fun to play with, with my business info on the back, instead of typical business cards. I want them to want to keep my information.” —Rachel Peters, storyboard artist

The Rachel Peters cutout paper doll, soon to be available in all fine stores near you. Image courtesy of the artist.

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Gallery of animation artists’ business cards.

Outside of the offbeat approaches to the animated offering, there is always the trusty, stalwart business card. This is the equivalent of tagging a person with your information. But are business cards still relevant these days where everyone is just one LinkedIn search away? Artist development specialist Linda Beck answers yes, although she cautions to not get glossy ones because she won’t be able to write notes on them. “I write notes, shove them in my cardholder, and follow up the next week after I meet someone. Put your email address in a font that people can actually read,” says Beck. I agree that cards are still relevant, maybe not in my everyday usage these days, but certainly when I attend festivals or events. At the end of a long festival day, in which I may have had a lot of conversations with new faces, I like to scan through the cards I’ve collected before going to bed, and it helps me remember who everybody was. I usually review the cards again during breakfast the next day, and if I bump into those same people again (assuming it’s a multiday event), it helps me remember everybody’s name. Now here’s where it gets tricky. The four-inch-by-two-inch surface of a business card could be a mini canvas on which to display yourself. Wallykazam! creator Adam Peltzman used to give out a very unique business card, designed as a miniature three-hole-punched script cover page. The card screams, “Writer!” The sheer simplicity and imagination of this card would be enough to make me want to call Peltzman in for an interview. But don’t go too far. I’ve had people give me complex business cards that don’t fit into my wallet or that have odd pieces or contraptions glued to them. I feel like Elaine in that Seinfeld episode where her date hands her a rose and we hear her internal reaction: “How long do I have to hold this?” Beck adds, “I toss

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cards that are too ‘clever’ and are difficult to read.” While you’ve been warned, there is still no reason your business card should look like that of an accountant. So have fun, but not too much fun.

My dentist’s business card. If a dentist can be creative with his card, why can’t you?

HO-HO-HOLIDAY AND THANK-YOU CARDS “I always make up little Christmas cards and promotional cards for clients.” —Bill Plympton, independent animator

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An interior spread of a Bill Plympton original holiday card from the author’s collection. Plympton’s Christmas cards helped to inspire his half-hour animated special on Cartoon Network, 12 Tiny Christmas Tales. Courtesy of the artist.

The holiday card is a great opportunity to design a greeting that only you could create in any size or style you can dream up. In a creative field such as ours, store-bought cards should not even be a consideration. Fear not, no one is advising you to make one hundred handmade cards. That would be a career unto itself. Instead, print your original creation onto cardstock and fold it. You can still add little handmade touches like bits of color and accents. Holiday cards are pretty special because outside of spreading season’s greetings, they serve as a well-timed “thank-you” to your contacts, clients, employers, staff, and friends. Each year we receive a lot of support, and this is a great way to show our appreciation. I like to include a personal message inside each card I send out. Now that snail mail is less and less common, your holiday card will stand out even more than it used

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to. But I have to admit that my own holiday card mailings have really slimmed down since I became a dad. I just don’t have the time right now, but I’d really like to get back to this in the coming years. I know I could make a single card image and email it to everyone, but that feels too impersonal to me.

Holiday card by the author. A few years have passed, and our cat is still not cool with the new arrival.

Of course, “thank-you cards” are automatically going to be personal because you send them to a single person. We receive so much help in our careers, so why not show appreciation to someone who went above and beyond? I’ve even sent out cards to hiring managers after they didn’t hire me—just to appreciate being considered for a position and to thank them for their time and conversation. Rachel Peters once found out that she was hired for her job at the insistence of the receptionist, who had enjoyed the card she had sent them: “I had taken a picture of myself in my donut shop uniform (where I worked for a whole day and a half), and the outside read, ‘Season’s greetings from Tim Horton’s newest part-time relief employee! She’s going places!’ . . . Then, on the inside I begged them to get me out of that place and complained about how the uniform

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made me look like a potato. There’s no formula there. I just really enjoy making things and mailing things.”

The Pigeon Tells a Story, a Mo Willems sketchbook, given as a holiday gift, which led to an additional successful career for Willems as a top children’s book illustrator and author. From the collection of the author.

Sheep in the Big City creator and head writer for the first four seasons of Codename: Kids Next Door Mo Willems gives an illustrated, limited-edition miniature bound sketchbook to all his contacts every Christmas. The little sketchbooks are so attractive that Willems’s clientele keep them displayed in their offices and homes long after other, more seasonal, Christmas offerings are packed up, put away, and forgotten. One of Willems’s sketchbooks featuring a pesky little pigeon was seen by a children’s book agent and helped launch Willems into a super successful second career as a top children’s book illustrator and author. Go into your local bookstore and pick up a copy of Mo Willems’s Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus and you’ll be holding the incredible result of a seasonal greeting.

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ALL YEAR LONG Unlike the holiday season, networking is not something that only happens once a year. Keep in touch with people by writing to say congratulations on an accomplishment, or tell people what you’re up to, when you start or leave a job, when you come across a book, TV show, or movie that they might like. Always inform your contacts of any changes of address, phone number, or email. Another surefire method of staying in touch is to have one or two lunches a week with contacts outside your immediate circle. On a production it’s all too easy to stay inside your bubble and lunch with the same staffers every day. I got so bad with this during my first few years at Disney that I actually made a New Year’s resolution to force myself to plan outside lunches with industry friends I hadn’t seen in ages, and with new people too. But because lunch is at least a twoperson meal, be prepared to shift your lunch calendar around a lot. Production has a way of throwing roadblocks on either side of a lunch date, so it’s not always possible for a lunch plan to work out on the first, second, or even third attempt. I like to reconfirm the day before or the morning of, at which point one usually knows how the week is turning out and if they will need to reschedule or not. Of course, lunch is not strictly an industry-only equation. Linda Beck says, “I like to lunch with nonindustry people, to be honest, because I like the perspective. Especially when things are stressed with a job. We are not working in the emergency room, no one is at risk of losing a life in an animation studio, and sometimes, industry war story lunches, for me at least, made things worse.”

VOLUNTEERISM AND MEMBERSHIPS “I belong to the Writer’s Guild of America, the Television Academy, BAFTA (British Academy of Television Arts), 319

BMI, ASIFA and a few others. Some are absolutely necessary (if not for the WGA, I couldn’t write live action), and some are just lots of fun to belong to.” —Allan Neuwirth, animation writer (Rugrats, The Octonauts, Bubble Guppies) When it comes to networking potential it’s hard to beat volunteerism. As a volunteer you give time, energy, and expertise and end up receiving the satisfaction that only comes from such generosity of spirit. It’s not about money, but it can be the most valuable way to spend your time. There has been a direct correlation between my success and my volunteerism with New York’s ASIFA-East. As a member of ASIFAEast’s volunteer board of directors from 1996 to 2012 (during which I was president for eleven of those years), I forged many wonderful relationships that grew opportunities that I wouldn’t have had otherwise. Even though I no longer live in New York, it’s wonderful to see the next generation of volunteers emerge to help keep the organization “surviving and thriving.” Current ASIFA-East president Tristian Goik was my student at NYU, which feels like a passing of the baton. Now that I live in Los Angeles, I’m a member of ASIFAHollywood, where I get invites to great movie premieres and panel discussions with the filmmakers after, not to mention all the wonderful screener DVDs mailed to my house every year as part of voting for the ASIFA-Hollywood Annie Awards. Speaking of the Annie’s, Brooke Keesling advises, “If you can’t afford the cost of admission, you can volunteer and then you’ll get to do some of the things, and you might even get to meet and interact with the VIPs because it could be your job to help them get around, so you may have a better experience as a

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volunteer because you’re on the inside. Even checking people in, you’d get to meet some people. Of course as you’re checking them in you shouldn’t say, ‘Hey can you look at my portfolio?’ But next time you see them you can say, ‘Hey, remember me? I checked your coat,’” Brooke concludes. Find out what creative clubs and organizations are in your area by searching for animation clubs online or at the local universities. Contact the schools and talk to the instructors. Search for animation groups and pages on Facebook or start a page of your own and try to spread the word. There’s lots of ways to find people in your area with a similar interest in animation.

NETWORKING DON’TS! Just about the worst networking mistake you could make would be to make another person feel uncomfortable. For instance, a contact of mine once showed up at my office to see if we were hiring. When I told her that I would be in touch about it later that week, she persisted in talking to me about it right there and then and trailed me right into a closed-door meeting with my producers. I stepped outside with her to diplomatically ask her to stop by again when I was not busy in a meeting. This guerilla-networking tactic is wrong on so many levels. It’s pushy, inappropriate, and reads as desperation. Mo Willems told my SVA class that one of his pet peeves is having portfolios shoved in his face during a party. Wrong time. Wrong place. Yes, there may be people at the party who could hire you, but you need to remember that they are there to enjoy themselves. It’s not fair to shove your work under someone’s nose in a social situation like a party. Brooke Keesling, the head of talent development at Bento Box LLC, genuinely likes people and loves animators. “I’m just interested in

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people,” she adds. But as a longtime recruiter, Brooke has seen people sometimes overstep boundaries and kind of enter the stalker category. She advises, “Yes, recruiters are people that are in powerful positions that might be able to help your career, but they’re people too, so being able to be sensitive is important. You need to be able to read the room, to make sure you’re not overstepping. I know it can feel like this is your only chance but you will get another chance at another point. Try not to be too intense on them.” Brooke continues, “I had someone come up to me when I was recruiting for Cartoon Network—I was at an animation party/event and someone at that party told me that a close friend of ours was dying and so I had a look on my face. Someone then came up to me and said, “Hey, can I talk to you . . .” and I told them that I just heard some really bad news and couldn’t talk right now but I promised we could talk later, but they wouldn’t go away and wouldn’t listen, and they kept going on, and I remember that person. I wouldn’t say that I would never get that person work, but if I had two candidates and that person was one of them, I might go with the other because it was a really offensive situation. Remember that you’ll get another chance to talk to people. It’s better to talk to them when they are in a better place, instead of hovering around them and making them feel uncomfortable. You only have so many times to make an impression on someone. Undoing a bad impression could be hard,” Brooke concludes. Amen to all that. To follow up Brooke’s sage advice, proper networking at a party or event is simple conversation. Don’t push past someone already engaged in conversation so that you can cut in. Instead, stay calm and talk to someone else; you might just make a new connection you hadn’t planned on. Be loose and spontaneous, but have a small stash of business cards handy to exchange cards at the conclusion of each

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positive experience. Add the email addresses to your database and then delicately follow up in some of the ways suggested in this chapter. Excessive name-dropping is another thing to avoid. You don’t need to fill the span of a two-minute conversation with a list of all the names you know. Keep your knowledge relevant to the conversation. Namedroppers come across like our industry’s used car salesmen: slick and oily. Name-droppers try too hard and reference other people’s achievements to boost their own status. These people seem to be trying to jump to instant relationships, but like the process of animation itself, real relationships take time. Also sharing a place in the networking hall of shame are the “knowitalls.” Know-it-alls crave attention and approval, so they try to be “experts” in everything, constantly spitting out dates, titles, and bits of trivia. The problem is that they are often wrong. Even if they’re right, they’re assuming you don’t know what they’re about to tell you. In this business we are all experts of a sort. Anyone with a reasonable bullshit detector will eventually start to keep the know-it-all at a distance. Take it down a notch. Talk on topic. By the way, it’s okay to not know something. Remember, the late Richard Williams opened his master animation classes stating, “You don’t know what you don’t know.” Networking is not people collecting. Not everyone we encounter will be people we can build relationships with, nor would we want to in every case. Which reminds me, when I began directing on Blue’s Clues, became president of ASIFA-East, and first started to build a reputation for myself in the larger industry beyond NYC, I attended the Ottawa International Animation Festival where a Hollywood bigwig took an interest in me and asked me to breakfast the next morning. “I want to discuss your career and an opportunity for you,” he said.

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The next morning we met at the agreed restaurant and as soon as we walked in, the Hollywood guy spotted a more important industry person than me and invited him to eat with us too. Needless to say, the discussion about my career never took place and the supposed opportunity wasn’t brought up either. I don’t think Mr. Hollywood looked my way again the whole breakfast. While that was disappointing, I was grateful to quickly cross this guy off my list. Here was someone I didn’t need to waste my time with. So the networking “don’t” here is to not lose someone’s respect right off the bat. That’s basically game over in one move. No matter how you network, also avoid becoming a pest or a nuisance. Email is the modern method of choice to keep in touch with contacts because it’s fast, easy, and respects people’s comfort zones. People can respond or not respond at their leisure. Once, at an art opening I met a new contact with whom I had lunch a couple of times and later worked with on a freelance job. Before I knew it, he was calling me every couple of weeks, on every holiday, and for no reason at all. I tried to keep up for a while, but the constant calls quickly became a nuisance. Pestering is not networking. These same calls would have worked better as emails, but you shouldn’t flood anyone’s in-box either. Brooke Keesling confirms, “Following up with people—there’s such a thing as too much. Twice a week, three times a week is too much. I tell someone we don’t have anything right now but circle back with me in a set amount of time and then I expect them to follow what those timelines are.”

PATIENCE In the course of a career, you plant networking seeds and nurture them over time. Deep into my career, a string of great jobs with some of the

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top animation talents in the industry resulted from relationships I had forged ten or more years ago. If I had thought of networking as people collecting, I might have expected instant results of immediate job opportunities, and I would have been sorely disappointed.

NETWORKING ISN’T EVERYTHING I know some folks who are great networkers, who can schmooze till the cows come home, but still have difficulty breaking into the field and landing a job. Successful networking by itself is not a means to an end. It’s supposed to serve a career, not create one. The best networking in the world will not make up for a weak portfolio or a lack of experience or employability. While such overattention to schmoozing keeps these people outside the Animation Kingdom, there’s also an inside-the-kingdom equivalent. In a few sad examples in the workplace, I’ve seen a few workers value networking in the office above job performance itself. These “mayors of the studio” buzz around and prioritize social relationships above all else. Another case featured a worker who pooled all his energy into creating employee raffles and contests, and spent the rest of his time decorating other people’s workstations. The outwardly creative worker showed little of the same energy when it came to the work he was paid to do. Needless to say, these types don’t survive on the job very long, showing that networking, in this sense, isn’t everything.

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Adrian Urquidez, the author, and Felipe Galindo at an art gallery exhibiting Galindo’s work. Networking is about nurturing relationships and supporting each other’s endeavors.

BALANCE Networking, when it’s done right and often, doesn’t feel like work. It’s putting yourself out there, making new contacts, and maintaining old relationships with like-minded people (other animation professionals). This is something we should want to do, right? It’s not about what other people can do for you. To network effectively is to network sincerely. Through the community we build we become a part of each other’s life and the players in each other’s career story.

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CHAPTER 11

All Grown Up and No Place to Go: Starting Your Own Business

“Really think about why you’re seeking this path. Running a studio, or any business for that matter, is very hard. There will be times—too many times to count, where you will ask yourself the question, ‘How did I get myself into this mess and how do I get myself out?’ But the silver lining is that building a studio can also be incredibly rewarding. You get to create a brand, a culture, a creative island if you will, and fill it with wonderful and talented people and all the things you love and are inspired by. You can have a hand in helping people grow and watch them become better versions of themselves. The only thing I can compare owning a business to is raising a child: watching the child grow from infancy, to an angsty teen, and then to a more experienced adult.” —Chris Hamilton, president/creative director at OddBot Inc.

THE THREE CAMPS OF ANIMATION ARTISTS

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Chris Hamilton of OddBot Inc.

There seems to be three major camps of animation artists. One camp’s long-term goal is to create, sell, and produce their own television series or feature film. Camp two’s long-term goal is to create their own studio business. Finally, the third camp consists of people who are happy simply excelling as workers for hire. No matter what camp you fit into, most animation artists that have worked as off-site freelancers get a taste of freedom that is similar to what it must feel like to be your own boss. You get to set up your workday your own way. You can take a double lunch or catch a movie in the middle of the day and have the option to resume work again at night. Animation artists, by the nature of our careers, sometimes work alone for hours or days at a time to complete a job. It’s not surprising that many of us dream of opening our own studio where we could live and work in the ultimate example of independence. My favorite indie animator, Paul Fierlinger (My Dog Tulip, Still Life with Animated Dogs) sums up the so-called allure of owning your own studio, adding to Chris Hamilton’s reasons above: “I don’t have to spend any time working with people I don’t like; the commute to work is easy; it’s easy to work anywhere from an hour to sixteen hours a day; the pay is anything but regular; industry news and trends pass me by

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and I live in fear of where the next job is coming from instead of having to live in fear of when I’ll get sacked.” Some animation artists deep in their careers build a studio business more out of necessity than from passion. Large studios tend to hire a lot of artists fresh out of school. They seek out this inexperienced youthful labor because they can pay less and expect more time and loyalty in return. Some companies believe that it’s easier to train young workers who are free of the bad habits that years of experience can sometimes bring. Older workers will likely have family commitments, which pull them away from working late nights. Those who stick around in animation after turning forty (I’m in this club), either gravitate towards supervisory jobs or risk competing against an ever-growing crop of recent graduates for some of the same positions. As the years tick by, older members of the workforce find their base pay hitting a plateau, simply because there’s a limit to compensation despite the wealth of experience older workers inherently bring to each project. It’s easy to see why some older animation artists feel that going into business for themselves would be the best way to continue a career in the industry.

A STUDIO STARTS WITH AN ASSIGNMENT “Build the studio second, find the job first. Having a studio is a product of need, and you go from there. It’s not a ‘if you build it they will come’ situation.” —Pat Smith, Blend Films

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A still from Pat Smith’s film Pour 585 (2018). Image courtesy of the artist.

“It was never my goal to own my own animation studio when I was first starting out. Circumstances at the time pointed me in that direction and I ultimately, with no college degree or experience in business, decided to take the leap,” says Chris Hamilton, president and creative director at OddBot Inc. The leap that Hamilton is referring to happened when a studio he was working for suddenly closed down at the tail end of a project. After much soul-searching, he decided to take on the financial risk of starting his own studio business to keep his team and himself employed and to continue delivering animated projects to the clients he established relationships with under the previous company. By 2020, Hamilton’s studio expanded to two locations in Eagle Rock and Glendale to tackle animated series projects for the likes of Disney Junior, Netflix, and Nick Jr., to name a few. Hamilton’s studio was a product of need, and the same was true fifty years ago for New York animation legend Howard Beckerman (Terrytoons, Sesame Street), who had made attempts to go out on his own at various times but realized that he lacked a clear idea of how to get work. He recalls, “Surprisingly, one day everything came together. I was working at a key commercial studio and knew that I was only days away from being laid off. I bumped into an old friend of mine, producer, director, and editor Bob Braverman who was at that moment the head of production at Xerox Films. It was a time of great interest in educational film production, what with the arrival of the Sesame Street 330

TV program and also when major corporations, such as Xerox, were putting their considerable muscle into the production of specialized materials for schools. We were walking along Fifth Avenue in Midtown and, without breaking stride, Bob offered me three one-minute educational spots to produce. A few days later, when I attended a meeting at Xerox corporate headquarters, a fourth production was added. I began work at home and in a few weeks, July fourth to be exact, I moved into a rented space on 18th Street off of Irving Place. The next day the phone started ringing.” For Shabnam Rezaei, cofounding an animation studio was not only a product of need, it was downright personal. She was creating software for banks on Wall Street and living in Battery Park City, and 9/11 happened. Shabnam recalls, “With that, a lot of negative content happened around Iranians. All this media came out about my people being terrorists. I was very offended by it as an American, as a New Yorker who lived across the street from the World Trade Center and had to live with the ramifications of that. I had escaped war at the age of ten and never in my life had I thought would I see war again, and war was at my doorstep. There were pieces of the plane that landed in my backyard. It had an effect on me, so I wanted to do my part to change the perceptions of Iranians in media.”

Shabnam Rezaei, cofounder and president of Big Bad Boo Studios and Oznoz, who is both a friend and a role model to me.

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Initially Shabnam started out with an online magazine about Persian culture—focusing on food, cinema, restaurants, and so forth—to humanize Iranian culture for Americans and then stumbled upon an aspiring writer/director who wanted to do a cartoon about the Persian New Year. “A lightbulb went off that said, why am I focusing on adults? I can’t change the minds of adults about Iranians, but what I can do is hope for a better generation of kids that are going to grow up with a multicultural cosmopolitan view of the world based on the way I was raised. I went to an international school in Vienna, where the average person speaks three languages and you drive an hour in any direction and you’re in a different country.” Shabnam’s first cartoon was a direct-to-DVD production called Babak & Friends: A First Norooz, which was about the Persian New Year and a little American/Iranian boy who was growing up outside of Iran and didn’t know about his culture and got to know and accept himself for being part of two different things and being whole in that. From such humble and heartfelt beginnings grew Big Bad Boo Studios, cofounded by Shabnam’s husband Aly Jetha (who also serves as CEO), with offices based in New York and Vancouver, and with a mission that started out to do culturally rich content. But as Shabnam explains, “That slowly morphed to creating shows that give voice to the voiceless, that puts color on television, and that is really all about the underdog.”

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Big Bad Boo’s Hulu original, The Bravest Knight, a groundbreaking cartoon series featuring gay dads and based on Daniel Errico’s book.

So if all the successful studios begin as a product of need, what if it’s your goal to open your own studio business from day one of your career? Animation boutique-style studio owner Bill Plympton advises that the next generation of studio owners first gain experience working for big studios such as DreamWorks, Blue Sky Studios, or Nickelodeon. He continues, “I’d start with an entry-level job, make a lot of contacts, meet a lot of people, and put a lot of money in the bank. I’d learn all the programs, build up a good portfolio, and then after six to seven years, I’d have a good basis for starting up a studio. People coming right out of school don’t have the right background to start a studio right away. It’s really important to have connections with industry people so you know the work will come in. It’s tough starting out, trying to get the jobs when no one knows who you are.”

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The author and Bill Plympton pose with our friend, the legendary Howard Beckerman, at a book signing for Independently Animated: Bill Plympton: The Life and Art of the King of Indie Animation. It was my pleasure to cowrite Bill’s career story.

Chris Hamilton agrees strongly, adding, “If you’re out of school and you want to own and operate your own studio, don’t! You’re just starting out. You have so much to learn as you enter the industry. You’ll be barely prepared for working on a production and holding your own with your fellow crew members, let alone running your own business. So go get some of that real-life experience first. Work at other studios. See what they do. Maybe you’ll have ideas on how to do it different or better.”

THE NEW MOUSE IN TOWN If you say you work for the mouse, these days there’s a chance you may mean Titmouse. Spread across Hollywood, Burbank, Vancouver, and New York City, co-owned by husband-and-wife team Chris Prynoski (president and founder) and Shannon Prynoski (VP), with support from Antonio Canobbio (senior vice president and CCO), and Ben Kalina (COO and supervising producer), among many other talented leads, Titmouse is an independent animation production company, employing over seven hundred of the most talented people in

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the industry. But if you don’t happen to know the name Titmouse, surely you know The Midnight Gospel, Star Wars Galaxy of Adventures, Big Mouth, Little Big Awesome, Metalocalypse, The Venture Bros, and Motorcity, just to mention a handful of their many great productions. I’ve already mentioned the wonderful Mexican animation festival Pixelatl, and that’s where I’ve thrice had the opportunity to hang with Titmouse’s chief operating officer, the cool, collected, and calm Ben Kalina. I can’t imagine running operations at three studios filled with hundreds of employees, and dozens of shows in all production phases at once, but for Ben, that’s just business as usual. Still, I had to ask him how he manages his workload and responsibilities.

Ben Kalina, COO of Titmouse, and in the author’s estimate, a fine fellow.

Ben admitted that it can get overwhelming, adding, “Running a studio is a job that doesn’t stop. Case in point: as I write this on a Saturday, I just got a text from a client that says, ‘Do you have a few minutes?’ But when you’re working on productions you like, it’s rewarding. We’re in a great spot where all the projects we’re working on are good! In the early days, you have to take on some weird projects

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to pay the bills, but over the last several years I feel like everything is good. Liking what you’re working on helps a ton. But whether you’re in that spot or not I recommend: •

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Boundaries. At the end of the day, it’s just cartoons. Take a vacation, don’t IM people late at night about work if it’s not an emergency; send those late-night emails in the morning. Evaluate what’s urgent and what’s important, and what can wait. Write things down! People don’t do this enough. You don’t need volumes of notes but there’s a tendency in animation, ‘It’s art, so you don’t need to keep notes.’ The best people out there take notes. Use Post-it stickers, your notes on your phone, keep a to-do list, whatever. Talk with people. It saves so much time. Emails take days to discuss ideas that can take minutes in person or over the phone.”

Kalina says that the plethora of digital and streaming platforms have really changed the business, with everyone trying to create as much content as possible. He was kind enough to share what he thinks are the biggest impacts so far: •

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“Everyone is working! In the early 2000s finding a gig was challenging; now studios are having difficulty finding people with experience. Rates have gone up. It’s a good time to be an independent studio. When I got into animation, the indies in the US didn’t get much attention. I even got a lot of flak from friends when I started at Titmouse.

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Networks owned their pipelines back then. Now networks cannot keep up with the demand for content and new players in animation don’t have their own animation production studios, so they turn to places like Titmouse, Starburns Industries, Bento Box Entertainment, Six Point Harness, and many more to produce their work. New types of series are being produced. It’s not just the standard six to eleven, preschool, and prime time series. There are adult dramas and sci-fi/fantasy. Series have story arcs and continuing story lines (something that was not favorable ten years ago).”

Finally, while Titmouse has grown to over seven hundred employees spread across multiple cities showing steady growth since the studio was founded in 2000, Kalina explains that “I wish we could plan it better!” He continues, “I’ve always told people to never plan to grow but look for opportunity and be ready to grow when needed. If your goal is to ‘have two hundred artists on payroll by next year,’ I’d ask you why, because scale doesn’t mean that you’ll be successful or retain quality. Our goals have always been ‘make cool shit, keep people working, and make a few bucks when possible,’ in that order. When there are a lot of cool things to produce, we scale. When there’s not, we try to sustain the size of our crew as much as possible. We’re currently in a growth spurt and employ about seven hundred fifty people.” Kalina finds that managing growth gets easier over time, saying that the first few growth spurts hurt. “You find that you need more people to do tasks that were once easy, you don’t know everyone’s names anymore, and you cannot be as hands-on as you once were. So you need to pick your points of focus and make sure your team understands you and your needs. The bigger you are, the more it’s about

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communication than your abilities to produce work yourself,” he concludes.

VIRTUAL STUDIOS Sharing much in common with the traditional animation studio model such as Titmouse, today’s virtual studios simply forsake renting an expensive floor or building that they’d have to stock with staplers, chairs, workstations, and cases of LaCroix. Without the overhead of rent and operations expenses, the virtual studio can scale larger or smaller based on the needs of each project. Budgets, even small ones, only need to cover the cost of the owner/operator and a team of contractors. Since contractors all work from home (not a bad thing these days), they are responsible for their own workstations, high-speed internet, and electric bills. Oh, and they also have to buy their own cans of LaCroix. I found myself running a successful virtual studio out of my New York apartment from 2007 to 2012, during which I gathered enough work from clients such as Sesame Workshop, Cartoon Network, PBS Kids, Scholastic, and the Fox Broadcasting Company to keep as many as a dozen contractors going at any given time. While my virtual studio seemed to be an overnight success, it was actually the product of the work I put in during the twelve previous years. Here’s some factors that helped my virtual studio succeed:

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A still from the author’s indie kids’ film Owl and Rabbit Play Checkers.

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Proof of authorship. To see an animator’s indie work is to see their fingerprints. A reel of animation work made to order for clients won’t show the auteur’s stamp the same way their personal projects will. Having your own animated samples is key to anyone wishing to create original content for hire. For instance, my 2008 children’s film Owl and Rabbit Play Checkers didn’t set the festival world on fire, getting into only eight animation festivals and not winning any awards, but the film has made a great sales tool to land work at places such as Sesame. By showing the best bits of the film as little selfcontained clips, Sesame saw me as a creator who could make shorts for their program. That’s “proof of authorship” in a nutshell.

A still from one of the author’s twelve original shorts for Sesame’s Word on the Street segment.

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Relationships. Good relationships with others in the industry is important to any animation artist’s career, and even more important to the livelihood of a studio owner, virtual or otherwise. In 2005 I worked with a great producer, Tina Moglia, on an in-house TV series. After our year working together we stayed in touch, bumping into each other at animation events and in my SVA career class, where I booked 339

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her as a frequent guest speaker. A few years later when she landed a producing job at Sesame Workshop, she started to throw little bits of freelance my way, eventually recommending me to produce twelve original shorts of my own creation for Sesame’s Word on the Street segment. I’m so grateful to have Tina (who is now supervising producer, digital, at Sesame Workshop) as a friend and as a branch on my extended animation family tree. Creative confidence. To work as fast as most virtual studio projects require, you have to be able to dive in and quickly conquer the blank paper (or Cintiq screen). For the twelve spots I created for Sesame, I began by writing a couple of sentences to outline the idea, and once approved I went right to an animatic/storyboard. A fun part of making all these shorts is experimenting with a different look for each one. Another enjoyable aspect is planning out the action. In one short, I gave myself the rule of not having any scene cuts, but instead focusing on following the action of the character’s movements all in one scene. Setting some rules like this gives you an approach to the storytelling, helping you find your creative vision. I also used this same dive-in-and-do-it approach on my film Grandpa Looked Like William Powell. No creative work we do is fully in a bubble, so it’s not uncommon for techniques employed in a commercial gig to inform a personal project (or vice versa). The right production model for the times. My virtual studio setup has its pros and cons. The budgets can be small. This means that sometimes there’s no wiggle room to bring in a lot of help or to have a long production span. If I was a traditional studio, even on a small scale with one or two partners, taking

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on some projects wouldn’t be viable. Just having the studio rent and insurance would make this prohibitive. My entry into the virtual studio game was not planned as a shrewd response to a shifting media landscape, its only with hindsight that I see the timing turned out to be just right. But there is nothing random about the work I put in to make myself ready.

WE ARE FAMILY Working on animation productions, your coworkers can become a second family. With the virtual studio, your coworker or partner may literally be your family. Max Porter had originally studied to become a photographer at the Rhode Island School of Design (RISD), where he also took classes in film, animation, and video. “RISD opened up animation to me as a broad, all-encompassing artform and I fell in love. Early in my career, I mostly made 2D animation, but I started doing more mixed-media and stop-motion work when I started collaborating with Ru Kuwahata in 2007,” Max recalls. Meanwhile, Ru attended Parsons School of Design in New York and studied illustration and animation. “I was extremely fortunate to have teachers who taught me how to think and be an artist. My love for stuffed animals and comic books naturally led me to animation film making, but that was never the goal before attending Parsons. Once that career option was presented in front of me, it just made sense,” Ru explains. Calling their east coast–based virtual studio Tiny Inventions, and balancing both indie and commissioned 2D and stop-motion work, Max and Ru have been working together for over a decade, and the way they split work naturally fell into place over time. The pair explains, “Our writing process for indie work is a dialogue of sorts; Max would come up with an idea, then Ru does drawings based on 341

that, then Max builds on the sequence with new drawings. In the end, it’s difficult to know who was responsible for what. It’s all very vague in the beginning—an idea, a feeling, a concept—and making the project becomes this ongoing process of finding, losing, and rediscovering what we want to say. This can be a winding and circuitous process because, unlike client jobs, there’s no checkpoint where someone tells you ‘yes’ or ‘no.” After the initial writing and development phase, Ru guides the design, set/prop making and character animation. Max takes the lead with the cinematography, early sound work, editorial pacing, postproduction, and the animation of objects/effects. In Max and Ru’s experience with client jobs, there’s always an objective laid out in the beginning. Though the creative steps that follow may resemble their artistic practice, it’s actually much different. “Client work is always collaborative problem solving—finding ways to best articulate the client’s message with the given resources. Because of this, a lot of time is spent communicating creative decisions and making sure the clients feel heard,” says the filmmakers. “With our own projects, there’s no specific goal attached—except maybe to make the thing in the first place.”

Another Negative Space still from Oscar-nominated directors Ru Kuwahata and Max Porter of Tiny Inventions. Produced by Ikki Films and Manuel Cam Studio and MIYU Distribution.

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When your coworker is also your cohabitant there’s that extra challenge of being able to shut off the “office” at the end of the day. Tiny Inventions has this situation in common with the Los Angeles– based TheLittleLabs (are you detecting a theme in virtual studio names yet?). Founded by married couple Aradhana and Camilo Bejarano, the pair originally met as employees at Disney (I hired one of them, so I want half credit for their union). While some may think of Disney as the high mark of a career, for Aradhana and Camilo, after a time they yearned to work on personal projects and explore being independent freelancers before starting a family. “As we explored the freelance world, the projects we had the opportunity to work on gradually got bigger and required a more defined studio structure without needing to have an all-out production studio with full-time staff. We are able to work with freelancers when projects require a bigger team. This helps us work with supertalented and specialized artists who do not like to be full time and prefer to be freelancers themselves,” they explain. TheLittleLabs had a studio office space separate from home until very recently. This helped the couple maintain a work/life balance. But they still found it extremely challenging when they first started out. The pair adds, “We were saying yes to everything that came in, as we were hungry and wanted to kick things off. We slowly learned what ‘burn out’ really means and have since learned to price and evaluate projects better, as well as to say ‘no’ when necessary. Some weeks are harder, but in general we have finally reached a good work/life balance.” Specializing in 2D animation, TheLittleLabs gets to combine Camilo’s unique 2D illustration aesthetic with Aradhana’s strong skills as an animator. Working without a rep or manager, the couple have so far got all their work from self-promotion on social media, contacts from their years working in the industry, and through attending

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networking events. At the time of this writing, TheLittleLabs are currently in the process of working on an original animated film of their own creation. “It has been a slow process as we try to find the time between client projects,” they add. They feel that creating original IP/brands can help generate passive income that can be helpful when growing and establishing a business. Even before the happy couple added a child, they found their indie film to be a slow process, as client work usually takes precedence. “But we try to allocate a few hours a week between ourselves to push the needle along or sometimes spend a couple hours on the weekend.” Like their cousin the traditional independent animated studio, TheLittleLabs virtual operation is a combination of processes the owners liked when they worked at other studios and ones they hoped would make things easier/better. “Some things we adopted: defined roles, hours, project file-management processes, discipline about meetings, and the importance of quality. When we started to see our freelance efforts turn into a studio setup we created a list of values. The first value we strive for is ‘People over Profit.’ This came from our experience at other studios that understandably struggle with this due to their large scale of operation. We both agreed that we care about people first before jobs or our company and we always try to approach any project with that mindset.” TheLittleLabs found the biggest reward to running their own business to be the thrill of building something on their own as well as having the freedom to make decisions independently. On the other hand, they add, “With that freedom comes a greater responsibility to ensure you pay your bills and that your contractors are paid. It keeps you on your toes and you’re always hustling as you don’t have benefits and a guaranteed paycheck.”

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Aradhana M. Bejarano, animator and cofounder at TheLittleLabs.

Camilo Bejarano, illustrator and cofounder at TheLittleLabs.

Eric Miller, of Eric Miller Animation Studios, may not call his wife his studio partner, but he sure bases his virtual studio within the comforts of home, where his family is just on the other side of the wall. Although Miller still hopes to one day have a physical studio, for now, this setup makes the most sense for him since it keeps overhead costs down, which is important when competing against others around the

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world with less expensive labor or tax credits. Miller explains his Los Angeles–based virtual operation: “My home office consists of a converted bedroom with an attached bathroom. We have a full-time nanny for our kids, so even though I’m home I still ‘leave for work’ when I go into my office and lock the door. The kids know the nanny is in charge, and to not come to me unless it is something serious. This works great for me, since I can focus on my work, but can at any time come out and see my kids. I also feel I’m around a lot more for my kids than if I worked outside the home.”

Eric Miller, CEO/executive producer at Eric Miller Animation and Moonward Studios.

It was very different when Miller worked for DreamWorks Animation, where he would leave around 8:00 a.m. to start his fortyfive-minute commute, not getting home until 8:00 p.m. He adds, “While I might work more hours with the business now, at any time I can pause a moment and see my kids. My wife also works full-time, 346

but she works in a hospital. We get to see each other mornings, evenings, and weekends. You need to be dedicated to keeping a separation of when you are working, and when you are ‘home.’” Spending most of the formative years of his career at DreamWorks, Miller has more experience with 3D animation, but since starting the company he has worked on many different kinds of animation, from 2D to 3D and visual effects. “Working as a service company we are often asked to take on very different types of projects,” he says. And just like his Tiny Inventions and TheLittleLabs counterparts, creating original IP is important to Miller’s virtual studio. He calls it vital to the future of his business: “I spend enough time on the service side of my business to keep money coming in, but the rest of my time is focused on developing our brand, and our original IP.” New IP creation for Eric Miller Animation focuses on producing a short based on their signature character “Bink,” and creating original ideas they can pitch around while also taking submissions from outside creators to help them further develop an idea to pitch. Unsurprisingly, Miller has started attending Kidscreen Summit (a major annual kids’ entertainment industry conference) to advance his development side of the business. “I do this by networking, and meeting potential buyers to try and build relationships with them. This way when I have a project I want to pitch to them I’m not a stranger they’ve never met before.”

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Bink, an original character developed at Eric Miller Animation, where original IP development is one of Miller’s priorities. Image courtesy of the artist.

Attending events such as Kidscreen Summit barely scratch the surface of how networking is a part of Miller’s career. Although Miller is member of ASIFA-Hollywood and a regular attendee of all kinds of animation-related events in the Los Angeles area (he and I first met while standing in line for the annual CalArts Producers’ Show), that wasn’t enough. He founded his own animation community organization in 2015 called the Creators Society, with a partial mission to bring everyone in the animation community together, and it does not matter what your specific skill set or function in animation is. Dedicated to educating, improving, and bringing together members of the animation, visual effects, VR/AR, and gaming communities, the Creator’s Society encourages people to share their creativity, celebrate artistry, and help others. As a new dad, I’m not exactly in my peak days of networking— before starting a family I would sometimes go to three animation events a week, and now that’s close to what I can manage spread across a year. While my halcyon networking days are behind me for now, I’m glad I dragged my dad bod to one of the Creator Society’s social mixers at the famed animator’s hangout Story Tavern in Burbank. Hundreds of Creator Society members turned out, and I met a lot of great people, one of whom gave me great tips on toddler potty training, which we were about to embark on that weekend. Kudos to Miller for not only keeping himself circulating while working from home, but also for encouraging a whole community at the same time. The author’s five-year virtual studio closed its digital doors in 2012 when Disney took a chance on this untested thirty-eight-year-old with seventeen years of experience. Meanwhile Tiny Inventions, TheLittleLabs, and Eric Miller Animation Studios are keeping the 348

virtual torch burning into our current era, without having to supply a single can of LaCroix to anyone.

KEEPING THE WORK FLOWING “We actually have not done any spec work or tests to land projects. I know this is a reality of our business, but it’s not one I agree with. I think it might be easier if I had a full-time staff who I was paying regardless of if we had work or not. Then it would make sense to do this type of free work to increase chances of landing a project. Since everyone I work with is as an independent contractor I can’t justify the expense to try and win a project. I’m not saying I won’t ever consider it, but it would need to be the right project. I normally sell our services based on our portfolio of work we have done in the past.” —Eric Miller, CEO/executive producer at Eric Miller Animation If a studio is a product of need (a client giving you work), then the next need must be to find more work. Eric Miller explained why he hasn’t done any spec work to date in hopes of winning a bid. While I agree with his point of view, I would say that it’s okay to adjust one’s policy on this as a studio evolves. In the first two years of my virtual studio I would often make a sample to demo out how I would execute a job. It led to a three years of contract work from Sesame Workshop and a directing gig on a pilot for Nat Geo Kids. Once established, I found I didn’t need to create these samples and could rely on repeat business and my track record of being an effective producer. So I don’t think studios have to do spec work as a rule or avoid it just based on principle. Now that I run an animation production unit at Disney, I 349

generally cast vendors per project. We seldom go to generalist studios and hope they can adjust to a specific style we need. Vendors are cast per project, matching their strengths to our varying needs. The vendor studios we work with are our collaborators and friends and feel like extensions of our work family. Once in a while we’ll even work on a development project with one of our vendors to test out a concept, and this has usually led to new projects to our mutual benefit. Ben Kalina reports that Titmouse very rarely does tests to land projects. He points out that doing a short animation test could be $50,000 in labor. Kalina says, “At the end of the day, some clients ask a lot of people to produce spec work, and the project itself may not be green-lit. If we do spec work, we usually make sure that we have transparency from the client on how many people/studios are producing spec, and an understanding if the project has been green-lit yet.” Kalina continues, “Years ago, an executive told me that they gave a studio another test just so that they felt like there was hope of working together and to continue the relationship, but they had no intention of giving them work. I was shocked about this and how common this mentality is. Tests cost money and time; they should be done fairly and with the best of intentions to work with someone.” In terms of the work Titmouse is known for, Kalina says they’re known for TV series work, but they also produce 3D TV series, advertisements, storyboards for feature films, game cinematics, music videos, and pretty much anything. While they don’t have a house style, Kalina calls it more of a house sensibility, explaining, “While I think most people think of us as edgy, we try to not use that word. Our work is not the standard animation fare; we do things that are a little irreverent and have a crafted look and feel. Some TV animation is so consistent and mechanical in how its produced; I rarely feel that at

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Titmouse. I think this comes from Chris Prynoski’s way of running the studio and his and Antonio Canobbio’s (CCO) taste. Chris puts a lot of trust in his artists, and that leads to a lot of the artists’ hands showing on the screen.” Titmouse’s production output breaks down as follows according to Kalina: • •

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⅓—Production services—Working on a project that is created by a client/network. ⅓—Partnerships—Being brought onto an outside party’s project to help develop or produce their idea. Often this happens when a client only has a script or even just a concept for a show. ⅓—Titmouse originals—100 percent Titmouse-originated IP productions.

To manage the workflow as shown in the above breakdown, Titmouse produces a lot of animation in-house, and similar to other TV animation companies, they also outsource a fair amount of animation. Most of their subcontractors are in Seoul, Canada, Latin American, and various parts of Asia. Kalina advises, “It’s important to put your feet on the ground in the studios you’re partnering with. I visit the studios two to three times a year and get to know the teams. I also find that the best studios don’t advertise their services, and much like artists, the good ones never update their portfolios because they’re always working. Getting to see the studios in person is key to a good production and working relationship.”

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A still from Big Mouth, a Titmouse production for Netflix, which debuted in 2017 and (at the time of this writing) has been renewed through a sixth season. Image courtesy of Netflix.

Speaking of good working relationships, the vendors my Disney team and I go back to again and again not only do a great job, they care about each project as much as we do. They put as much into the productions as possible and work miracles within the limited budgets and short timelines common to social media. There are some vendors we haven’t been able to work with because they just guarded their bottom line instead of realizing the possibilities. Case in point, we recently approached a vendor to make a two-minute animated film for us based on a quirky new style of storytelling we wanted to explore. We had secured a fair budget and tried to walk the vendor through the creative plan. After much consideration, they said they could do it but would only assign a single animator to the project for two weeks. And instead of making a two-minute film, they would only deliver twenty seconds. We had to pass.

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The next vendor studio we met, one I discovered while attending an animation festival, not only agreed to do the project, they ended up nailing it. We got more than one animator assigned to the production, and they delivered the full two minutes. The work was above and beyond expectations, and that’s what my team and I aim to deliver every day. Just today, as I write this, one of our content executives watched a near-final cut of this short and identified it as a possible pilot for series exploration. Gosh, was I glad we made the effort to find the right vendor partner. Keeping the work flowing as a service studio isn’t just about delivering above expectations. Good and effective communication is almost as important to why clients will want to work with you again and again. I’m currently working with vendor studios on the other side of the world in New Zealand and Australia, where we are literally on a different calendar day, but I never feel that distance during the collaboration. Sadly, we’ve had to drop working with a local LA vendor or two because of issues in communication. One studio consistently missed notes and delivered late as a rule. We pulled our business and eventually they brought in new management and made a plea to work with us again. By then we found better local and international vendors, so there wasn’t even an opportunity to give them a second chance. In contrast to the worst-case scenarios mentioned in my experiences above, Ben Kalina reminds that vendor partners can also teach you things that can improve your process. “We try to observe how our client and our outsource partners work and learn from them. Sometimes it’s translating a part of a production process. Sometimes it’s something as simple as seeing how someone treats you when you’re the client. Chris Prynoski and I often compare notes after these meetings. We talk about how the work was presented, if a reel was too

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long or too short, or notice other small touches like the studio leaving notepads out for us to use. We might come away from that saying, “Let’s make sure we do that for clients before they come in for a review.” Switching gears, with a lot of small, independently owned studios, the owner/operator acts as her own agent, business representative, and producer. I should point out that since I moved to LA almost ten years ago, I’ve learned there are different definitions of what makes a small studio. When Disney acquired Lucasfilm, my team sent me to there to help build the relationship with an eye towards future collaborations. I was enjoying a lunch in their gorgeous commissary with some of their publishing and story team execs when I heard one of them describe themselves as a small studio. Huh? I guess that was true in the context of being compared to the large mothership of Disney. Meanwhile, my idea of a small studio is two animators sharing a space in Brooklyn, hoping that the building doesn’t have bedbugs. My current Disney team does a lot of work with a studio in Australia called Liquid Animation. With each project we work closely with three of the studio’s cofounders, the Viner Brothers (Steve, Michael, and Geoff), but all throughout the year I’m also in close contact with their LA-based representative, Michael Diaz. He lets me know when Steve Viner is in town and helps schedule a coffee or lunch so we can all get together. While I work with many studio vendors both near and far, Liquid Animation is the only one with a rep that is part of the mix. I appreciate how Michael keeps Liquid on the top of my mind, and he’s played a crucial role in building a bond between us and the studio. But while Liquid uses a rep, Chris Hamilton, president and creative director at OddBot Inc., does not. Although his operation spans buildings in two different locations in the greater LA area and produces

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short-form and full-series animation for high-profile partners such as Disney, Nickelodeon, and Netflix, Hamilton hasn’t found a need for representation. He shares, “We set up our own meetings with industry executives at their studios and also use mixers and social media to meet clients. But our projects mostly come from word of mouth. If you do great work and create an excellent and collaborative working experience for your clients, then people and projects will find you!” Similarly, Ben Kalina reports that most Titmouse work comes in through relationships or through general email on their site. “When a project comes out and people notice it, we get more traffic,” he adds.

A moody frame from Jason Carpenter’s award-winning indie short The Renter (2010).

Virtual studio owner/operator Jason Carpenter, whose eclectic work spans self-penned award-winning indie animated shorts (The Renter) to animation for live-action features and commissioned short-form work for TV (Nat Geo and the History Channel), finds that one project usually leads to the next. “I haven’t used a rep or a manager to this 355

point, but I think that partly is due to the fact that my work crosses multiple genres. If I were specifically a commercial director, for example, or worked solely in TV or feature, I think it would be helpful,” Carpenter says. Although Carpenter doesn’t use a rep or manager, the Tiny Inventions team of Ru Kuwahata and Max Porter use several to help secure work for their small studio. The pair explains, “Currently, we have commercial reps in the US and UK, and an agent for fiction in the US. Working with them is helpful because they can reach out to clients and people that we couldn’t otherwise.” Even so, still the majority of their jobs come through people in the industry recommending them or clients finding their work through their short films. “It requires a lot of hustling to find work or opportunities,” they conclude.

FAMILY STYLE (DYSFUNCTIONS AND ALL) Often the small studio takes on a family-like dynamic, with the studio owner as parental figure. At a glance it would seem that the small independent studios would be a model for efficiency and good communication. Yet this is not always the case. Just as often, the small studio uses its size to a disadvantage because the bosses are too busy acting as workers themselves to properly delegate, explain, or manage the workflow. In this way, they are both their own problem and solution. The danger is that the lack of delegation keeps them shackled to the desk at times when they should be looking after the business. In some ways, the family-style atmosphere of the small studios can make for a very desirable work environment. For the staff, there is immediate access to the number-one person, who will probably even know your name! At a large studio the boss may not even get a chance to meet you. Large studios function in a far more compartmentalized way. There, employees are hired to perform specific jobs that typically

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have very little chance of variation, at least per project or series season. At small studios, employees, by necessity, wear many hats. Today you may be animating, next week you’re coming up with designs, and the week after that you may be asked to create storyboards. Working at a small studio can give a greater understanding of the entire process of production or filmmaking. Often those who have worked at small studios are the ones who gain the confidence to open their own business down the road, make independent shorts, or parlay their valuable production knowledge into senior staff roles at the large studios. On the latter, Chris Hamilton concurs: “When I worked as an animator and director for other studios, I did a good amount of working until the early morning hours to deliver projects under impossible budgets and schedules. It is the job of the studio to do its best to properly budget and schedule a production with adequate time and resources, allocated to getting the job done in a healthy way. So at OddBot, it’s important to keep reasonable working hours. We often walk around the office at 7:00 p.m. and holler to the crew, “Go home to your friends and family!” Large studios offer a different set of advantages to the worker, most commonly health benefits, life insurance, and 401(k) plans. Large studios also tend to offer greater job security, due to long-form projects such as features, or episodic long-form and short-form series work, and often the length of employment is known at the start of a job. This is in sharp contrast to the way work can suddenly come to a close at a small studio. At a small studio, a client check that’s only a few days late on a payment milestone can halt the weekly payroll.

REALITY CHECK Create your own studio and the romantic fantasy can quickly yield to harsh realities. For one, as a studio owner and boss you are responsible

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for the welfare of all your employees. John Hays calls this the hardest part of the business: “You have to be prepared to lose good people when the time comes, tear it all down, and then rebuild everything over again. It’s a delicate balance between quiet optimism and the sheer terror of financial ruin.” Based on today’s environment with animation as the hot thing that is still able to deliver premium content during a worldwide pandemic, Ben Kalina thinks it’s a great time to start a studio, while cautioning, “I’d make sure you know what you’re getting into. Studios require a lot of people; one animated series can be as few as 20 people and as many as 120 people, plus vendors, and all the people you need to run the space. It’s super rewarding but make sure your interests align with that. Also, study up on running a studio. There are loads of great books and websites out there for learning about managing creative businesses. You don’t need a business degree to figure these things out, but there’s a lot that art school doesn’t prepare you for when you hire employees.” Hamilton adds, “Starting a studio is so hard and could take many years to see the success you’re seeking. With all of the time you’ll have to spend away from your friends and family, the responsibilities, headaches, fear, stress, debt, sleepless nights, studio overhead, liabilities and many more scary things that come with running your own studio—really, really ask yourself why?! The answer needs to be clear.” If it’s freedom you’re seeking, building a studio is not necessarily the answer. Hamilton reminds you can have that creative freedom just by working at home or with friends on your own projects. “Plus, in order to sustain your studio when starting out you almost certainly will have to do work for hire. There isn’t much creative freedom in most contract work.” Kalina agrees, “Many art school students have told us they want to run a studio and think it means that you’ll be your own

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boss and get to create your own work. It’s true that you can do that, but most of the time when you run a studio, it’s more time running a business and dealing with studio issues than it is creating things.” If money is a motivation, you might want to abandon ship. Hamilton cautions, “Money comes in and immediately goes out. Your team needs to get paid first. Then there’s overhead, rent, internet, insurance, lawyers, accountants, vendors, and all the other things that go into making a studio run. You could also be faced with the decision to pay all of that before yourself . . . and you should! Because you will always show up to work no matter what. The studio owners that pay themselves before everyone else, well, they don’t last very long.” Before we close out this chapter, John Hays offers this final summary of the plight of the independent studio owner: “Is your main interest in the creative side or the business side? Either way you have to be very clear about your goals. If you want to do something entrepreneurial you have to be very adventurous and unafraid of risk. On the creative side it’s much more complicated. You have to be aware that at some point artistic integrity will be in jeopardy simply because of the natural conflict between running a business and creative ideals. It’s like having one foot on the gas and the other on the brake. If you feel that the true joy of artistic creation can only be fully experienced when everything you have is at risk; money, family, friends, reputation, career, etc., then starting an animation business is the way to go.”

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CHAPTER 12

The Horror! Pitching and Development

“There is a lot of heartbreak in development. The not-sogreat case scenario is that at the end of the day, your project doesn’t get made. Unfortunately, this happens a lot. The worst-case scenario is that a relationship ends and you can’t see yourselves ever working together again. There are a lot of things that can go wrong in developing a series. One of the biggest challenges is staying true to the vision. When the creator is being asked to take notes, how closely will they accommodate and when will they push back? It is a delicate balance and the stakes are high—this is the time where your projects thrive or crumble.” —Sarah Wallendjack, VP, production and development, 9 Story Media Group

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Charlie is cooking up some fun with shapes in this still from Charlie’s Colorforms City. Image courtesy of 9 Story Media Group.

pitching an animated series in the last twenty-five years. Articles usually collect a handful of the top executives and ask them questions like, “What was the best and worst pitch meetings you’ve ever taken?” You end up with the dos and don’ts of pitching according to the development executive point of view. I find this information helpful, but it paints a limited picture of what really goes on in the pitch process. Before we get bogged down on details here, we can boil this chapter’s message into one of supply and demand. On the creative side, there’s lots of supply. While the supply of pitches will always exceed the needs in the marketplace, streaming has been a game changer. Titmouse COO, Ben Kalina, reports, “Streaming has brought more series to Titmouse which gives us the opportunity to produce new types of projects. I never imagined we’d get the opportunity to make something like Midnight Gospel, but with more streamers and more outlets people are making new types of series.” THERE HAS BEEN A LOT WRITTEN ON

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A still from the Titmouse production Midnight Gospel, a series created by Pen Ward and Duncan Trussell. Image courtesy of Netflix.

One of the “new types of series” Kalina must be thinking of graces the cover of this book, Bee and PuppyCat, created by Natasha Allegri originally for Frederator Studio’s YouTube channel Cartoon Hangover. Former longtime VP of development at Frederator Studios, Eric Homan (another one of my breakfast buddies!) was kind enough to walk us through the unconventional path Bee and PuppyCat took to reach the screen—a path that did not exist in the first edition of this book.

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Natasha Allegri’s pitch storyboards for what became Bee and PuppyCat. Image courtesy of Frederator.

Homan recalls that in 2011 they started looking at ideas and pitches for their Cartoon Hangover channel, which was well funded as part of YouTube’s big $100 million investment in original content. “Natasha was working on Adventure Time over at Cartoon Network and I reached out to see if she had any ideas for Cartoon Hangover’s shorts show, Too Cool! Cartoons. She emailed me the basic premise in November, then pitched a board in February 2012. I passed on the project as it didn’t fit with what we originally had in mind for Cartoon Hangover, which was edgier animation, more for teen boys. We loved it, though, and briefly considered developing and shopping it as a non– Cartoon Hangover series, but, long story short, we green-lit it for the shorts show about a week or two after her pitch. (I also remember Pen Ward telling me it was a mistake not to pick it up.) It ran longer than the five minutes we were looking for, so Natasha added a bit and we split it into two shorts.” Homan believes Natasha to be one of the three creative geniuses he’s worked with—you might have to buy him breakfast if you want to know who the others are. When I first saw Bee and PuppyCat it seemed so different than anything else I’d seen. Natasha had such a singular vision. Homan says that’s because most popular cartoon characters are reflective of their creators, and that was obviously the case with Bee and her. He adds, “I remember the pitch coming off very personal, and that Natasha poured into it the things she really loved, though I didn’t have a deep knowledge of her influences, like anime, video games, and internet culture. You got the sense it was a show Natasha wanted to see more than make, even. “While the pitch was one of a kind, many of the more unique elements that wound up in the finished cartoon didn’t come until later,” 363

he says, making it clear how much further development occurs during actual production. Homan continues, “I think Natasha had the idea early on for PuppyCat’s Vocaloid voice, but we didn’t know that at the time. As for Bee, we listened to hundreds and hundreds of auditions. Natasha even asked her Tumblr followers for suggestions. In the end Natasha saw/heard Allyn Rachel in a TV ad. We had no idea, either, of what would turn out to be Natasha’s unconventional approach to casting, hiring professional actors but also reality TV stars, YouTubers, and assorted pals.” We don’t talk enough about the contribution of music and sound design in animation, and when it comes to creator-driven cartoons, it’s another part of the puzzle that makes up the creator’s vision. “Early on we were talking with Lullatone in Japan for composing. I can’t remember why that didn’t work out, but Will Wiesenfeld, a.k.a. Baths, wound up doing a great job on both the original shorts and series. I had expected the music would be a little more traditional, revealing and underscoring emotions and comedy, etc., but Natasha had no interest in that. Of course, that score was a big part of her overall vision and helped make the cartoon even more distinctive,” Homan remembers. Because Bee and PuppyCat was being produced for a new digital platform (again, one not available when I originally wrote this book), the process didn’t need to follow the usual network development pipeline, which often means notes, notes, and more notes. In fact, Homan can’t remember giving any notes for that first cartoon other than to remove one strong cuss word. He shares, “I’m sure if I gave many notes they would’ve been counter to Natasha’s creative point of view. I can’t imagine what and how many notes we would’ve gotten from a network. Ditto for the series, as I recall being pretty hands off. A couple of things didn’t work as well as they could’ve, I guess, but the show was so unconventional that not only could I not identify any

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missteps, but I don’t believe I could’ve helped address them without mangling her overall vision.” Hearing about Homan’s instinct to give Natasha the room she needed to create only makes me want to buy him another breakfast. And because we are talking about new media, even financing the show for series was not done in the typical manner. A Kickstarter campaign, overseen by Nate Olsen, began a month or two after the shorts were first released. Presently, the Bee and PuppyCat story is still being written, with Homan remarking (at the time of the interview), “Even today, the full second season has been completed for about six months yet still hasn’t got a home, though (or because?) all thirteen half hours have been leaked on the web. And Cartoon Hangover was shut down this week.” But if this is indeed the final chapter of Bee and PuppyCat, it certainly isn’t the last we’ll hear from Natasha Allegri. Homan says that what inspires him most about the current state of the animation industry is the more diverse range of storytellers and filmmakers. “Of all the reasons to welcome a larger range of creative voices, the one most inspiring is it shows young artists and storytellers that there’s room, opportunities, and acceptance waiting for them,” he concludes. Natasha not only found acceptance, she helped rewrite the rules of the creator-driven cartoon. Best of all, she’s part of an ever-increasing list of other talented women doing the same thing—including Rebecca Sugar, Daron Nefcy, Noelle Stevenson, Dana Terrace, Lauren Montgomery, Minty Lewis, Julia Pott, Lauren Faust, Eva Lee Wallberg, and many more!

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Matt Gielen (then Frederator’s director of audience development) hosting a terrific panel at Vid-Con in 2015. Pictured from right to left are Matt, Natasha Allegri, Daneboe, Leigh Lahav (OnlyLeigh), and Swoozie.

ALL THE PLANETS ALIGN

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Fred Seibert, founder and CEO of Frederator Networks Inc. and Frederator Studios, as captured by my Cintiq stylus.

Fred Seibert, founder and CEO of Frederator Networks Inc. and Frederator Studios (the home of Bee and PuppyCat), once told the students in my SVA animation career course, “To succeed in this business you have to be ignorant that it is impossible.” Yet, occasionally, the impossible does happen. Why is it that some projects manage to break through above all others? It need not be a mystery. While ignorance may be bliss, there’s no reason why we shouldn’t understand this business to the best of our ability. Towards that end, here’s a roundup of why some projects are awarded that coveted prize of prizes, the green light!

You Are Someone Whom the Network Wants to Work With This is due to your reputation or track record of working on highly visible commercial projects in a senior role. Networks usually buy creators, not ideas. The reason that networks go with proven creators is good business practice. An established creator or top creative talent working in the animation industry has the chops, know-how, and ability to deliver. Even short pilots take money to produce, and development executives can’t spend the entire year’s development booty on a bunch of unknowns. Their jobs are on the line. Somewhat understandably, they play it safe. This is a “business of animation” reality. Our focus, as potential creators, is to control what we can control. We can develop our creative voices and storytelling chops and learn how to pitch more effectively, improving and amassing experience with each try. In the meantime, we can ready ourselves for future opportunities by working on others’ shows. It’s up to us to put

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ourselves in the position where we become the creators that the networks want to buy. Sheep in the Big City creator Mo Willems agrees: “You could have the best idea ever and I guarantee that a network will not be interested in it unless they are interested in you. Fortunately for me, there was a logical progression in my cartoons from doing everything—producing, writing, animation, voice, camera, negative cutting, ink, and paint on The Man Who Yelled to farming out camera and ink and paint (the Sesame Street films) to directing other people’s animation (The OffBeats) to supervising direction (Sheep in the Big City).” Rob Renzetti (creator of My Life as a Teenage Robot, former supervising producer of Gravity Falls, and current exec producer on Big City Greens), agrees with Willems. “It helps to have some kind of track record in the industry. Work well and hard on other people’s shows. Gain a reputation. If you go in as a rookie, you will need to be much more brilliant and fantastic.” If you are new to the industry, have never helmed a series or project, or are an industry outsider, chances are slim that your ideas will sell. There are, of course, exceptions to the rule. Pen Ward’s Adventure Time was just such an example, with the creator making the pilot for the groundbreaking series right out of school. Trey Parker and Matt Stone (South Park) and Mike Judge (Beavis and Butt-Head) were outsiders to the animation business before they created their respective projects to wild successes. However, South Park was almost a presold project because of its underground success as the Spirit of Christmas short, which had been produced as a made-to-order video Christmas card for TV executive Brian Graden. Pirated video copies of the crude and funny little short swept through the industry and public alike—making it viral video before there was such a thing as viral video. With such a successful national “focus group” test, it was inevitable that South Park

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would score a green light somewhere on the cable spectrum. South Park found its home on the then-struggling cable station Comedy Central, becoming the network’s first big hit. Beavis and Butt-Head began as the made-in-a-garage short, Frog Baseball, from outsider, Texas-based, amateur animator Mike Judge. The Generation X antics of its two antiheroes was picked up by MTV after first scoring a hit on the festival circuit as part of Spike and Mike’s Sick and Twisted Festival of Animation. Like South Park, Beavis and Butt-Head was a presold proposition. MTV had so much success with Beavis and Butt-Head that they built a studio around it. The New York–based animation studio MTV Animation went on to employ hundreds of animation artists cranking out such shows as The Head, Daria, Celebrity Death Match, and Downtown, but with all their expansion and success it could be argued they never figured out how to make anything as breakthrough as what one guy made alone in his garage.

Still from Craig Bartlett’s Nickelodeon cartoon Hey Arnold!, which began as a couple of clay shorts for Sesame Street. Copyright 2005 Viacom International Inc.

Nickelodeon’s Hey Arnold! (which recently enjoyed a revival with Hey Arnold!: The Jungle Movie), also started as preestablished shorts

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before becoming a series. Creator Craig Bartlett recalls, “My Arnold shorts got it all started. I think everyone who wants to create a cartoon should try to make their own short to get the ball rolling. Your own short reveals your sense of art, story, timing, humor, tone. It tells much more than just pitching your idea ever could. Make a short!”

You Are a Celebrity “I’d been working for Moby on a few projects. He wanted to do some animation. So I thought that maybe the Nick Jr. project I was proposing could be musical. So I brought in Moby to meet with them and they really liked our idea for a short film. It’s always a good sell to bring in a celebrity. I’m sure it helped having Moby there.” —Elanna Allen, creator, director, and children’s book author

Elanna Allen’s creation for Nick Jr., called Bing Can Sing!, featured music by Moby, who was also at the pitch meeting, adding a touch of celebrity razzle-dazzle to this terrific project. Copyright 2005 Viacom International Inc. All rights reserved.

Savvy would-be creators might consider utilizing the power of celebrity by attaching some name cachet to a pitch project. Hollywood has functioned on this system for many decades. For example, Charlton

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Heston’s name was attached to star in The Planet of the Apes when the project was shopped around to various studios. The offbeat tale of an upside-down simian society may not have made it to the screen without the actor that lent his name at the earliest, most crucial, stage. It’s a much safer venture for networks to green-light projects initiated by or involving a celebrity. The idea is that celebrities provide built-in audiences, and that lowers risk. While celebrity involvement is certainly helpful to sell a show, it doesn’t guarantee success in the marketplace. Mike Hollingsworth explains why, with this type of thinking, creators take a backseat: “Networks are not looking for the next Mike Judge or Matt Groening. Generally networks are looking for a celebrity to give an animated show to. As a result, as an animator, your idea is usually dead in the water unless it has a popular actor or actress already attached.” This author cocreated three pitches with the actress/author Alison Arngrim, who played my favorite TV villain, Nellie Oleson, on the classic series Little House on the Prairie. Not only was it fun to brainstorm ideas with her, but Alison was also a hoot at the pitch meetings. Her quirky outlook, career story, and colorful experiences made for really fun conversation. After a pitch at Nick, the president of Preschool Animation turned into a fangirl, asking for an autograph from Arngrim. Although it’s been five years since we started working together, I have a feeling one of our pitches will still connect somewhere. Not so long ago, the awesome Gary Doodles (cocreator of Breadwinners) came aboard to redesign one of our pitches, so, like many development stories, this one is . . . to be continued!

Your Idea Fit the Network’s Development Agenda

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“There is usually a network strategy, formulated by several key people involved with the programming, branding, on air, online, and marketing areas. The programming piece usually fits in with that strategy.” —Linda Simensky, head of PBS Kids content

Art by Mexican animation artist Julieta Colás from my preschool pitch “Playground Town” (cocreated with Alison Arngrim). Colás is currently a character designer on the second season of Tuca & Bertie.

Each year, networks set a creative agenda that at times asks its executives to find shows with “break-thru-ocity” and “pixie dust.” Other terms that are thrown around include the “uber-idea” and something that is “left turn.” Another big media company I know likes to challenge its various execs to “be their own disrupter.” Often, what networks are not looking for is more specific. One major network once issued a memo warning creators to avoid pitching shows featuring “rainbows, trees, clowns, or dust bunnies.” Some networks won’t consider your idea starring a bunny if there’s already a successful

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bunny out there. One major network recently reversed a short-lived ban on animal ideas. During the days of “no animals” they said, “We believe kids won’t relate to shows with animal characters. They want to see other human kids on the screen.” When asked how they explained the success of SpongeBob (the number-one show at the time), “We can’t,” was the reply. So, how can creators navigate through these waters? Happily, these network bans and buzzwords change with trends, marketing reports, shuffling personnel, and hostile company takeovers. Your great idea about a clown and his pet dust bunny living in a tree in Rainbow Town just might find a home yet. But just how do networks go about setting their development agenda each year? Eric Coleman, former senior vice president, original programming and GM, Walt Disney TVA, answers, “We generate a new development agenda each year that outlines our goals for the upcoming season. It’s a pretty simple process where we consider what we have on our air, what we need on our air, what we’re personally interested in exploring, and what we believe our audience wants. We then finalize four or five categories to develop for and we hit the streets in search of appropriate material and talent.” Fred Seibert adds, “Often an executive works off of development parameters decided by his or her network for that season. Others work off of what he or she believes a superior is interested in.” Elanna Allen describes how network mandates effect pitching: “Networks have a mandate as to what they’re looking for and it’s usually pretty narrow. For instance, at one time Nick Jr. was looking for shorts about ‘food.’ If you don’t know that you’re at a disadvantage.” So how does one learn what the networks are buying at this particular time? The most common answer executives give to potential pitchers is to “watch our shows and see what we’re doing.” This makes

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for fairly easy research, but what will you really be seeing? You’ll be watching what they bought and developed two or more years ago. Recently, one network broadcast a string of new programming that was made up of mostly space and comic-hero type shows. Behind the scenes, the network had already decided to move away from such subject matter in their next development round. Still, watching what’s out there as research is not a waste of time. At the very least you should be able to detect their intended audience. To find out the current development agenda, nothing beats asking a development executive for that information. I have found development executives to be very helpful in that area. Often there is a one-sheet, a short summary of the network mandate, they can forward to you that outlines what they’re looking for. Eric Coleman explains, “If you’re interested in pitching to a network, just contact the development executives and ask your questions. They want you to know the answers because they want you to come in and pitch what they’re looking for, when they’re looking for it.” TV networks, cable stations, and streaming platforms position themselves as uniquely branded destinations. But things get a lot grayer when you actually watch the programs. There has been too much crosspollination of development executives and show creators for there to be much of a distinction. This is even more so now because all the distribution platforms aim to offer animated programing for kids from preschool through roughly age eleven, and outside of those demographics they also provide prime-time-style animated sitcoms and edgier “adult” options. While the networks, cable stations and streaming platforms are attempting to produce new animated series to fit their particular brands, all this is thrown to the wind as hits emerge on other networks and result in similar projects being green-lit

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elsewhere. Think about Adventure Time on Cartoon Network giving rise to the very Pen Ward–influenced Little Big Awesome on Amazon. As Fred Seibert says, “The hits on the network, or at another network, have a great influence at a given moment.” Using the most recent development mandate as their guide, development executives look out for the needs of a network, cable channel, or streaming platform. All of this aside, how much does the personal taste of a development executive come into play? What, if any, impact does that have on your idea getting sold? Sarah Wallendjack, VP, production and development at 9 Story Media Group, answers, “If we are going to move forward on a project, it’s going to take time and collaboration. So, we need to personally be passionate about the project. We fold in experience of what has worked and not worked in the past and it must fit within the brand’s overall goals. That being said, this evaluation should go in both directions. Do the development execs feel like the people you want to trust your property to? Does the brand they work for feel like the right place for your idea?”

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Sarah Wallendjack, VP, production and development at 9 Story Media Group.

For Fred Seibert, his taste is a critical and necessary factor in deciding to green-light a project. “It’s not the only factor—we’re making cartoons for an audience—but for me, it’s a necessary factor. I want to believe in the project and the creator, and my taste affects those feelings directly.” Fonda Snyder, the former VP of creative development and sales at Rainmaker and current executive VP at Battat Entertainment, explained that it’s not so much personal taste but instinct based on years and years of deep knowledge born from hard-earned experience. “It all comes together for me in an instant during the pitch—a personal understanding of what works or does not.” To Fonda’s point, my cocreators and I scored a development deal because the development executive said she “just knew” from a first glance at our project, adding, “It’s rare that I get that feeling when something crosses my desk.” Of course, it had taken me almost twenty years of creating and pitching projects to reach the point where I could do that in a six-page minipitch bible. The bigger trick would be to do this a second time. But what’s more important, a gut feeling based on an exec’s personal experience or the brand they are asked to serve? Former senior vice president of development (animation) at Octopie Studios and current producer at Falcon’s Creative Group Eric Calderon says that as a development exec, “Ideally, you’re hired at a place and work there because your personal and professional interests are aligned. I try to always separate them and honestly state them.” Whatever the spark that gets an exec’s attention, it has to trigger passion because that moment is only the beginning of a long process. Eric Coleman explains, “To get a series into production I need to sell it up the ranks at the network, so of course I’m most passionate about the projects that I would want to watch myself. Development is a very 376

subjective process so I can’t help but gravitate towards the projects with a sensibility or design that appeals to me. At the end of the day, though, it’s crucial to develop shows with the audience in mind. I pick projects that I love and I think kids will too.” Linda Simensky also uses personal taste as her guide. She adds, “I tend to believe that a network that hires a development person hires her partly for her ability to factor in what their network is looking for, and partly for the network’s taste. The most talented network development people tend to have very good judgment and confidence as well.”

You Have Network Cheerleaders Rallying for You “It’s a great feeling when you can go around telling people you’ve just seen a project you really love. That gets people excited.” —Linda Simensky, head of content for PBS Kids

Linda Simensky, head of content for PBS Kids, as sketched by the author—or did you think this was a photo?

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It’s critical to have development executives be your cheerleaders to reach a green light. They’re the ones who will sell you to their superiors once you leave the room, and you probably won’t be in the room when your project is green-lit. This was the case with this author’s most recent development deal, where my cocreators and I pitched the exec via email. A few days later she reached out that she loved the pitch and would show it to her boss at the next opportunity. We weren’t in the room when she presented the project, but she must have done a great job because we got a deal offer just after. I should point out that I’ve known this wonderful exec for almost fifteen years, and we’ve had a few projects together in the past. We have a shared history and mutual respect, which couldn’t have hurt my project’s chances. It all comes back to relationships. Get yourself out there and meet industry people outside of official pitch meetings. For anyone serious about pitching, attending animation festivals and marketplace events such as the annual Kidscreen Summit is a good idea. All of the major networks send their development executives to these events as scouts. Besides the official meetings you can set up, these venues provide a great opportunity for creators and development executives to meet in a fun, inspiring, and social environment. The rest is up to you. But a word of caution: you probably won’t score a deal at a marketplace event such as Kidscreen. Eric Homan agrees. “While the Kidscreens and MIPCOMs certainly have their value, they’re not as helpful in the area of meeting new talent.” These events are better as a springboard for relationships and for getting a handy survey of all the players in today’s media environment. In my experience development executives are often encouraging of individuals. However, that doesn’t automatically make them sincere

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cheerleaders once you leave the room. One friend of mine learned this the hard way. He approached a development executive with a pitch for a liveaction sketch comedy series for tweens. The exec scheduled a meeting with him (even though he had no experience whatsoever in writing a sketch comedy series for teens, or for any audience), but then they rescinded and said he must first send some writing samples. Like any self-respecting aspiring writer, he had samples galore and quickly sent them some funny scripts. After a month delay, they told him they liked his work and scheduled a new appointment for him to pitch. He used the opportunity to invite other writers into the project, and for two weeks they brainstormed sketch material. Two of the writers were also actresses who readied to perform some of the material at the pitch meeting. The whole team was very excited until a day or so before the scheduled pitch, when the network executive canceled the meeting again. Now the executive wanted to read the new material in place of taking a meeting. Disappointed, the writer and his team sent in the scripts. Two months later, the development executive finally granted the team a meeting. Everyone mustered their enthusiasm once more. When they got to the meeting, the development executive, who had been their contact, had blown them off. In her place was a lower-level person who opened the pitch meeting with the revelation that the team had just missed the development round by a mere few weeks. Imagine their disappointment. My writer friend was very confused and saddened by the experience. He said that the executives’ encouragement was why he’d put so much time into the pitch, rallied a team together, and sacrificed many weekends. He wondered why they would lead him on and ask him to do so much work if they weren’t sincere about it. They sure

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were generous with his time. But if my friend was serious, he would have been glad to spend weekends working on his writing, whether there was supposed to be a meeting or not. He tried one more pitch after this and when that didn’t pan out he left the business altogether. So I think he may have set his expectations a little too high.

The author with Alison Arngrim, who is also an author, brandishing our books. That day we were pitching to Lisa O’Brien at NBC Universal Kids, where Lisa was the VP of original content, development/current. She’s the best kind of exec, because she’s also a great human being.

But when it comes to connecting with the right exec, it’s a bit like dating. Look at the warning signs. For instance, there’s an affable development executive that always asked me to pitch and then didn’t return my calls or emails. Is that someone who sincerely wants to work with me? An executive genuinely interested in working with you nurtures you through the process. They check in on you, return phone calls, answer emails, and help sell your idea up the ladder.

PREPARING FOR THE PITCH MEETING Near the end of The Muppet Movie, Kermit and the gang finally land a meeting with a studio mogul, played by the legendary Orson Welles. 380

Before you can say Rainbow Connection, Welles rings up his secretary and asks her to prepare the “standard rich and famous contract.” In the real world, pitching is a little more complicated. Before you enter a pitch room you have got to be able to say your idea in two minutes or less. In fact you should be able to sum it all up in a sentence. For example, if I were pitching the The Powerpuff Girls, I could say something like, “It’s about three pint-size superheroes that save the day before bedtime.” You shouldn’t have to talk about your idea for two hours to do it justice. If it can’t be boiled down to a fun, simple, and captivating logline, it’s probably not a good fit for an animated series. With the above-mentioned logline, I’d offer some samples of “show art” (finished color artwork done in the style of the show) illustrations of the main characters in action. The art reveals character and conflict while showing them interacting with their world. After the logline, you still have nearly two whole minutes to fill. First step would be giving a little more info on the setup or concept for the show. In the case of The Powerpuff Girls, the next thing we might mention is, “Professor Utonium created the Powerpuff Girls in his lab from sugar, spice, and everything nice. Living as a family with the professor as their father figure, the Powerpuff Girls balance lives as preschoolers with the adult-sized task of protecting the city of Townsville.” All of the above was about concept/format. And now that we have context, we would dig deeper and use the next minute to dive into character. Make sure the first part of your pitch doesn’t eat up too much time because without hooking the exec on your characters, nothing is gonna stick. The concept or gimmick is supposed to be secondary or in support of the characters. This is the very definition of the oft-used development term, “character driven.” Characters are the reason we

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care. Buffy the Vampire Slayer is about a high school girl who happens to be the chosen one, equipped with supernatural powers, to fight vampires and demons. That’s a great set up, but it tells us nothing about her character. Why would I care about Buffy? I have to show a development executive why Buffy is special. She’s conflicted about the role she’s forced to play. She’s struggling to be normal in a world turned upside down, and she uses humor to cope with even the most dangerous situations. These are some of the things that start to make her a character beyond the concept of the show. Animation is no different. Lastly, you would mention a brief synopsis of possible episodes to show off your characters and concept in action. This is really the last piece of the puzzle, tying all the elements together. And this is where an exec gets confirmation that you have an interesting point of view and are telling stories that can only be told by you, with stories that can only come from your characters. Keep the sample episode story portion of the pitch as brief as possible, though, streamlining each one into a short paragraph. I like to pitch my two favorites, but with two to four additional stories available if the exec wants to hear more. The combination of your strong characters, great concept, and fun episode ideas should be enough to show why this idea has potential to last for one hundred episodes, spin-offs, and several feature films. If your pitch is not a good fit, no amount of verbal gymnastics will convince them otherwise. Besides, your two minutes are up. When pitching with partners you should have a general idea of what each person will be contributing at the meeting. It would be a good idea to have one person take on the main duties of introducing the project. Another member of the team may take over to pitch the story, discuss the characters, or describe the technique or medium of the animation. All members should be sure to read the room and adjust

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their presentations as needed. In addition to this, partners must also read each other and be ready to step in and offer support/backup to a tough or unexpected question.

SCENES FROM A PITCH MEETING The first thing you want to do is introduce yourself and your team, and start with some general small talk, including discussing your background and what experiences led you up to this point. Follow this by asking the executive to tell her story. How long has she been with this network, media company, or streaming service? What projects has she shepherded? What is she excited about? Everyone should already be feeling looser and more comfortable. I like to follow the executive’s lead on when it’s time to start pitching. This way I don’t risk coming across as overanxious. Besides, the “getting to know each other” portion of the pitch is a lot of fun. This part of the pitch could be the formation of a long-term, mutually beneficial relationship. During your two-minute blitz pitch, you don’t want to rattle off your spiel like an automaton. You’ve got to read the room. Reading the room is being aware of how the pitch is being received (as you are giving it). You should be open to interruptions, questions, or switching gears along the way. Remember, good pitching is a conversation, not a monologue. Jennie Stacey, VP of development at 9 Story Media Group, reassures, “The multiple questions can sometimes feel like submitting to an interrogation, but often the creators won’t realize quite how much valuable information about the characters and world they have tucked away in their brain.” Building on Stacey’s point, you know your project best, so there’s no need to over-rehearse or worry about the exact wording of your presentation. Keep things loose, fresh, and spontaneous. Afterwards, you can make a note of what worked and

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what should be retooled. Each pitch is a chance to hone your presentation.

Eric Homan, former VP of development at Frederator Studios, where he helped change the modern animation landscape when he insisted that his boss, Fred Seibert, green-light Pen Ward’s pitch called Adventure Time. Photo by Nikki Price.

As the pitcher, it’s your job to set the tone of the room. So why not aim for a relaxed and friendly vibe? Most importantly, be yourself! Eric Homan agrees: “I should at least generally enjoy the company of the person who’s pitching.” Going from one Eric to another, in Eric Calderon’s experience all good pitches have true authenticity. He adds, “It’s so rare. But when it happens, it’s undeniable and refreshing! When someone’s true personal experience becomes comedy or action/adventure, I get super excited. I actually feel the blood pumping through me when it happens!” Be yourself. Check. Got it. But you might be tempted to do something to stand out from the pack, to be the wacky memorable meeting the executives talk about for weeks. Calderon has seen hundreds and hundreds of pitches presented to him, so he’s seen some crazy stuff, adding, “Most of the time it falls terribly flat. So, I 384

wouldn’t suggest going nuts, unless you really are nuts and your pitch is pure comedy. Otherwise, I’d keep the pitch tight and professional. Save the wackiness for the writing and storyboard room!” Sarah Wallendjack agrees, “It’s great to highlight what is different about your idea in the way that you pitch your property, but I highly advise against generating gimmicks that aren’t going to further demonstrate why your idea is a great idea.” But it’s not all black and white on whether or not to try a creative approach to pitching. Jennie Stacey finds it may work when the approach is completely in sync with the spirit of the concept being pitched. “For example, if a creator handmakes beautiful soft toys of their characters in the style of the show, it can be a wonderful way to make their concept feel tangible. One of our early series was green-lit when the creator pitched the concept using a homemade map of the world made of fuzzy felt!” However, Fonda Snyder thinks gimmicks never work—in that sense of out-of-the-box pitching.” Great storytelling, great preparation, amazing visuals, fabulous characters, confidence, a fabulous sense of humor—understanding your audience and to whom you are selling— are important for pitching. Brief, concise, unique content that is eminently high concept, visually dazzling and commercial with immense heart will go such a long way.” Backing up the advice of simply being authentic, Fonda pitched a project with one of her creator clients, where English was her second language, that well sums this up: “Her property was impossibly charming, so thoroughly original and had such character depth and charm, and her storytelling (her own backstory) had these jaded executives crying during each meeting. She was so open and authentic. Her storytelling (and she as a human being) touched them so beautifully and unwittingly—as it wasn’t intended to be manipulative, it was simply her truth. Her pitch was genuine and

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personal, with universal themes. Her visuals also happened to be adorable and stunning. There were multiple competing offers. Being out of the box is not as important as the purity of the storytelling and the ability to reach your audience in a genuine way—with heart and/or humor, or artistry—or all of the above!” Fonda concludes. Amen!

TAKE THE PRESSURE OFF “We take pitches weekly and stay connected with the creative community looking for the next big project. We are optioning maybe 5 percent of what we are pitched.” —Sarah Wallendjack, vice president, production and development, 9 Story Media Group At the conclusion of a pitch meeting, you’re not likely to hear a “yes” unless you’re a celebrity or one of the top hit-makers in the business. Chances are you won’t get a “no” either. In fact, I’m still waiting on the “no” from pitches done ten years ago. Of course, silence is in fact “no,” and that’s a good thing to understand and accept. Often you’re not pitching to the person that can give a final word on a project anyhow. If there is a spark of interest, the exec will likely add your project to a monthly development roundup where they present it internally to the larger team and leadership. It’s only when we fully understand the nature of pitch meetings that we can make the most of them. For instance, if I know that I will not get a “yes” or “no” at the conclusion of a pitch meeting, that allows me to take the pressure off. If there’s nothing immediately at stake, then I don’t have to give the perfect pitch. That makes me feel relaxed. When you’re relaxed, it puts others in the room at ease. People feed off each other’s energy. Relaxed people come across as confident and easy to be 386

around. The executive knows that if your idea sells, she’ll be spending a lot of time with you. Sarah Wallendjack adds, “For both parties, it is a trust fall exercise. On both sides, there needs to be respect and a lot of trust. Together, you both want nothing more than a project getting made and put on TV.” The pitch meeting should be thought of as a first step, a valuable chance to make a new contact, get feedback on your work, and delicately snoop around as to what the buyer is looking for at this particular moment. The pitch, especially a first pitch, should be considered an informational meeting. Whether the experience is good or bad, there is always something to learn from it. How did your method of presentation work out? Was it a good thing to bring a series bible to the meeting? Did the executive become overwhelmed by too many details? Postmeeting, take stock of what worked and what didn’t, and try something new next time. You’re not at the meeting to get the last word or to argue. You’re there to build a successful partnership between you and them. Just be yourself and be sincere, and the rest should follow. Like-minded people always find each other sooner or later. Pitching means that you’ve started the process. The reality is that it will likely take years of pitching and repitching before you break through. Therefore the pitch meetings you make along the way are to get you and your ideas ready for the day when all the planets align. The meeting you take today sets up the opportunity you may have ten years from now. Creator Elanna Allen adds, “Even if you’re pitching stuff that’s not that good at first, it’s still worth pitching if your end goal is to have a show. The person you are pitching to will be at a new company in two years and now you’ll have a contact there. It’s scary, so to get over that fear, you’ve got to do it.”

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WHEN CREATORS ATTACK . . . The surest automatic deal killer is a poor attitude. You may only have one chance to make a good impression. Even if you disagree with the development executive, you need to behave like a reasonable professional. There is always something to be learned from even the most seemingly off-base criticism. Give the development executive the benefit of the doubt. Linda Simensky explains, “When you tell them why the property is not what you are looking for, they get angry at you, they tell you that you’re wrong, and create a contentious environment. No matter what you think of the show, you end up disliking the person, and that never makes you want to go to bat for that person.” The Ollie & Moon Show creator Diane Kredensor notes that it’s important to understand that feedback doesn’t mean anything negative about you as a creator. “You’re not bad or wrong. It’s not personal, it’s just feedback. Understanding that fact will make it easier to take feedback and look for the gold. Often, if the feedback rings true, then it makes my ideas stronger and I’m always happy to incorporate them. And if something doesn’t feel right then I try to look at why they gave the note and see if I can find another way to satisfy why they were bumped with something. Sometimes that leads to brainstorming, which uncovers new ideas that make my pitch even stronger,” says Kredensor. Fred Seibert has had many bad pitch meetings. “I guess the saddest are when someone has no skill and very little talent. But the most annoying are the so-called professionals who think number one, they deserve a pickup, or number two, believe the audience is stupid, or number three, their ‘talent’ is enough to cover up a terrible project.” For Eric Coleman, the worst pitches aren’t just bad—they’re boring. “The biggest crime when pitching is being boring.”

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Lastly, one executive described being pitched in a bathroom once, which she says was not very smart, and not the proper environment. Yikes!

PITCHING STYLES “The best pitches I’ve had are ones where I have an existing relationship with the person I’m pitching to and have a sense of their expectations and what will appeal to them. Sometimes this means a loose verbal pitch with minimal visuals, sometimes this means including character designs and background art, sometimes it means a full storyboard pitch, and sometimes it means emailing them a document. It really depends.” —Minty Lewis, cocreator of The Great North There’s a limitless number of styles or ways to present your material and to create a lasting impression. There’s a story of Gabor Csupo and Arlene Klasky, selling their show Ahhh! Real Monsters based on a simple doodle scrawled on a paper napkin. This approach might work for you, too, if you had directed award-winning commercials for over a decade, made three seasons of The Simpsons, and created the hit original series Rugrats. Until your résumé matches theirs, you should avoid presenting ideas on a napkin.

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Self-deprecation in sketch form by Stephen P. Neary.

Stephen P. Neary, creator of Cartoon Network’s The Fungies!, likes to take baby steps. He explains, “Usually before a full-blown pitch, I float the ideas to a single development exec with some sketches, and let them know I have a bible if they’re interested. From there, if they want to see a storyboard, I usually wait to get feedback on my pitch before developing the storyboard. I don’t want to waste time boarding before I know anybody’s interested. It just takes too much time!” Cartoon Network’s Code Name: Kids Next Door creator, Tom Warburton, described his pitching style. “I like to come up with a colorful ten- or twelve-page booklet that really describes the world I’m trying to pitch. Not too many words, not too many pictures. Short, sweet, and to the point. Once I finished them I just mailed them on down to the development people at Cartoon Network. The rest was all done over the phone and at my drawing desk and computer . . . but not quickly, mind you. Development always takes a long time, and generally, that’s a good thing. Every show needs time to be developed.”

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Mike Hollingsworth, the supervising director of BoJack Horseman has fluctuated in his approach to pitching: “I’ve gone in with a phonebook and I’ve gone in with one page. My current take is about ten pages. As my career has progressed I have a better understanding of just how busy everyone is. They don’t have time to read your phonebook-sized pitch. The pitch needs information presented in a concise manner so the exec can easily repeat blurbs to their boss, who is even busier. Everyone has a boss.” It might be because I bought him lunch, but either way, Hollingsworth was kind enough to break down his ten-page pitch bible approach for us: 1. So, front page, the elevator pitch of your show 2. Next page, a longer explanation and, if the show has an arc, an explanation of that arc 3. Main characters, their relationships 4. Additional characters 5. Additional characters 6. Example episode (half a page to a page apiece) 7. Example episode (half a page to a page apiece) 8. Example episode (half a page to a page apiece) 9. Example episode (half a page to a page apiece) 10. Creator bio

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Mike Hollingsworth, horsing around as supervising director of the Netflix series BoJack Horseman.

Nickelodeon’s Hey Arnold! creator, Craig Bartlett, recalls, “Hey Arnold! was pitched in August ’93 to Mary Harrington in Burbank, California, when she was head of original animation for Nickelodeon, kind of by accident, after me and five other Rugrats writers had pitched several ideas we had come up with together. We talked for an hour or so and were out of ideas, so we pulled comics and other things out of our briefcases, just trying to find out what Mary liked. I showed her my videotape reel of old Penny cartoons that I had done for Pee-wee’s Playhouse—at the front of the reel were three Arnold cartoons that I had made myself, in the Claymation Penny style. That got Mary’s attention. I then showed her some Arnold comics that I had drawn for Simpsons Illustrated, and it seems that one particular panel of Arnold screaming was the real clincher for her. She laughed and laughed. When the meeting adjourned, Mary buttonholed me outside and said that she wanted to pursue Arnold further.

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“We six Rugrats writers then adjourned to a pizza place and debriefed about the meeting. The other five guys sensed that I had somehow gotten my own show out of the group meeting. Paul Germain said, ‘Arnold is gonna go to series, mark my words.’ I met with Mary over the next four months, refining a pilot outline, and the pilot was green-lit in January. The pilot was made in ’94 and the series was green-lit a year later.” Eric Coleman described two of his favorite pitches from his days at Nick. “The pitch for SpongeBob SquarePants was one of the best I’ve ever had. Steve Hillenburg set the mood with a seashell that played Hawaiian music, he wore a Hawaiian shirt, and he built an aquarium with all of the characters living inside. But more importantly, he captivated us with his description of SpongeBob and his world. The pitch felt very simple yet very fresh at the same time. And very funny. He didn’t just promise it, he demonstrated it. He had wonderful artwork and character descriptions and storylines that conveyed a very well-crafted vision for a series.”

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Stephen Hillenburg’s SpongeBob Square-Pants. Copyright 2005 Viacom International Inc. All rights reserved.

Coleman went out of his way to explain how it wasn’t just the inroom props that helped the SpongeBob pitch make an impression. For us creators, it’s important for us to remember the full package of what someone like Stephen Hillenburg was really offering. Mike Hollingsworth, as a young man, was always obsessed by the SpongeBob pitch story, but he’s come to think of it differently. “Stephen Hillenburg wheeled a saltwater aquarium into his pitch and was all, ‘Look at all these amazing animals. Wouldn’t this be a great show.’ Yes, apparently he did this and sold them SpongeBob, but he also, one, had already worked at Nickelodeon for a couple years as the showrunner of Rocko’s Modern Life, and two, had proven he could deliver under pressure and that he wasn’t an asshole. That probably accounts for 99 percent of why they picked up the show and the fish tank was 1 percent.” Put that in your bubble pipe and smoke it. Creator Stephen P. Neary didn’t smoke a bubble pipe but, he did admit to being someone who’s tried pitching in an unusual way: “I made a diorama full of candy and miniature unicorns for a pitch. The diorama could only be looked at one person at a time, so I thought it was sort of funny that people had to pass it around to look inside. I’ve made papier-mâché sculptures, clay figurines, baked pies. Those things can make the meetings fun, but I’d never kid myself that they could turn a “no” into a “yes.” Ultimately, it’s about the content of the pitch.” Food for thought from Mr. Neary, but now I want pie. Okay, back to Coleman: “The pitch for Avatar was also one of my favorites. There’s a great depth and complexity to the show and at the pitch the creators had not yet fully wrangled their vision for it, but they gushed forth with such energy and ideas and incredible artwork and compelling characters. After about twenty minutes the pitch was 394

spiraling out of control and I interrupted them—we laughed about it since—I told them ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about anymore, but I love it.’ I just knew it was something special, and that’s a wonderful feeling for a development executive (and all too rare). We were all so excited to jump in immediately and start to figure it all out.”

Still from Cartoon Network’s Adult Swim show The Venture Brothers, created by Jackson Publick.

Cartoon Network’s long-running Adult Swim hit The Venture Brothers was created by Jackson Publick, who recalls, “I pitched it by writing a full half-hour script and putting together a little ‘pitch book.’ I mailed them off to Linda Simensky at Cartoon Network and a week later got the phone call informing me they’d like to make the pilot. The pitch book ultimately was comprised of a page describing the overall concept of the show, several pages devoted to describing the main characters, and about half a dozen episode concepts—illustrated with about two dozen color drawings.”

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PARTNERS IN PITCHING AND RFPS “I love collaboration. With the right partner, it makes any idea stronger. It’s not easy to find people that you click with creatively and who share the same diligence. The few people I’ve partnered with on pitches are folks that I’ve worked with on previous shows and whose writing I admire and I just like them as people. If you’re not having fun with your creative partners and there’s a strain in the relationship, that will show up in your work. So choose wisely and learn to communicate clearly so you maintain strong partnerships.” —Diane Kredensor, creator of The Ollie & Moon Show For a few years I tried pitching alone. First I developed and pitched some ideas as promos for MTV. Then I pitched a concept for MTV’s Cartoon Sushi, which was a short-lived follow-up to the more successful Liquid Television. But I didn’t really find my footing until I started partnering with other creators on pitches. Over a fifteen-year period I cycled through various pitch partners, not having falling-outs with any of them, but after a point other responsibilities kick in and people drop out, including myself. Over the years, I learned how to work with partners and also gradually began to figure out which partnerships worked better and why. It sounds obvious now, but when I teamed up with others that had similar skills to mine it didn’t add up to much. There were too many overlapping skills and too many important areas not covered. In 2011, I met a writer named Stephen Levinson at the NYTVF (New York TV Festival) where I was a panelist. Stephen had just finished producing his own self-funded animated pilot with his brother Joel, a songwriter. We made plans to meet up shortly after and started thinking about working together. I had never taken on two partners, and this particular

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combination was intriguing: an animation guy, a writer, and a musician/songwriter. The three of us ended up cocreating our own self-funded pilot, a short animated film with several songs and some wonderful voices provided by the talented Dave Allen (Gruber), who played the guidance counselor on Freaks and Geeks, and the hilarious Mary Jo Pehl of Mystery Science Theater 3000. Six months later we pitched our little short to just about all the buyers in Los Angeles and New York City, but despite a lot of good meetings, nobody was buying. Because it was a great experience, this happy trio kept in touch even as the years ticked by. Six months after our pitch blitz, I moved to the West Coast to head an animation team making apps at Disney, and the Levinsons kept busy working on a short-lived Jim Henson Company series, writing and producing their own live-action musical comedy feature called Boy Band and also releasing a musical comedy album called 2776. Oh, and I should mention that Stephen also found time to be a staff writer for three years on a little show called The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon.

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The author’s snap of Joel and Stephen Levinson waiting in Nick Animation’s lobby during a blitz of pitching in LA in 2012.

Seven years after I and the Levinson brothers last pitched together, a friend of mine tipped me off that a major children’s media company had put out a new RFP (request for proposal), which is basically one or two sheets that express what kind of show they are looking for and when to submit by. This is sort of like being an actor showing up for a cattle call. Dozens of pitches get submitted, and something gets plucked to move forward, but it’s not usually a joyful process. Mike Hollingsworth agrees, explaining how it feels to make a pitch to order: “A lot of times when you’re working on a pitch you’re just checking off boxes. ‘Cartoon Network is currently looking for this, this, and this.’ It can feel like you’re going through the motions. I came to find that a pitch really gels when I’m personally excited about it. My

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attitude at that point is, whatever boxes this pitch doesn’t check off I can make up for with my sincere enthusiasm for the material.” In Diane Kredensor’s experience with RFPs is basically working in the dark, developing an idea that fits the request. “Eventually, you send it in and wait around for a yes or no. The odds are you won’t get picked and you get minimum feedback. It’s deflating as a creator because you spend months of your time developing something and there’s no real collaboration. I keep my participation in RFP’s to a minimum for that reason,” Kredensor says. While I agree with the above concerns, an RFP can be used to get your own juices flowing and, even better, give you a deadline. Besides, with a toddler in the house, I’ve been thinking about preschool animation and the shows my daughter enjoys, and why. What if this RFP, which happened to be for a preschool audience, was a chance to create something my daughter and her generation might enjoy? And although Kredensor explained above that it could take months to create a pitch for an RFP, this one happened to be due in six weeks. I liked that timetable. And even better, I was inspired and had an idea. I stayed up one night and drafted up a page and half to capture the concept and quickly sketched the main character. Then, I thought about the Levinson brothers. Might they want to work on this with me? It turns out they did, and just like that, the band was back together! Because the concept originated with me they both thought they’d be some sort of junior partners on this venture, but I corrected that notion right away, telling them, “You guys are going to each bring something important to the table and I want you to feel fully invested, because it’s going to be a lot of work! We are hereby equal partners.” They appreciated that and we set about to make the deadline. Stephen and I wrote a six-page bible, Joel wrote a killer song demo, and we

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collaborated with an incredible studio in Mexico (Platypus Animation) on the final pitch artwork. Long story short, we made it to second round on the RFP and then got booted. But within weeks we took the same pitch to another media company that immediately gobbled it up. If I get to update this book again in another fifteen years, I promise to let you know how it all turns out. But until then, the lesson here is working with cocreators can be a magical thing. You can draw strength from one another. You rally each other on to keep trying. Sometimes even over a decade or longer!

TEST FOOTAGE IN A PITCH MEETING “It’s most important for your pitch to make a strong impression about your project. You shouldn’t just claim the show will be funny, thrilling, innovative, etc., you need to demonstrate it, whether you have animation or not.” —Eric Coleman, former senior vice president, original programming and GM, Disney TVA There are pros and cons to making a film or a piece of finished animation for use in the pitching process. Many pitchers advocate showing off their ideas in a form closest to a finished production, a brief bit of finished animation. The footage usually consists of a character showing off her quirks in a short self-contained sequence. The benefit of creating some test footage is the executive doesn’t have to use their imagination to visualize what is in your head. This can be a useful tool to help get across your vision. Linda Simensky agrees, adding, “Sometimes it’s just fun to see the character come to life. We had a pitch here at PBS that was really funny, but the creator had made a short film that was even funnier than the pitch, and that really helped the project generate enthusiasm.” 400

On the con side, creating a film or test footage takes time to prepare, and this is time lost out in the real world. You don’t want to take two years to get your pitch together. Attention spans are short, so you don’t want to present anything that will take over a minute to watch. If you decide to use test footage at a pitch, remember, the test footage is part of the pitch, not the pitch itself. Don’t look for a way to keep from having to speak at the meeting. Don’t avoid making a personal connection. As I mentioned earlier, my cocreators, the Levinson brothers, and I made a pilot as a pitch vehicle some years back. We thought it would demonstrate our quirky point of view and hook execs on our show. It didn’t end up doing much of either, but one thing I hadn’t counted on was how awkward it was to sit in a pitch room while the short played in near silence to a single executive. Or even worse, when we pitched at Kidscreen Summit we would hand an iPad and a set of earphones to the exec. That was super uncomfortable—the three of us sitting uncomfortably while the exec was entombed in silence for four minutes to watch our short which suddenly didn’t seem short enough. Don’t make the mistake we made; keep any test footage as brief as possible, and leave them begging for more. Oh, and while having some test footage could help an exec see the potential in your project, it could also scuttle your chances. Don’t forget that the exec might imagine something better than you are showing—so test footage that doesn’t live up to what they are seeing in their head could be the reason they pass on your pitch. Insert the “Choose Wisely” meme based on Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade here.

MERCHANDISE AND BUDGETS

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The most common question I hear from people who are about to pitch for the first time is, “Do I need to know the budget of my show?” The answer is absolutely not. You are not the money person. You are the creative person with a project to pitch. The buyer holds the purse strings. Creators need to focus only on the pitch idea and how best to communicate it. If the network, media company, or streaming platform wants you and your idea they’ll work out finances. Keep your focus on the creative end, which does not include bringing merchandizing ideas to a pitch and showing how your cartoon would look on T-shirts, mugs, and bumper stickers. You’ve got to sell and create your show first. Besides, of all the duties that a creator of a hit series takes on, merchandizing is the least under his supervision or approval. There are entire teams of people devoted to marketing and merchandizing their hit properties. In fact, it’s an area of expertise you likely don’t have.

FOCUS GROUPS IN THE PITCH PROCESS Focus groups are used by networks in the development process in a variety of ways. In Linda Simensky’s experience, focus groups are sometimes used like Magic 8 Balls, enabling executives who have no programming instincts to make decisions. Simensky says, “The best way to use focus groups is to go in hoping to learn things about your show, to test the basic ideas, and to try out ideas to see what gets kids excited. If your network trusts twelve ten-year-old kids in a room more than they trust you and your department, find a new job.” Eric Coleman appreciates the brutally honest feedback that comes from kids during focus group testing. However, Coleman cautions, “This feedback is only one factor in the decision to pick up a series. Rave reviews certainly help a pilot’s pickup chances, but ultimately

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we’re most interested in hearing feedback to guide us in the development process of projects we’re already optimistic about.” Today it’s common knowledge that besides traditional focus group testing, success in social media is also an important factor in some projects getting picked up. If a creator with a pitch has an Instagram page with a distinct voice and millions of followers, it certainly helps to build confidence. But in the early days of social media this wasn’t especially clear, at least on one occasion. Creator Pen Ward’s Adventure Time is one of the landmark cartoon shows of our time, one that opened up a lot of new types of storytelling in its wake. But when Nickelodeon’s focus group tested the short, which was developed and produced by Frederator’s Random! Cartoons short incubator series for Nick, it bombed. Meanwhile, rabid fans kept illegally reposting the Adventure Time pilot on YouTube, causing Nickelodeon to shut them all down again and again. These fan posts scored millions of views, comments, likes, and shares. It was as if the very audience of the short was trying to shout, “We want this show!” Despite this phenomenon, Nick stuck to their guns, so that when the groundbreaking pilot did become a gigantic hit series it was with Cartoon Network. Around the time when it had hit the press that Nick had bailed out of producing Adventure Time, I had the opportunity to ask the then president of Nick animation why they let such a great show get away. She said, “We just couldn’t do it. It tested really bad.” I asked her about the opposite evidence that social media was providing, and she responded dismissively, “We couldn’t go by that.” Huge traditional media companies can be like a huge cruise ship that can take a lot of time to turn or change direction. Here was a living example of that. There were still good days ahead for Nick, including more hit shows and a snazzy expanded creative campus in Burbank. But back in the

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days of 2008, they let something great slip right out of their cartoon kingdom.

FANTASY VERSUS REALITY Many of us want to create, pitch, sell, and make our own animated TV pilot/series, but it’s not likely to happen as quickly or as smoothly as we’d like. Still, some creators do manage to break through. When that happens the fantasy of success yields to the reality of having to deliver what you’ve promised. Traci Paige Johnson’s experience cocreating and helming a longrunning series with the original Blue’s Clues gave her a unique perspective. “In the first season I worked eighty hours a week, dreamed it, ate it; it consumed me and I lost myself, it was like giving birth. When getting a show off the ground, you need to be involved with everything to set the tone and vision. Once the second season comes around you can delegate more and if you’re lucky enough to get more seasons you can delegate even more. When I first started, the time devoted to managing people was equivalent to the time spent on the creative. . . . I wasn’t expecting that. I sometimes felt like a kindergarten teacher.” In Minty Lewis’s experience it can be a challenge navigating development executive notes: “Sometimes they really trust the creator and they give notes that seem more like suggestions that the creator is free to take or leave, other times they think the creator really needs their help to shape the show and will send pages and pages of notes that must be implemented before an idea will be approved. Obviously the first situation makes for a more pleasant workflow, but sometimes a show really does go off the rails. In my experience, however, it’s very hard for a show to recover by the time executives are getting their hands dirty with micromanaging. I can’t say that there’s anything I’d

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necessarily change about the process because it really depends on the individuals involved and the project itself. It never feels good to get a ton of notes, but if they come from someone you trust who is very intelligent and has a lot of experience, then often those are notes that will help you make something better.” Jackson Publick, creator of The Venture Brothers, Cartoon Network, Adult Swim, was so busy by the middle of the first season of his show that he only had time to write scripts on nights and weekends. He added, “The biggest challenges, production-wise, are time and money, as always. They’re both limited, and they both keep you from being able to keep revising and embellishing and finessing your work, which can be a good thing—don’t get me wrong. Another challenge was confidence. It’s pretty alarming when you don’t consider yourself much more than an average-at-best draftsman and you’re suddenly forcing talented people to draw like you.

Postcard announcing the premiere of Tom Warburton’s first pilot for Cartoon Network, Kenny and the Chimp, from the author’s collection.

“Pretty much all of my time goes to making my show. I’m either writing or drawing or thinking/worrying about writing or drawing. An unexpected bonus of all of this is I don’t have a lot of time to fall into

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the trap of watching bad reality TV when I get home at night and I rarely ever have to wonder “whatever am I going to do this weekend?” With Kenny and the Chimp, Tom Warburton’s first pilot for Cartoon Network, he suddenly found himself out in Los Angeles, being told what to do and how to do it. Warburton recalls, “Every day I learned eleven billion new things and then went home to bed and stared at the ceiling saying ‘hoooooly shit, what just happened?’ When I went out to do Code Name: Kids Next Door (KND), it was so much easier because I kind of (slightly?) knew what I was doing. That of course didn’t stop me from crying myself to sleep some nights due to sheer terror over whether it would turn out okay. “I roughed out 80 percent of the animation for Kenny because I had never sent anything overseas before and I was scared about how it would turn out. It was really hard and probably pretty stupid. Korea would have done a better job. Don’t tell anyone, but I’m not really that great of an animator. You’re not printing this are you?” “To be honest, I’m glad Kenny didn’t get picked up back then. I wasn’t ready yet, and probably would have ended up with a so-so show that I had no control over.” For Bob and Margaret cocreator David Fine, there were different challenges at different stages. “At first, the challenge was to write halfhour scripts. We didn’t go anywhere until we were confident we could do that. Surprisingly, it was actually easier to write half hours than our original short Bob’s Birthday, which launched the series, because the short was so precious that writing it was much more exacting. The series was also exacting, but because each episode was one story rather than the story, we felt more relaxed and could try different things. “After the writing, certainly the big challenge was working with a big production team and working long distance with them, in many cases. We had some great people on the show, but we were also very

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demanding and wanted a lot of control, which didn’t always sit well. Occasionally we would have a great deal of redoing to do and that put a lot of pressure on us and the production. When Bob and Margaret was in production, we worked insane hours. We were quite pleased with what we ended up with. “In many regards, the show exceeded our expectations, but then we didn’t entirely know what we were getting into. I suppose the only letdown was the technical problems with the line quality, which led to a ridiculous amount of reshoots throughout most of the first season and still never ended up right. It put such a heavy burden on the production and it was surprising because it was the last problem we imagined we would have.” While David Fine describes logistical challenges, Diane Kredensor explains the inner struggles: “It can definitely be overwhelming. But if you communicate with your team and aren’t making up stories about yourself (like: ‘I stink!’) then you’re golden! I’m serious. Don’t make it personal. It’s business. And you have to be able to admit ‘I don’t know’ and ‘I don’t understand’ and ‘I need help.’ It doesn’t mean you’re a failure. This is supposed to be fun!” Building on Kredensor’s point, Stephen P. Neary adds that it’s okay to cry, whatever your job is. “Emotionally, running a show is taxing. One showrunner friend put it this way: ‘If you’ve got any long-term mental health issues that need attention, they will not go away just because you got the job you’ve always wanted. If anything, the stress will make things worse. So figure it out before you start running a show.” Neary continues, “Running a show is insane, especially in animation, where every single detail needs to be planned. The stacked, assembly-line process means you’re literally making up to twenty episodes of a show, all at the same time. So you’ll jump from a storyboard pitch on episode 50 to a sound mix on episode 28 to a

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record for episode 54, then to a writing meeting for episode 60, all in the same day. But once you get it all working, it’s an amazing feeling. There’s a whole crew counting on the show runner, because millions of dollars are spent and millions of choices are made at their direction. At the same time, if you focus on the big picture constantly you’ll go nuts. Your best bet is to work with people you trust and break every goal down into a series of small, achievable tasks. Ideally, you’ll have an amazing producer you can trust that helps support your vision.” Before we move on, one final word on this topic from the exec side of the table. Eric Homan can’t think of any first-time series creators whose health didn’t suffer during their first season. “It’s very difficult to anticipate how much work and responsibility is involved. Depending on where your show winds up, a company could be investing millions and millions of dollars in your vision. And because the show hasn’t proven itself, yet, everyone involved has different ideas how to protect this investment. The struggle to please yourself while trying to please everyone around you, especially when many people want and expect contrasting things, can take its toll. Not to mention there could be hundreds of individuals and businesses, from storyboarders to T-shirt companies, who are now dependent on your vision. It’s overwhelming,” Homan concludes.

PATIENCE A certain amount of patience is required for a would-be creator waiting for network feedback on her pitch. The first thing to remember is that your network development contact is likely to be juggling many projects at varying stages of development. With this in mind, you should allow several weeks before you start reminding the contact you’re awaiting the verdict. I prefer to shop my projects around to a few different places at once. This way I’m not waiting on any

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particular answer, plus, I get to benefit from having pitched my idea more than once. It’s good to get a broad sense of how your ideas and pitching style are being received. Each time is a chance to experiment with the presentation. How much time should it take for a development executive to give an answer on a pitch? It’s impossible to say. While it’s natural to assume that if a network is interested in your show they’ll tell you immediately, it may not be the case. The process by which networks pitch material up the ladder internally takes time. Some networks round up worthwhile pitches once a month (or even less frequently) to present to the top echelon of decision makers. These meetings don’t always occur like clockwork. All that said, if it’s been three to four weeks of waiting on an answer, you can gently check in by email to see if there’s any feedback yet. But if you don’t hear back from that give them another month before you nudge again. If no answer if that, I’d simply move on with no hard feelings. Remember that there’s a good chance your exec is slammed and juggling many balls in the air. Eric Coleman described his various duties outside of development back when he was VP of animation development and production at Nick: “I also oversaw the animated current series in production for Nickelodeon, so I got to stay with the projects as they evolved over time. And I was the executive in charge of certain series so after the development stage I continued to work closely with the creators, writers, artists, etc., to bring to life the vision that got us all excited in the first place. I also worked closely with the other network departments (programming, marketing, consumer products, etc.) to represent the animation department and all of its shows.” In contrast to Coleman’s experience while at Nick, Sarah Wallendjack explained how development and current series executive

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jobs can run in separate lanes: “Development executives are helping to develop new ideas and package them together for series and find them a good home. They are working with the creator, key talent and broadcasters to put all the puzzle pieces together. A Current Series Executive helps shepherd a series once it has a green light. They help foster the creative and make sure that all the different parties are getting what they need, and that the project is being delivered on schedule and on budget.” Summing up, I know examples where development execs love continuing on their series upon green-light—at least through season one, during those formative episodes. But because we all know development moves too slow already, maybe separating the two lanes to let a development exec focus on development is the right way to go. Just more food for thought, maybe because I still want pie.

LEGAL SPEAK The average creator didn’t get into this racket so they could nuzzle up to lawyers and accountants. Legal implications are the byproducts of success. There isn’t much you need to know before you’re in a position to get a deal. Once you’re faced with a contract, ring up other creators who have sold pilots. Which lawyer did they use? Would they use them again? Many would-be creators get bogged down on the issue of copyright protection. This book doesn’t pretend to be a legal guide, but creators do have basic copyright protection the moment they put pencil to paper. It helps to sign and date all versions of your material. For official copyright protection, creators would be advised to file their projects with the Library of Congress and get official copyright protection, for a small fee, of course.

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When it comes to deals, I like to remind people that Taylor Swift’s current recording contract would have little in common with her first. And if she did run into legal problems, she could always Shake It Off. Bad jokes aside, the point is that no single contract is your final deal. And even though you may be the next Rebecca Sugar, Jorge R. Gutierrez, or Dave Filoni, that doesn’t mean you can negotiate your first deal with that assumption. If you’re fortunate enough to be negotiating a deal, the first thing you may notice is that your rep or entertainment lawyer will build you up so you keep fighting for the highest numbers, role, or whatever. While that is flattering, creators need to manage their legal representatives because we are the boss. My cocreators, the Levinson brothers, and I shared representation on our deal, and we worked closely with our lawyer, the awesome Robert Marcus, to keep reality in mind. We’re all in our early to midforties right now, and none of us have had our own series, despite our collective achievements. Our push was to have a fair deal and get to the finish line without delay (before our AARP memberships kick in) so we could just make the darn thing. After three quick rounds of negotiating, we happily signed the deal.

ROOKIES WITH BIG DREAMS “Start telling stories now—in as many ways as you can in as many forms as you can in front of as many different types of people as you can.” —Eric Calderon, producer, Falcon’s Creative Group Wanting to have your own series someday is a great long-term goal, one that can help guide your career choices and areas of focus. Oddly enough, people working in key roles in series animation sometimes feel pressure that they are supposed to want to pitch ideas or have their own 411

show. Phil Rynda is the creative director of animation at Netflix, kids and family, but he used to be a key player on the art side of the table, as a production designer on Gravity Falls, a lead character designer on Adventure Time, and a character designer on Chowder, to name but a few of his positions. I once joked to Phil, when he was still answering my emails, that he only worked on the best shows ever. At some point, he realized that he didn’t have the desire to create a show of his own or direct films. While it took the pressure off him, it also had him questioning the trajectory of his career. But then he thought about how much he loved teaching (he taught at CalArts for eight years), working on pilots and first seasons of shows, helping create worlds, putting teams together, and helping first-time show creators. This led Phil to start leaning towards development, starting with a development role in the Cartoon Network pilots program.

Eric Calderon, who is about to ask for a sesame dipping sauce, also runs the fantastic YouTube channel Surviving Animation. Anyone reading this book should subscribe.

The goal of this chapter was not to try to convince Phil to answer my emails (although I do miss you, Phil!) nor to make you want to create, pitch, and produce a show of your own. But chances are, if you 412

made it this far, you might benefit from some parting advice on creating a show or even on working as a development executive. In the creator corner, Stephen P. Neary advises don’t be afraid to be sincere. “I think about this story from Jim Henson a lot, how when they were pitching Fraggle Rock, their goal was to show how different societies were interconnected, and thereby end war. Obviously, they didn’t succeed. But what a beautiful, lofty place to start.” Creator Minty Lewis describes different challenges that have popped up over the years: “In the beginning I lacked the selfconfidence (and frankly, skill) to believe that I was capable of making something that studios would be interested in. Now that I have more experience and confidence and actually do believe that I am capable of making something that studios would be interested in, the biggest challenge I’m currently dealing with is making the leap from kids’ animation to prime-time animation. It’s a very separate world, and I’m having to prove my value all over again.” As much as Minty’s selfconfidence has grown, she warns that she also sees gross overconfidence rewarded all the time, even though so many of the most talented people in animation are on the introverted side and unlikely to put themselves out there with a pitch. She says, “I’d love to see more diverse creators actively recruited. This is already where the tide is turning but there’s still a lot of work to be done.” Diane Kredensor also describes that it’s taken her some time to trust her own voice and not second-guess everything she does. “It’s natural to compare your stuff to others, but as a creator you have to be careful to not let the comparing become debilitating. When I’m creating a new character, story, or idea, I’ve trained myself to write everything down no matter how silly or badly written it seems, and edit later. That way it’s out there and I’m not holding anything in. Allow yourself to be messy and incoherent. Let your ideas flow out and clean them up later.

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The more you do this, the more you’ll trust your own voice and you’ll like what you have to say!” she advises. In terms of her process, most of Kredensor’s ideas start with character: “If I create a character that inspires me in some way, then I’m invested and want to see what could become of them. I definitely write what I know. Every character I’ve ever created has some piece of my personality along with qualities and traits of people in my life. I’m always inspired to create positive role models for kids, but in order to be a role model, a character has to have flaws. Without flaws, we wouldn’t be human and kids won’t be able to connect.” Mike Hollingsworth’s particular path into animation is something that has helped him immensely as a creator and serves to remind that there’s no single way into the kingdom. He explains, “I started my career as a stand-up comic and cartoonist in San Francisco. I call it a start but technically I think to ‘start a career’ someone needs to be paying you. But I digress. Performing on stage like I did for over a decade really gave me an advantage over my colleagues when I switched over fully to animation. I had killed on comedy club stages, I had bombed on the road in bars, I had toughed it out through poorly attended open-mics, and through all of this I learned how to sell jokes under any circumstances. And this is what I did instead of going to CalArts or San Francisco State, and it didn’t really hurt me when I made the move to animation. In fact, I was sandwiched between coworkers paying off horrendous student loans. I was debt-free. So, my point, when I talk to animation students I tell them to take acting classes, or do improv, or try stand-up comedy. Even if it’s just one class!” Providing an appropriate final word of this chapter, Mike concludes with, “Learn how to really sell it.”

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CHAPTER 13

Happy Trails: Parting Thoughts and Advice

“There’s honestly room for everyone to be successful. It may not look the way you thought it was going to look, but everyone will find their own success if they keep working hard. Try not to get discouraged. We all have setbacks.” —Brooke Keesling, head of animation talent development at Bento Box

If you google “animation talent development,” this picture of Brooke Keesling should pop up—she’s helped countless people find their place in this industry.

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Brooke Keesling, I asked her to please pass the ketchup. But after that, I asked something even more interesting: What are the opportunities of someone entering the field now that weren’t available to you upon getting out of school? Not only did she answer my question, she inadvertently summed up the reason why this book needed an update: “For women, people of color, and all gender identifications, there’s such a push for diversity now. This is a moment—seize the moment because this did not exist before. I graduated and had a Student Academy Award, a Student Emmy Award, and my film was one of the first to play in the animation category in Sundance. I didn’t even think twice that no development execs were reaching out to me to say, ‘Hey, do you want to pitch a show?’ Of course they didn’t do that, because why would I have a show, because women didn’t have shows. I didn’t have any female role models (that I could see) to show here’s how to do that. I’m not bitter about it, but please don’t take these opportunities for granted.” I’m hopeful this book helps you navigate the opportunities Brooke reminds you to not take for granted. Whether you’re a newcomer to the scene or an industry veteran, Your Career in Animation: How to Survive and Thrive is now part of your animation arsenal. It is my hope that this book has given new insights into this business—including Brooke’s quote that opens this chapter, “There’s honestly room for everyone to be successful.” I know I speak for everyone in this book when I say that we look forward to our careers in animation overlapping with yours. Until that time, your fellow travelers and I couldn’t resist one more opportunity to pass along some words of wisdom to help inspire you on your way. THE LAST TIME I HAD LUNCH WITH

“I look back and think how grateful I am for the opportunities I’ve come across. I’ll always be forever

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grateful to my very first job, which was actually at Bath & Body Works, funnily enough! I used to be such a quiet shy girl that never had real interactions with people and I think taking that job really helped me find my voice as a person, which helped my future career goals in the animation industry. The second place is Digital Domain. They saw something in me that I didn’t think I had back then. It opened up doors I didn’t think I would have had if it weren’t for them. Throughout the years I’ve built relationships with many studios and it’s been a great journey so far. There’s so much more left to learn and grow from too! As a woman of color, I’m excited that there are more and more women and POC working and creating work! Growing up, there wasn’t a lot of people that looked like me and I think it’s an exciting time to be a part of. We still have so much left to do, but it’s getting better. More studios need to hire people for inclusivity and create more shows around that!” —Gabby Zapata, visual development artist “There just isn’t time to keep up with everything. I try to maintain a general understanding of what else is being made, just so I don’t overlap with other worlds and ideas. But I try to keep a general idea of what’s going on in the world, trends in media, etc. For The Fungies at Cartoon Network, I was pitching at this really cynical time politically, and there seemed to be nothing being made but reboots and sequels. So I knew I wanted to challenge myself to make a really sincere, sweet, original show.” —Stephen P. Neary, creator

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Another slice in the life of Stephen P. Neary by Stephen P. Neary who is an expert on Stephen P. Neary. Image courtesy of the artist.

“You will get more work being a more well-rounded person. Keep up those outside interests and remember that sometimes there are animation or design jobs in other industries, industries that suit your natural interests. And sometimes, you end up with more creative freedom.” —Linda Beck, artist development

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“Once, a long time ago, I met the animator Robert Breer and asked him if he had any advice for someone who wanted to be an animator. He said: ‘Do it while it’s fun, and then don’t.’ Not great advice, maybe, but over time, I’ve grown to agree.” —Dave Palmer, creative producer “The old boys club of animation is still very much alive and informs our work culture and the stories that get told. Even though I am only a few years into my career, I can honestly say I am tired and worn down by that culture. It feels like fighting an impossible fight every day, it is hard to keep up the energy to do it. I put in the work to try to change things where I can, speaking up at meetings on a production level and supporting my fellow artists who are trying to break into the industry who are not intrinsically supported by the current system. Often when I talk about storyboarding, I try to also talk about work/life balance and workers’ rights. At the worker level, if we are informed together and build together, we can make this industry better for everyone.” —Keely Propp, storyboard artist “As you navigate your career, know that your value is a combination of three things: your network, your reputation, and your credit list. You have to keep up with networking and connecting with people you love and admire. Make sure you leave a good impression wherever you go. And try to work on projects that have integrity—things you can be proud of. There are many projects I worked on that I simply don’t mention on any credit list. Your résumé should tell a

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story—so feel free to eliminate roles and projects that don’t support the story you want to tell.” —Koyalee Chanda, production and development executive “As a beginning producer, I felt like I was carrying the world on my shoulders. I carried an intensity every day at the office that did not serve me in my job. One day, Pixote Hunt, a director, said to me, ‘Enjoy the journey.’ I repeat those words to myself often.” —David J. Steinberg, production executive “My creative voice is nothing I was ever intentional about, and it’s something that continues to develop and change as I continue creating, absorbing others’ stories, and having experiences in a changing body in a changing world. But since that’s basically the same thing that everyone does, I guess I could say that I have been intentional and critical in figuring out what appeals to me and why, and have allowed my work to be affected by these outside influences. In line with that, I’d tell the next generation to keep going after the things that spark something in them.” —Minty Lewis, creator “Advice I would have given myself in freshman year of CalArts would be to stop making things with the sole intention of impressing people or getting attention. My work never started to get noticed until I focused on creating things with a strong identity without worrying about making the best film of all time. Also I’d tell myself to network better and make more friends. Treating things like a competition is

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a bad idea, as you never know how someone could be able to help you after graduation. As an introvert, one of the things I had to overcome was the fear that I would be bothering people.” —Alex Santa Cruz, animator

Another playful sketch by Alexander Santa Cruz. Image courtesy of the artist.

“We have this ritual that we’ve kept up for the last decade: on the morning of January 1st, we write down our specific goals for the year and then plot out where we envision ourselves in the distant future. The goals that we write twenty to thirty years into the future are vague and abstract, but the exercise helps us imagine what type of artist we want to be and clarifies the incremental steps that we need to take in the short term. These goals are always changing, of course; looking back at our long-term goals from our twenties seems silly now, but it’s important to understand how and why our

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priorities shifted. We’ve been developing a feature animation for the past two years and that’s what we want to do next. With something of that scale, it’s easy to get overwhelmed, but we try to use the same sort of long-term vision exercise to bring it back to something manageable—if the goal is to make this feature, what are all the little things that we need to do this week to get closer to that end.” —Ru Kuwahata and Max Porter, animation directors “Make films, write scripts. Try, and fail, and try again.” —Fred Seibert, media and technology entrepreneur “I don’t really think about advancing titles, but I would like to get to do my own projects. It means either pitching projects or making them on my own. I love what I am doing now. It’s the most fun part of the animation process that I’ve done. I’d like to continue this for the foreseeable future and just continue getting better. When I’m finally the world’s greatest board artist, I will retire and live in a cave.” —Chris Siemasko, story artist “Inspiration comes from everyone and everywhere. Art is universal and eternal—it can make people change their minds about things they have thought to be true their whole lives, or resonate with someone filled with self-doubt. Ultimately, it makes us ask questions. Even if there is no answer, I want my art to make people ask questions, as simple as ‘Is this funny?’ and as difficult as ‘Why?’” —Ruth Baraz, storyboard revisionist

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A comic by Chris Siemasko. Image courtesy of the artist.

“Being able to work in this great art form is endlessly rewarding. But I think for me what might be the most rewarding part are the almost family-like joys you feel when you and the crew all really begin to know each other and work together as an inspired team. When the familiarity and trust and shared purpose start to take on a life of their own, 423

it’s an absolute thrill. When you get there, no matter how hard you work, it no longer feels like a job.” —Ray Kosarin, director, supervising director, animation timer “Ninety-nine percent of the connections I make at Dragon Con or MomoCon don’t pan out to anything, but it’s also nice to just make a friendship. Some are just friends that I enjoy going back and forth with about art, and even if it hasn’t helped me get work, it helps me feel more inspired and be more connected to people. I feel very isolated just working out of my home. In my home I don’t feel like I’m first and foremost an artist, I feel like I’m a mom, I’m a wife, I have so much to do and I do my work in the wee hours of the morn. Animation is not the focus of my life right now, so any connection I can have is becoming more and more important to me.” —Joanna Davidovich, freelance animation artist

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A sketch page of little witches by Joanna Davidovich. Image courtesy of the artist.

“The worst thing for any artist is to rest on their laurels. I think it’s important to try out new mediums. Sometimes I try to change it up each week. Pen and ink, to clay, to cut outs.” —Teddy Newton, character designer “Regarding career plans: I know I’m an artist, and find essential fulfillment in creative expression. I used to think I’d draw comics forever; then I burned out. I’ll do animation as 425

long as it makes me happy. If it ever turns into a soul-sapping chore, I’ll have to find another creative outlet.” —Nina Paley, animator, director, cartoonist “I really like working in a variety of styles. It makes things more interesting and keeps you sharper as an artist. I think it’s important to find a style that’s appropriate for each project. Different projects require different aesthetics. That said, clients often want the look of something that I’ve done previously. So it’s a balancing act like anything else. In some ways, it’s probably easier to pick a style and stick to it. It makes building a brand more straightforward if there’s a particular look you’re known for. But I think it’s good to try new things.” —Jason Carpenter, animation director

Another atmospheric frame from director Jason Carpenter’s film The Renter.

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“I do think it’s incredibly important to have something of your own to work on outside the studio . . . something totally unrelated to work. It’s inspiring, rounds you out as an artist, and if nothing else . . . clears your head.” —Sue Perrotto, animation director “It’s easy in animation to make mistakes with your peers and superiors because they tend to be your closest friends; we’re all around the same age, we share similar interests, and when you’ve worked in the industry long enough you start to know everyone pretty well. In the end, people have their roles to play in the workplace and those roles define who they are from 10:00 a.m. to 7:00 p.m. A very good person and friend could be unreasonable as a boss, or could be your difficult employee, and it’s important to isolate the different roles your friends play (as they relate to your life and your job). Additionally, it’s important to trust your instincts when you feel that you’re being taken advantage of and, though it’s important, to respect friendship, but not to be blinded by it.” —Liz Artinian, art director “For someone right out of school our advice would be to get as much industry experience by working at other studios and absorb as much as possible, the knowledge one acquires through this experience is priceless. If you come from a business background then learn as much about the animation process and if you come from an artistic background then learn as much about the business aspects. Running a studio requires a good understanding of both creative and business.”

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—Aradhana M. Bejarano and Camilo Bejarano, animation directors “I can’t really speak for how my own independent work has affected my career as I have been working on a single personal film as a side project for most of my professional life. Although it has made me slightly infamous in the New York animation community: ‘You haven’t finished that film yet?’ I will say that it is very important to create your own work. This gives you a chance to push yourself and your skills to the limits. It also helps you to become established as a creator of content and property and not just some kind of a fancy pencil pusher. You also never know where your own films will lead you!” —Dean Kalman Lennert, freelance animator, director, professor

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An outside view of TheLittleLabs, an indie animation studio run by Aradhana M. Bejarano and Camilo Bejarano.

“Wherever you go and whatever you do, do it well. There is no job too small. Especially if you need to get your foot in the door and/or simply need income. They are all pebbles you are throwing into the river. And over time they will stack high enough to break the surface. People will remember you and your work ethic or lack thereof. Play the long game. Perform that job with pride, show everyone you encounter that whatever you do, you do it well. It doesn’t have to be forever, but know that if people around you see how well you perform they will see your potential to do more. And give you the opportunity to do so. You’ve also got to be willing to walk away from an environment or task that is toxic to you and your future. For goodness sake, be friendly and respectful of others.” —Dawn Fidrick, animation producer

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Still from Dean Kalman Lennert’s independent film, Dear Anna Olsen, his labor of love for over thirty years. Image courtesy of the artist.

“Get sleep now! I can’t believe how many late nights are involved in animation.” —Scott Cooper, storyboard artist “What excites me about the current state of animation is that everyone seems to be looking for more diversity just within their workforce and even within building their movies. It would be great to see different kinds of stories from people that come from different backgrounds which I feel can definitely bring all sorts of new and fresh takes on movies. What worries me is that the animation industry will stay stuck with the techniques that’ve been working and continue

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to have the same CG look that made up the past decade. Due to the advancement of technology, I feel that movies can tend to look more and more realistic, which I think is a great feat in itself, but I hope that there can be filmmakers out there who aren’t afraid to push the envelope and innovate different looks and even experiences that this medium hasn’t shown us into before.” —Donna Lee, story artist

A sketch by story artist Donna Lee, which is unsurprisingly loaded with story.

“The best piece of advice I got was from my father-in-law. Remember it’s show business not show art. Understanding that you are in a business providing a service may be the hardest realization to make, but once it is understood, it will be invaluable to your thought process. The final product is key; that should be your focus.” —Paul Zdanowicz, chief creative officer

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“Be a nice person to work with and the work will follow. I’ve gotten a lot of work from former classmates and coworkers. I feel an online presence is extremely important—I found out about and got a position at Titmouse through Twitter. Have a website that shows off your work. Be active on Instagram, Tumblr, Twitter, Facebook, or wherever you feel comfortable. I’ve heard so many colleagues say they look for artists to hire through these platforms.” —Angela De Vito, animator “I have never applied for a job and gotten it. Which is probably why I hardly ever apply to work on anything. I think I mostly find work through word of mouth—I try to be in the right place at the right time if I’m on the lookout for another project. I find that the best jobs are the ones that find you; so cultivate your art, work well with others, and the good gigs will come along. I’m really excited about how much is being produced now! When I started the landscape was so bare, but there is so much to work on now! It’s awesome because now there’s a need to visually stand out— so I think that it’s naturally pushing animation design in all sorts of different directions.” —Andrea Fernandez, art director “Probably the worst mistake anyone can make is being too self-confident. People with large egos and big heads make enemies quickly. Whole productions can fall apart because one person has a huge chip on their shoulder. However, too modest of an artist can easily be overlooked. Let your skills speak for you first, then your mouth second.”

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—Kyle Neswald, story artist “Learn as much as you can and be passionate about the history of the medium. You need to know what’s been done so that you can forge ahead from there and make your own contribution to the art form.” —Seamus Walsh, stop-motion animator “If you demonstrate a certain sensitivity, care, and pride in your work with the skills to match, you should do well. It also helps to be personable and have the ability to work with a variety of people and personalities. Avoid burning any bridges. It is a relatively small industry and you will definitely end up in the same building as people you have worked with before, often in positions that could affect your future. Be humble, yet confident. It is a definite balance.” —Celeste Pustilnick, animation timer “I’d been creating my own stories and self-publishing them for years. A lot of that work was where I tried out styles and techniques that client work wasn’t providing me an opportunity to showcase. Personal projects are still a place for me to try and put out into the world the best of what I can do, and so that’s been a way of building my brand. But the idea of marketing “me” as a brand isn’t really a big focus for me these days. For me, I’m just trying to get the ideas I’ve got out into the world and make them real, whether that’s in comics or animation, and work with like-minded makers and doers of things.” —Chris Moreno, art director

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“To me, success is making what you want to make, when you want to make it, and caring an incredible amount about what you do.” —Jackson Publick, creator of The Venture Brothers, Cartoon Network, Adult Swim “It’s important to have goals, but it’s also advantageous to be flexible if new opportunities are presented to you, especially as you’re first starting out.” —Jordan Koch, storyboard artist

ANIMATION CAREER STRATEGY SURVIVAL LIST Make a copy of this and put it on your fridge. •

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Keep growing as an artist, storyteller, or production professional—never stop learning, and set goals and work each day towards creating the career of your choice. When looking for work, it’s very helpful to make an in-person connection. Understand this is a people business. Always look out for each other. If you are working outside of the field to pay the bills, make a list of goals to accomplish each week to get you back into the animation industry. Stay inspired by surrounding yourself with your heroes! Get to know your animation heroes in books, films, comics, and so forth. Push yourself to learn new software/skills to stay marketable.

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Plug into the animation community by joining organizations such as ASIFA, WIA, and so forth. Find inspiration and make important contacts at international animation festivals such as Ottawa and Annecy, and/or at events such as Comic-Con or CTN animation eXpo, and so forth. Be an ally and help encourage, develop, and mentor diverse talent in the workplace. Fight for justice, fairness, and equality in the workplace. Report any unethical, unlawful, and unprofessional behavior, and support and advocate for those impacted.

Drawing by Howard Beckerman, showing one path to success. Image courtesy of the artist.

CODA: SETTING UP YOUR FUTURE “Make the kind of work you want to be paid to make.” Superjail! cocreator Christy Karacas said this every time he visited my SVA animation career class, and I’ve come to think of it as, perhaps, the single most important bit of advice on creating a happy and successful career in animation. Christy put his plan into action from day one: when he needed to make a thesis film at RISD, he struggled with the process until he decided to play to his hunger for spontaneity by drawing storyboard panels on index cards and then throwing them up in the air and

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assembling them in a random order. Christy said that this was partly inspired by a jazz musician he liked that worked a similar way. The result was the spontaneous montage of a film called Space War, which went on to huge success on the festival circuit, indirectly leading to a job opportunity at MTV Animation. While working as a background designer on Daria (he was hired because of a knack for perspective drawing), Christy heard about MTV’s new plan to start a creative lab to incubate projects pitched by staffers. Not missing a beat, he and pal Steve Warbrick (who was working on Celebrity Death Match) whipped up the concept for what would become their MTV-funded short Bar Fight. Christy told my class that he planned the short’s content by catering to his own short attention span. “I get bored easily, so I like if a UFO can just drop in out of nowhere. I like to be surprised. I think, ‘What is the least expected thing that can happen?’ And that’s what I do.” Notice how Christy’s process was all internally influenced. He didn’t think, “What would MTV want?” or “What might the development executive want?” Instead, he and Steve planned and pitched a film they would enjoy making and watching—one that came from a personal place. The MTV creative lab bit the dust before their film could be aired, so the filmmakers tried their hand at the festival circuit. Despite being popular among the New York animation community, Bar Fight did not have much festival success, and for a time, Christy left animation and Steve took a job building animatics at Blue Sky. The setback aside, one has to admire their hustle. Christy couldn’t have possibly known how short the window of opportunity would be for the MTV creative lab program. If he hadn’t struck right away, there’d be no Bar Fight. And while that may not have seemed important at the time, it sure turned out to be important down the road.

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Years later, Christy was working as a package designer at a DVD company when his phone rang. On the line was someone from Cartoon Network’s Adult Swim: “Are you the guy who did Bar Fight?” the voice asked. A few weeks later, Christy and Steve met with the Adult Swim exec in NYC and pitched an idea centered around a super jail. “Imagine the world’s biggest jail run by a Willy Wonka–type character,” they said. As we covered in the previous chapter, creators have to be able to sum up their creations in a short sentence, as Christy and Steve were able to do. If a series idea requires three paragraphs of explanation just to make sense, it usually won’t be a compelling pitch, let alone a compelling series to watch. Not only did Christy and Steve’s instincts serve them well, they also delivered (with the help of season-one collaborators at Augenblick Studios Inc.) what might have been the most unusual animated TV series to hit the air since South Park. Take a moment to binge all four seasons. I’ll wait here. Welcome back. Let’s recap with Cristy Karacas’s quote: “Make the kind of work you want to be paid to make.” It’s so important to lay your own track, make your own luck, or facilitate opportunities in the direction you wish to grow. Don’t worry about when and where it might pay off. It’s kind of magical—you set it and forget it. Sort of like the George Foreman Grill of career plans. Need another example (albeit on a smaller scale)? Some years back I made a self-produced indie film, Grandpa Looked Like William Powell, which was a short, animated documentary. Just after, a producer happened to reach out to me to direct his short, animated project. When I showed him my film, I got the gig, which turned out to be directing three animated documentary shorts. Not long after I directed those animated documentary shorts, I was checking my email at NYU’s Tisch School of the Arts (where I taught

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undergrad), and there was a nearby information table where a student sat, handing out orientation materials. Some of the student’s friends happened by and began to chat with her. One asked her what she wanted to do after graduation. “I want to be a paid blogger,” she replied. “Oh, do you have a blog?” her friend asked. She answered, “No.” Compare this would-be “paid blogger” with what Cristy Karacas did instinctually. Whether you’re a student or ten years in the industry, you have to build a foundation for your own unique success. And since it takes time . . . why wait? We, as animation artists, need to realize three fundamental things: we can create the careers of our choice, it need not be such a bumpy ride, and we don’t have to go it alone. Never doubt that our careers (as well as the future of this business) are ours to make, or in our case, to animate.

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APPENDIX

Animation Industry Resource List

ORGANIZATIONS ASIFA-East ASIFA is the International Animated Film Society Northeast/New York Chapter. ASIFA (Association Internationale du Film d’Animation) was formed in 1960 by an international group of animators to coordinate and increase worldwide visibility of animated film. ASIFA-East is the eastern US chapter of ASIFA, based in New York City. ASIFA-East holds monthly screenings of animated films and publishes a monthly newsletter filled with information of interest to those in the East Coast animation community, as well as fans of the medium. ASIFA-East also conducts a yearly animation festival, a unique showcase for the most groundbreaking independent and commercial animation being produced in the industry today. www.asifaeast.com

ASIFA-Hollywood The International Animated Film Society (ASIFA-Hollywood) is a California nonprofit organization established to promote and encourage

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the art and craft of animation. Since 1972, ASIFA-Hollywood has hosted an annual awards ceremony to honor individuals who have made significant contributions to the art of animation. Originally designed to honor the lifetime achievements of legendary veterans of the field, the Annie Awards are now awarded in competition for the year’s best animation efforts, recognizing outstanding productions in feature films, videos, television programs, commercials, animated interactive productions, as well as individual achievement by artists, writers, and voice talent. Members participate in the nomination process and final voting. The Annie Awards are regarded as animation’s highest honor, and the ceremony is one of ASIFAHollywood’s most prestigious and elegant events. www.asifa-hollywood.org

ASIFA-San Francisco ASIFA-San Francisco is the oldest and foremost Bay Area organization for the animation community, with members ranging from seasoned professionals to students and fans. As a branch of the international organization, membership in ASIFA-SF provides these great benefits: monthly events and screenings that play to overflowing audiences. These include an annual career night with leading animation houses, such as Pixar, ILM, Wild Brain, and PDI; annual open screenings; festival screenings; industry close-ups; and other special events. A monthly newsletter (usually at least eight pages), chock full of the latest industry buzz, happenings, and reviews, is published, with a focus on the Bay Area. www.asifa-sf.org

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ASIFA-Central is the Midwest Chapter of ASIFA in the US. ASIFACentral began in Chicago, Illinois, and has involved many of the professional and independent animators in the Chicago area. Today, ASIFA-Midwest has members from Texas to Canada, New York to Colorado, and beyond! ASIFA-Central has cosponsored many programs and brought in visiting animators, including Don Bluth, June Foray, Gordon Sheehan, and Shamus Culhane. For years, the chapter coordinated the judging of animation at the Chicago International Film Festival. The purpose of ASIFA-Central is to promote the art of animation locally and internationally and to promote communication among animators and devotees. www.asifa.org

ASIFA-Portland ASIFA-Portland is the Portland, Oregon, chapter of ASIFA. The group exists to boost the art of animation and the community that practices it, promoting a free exchange of ideas both locally and internationally. In the Portland area, this means celebrating a decades-old animation scene known for groundbreaking independents, big-budget feature filmmaking, and a world-class animation festival. The Portland area also boasts studios ranging from boutique to behemoth, including Bent Image Lab, Hinge Digital, and LAIKA. Local institutions such as the Pacific Northwest College of Art, the Northwest Film Center, and others help to introduce new talent to the world. Yearly membership fees go toward putting on screenings, workshops, lectures, socials, art jams, and more. Members get to attend ASIFA-only functions, get in free at a lot of local animation events, and make up a community that’s been boosting the art form for decades. www.asifaportland.org

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The Toronto Animated Image Society The Toronto Animated Image Society (TAIS) Animator’s Production Cooperative opened their doors in March 2002. Since 1984 TAIS has been a group dedicated to promoting the art of animation. As an extension of TAIS monthly lectures and screenings, the new co-op offers hands-on animation workshops and production facilities catering to traditional cel, 3D, stop-motion, digital 2D, paint-on-film, under-thecamera, and experimental animation. The TAIS co-op is a not-for-profit organization funded by its members and the Canada Council for the Arts (Media Arts Section), Ontario Arts Council, and the Toronto Arts Council. www.tais.ca

The Animation Guild Local 839 (TAG) The parent organization of TAG is IATSE, the International Alliance of Theatrical Stage Employees, Moving Picture Technicians, Artists and Allied Crafts of the United States, its Territories and Canada, AFLCIO, CLC. IATSE represents those involved in animation and CGI as well as representing “below-the-line” film crafts, such as camerapersons, sound technicians, editors, live-action storyboard artists, set designers, art directors, scenic artists, and so forth, in the Southern California area. www.animationguild.org

Children’s Media Association Children’s Media Association (CMA) is the nonprofit community that connects the dots across all corners of the children’s industry. As makers, thinkers, and innovators, we believe that by learning and playing together, we strengthen ourselves, our community, and content

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for kids. With chapters in New York, LA, and San Francisco, and virtual members around the world, CMA is building the future of our industry. In recognition of the growing interest in social responsibility of media makers, CMA is looking to collaborate with its members and outside organizations to engage the general public and increase their awareness and interest in children’s media. These activities will provide industry professionals, parents, and educators with the tools to make educated choices about the consumption of media created for children. chma.memberclicks.net

The Creators Society The Creators Society is a group of passionate, like-minded members of the animation community who work in the fields of film, TV, commercials, visual effects, VR/AR, and gaming. Members include people from all areas who are connected to animation from development all the way through animation distribution. This includes writers, directors, artists, animators, voice actors, executives, students, and more. We welcome members to share their creativity, celebrate artistry, and help others become the talented individuals they want to be. From seasoned veterans, to hopeful newcomers, the Creators Society allows any and all creatives to join, learn, and be lifted up by their fellow members. The mission is to not only bring together and enrich the artistic community, but to push forward the movement to make our industry more positive, diverse, and accepting. www.thecreatorssociety.org

LatinX in Animation LatinX in Animation advocates and promotes the empowerment and growth of Latinx diversity and minorities in all facets of the animation,

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VFX, and gaming industries by celebrating authentic stories that are about us, told by us, and made by us. LatinX in Animation (LXiA) is a signature program of the Latino Film Institute (LFI), a nonprofit organization whose mission is to showcase, strengthen, and celebrate the richness of Latino lives through the audiovisual event. As a community driven organization, and with the support of LFI and its programs, we provide the platform, pipeline, and launchpad for Latinos, minorities, and underrepresented artists and voices to be heard, seen, and celebrated. www.latinxinanimation.org

Women in Animation (WIA) Founded in 1995, WIA is the only organization dedicated to advancing women in the field of animation. We envision a world where women share equally in the creation, production, and rewards of animation, and we provide resources and connections to make it happen. As the popularity of animation has grown, it now reaches audiences of diverse age, gender, ethnicity, and culture. As this growth continues, so does the need to ensure that animation content represents the world as it should be—a world where women are equally represented, both behind the scenes and on the screen, to move culture forward. Women are known for the ability to value, tap into, and use our creativity and abilities to influence. And women’s influence in animation is one that rounds out the industry, grows revenues, and contributes to that forward cultural momentum. www.womeninanimation.org

Quickdraw Animation Society

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Incorporated in 1984, the Quickdraw Animation Society (QAS) is Calgary’s home for independent animation. They promote the art of animation through courses, workshops, screenings, and production resources. Their in-house resources include western Canada’s largest animation library, and an exciting foundation of introductory through professional-level film and digital production equipment. Quickdraw Animation Society builds welcoming, healthy communities by fostering connection, innovation, creativity and artistic excellence through animation production, education, and appreciation. www.quickdrawanimation.ca

ACM SIGGRAPH ACM SIGGRAPH is dedicated to the generation and dissemination of information on computer graphics and interactive techniques. They are a membership organization that values passion, integrity, excellence, volunteerism, and cross-disciplinary interaction in all of their activities. They are probably best known for the annual SIGGRAPH conference they sponsor, but they also put on a variety of programs year-round and worldwide to benefit the SIGGRAPH community. www.siggraph.org

National Film Board of Canada Created in 1939, the Oscar-winning National Film Board of Canada (NFBC) is the world-renowned public producer and distributor of animation and documentary, working with many of Canada’s best and brightest new talents. NFBC produces and distributes films and other audiovisual works that interpret Canada to Canadians and to other countries. www.nfb.ca

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Telefilm Canada Telefilm Canada is a federal cultural agency dedicated primarily to the development and promotion of the Canadian film, television, new media, and music industries. www.telefilm.gc.ca

WEBSITES AND BLOGS TO KNOW ABOUT Animation World Network The Animation World Network (AWN) is the largest animation-related publishing group on the internet, providing readers from over 145 countries with a wide range of interesting, relevant, and helpful information pertaining to all aspects of animation. Covering areas as diverse as animator profiles, independent film distribution, commercial studio activities, CGI and other animation technologies, as well as indepth coverage of current events in all fields of animation, AWN gives its readers an easy to navigate, visually and intellectually creative mechanism to electronically access a wealth of information previously unavailable anywhere in the world. www.awn.com

Cartoon Research This is Jerry Beck’s online depository of all things related to classic Hollywood cartoons. It includes a database of all US-released animated feature films, pages devoted to rare images from Looney Tunes, Fleischer, MGM, and Terrytoons (and other studios), and a FAQ that answers common animation history questions. www.cartoonresearch.com

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Cartoon Brew is an animation blog run by animation critic and author Amid Amidi. Amidi does reviews, news, and commentary on all things animated. www.cartoonbrew.com

Michael Barrier Barrier is the author of Hollywood Cartoons: American Animation in Its Golden Age (Oxford University Press, 2003). His site includes commentary on current films, books, and comics; essays on a variety of animation and comics-related subjects; interviews with leading creators; brief essays on individual films; and FunnyworldRevisited, a selection of articles and reviews from the magazine publications. www.michaelbarrier.com

Surviving Animation Eric Calderon, former senior vice president of development (animation) at Octopie Studios, has been in the industry for twenty-five years. His channel is devoted to talking about the business of cartoons. www.youtube.com/channel/UCq-9oN1MCEIT8I3AvmxY1FA

Michael Sporn’s Animation Splog Michael Sporn was one of the giants of the New York animation community. From 1980 until his untimely death in 2014, Michael Sporn’s studio produced many acclaimed television specials, most of them animated entirely in New York. Please join the others who knew him and worked with him and read Splog, his celebrated blog, which looks back at his footprints and the art and history of animation. www.michaelspornanimation.com/splog

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TRADE PUBLICATIONS Animation Magazine Animation Magazine is an American print magazine and website covering the animation industry and education, as well as visual effects. The print magazine is published ten times a year in the United States. Editorial covers all forms of animation: 2D animation, 3D for animation and visual effects, and stop-motion. A digital version, www.animationmagazine.net, was created in 2006. The company also publishes a daily weekday newsletter that covers the world of animation art, business, and technology, including software reviews. Animation Magazine Inc. publishes annual tradeshow calendars, a career and education guide, and five special Oscar and Emmy Awards issues throughout the year. Daily animation news is updated every weekday on the publication’s website. Also featured on the site is Animag TV, a portal dedicated to brief reports on animation events, shorts, and trailers. Archives of early editions are available, along with digital and print subscriptions. www.animationmagazine.net

Kidscreen Kidscreen is the leading international trade publication serving the informational needs and interests of kids’ entertainment professionals. Published eight times a year, the magazine’s editorial content provides comprehensive analysis of the news, issues, trends, market shifts, and opportunities having an impact on all sectors of the business, including TV production, distribution and programming, licensing and retail, marketing and promotions, gaming and digital media, feature films, home entertainment, and publishing. In addition to the magazine,

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Kidscreen’s brand includes a website, an online newsletter delivered digitally every weekday, and a marquee annual event that brings 1,500 of the industry’s top players together for three days of networking and professional development. Kidscreen’s average issue circulation is 12,500 copies, and these are mailed to key decision makers in the kids’ entertainment business, including broadcasters; film and TV production studios and distribution companies; retailers, licensors, licensing agents, and licensees; brand marketers and advertising and promotion agencies; and video game studios and interactive agencies. www.kidscreen.com/magazine_issues

INDUSTRY EVENTS CTN Animation eXpo A catalyst for talent and a major annual event for the industry, CTN is located in Burbank, California, the only city on the planet with more animation studios per square mile, bringing city-wide involvement and media outlets from around the globe. This event has serviced over 150,000 future storytellers and media arts creators, who have gone on to create award-winning new films, direct for major studios, and develop one of a kind IP. www.ctnanimationexpo.com

Kidscreen Summit Kidscreen Summit is renowned as the kids’ entertainment industry’s most important annual event. In 2020, the conference welcomed more than 2,200 attendees from fifty-plus countries. Top executives attend Kidscreen Summit to take advantage of the year’s best business networking and to engage in critical dialogue on issues that affect the

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industry. summit.kidscreen.com

LightBox Expo LightBox Expo (LBX) connects fans with the artists and creators behind their favorite films, animation, games, TV shows, and illustrations. It’s a place for aspiring artists to come, learn, and be inspired. It’s also an amazing artwork marketplace like no other. It’s the ultimate celebration of art! LBX founders Bobby Chiu and Jim Demonakos conceived the event as a way to bring together the best artists in the world under one roof. An opportunity to hang out with and meet fellow creators, share art with the public, further their skills, and educate those coming up in their respective industries. www.lightboxexpo.com

LoopdeLoop LoopdeLoop is an animation challenge. Animators from around the world create looping animations based on a given topic and submit them to www.loopdeloop.org. At the end of each theme the top one hundred posted loops are compiled and screened to a live audience at Loop in Melbourne, Australia, and at other venues throughout Australia and the world. LoopdeLoop gives animators an opportunity to network internationally through our blog and to rub shoulders locally with fellow animators at our screenings. Our goal is to connect people working in independent animation and ease the feelings of isolation that can come with the notoriously long hours involved in the creation of their work. www.loopdeloop.org

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El Festival is the main event linking Latin American artists and global industries of animation, comics, and video games. For five days brings together executives, professionals, students, and amateurs from all areas of the audiovisual work, in order to: • • •

Encourage the exchange of knowledge and experiences between international and local artists and producers. Promote Mexican creative projects. Build an international collaboration network.

But first and foremost, El Festival is a space that helps encourage a spirit of community, while allowing producers to interface with the national market and international artists and investors as well. www.pixelatl.com

FESTIVALS Animation Block Party On September 9, 2004, Casey Safron, the event’s founder, curated the first Animation Block Party, held in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. The event was rated one of the top five smaller film festivals in the area. The following year, Animation Block Party opened for international submissions, acquired corporate sponsorship, and expanded to become an annual festival with juried awards and prizes for participating animators. In 2006, the festival expanded to its current multiday format, drawing an average of over 2,500 attendees per summer. Based in Brooklyn, the event shows animation from both US and international filmmakers. In 2011, Animation Block Party received 654 submissions, screening 97 of them at their eighth annual festival. Animation Block Party expanded to a four-day festival starting in 2013. 451

www.animationblock.com

The ASIFA-East Animation Festival The jewel of the New York ASIFA-East chapter is its animation festival, for over fifty-one years. Since many animation festivals are held on alternate years, this might be the longest-running animation festival in the world. It appeals to professionals and novices alike— there is no preselection committee to eliminate films—and is casual enough for students and veteran animators to mingle, discuss, and toast the subject they love best: animation. In this day and age of home video, digital cable, and the internet, ASIFA-East brings live bodies together through the festival. Friendships, partnerships, and businesses have been sparked from the ASIFA-East connection. www.asifaeast.com

The Ottawa International Animation Festival Founded in 1975, the Ottawa International Animation Festival (OIAF) was first held August 10 through August 15, 1976, creating a gathering place for North American animation professionals and enthusiasts to ponder the craft and business of animation. It also provided their international colleagues with a unique opportunity to gain an appreciation for and access to the North American scene. The OIAF is committed to ensuring the animation profession benefits from exposure to outstanding creativity and originality of emerging work, and young animators gain access to the movers and shakers of their chosen profession. www.animationfestival.ca

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The mission of the Sweaty Eyeballs Animation Festival is to showcase unique, experimental, and diverse voices in the field of animated filmmaking with a focus on innovation in craft, storytelling, and work that questions preconceived notions of what animation can and should be. We love independent animation, and we love Baltimore. Get ready to join us in combining the two! Sweaty Eyeballs Animation Festival will foster a community of animation lovers and creators in the midAtlantic region and allow a venue for often overlooked work to be seen on the big screen. www.sweatyeyeballs.com

RECRUITMENT I Spy Recruiting I Spy owner/recruiter Ila Abramson began her career in animation working in production on Tim Burton’s The Nightmare before Christmas and the ABC stop-motion animation series Bump in the Night. She moved into the realm of CG animation when she joined PDI DreamWorks as a recruiter, hiring artistic talent to work on the films Antz and Shrek, as well as in PDI’s commercial visual-effects division. After coming to New York from San Francisco, she became recruiting director at MTV Animation, then moved to Nickelodeon, where she ran recruiting operations for Nick Digital’s animation studio in Los Angeles and New York City. Since 2003, her company, I Spy Recruiting, has provided customized recruiting services to help animation and design studios meet their ongoing freelance and fulltime staff needs. Ila is a frequent speaker and guest lecturer at schools and conferences and is adjunct faculty at the School of Visual Arts (SVA) in Manhattan. www.ispyrecruiting.com

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SCHOOLS Algonquin College A three-year program at Algonquin provides students with training in both traditional and digital animation. Following a common first year of studies, students have the option of pursuing either traditional or digital animation. They learn the skills necessary to work effectively as animators in a variety of settings. Graduates acquire the skills necessary to work independently, collaboratively, and in studio settings. www.algonquincollege.com

Animation Mentor In 2005, Animation Mentor was the first to offer a world-class animation education online. Today, more than ever, you can count on that same great experience with our proven mentorship educational model, a global campus that’s always on, thousands of hours of educational content, and our commitment to providing you with the most personal and fulfilling learning experience on the planet . . . all designed to help you—the filmmaker—reach your full creative potential. www.animationmentor.com

Capilano College Capilano College is a publicly funded community college located on the slopes of the coastal mountains in North Vancouver, British Columbia. Affordable tuition, excellent faculty and facilities, and one of the best reputations among Canadian animation schools make the animation programs the first choice of most applicants. www.gradshow.com

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Emily Carr Institute The bachelor of media arts animation major at Emily Carr Institute focuses on the development of innovative, well-rounded animation artists working with film and electronic and digital media, as well as traditional studio arts. Students select from courses in drawing, 3D computer animation, experimental animation, commercial animation, and special effects. The program offers a challenging course of study that encompasses drawing, color, storytelling, computing, and also English literature, cultural studies, and written composition. Graduates are equipped to work in animation as it is applied to entertainment, advertising, communication, and independent production of fine art film. www.ecuad.ca

Joe Kubert School of Cartoon and Graphic Art Inc. In 1976, Joe and Muriel Kubert founded the Joe Kubert School of Cartoon and Graphic Art. The school is dedicated to aspiring cartoonists who are dedicated to becoming professionals in cartooning, comic books, and the general field of commercial art. The school also offers a major in cinematic animation. Hundreds of the school’s graduates have gained acclaim and admiration in high-profile positions in comic books, advertising agencies, computer color and separation, animation, advertising, and illustration. www.kubertschool.edu

California Institute of the Arts California Institute of the Arts educates professional artists in a unique learning environment founded on the principles of art-making

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excellence, experimentation, critical reflection, and independent inquiry. Throughout its history, CalArts has sought to advance the practice of art and promote its understanding in a broad social, cultural, and historical context. CalArts offers students the knowledge and expertise of leading professional artists and scholars and a full complement of art-making tools. In return, it asks for the highest artistic and academic achievement. Reflecting its longstanding commitment to new forms and expressions in art, CalArts invites creative risk-taking and urges active collaboration and exchange among artists, artistic disciplines, and cultural traditions. www.calarts.edu

The Art Institute of Philadelphia Art Institute of Philadelphia students in the Animation Art and Design and the Media Arts and Animation programs all begin with a foundation in drawing, color, design, and computer applications. From this foundation, students develop advanced skills in various aspects of computer graphics and animation. Students learn to use the tools of the animation profession, ranging from computer operating systems to three-dimensional modeling and desktop video production. In addition to software applications, equipment also includes scanners, printers, video, audio, and classroom presentation equipment. These tools enhance students’ flexibility and creativity and enable them to produce an individualized digital portfolio that demonstrates their practical and technical abilities to potential employers. Graduates will be prepared with fully focused, entry-level skills to enter this fast-paced, high-tech field. www.aiph.artinstitutes.edu

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Dartmouth College Dartmouth College combines the best features of an undergraduate liberal arts college with the intellectual vitality of a research university. Founded as an undergraduate institution more than two centuries ago, Dartmouth offers excellent graduate programs within the arts and sciences and in business, engineering, and medicine. The professional schools, among the first established in their respective fields, have had a historic role in defining the school’s intellectual values. Dartmouth encourages a love of learning and discovery in every member of its community. It celebrates the diversity of that community, which includes men and women from different backgrounds, abilities, economic circumstances, perspectives, races, religions, national origins, and sexual orientations. www.dartmouth.edu

Kansas City Art Institute (KCAI) The mission of Kansas City Art Institute is to be a leader in visual arts and design education by preparing gifted students for lifelong creativity through intensive interaction with preeminent faculty and facilities and by stimulating active public awareness, support, and participation in the visual arts and design. www.kcai.edu

Parsons School of Design Innovation, exploration, collaboration, and anti-traditionalism drive the BFA in design and technology at Parsons. Students use new and emerging technologies and collaborate on real-world projects that take them to the next level. Graduates pursue careers in game design, digital filmmaking, information architecture, interaction design, broadcast

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design, animation, web design, and technology-enabled environmental and architectural design, to name just a few. In the freshman curriculum, students receive an intense introduction to the web, audio and video, interface design, and computer programming skills. www.parsons.edu

Pratt Institute The mission of Pratt Institute is to educate artists and creative professionals to be responsible contributors to society. Pratt seeks to instill in all graduates aesthetic judgment, professional knowledge, collaborative skills, and technical expertise. With a firm grounding in the liberal arts and sciences, a Pratt education blends theory with creative application in preparing graduates to become leaders in their professions. Pratt enrolls a diverse group of highly talented and dedicated students, challenging them to achieve their full potential. www.pratt.edu

Max the Mutt Animation School Max the Mutt Animation School is one of Toronto’s fastest-growing private career colleges, offering a three-year diploma program in classical animation basics and a fourth-year postdiploma program in advanced animation. Max the Mutt has developed a reputation for demanding the Max-imum from its students through small class size with serious individual instruction from some of the industry’s top talent. The school admits it is not for everyone. The diploma program’s exacting standards, based on Warner Brothers and Disney guidelines, is available to only the most serious students wishing to pursue a professional career in the animation industry. www.maxthemutt.com

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The Mel Hoppenheim School of Cinema The Mel Hoppenheim School of Cinema offers two programs in film animation: a major in film animation and a minor in film animation. The programs are conceived and designed to teach the full process of artful and intelligent frame-by-frame (animated) filmmaking, its theory, and practice. Students are encouraged to develop a personal and creative individual approach to the art of frame-by-frame filmmaking, and to explore various technical and conceptual issues related to it. Rather than emphasizing a single type of animation, the program is designed to enable students to identify, from the widest possible range of techniques, the approach that is most suitable for the expression of their personal, original vision. The goal is to provide, to future filmmakers, a solid foundation for research, discovery, and improvement, and to facilitate the articulation of a style, which affirms each student’s unique artistic personality. Students are carefully and individually exposed to the ever-widening possibilities of both digital and traditional technologies. www.concordia.ca/finearts/cinema.html

New York University Tisch School of the Arts New York University Tisch School of the Arts’s animation area serves the needs of all film and TV students for both animation and liveaction projects. The curriculum is varied and integrated with both traditional animation and 2D and 3D animation courses at the fundamental, intermediate, and advanced levels, as well as storyboarding, titles, optical and digital effects, life drawing, and history and criticism classes. As well as the dedicated and professional faculty and staff, special guests and visiting artists have included Chuck Jones, Nick Park, Pete Docter, Frank Thomas, Ollie Johnston, Marc Davis, and Faith Hubley. Also, talent recruiters visit yearly from 459

Walt Disney, DreamWorks, Warner Brothers, LucasArts, R/GA, Blue Sky, MTV, and Nickelodeon. www.filmtv.tisch.nyu.edu

The School of Visual Arts (SVA) SVA offers undergraduate programs in advertising, animation, cartooning, computer art, film and video, fine arts, graphic design, illustration, interior design, and photography. The undergraduate program is a four-year, full-time bachelor of fine arts degree program with courses offered throughout the day and evening. SVA is considered a primary source of animation talent for both coasts. Graduates have found work at Disney, Pixar, DreamWorks SKG, Blue Sky Studio, and Nickelodeon. You’ll learn from more than thirty directors, animation and special effects artists, character designers, and writers. www.sva.edu

Ringling School of Art and Design Ringling School of Art and Design is a private, not-for-profit, fully accredited college offering the bachelor of fine arts degree in six disciplines: computer animation, fine arts, graphic and interactive communication, illustration, interior design, and photography and digital imaging. Located on Florida’s Gulf Coast, the picturesque thirty-five-acre campus now includes sixty-nine buildings, and attracts more than one thousand students from forty-six states and thirty-three foreign countries. It is recognized as being among the best and most innovative visual arts colleges in the United States as well as a leader in the use of technology in the arts. www.ringling.edu

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Rhode Island School of Design (RISD) RISD (RIZ-dee), founded in 1877 in Providence, Rhode Island, is a vibrant community of artists and designers that includes 2,200 students from around the world, approximately 350 faculty and curators, and 400 staff members. Each year more than 200 prominent artists, critics, authors, and philosophers visit the historic College Hill campus. www.risd.edu

Rocky Mountain College of Art + Design (RMCAD) Rocky Mountain College of Art + Design is an innovative, rigorous, and community-oriented global learning environment that inspires passion for critical thinking, preparing learners to be forces of change in their industries, communities, and the world. www.rmcad.edu

Savannah College of Art and Design (SCAD) The Savannah College of Art and Design, an institution with distinctive yet complementary locations, will be recognized as the leader in defining art and design education. By employing innovation in all areas, SCAD will provide a superior education through talented and dedicated faculty and staff, leading-edge technology, advanced learning resources, and comprehensive support services. www.scad.edu

Seneca College’s Animation Arts Centre Seneca College’s Animation Arts Centre in Toronto has gained a reputation within the animation industry for attracting top-quality professors and students from across Canada. The three-year diploma 461

program provides a solid foundation of traditional animation before students move on to state-of-the-art computers in the final year. The centre distinguishes itself further with postgraduate certificates that include 3D character animation, special effects, and its award-winning 3D gaming program. Among its many successes, the centre is proud of the Oscar-winning film Ryan, which was produced at Seneca and animated by its graduates. www.senecacollege.ca

Sheridan College The animation classical program at Sheridan is known the world over for the creative excellence of its graduates and faculty. The program, with its strong focus on character animation techniques, examines both contemporary and traditional approaches to animation. Animation affords students the opportunity to master their drawing skills and sense of acting and motion, and to apply them to the art of human and animal dramatization and animation storytelling. Sheridan’s experienced instructors build upon their professional and teaching insights to provide an education that covers many aspects and eras of animation. Sheridan is the industry leader in enabling students to design and animate with the latest in 3D computer animation and special effects software. www.sheridancollege.edu

The Art Institute of Toronto/Vancouver If you are interested in attending an art and design school in Toronto or Vancouver then the Art Institute of Toronto and the Art Institute of Vancouver are great places to begin your education. Both schools offer postsecondary diplomas, advanced diplomas, and certificate programs

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in animation art and design, game art and design, graphic design, web design, new media design, interior design, and fashion design, just to name a few. The Art Institute of Vancouver also offers culinary arts, film and recording arts diplomas, advanced diplomas, and certificate programs. www.wherecreativitygoestoschool.ca

The University of the Arts (UArts) UArts teaches and practices animation as a fine art—a powerful form demanding technical excellence and offering boundless possibilities for exploration and expression. Work within the department spans a broad range, from experimental and mixed media to character animation and under-the-camera animation (painting-on-glass, clay-on-glass, sand animation, cut-out animation), as well as 2D and 3D computer animation. Students are guided by a faculty of accomplished working professionals, as they develop their individual vision and build a strong preparation for professional careers. www.uarts.edu

Vancouver Film School Imagination is the only limit when encountering innovation; artists are faced with a tension between transformation and endurance. At Vancouver Film School this healthy tension allows new forms, new ideas, and new art to emerge. No matter the potency of today’s technology, the elements of animation remain constant. Animation is the fine art of telling a story through movement: knowing how to animate life where there is none. Every animated film produced today is actually a hybrid of classical and computer-generated animation methods. The more proficient you are with the foundations of

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animation, the more skillful will be your use of modern digital technology. www.vfs.edu

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