Feb. 19th, 2019 06:30 pm
tealin: (think)
1. Drank a lot of coffee today in anticipation of Gettn Stuff Done

2. Ran into the page for which I currently lack a great deal of necessary reference

Yeah, that was really well-thought-out there, self. Well done.

I'll just move on to the next page, for which I have adequate reference, and take a Bikeventure tomorrow to get proxy reference for one thing in case the email I sent requesting actual reference bears no fruit (which is entirely likely). Really it's not that big of a roadblock, just a rather jarring speedbump!

I am finding, with this project, surprising ways in which the Late Capitalist model of primary/secondary education has wired my brain in unhelpful ways. The biggest one is the whole notion of closed-book testing – I am finding, as I'm thumbnailing and drawing pages, that I default to trying to do them without referring to the compendious amount of reference I've compiled, which is utter bollocks and completely unnecessary. But how will I know I've learned what I've been studying unless my powers of recollection can be tested, in isolation? Open the damn book, Tealin.

This paralysis – albeit momentary – at not being able to do things in their proper order is another one. You can't just skip around the curriculum! You have to have continuity! No you don't. You've done the thumbnails. You know what's coming and what's gone before. You don't have to do ANYTHING in order. (Of course, doing it in order is more fun, on account of narrative immersion, but when it's just a montage of tableaux, who cares?)

12:28 AM
O HAY guess who isn't remotely tired? Go on, you never will!


Feb. 13th, 2019 08:21 pm
tealin: (Default)
I need to clear space on my desk to set up my light table. This has resulted in the following list of accomplishments since the weekend:
  • Currency-converting and filing business expense receipts for the last 7 months (because I had some tax-related paperwork that needed filing, and if I'm digging up Ye Tax Bindere I might as well do it all)
  • Scanning one character's design materials and the design of the Terra Nova's engine room I drew up while thumbnailing (because I can't put them away until they're scanned; it's a Rule)
  • Candying a batch of orange peel (because I have a bowl of mandarins on my desk for Healthy Snacks, and I save the peel, and I finished that bowl's worth which meant I had a batch's worth of peel, and that stuff doesn't keep forever)
  • Making a big shopping trip to Aldi (because they have the best mandarins and I needed to refill the bowl)
  • Packing away the extra flour and preserves I bought in anticipation of the pound tanking (because I was at Aldi anyway, why not)
  • Reorganising the boxes under my bed (because these things have to go somewhere)
  • Vacuuming under the bed (because – yikes)
  • Vacuuming the corners of my room (because I had the vacuum up here anyway)
  • Including the terrifying corner where Ye Tax Bindere lives in sin with piles of life drawing and oversize books, which needed organising anyway (nice bit of synergy with item no. 1 there)
  • Going to Wilko to stock up on vitamins etc (for the aforementioned poundpocalypse)
  • Making an appointment for a haircut tomorrow (because on the way to Wilko I walked past the hairdresser's for which I have a coupon, looked at their prices, made a big nope, and booked at the place where I got it cut before)
  • Making an appointment to get topped up on some extra sleep-happy acupuncture (it's in the same neighbourhood as the hairdesser's)
  • Emailing someone for character design advice (because the char design sketchbook told me to)

And yet my desk still is not clear. It is a mystery.

tealin: (catharsis)
Back when I was working at Disney, with a lot of dads who had daughters in the Girl Scouts, I bought a drawer full of Girl Scout cookies and would have two or three every mid-afternoon. When I ran out, three o'clock would roll around and I would be seized with the most existential craving for a cookie – nothing could satisfy but something crisp and buttery. It lasted for months. I discovered a sudden sympathy for drug addicts, and never bought Girl Scout cookies again.

When I was visiting the Discovery this past September, after breakfast and orienting myself for the day I would usually get below-decks around 11 A.M. There was a recording which played on continuous loop in the crew's mess, which you could hear around most of that deck. For the next week, every day at 11 A.M. it would get stuck in my head. That's what I needed to hear at 11 A.M. and if I wasn't going to put it in my ears, my brain would supply it itself.

This Christmas I spent a few days at the San Diego Maritime Museum, filling in as much as possible of my mental map of the Terra Nova, spending a lot of time on the Star of India which, unlike the Discovery, is still afloat. The waters of San Diego Bay are quite sheltered, and there is never more than a slight bob, but it was enough that when I stepped off the ship, the balance part of my brain, used to compensating for the motion, wrong-footed itself and made me feel like I was still bobbing. Pleasant enough. But again for a week after I would get that bobbing feeling at the time I'd usually be arriving at the ship, even when I flew back to Europe and was suddenly compensating at dinnertime instead of mid-morning.

For the last week I've been watching The Terror, one episode a day, usually over dinner. I finished day before yesterday (it is very good; there will be posts). Both yesterday and today I've been getting on with things and feeling fine and then Terror Time rolls around and it's the Girl Scout cookies all over again. For now, ten minutes browsing Terror gifs on Tumblr seems to scratch the itch, but I can't deny it's a little ridiculous. Is this addiction? Is this just the power of habit? Does habit have an inordinate pull over me or is everyone like this? How does one harness it for good instead of mega distraction and cravings? I never seem to form such intense behavioural conditioning for yoga, or meditation, or going for a walk in the fresh air.

At least I can be abundantly careful never to touch any substance that is scientifically known to be addictive. All hope would be lost.
tealin: (Default)
It's been ages since I've done a sketchdump here, for which I apologise. I've lately been transferring last year's sketches from Patreon (where they are updated much more promptly) to Tumblr, so here is the first instalment of them crossposted here:

September 2017 )

tealin: (Default)
Tried to initiate another wire transfer yesterday. It went surprisingly well! I spelled everything out to the person at the call centre, they repeated everything back to me word for word as I'd spelled it, and seemed to have heard of both Vancouver and Cambridge, which was a nice surprise. Maybe, maybe, this time ...

I got the PDF form to check over and sign. Half the recipient bank's address was missing, as well as the last three digits of the destination account number, and my street address was spelled wrong.

When doing the rounds of corrections later, I learned that only the first two lines of the destination bank's address are shown on the form, and they have the rest but just don't show it. Because .... there's no chance any of that might be wrong? More likely because if they're wiring to another US bank, two lines of address is all you need, so why should the form be designed to show more?

All I can figure is there's some Floridian cryptid lurking in their HQ messing with both brains and computer networks, which may not be that different from its point of view. Frankly it inspires me to move the rest of my money out and close the account to save ever having to deal with them again, but I probably shouldn't do that until my GIC has matured ...

By the way, HI EX-TUMBLR people and welcome! I swear I blog about more interesting stuff than this most of the time!
tealin: (Default)
I checked my Canadian account today just to see if maybe the wire transfer got there early ... and it had been deposited the same day I finalised it with the credit union.


[super exaggerated shrug]
tealin: (Default)
The credit union got back in touch today. I talked with someone who seemed to be on the ball. The specified corrections had been made to my form. We caught that my Canadian bank's address ought to be in Canada and not the UK.

The money should get there by December 4th.


Find out next time on – – –

                   INTERNATIONAL BANKING!
tealin: (stress)
Given all the fun I had doing this last time, I thought I'd keep a running account of my attempt to transfer funds from my US credit union to my Canadian bank account. The credit union offers good services; I was happy to be a member when I was living in California, and to keep more money there than in the Big Evil bank which has slightly more competence but is still, shall we say, developmentally delayed when it comes to acknowledging that people sometimes live outside the US. The credit union clearly has even less experience doing anything international, despite being a subsidiary(?) of a major multinational corporation with employees from and in a huge number of countries around the world. Also their service centre employees, who sound chipper and articulate on the phone, appear to have sawdust where their thinkers should be.

Remembering the three tries it took to get the transfer through successfully when I was imminently departing North America, I decide to log into my account online to see if they've made online international wire transfers a thing.

They haven't.

I initiate a chat with their online help service, which oddly I don't think is staffed by bots. Kristynia informs me I should phone the call centre to see if my account is eligible to make a wire transfer. I phone. It is. I gird for battle.

Every last tiny little detail of the transfer information has to be letter-for-letter, punctuation-for-punctuation correct, or it won't go through. I haul out my Folder of Money Stuff and get the sheet my Canadian bank gave me for this purpose, and also all the information for the account I'm transferring from, to pass the dragon at the gate of the call centre.

And so we begin ... )
tealin: (catharsis)
It's been a while since I did a movie review, but then it's been a while since I've been to see a movie, so that may explain it.

Last night I went to see Peter Jackson's endeavour for the WWI centenary, a collection of film clips from the time with reminiscences of veterans, recorded many decades later. The gimmick for this one was that the film was restored and colourised, which you can see very nicely in the trailer:

Overall it was a decently well put-together film – I liked that there was nothing intruding on the primary sources, just straight film clips and the voices of people who were there. There were a few "artsy" bits of compositing early on that looked like someone had spent a weekend in AfterEffects, but the intent was sound and subtle enough not to grate. The only new stuff seemed to be the foley and voices added to the silent footage, which was done with great prudence and craft, I thought. I've seen and heard a fair amount of WWI stuff over the last five years – including a very impressive exhibit at Te Papa in Wellington which appeared to have had several Weta people involved with it – and this probably communicated best what it was like to be there, and to know the people involved.

That it was sympathetic to the period and its people shouldn't be a great surprise: I've spent a lot of time with Edwardians in the last ten years, and rewatching Fellowship of the Ring recently, it felt so profoundly in accordance with the feeling of that time – not a modern filming of a book written by an Edwardian, but what an Edwardian might have filmed if he had the ability. There is a slight 'garage project' feeling to They Shall Not Grow Old, but that works in its favour, I think. It's got faults, but seems to have been made with love, which counts for more.

The colourisation, for the most part, was surprisingly successful. It felt more like early colour footage than like something coloured after-the-fact, and made the clips seem surprisingly current. What didn't work so well was the process used to bring the 16 frames-per-second film up to a modern standard of smoothness. There were some very successful clips (most of which are in the trailer), but for the most part it felt kind of swimmy, and the film grain tracked with people's faces which was a bit distracting. I'm glad I saw it in 2D, as a 3D process on top of all of that would have been difficult to watch. Animators figured out early on that most people perceive 12 frames per second just as smoothly as 24 (saving us a lot of work!) so I'd much rather have seen some sort of process which gave us the original 16fps footage playing at the correct speed. Almost no one would have noticed the lower frame rate, you'd avoid the jerky sped-up feeling of early film which happens when you play 16fps at 24fps, and it would have saved them time and money. But this is Peter Jackson and it's a shiny new piece of technology, so I suppose we should just be grateful he didn't try for 48fps.

Would I recommend you see it? I don't know. It's certainly not for the faint of stomach: there are some pretty vivid injuries, and one particularly memorable shot of Trench Feet (and hands), not to mention, you know, realities of war and stuff. If you're interested in history, and especially in that time period and the psychology of its people, it's really very interesting and worth your time. If you are particularly visually attuned, you may want to wait and see it on Netflix or whatever, as the smaller image would probably flatter the process more. But if you don't notice the smoothing on a modern TV, then you may not especially care about these effects.

One last comment: the trench songs as performed by Plan 9 were really quite engaging; raw but charismatic, in the best way of folk music. The credits listed about five songs and I only caught three; I hope they're available somewhere as music in its own right because I could definitely bear to listen to them again. Currently the only trench songs I have are in Charles Chilton's 1960s radio documentary The Long Long Trail (which loosely got turned into Oh What A Lovely War), but they're sanitized and with the 60s orchestration sound rather like Mary Poppins. So well done, Plan 9. I'd have liked more of that flavour to the footage, but it was nice to see anyway.
tealin: (Default)
While I was packing and tidying in advance of travelling, I turned on Radio 4 and heard the most perfect spiel about the interdependence of mankind and how we've been conditioned to reject it. But I was busy, so didn't look it up, and failed to note the day or time so I could look it up in future, and so I thought it lost.

Tonight I was doing a bit of busy work, and as such was looking for something to stuff in my ears to keep the other half of my brain happy. Browsing the Radio 4 website I found a comedy show about philosophy. Sure, that sounds like my bag, I thought, and then most of the way through there it was! That speech! Only now I had context.

The programme revolves around a study done by psychologist Cyril Burt on separated twins to determine if intelligence was a heritable characteristic. The study suggested it was, and formed in large part the basis for the post-war educational system in the UK, in which children at age 11 would be tested and sent either to a grammar school, for the high achievers destined for University, or a comprehensive school, where the nation's future factory workers and shopkeepers would be taught enough to get by.* Later it was discovered that the co-authors Burt cites in that report quite probably didn't exist, his data was fishy, and he'd burned a lot of his notes and records before his death. But despite the shade this cast on the validity of his research, the educational system's method of testing and segregating students continued, along with the cultural ramifications of making education a competitive enterprise.

So then we come to this:
The two-tier system, built on Burt's fraud and bizarre fantasies, is with us to this day. It is a system built not on science, but on a brutal individualist dogma that flies in the face of what science tells us about the type of creatures we really are. We are social mammals. Not all mammals are social: polar bears, golden hamsters, and Siberian tigers are not social mammals. But Chacma baboons, gibbons, elephants and African hunting dogs, Alpine ibex, indri, bonnet macaques, and we, are. To be a social mammal doesn't mean to be gregarious at the weekends, but helplessly dependent on each other our whole life long. Our sociability is an ancient instinct that we share with other primates. Rhesus macaques, isolated from birth, quickly learn to press a lever that projects images of other Rhesus macaques on the wall, and there is some evidence to suggest that the macaque starts to pretend to himself that the macaques on the wall are real. He invites them to play, offers them food, cites them as co-authors on a paper on inherited IQ in identical twin macaques separated at birth. We have a profound and lifelong need for each other, against which instincts the education system inculcates the philosophy that the bulk of your peers are impediments and a block on your hopes for self-realisation.

Cyril Burt is, of course, on Wikipedia, and you can listen to the programme here: Rob Newman's Total Eclipse of Descartes

And now, some navel gazing. )

*The two-tier system was largely abolished later in the century, but efforts have been made by the current government to bring it back, albeit in a somewhat disorganised way. It's a very contentious issue, and there was a lot of debate on it before Brexit took up everyone's available brain cells.

I do frequently wonder if the grammar/comprehensive test (known as the Eleven Plus) is why age 11 is so significant in British children's literature. Obviously that's the age at which you get your letter to go to Hogwarts, but it's an age that pops up in many previous books. Then again, it's also a great age to make your child protagonist – grown up enough to be rational and autonomous but not enough to deal with puberty – so maybe it's a coincidence, or comes from a much older tradition.
tealin: (Default)
A film from the U.S. War Department recently crossed my path:

Don't Be A Sucker

It was made in 1947, to combat the sort of political rhetoric that could lead to America going the way of Nazi Germany. Aside from its relevance, I found it interesting how much of this 1940s view of America, as a multiracial, multireligious, multicultural smorgasbord that is stronger in its diversity, sounds like what you hear from today's metropolitan Millennials, and is labelled "progressive", while the Right wants to "return" to some imagined golden age. In this context, the progressives are the traditionalists!

Also interesting was the assumption that Catholics would be labelled an out-group. They were an easy target for divisive populists for most of US history; it makes me wonder why they aren't, now. Is it because conservative Catholics are useful enough to the Evangelical cause that they're tolerated? Has there grown a distinction between "American Catholics" (i.e. white, and WASP-ish in their habits) and all the other ones – Latino, African, Filipino – who are more conveniently excluded by race than by religion? Why aren't the "useful" white Catholics, on the inside of the Republican fence for their voting record, sticking up for their browner brethren?

It seems to me that a lot of people are drawn to conspiracy theories and quasi-fascism out of a fear of being taken as a sucker. Not gonna fall for the gubment's coverups and lies, or the liberal agenda of the media, or pie-in-the-sky ideas about equality. Hence Fox News pushing its message that it's the only unbiased, fact-based news source. Don't get suckered by those other networks! And then they've got you.
tealin: (Default)
I don't know how I ended up on the BBC's list of animators to phone up for my 2p on an animation-related story, but for the second time in a year I've started my day with a call from a radio producer lining up guests. This time it was for the morning show in Birmingham, a story about the globetrotting reboot of Thomas the Tank Engine. Was I in favour of more diversity in entertainment? Well, obviously. Very good we'll call you back at nine!

It wasn't Radio 4 – it was a local phone-in show clearly angling for the participation of those who'd be available to opine post-drive-time; in this case, apparently, retired men for whom foreign accents and strong female characters are an onerous imposition by the PC Brigade, even if they appear in train form. Luckily I wasn't called upon to debate the callers – I had told the producer I had a train to catch – but the host, performatively or not, was taking their side of the argument.

Here's a thing about me: I can't argue. Arguments in our house growing up were conducted on a hyper-competitive, all-or-nothing, sudden death basis, which taught me only to run as far from an argument as possible as soon as I saw one brewing. I get panicky and freeze whenever landed in one by circumstance. But this morning, none of that. I felt about two feet taller when I got off the train.

I was coming in to London to help a friend get home from outpatient surgery, but wouldn't be needed until the afternoon, so I had lunch with a friend from animation studio days, who has had an incredible year of self-discovery and transformation. Much as the world is going down in flames, I have been witness to enough of these self-redemption stories in the last few years to have some deeply perverse hope in the human spirit despite everything. People can do amazing things when they open their eyes, internal or external. Maybe that's how we can solve the bigger problems.

Hospital friend was supposed to go under before noon, but by the time I crossed town she still hadn't been called in. We chatted for a bit before they finally came for her; I made my way to the nearest coffee shop (the hospital café was stifling) and am now drawing polar explorer headshots while the corner of Grenfell Tower plays peek-a-boo with the business park's orderly trees. One is always aware, in London, of being in the shadow of history ... Some history is just fresher than others.

When I graduated college, someone had us do 5, 10, and 15 year projections. I think I put Disney in the 15-year box. I wonder what newbie animator me would have made of finding out what an ordinary September Monday would look like in that distant future. It seems surreal even now.
tealin: (think)
I was going to let this percolate a while before putting anything down, as there are lots of things to think about and connections that can't be made in an immediate response, but I think holding it in is adversely affecting my health, so all plans are off. Here goes.

Smile and the world smiles with you, cry and you cry alone.
Yesterday on Twitter was one of those days where you keep getting the same long-read link from unrelated people on your timeline. I usually try to avoid these, as they're time sinks which only add to the sense of global despair, but after enough iterations I finally clicked on the link. I provide it here for you if you're interested: it took me nearly three hours to read (with occasional breaks; I suggest breaks) so do be advised what you're getting into before crossing that threshold.

The Ghosts of St Joseph's Catholic Orphanage

TL;DR: Basically every orphanage horror story you can think of, in this case at an institution in Vermont run by the Sisters of Providence, with a dash of clerical sexual abuse, which is all the rage these days. The frame story is a group of orphanage survivors taking the Church to court over what happened there, and their long frustrating legal battle, but the history of the place is laid out in flashbacks and testimony.

Part of the reason I finally clicked that link was that the sample image embedded with the preview on Twitter. It's of a nun in a habit with a big padded wimple, showing a group of happy children the new elevator. I recognised that wimple – it appears in an old family group photo, taken, I think, when my mother was about 5. It was my job to dust, and one bookcase was covered in old photos, so I saw it every week. I know I was told multiple times who it was but I don't remember now; I think it must have been my grandmother's sister, of which more later. I'd forgotten it until seeing this link.

Thus ensued much pondering ... )
tealin: (Default)
ME: Well, heading off for my visa extension tomorrow, and I'm not even a little bit stressed about it!

STOMACH: [out of a knotted-up yoga pose even a contortionist could only dream of] YES YOU BLOODY WELL ARE

ME: Sigh, OK, what do you want.


2 hours later

ME: OK, now what?


1 hour later

ME: OK, now what?


ME: I still have to pack.


ME: And double check the backup copies –


ME: You're not helping.



ME: Sigh.
tealin: (catharsis)
The list of Expedition members to draw seems to grow as I complete it ... Tiring of researching biographies that end with "destroyed by WWI" I decided to start on Priestley, who lived to be a ripe old academic. But I know nothing about Priestley! I can't draw someone I don't know! I read his biography on Wikipedia but the facts of a life give one very little sense of the person, so I had a quick rifle through the index of The Longest Winter (a book about the Northern Party which I haven't read yet), and he's woven through every page. Also in the book are Levick, Browning, Abbott, and Dickason, who I will need to design in short order.

Day after tomorrow, I leave for Liverpool for my visa extension application. I'd hoped to cram in Priestley and finish off that character sketchbook before I left, but the reading now has to come first. Tempting as it is to cram the book in the next two days, and sift out bios for five characters, it makes much more sense to take it as reading material on the train. So now I have two days to fill with something that needs doing.

Hmm, let's see, which of the dozen or more to-do lists shall I dip into first ...

Once upon a time I just turned up for work in the morning and drew what was in my in-tray, and plugged away on other people's projects like a responsible adult. I am certainly much happier executing this mad commission, and imagining giving it up gives me the panic-sweats, but that regular life can look appetizing sometimes.


Aug. 16th, 2018 11:45 am
tealin: (mignolame)
I'm going to be locking comments for a while – I've been flooded with spam (or possibly crossed lines with a Japanese text-message conversation, I can't be sure) and that seems to be the only way to deal with it for now. I've logged a support request with DW HQ so hopefully they can block the IP; until then, if you want to get in touch, there is email (searchable), DW message, Twitter (@twirlynoodle), Tumblr (@tealin), and of course Patreon.

Hopefully normal service will resume soon ...
tealin: (Default)
I have inadvertently created a thing. It's vegan, low-carb, and relatively cheap, so if you're into that sort of thing, here is a highly unscientific recipe:

1 celeriac
1 can of black beans*
½ tsp ground coriander
½ tsp ground cinnamon
pinch of thyme
2 bay leaves
iceberg lettuce

Cut your celeriac up into "fries", toss with oil and salt, and roast in the morning when your kitchen is cool, for about an hour at errrIdunno about 325°F? (Gas Mark 4 for me, but at the top of the oven so it was prolly more like 7.) Until it's cooked, anyway, and the corners are going brown – about an hour. Take it out and let it cool down.

Put the beans with their liquid in a small saucepan. Add the bay leaves, about 4 twists of the peppermill, salt, thyme, coriander, and cinnamon. Simmer until liquid is absorbed.

Let the beans cool off a bit while you shred the lettuce. Mix the three parts in your desired proportions and chow down!

This was supposed to last me a couple lunches but I think I'm going to get through all my beans just by having seconds ...

UPDATE: I didn't go for seconds, in the end, opting for a banana milkshake and saving the beans for tomorrow, but by 7 I still wasn't even slightly hungry. I made some zucchini fritters simply because the ingredients needed using up. So, a little goes a long way! Consume with moderation!

*In the US (and Canada?) you may only be able to buy black beans pre-seasoned, in which case ... I dunno, do what you will to them, seasoned black beans might be good as they are.


Jul. 30th, 2018 09:40 pm
tealin: (Default)
After four years of visiting Denmark, I'm finally trying to learn Danish. It hadn't seemed worth the effort before, as I teach in English there, and anyway, how likely was the school to keep inviting me back? Turns out, very likely, and as I like going and feel one ought at least to try to function in the local lingo, I'm starting on it in a more organised fashion than recreationally cross-referencing the Danish and English copy on packaging.

It's fun, and – for a language whose reputation is 'very very difficult' – so far fairly easy. I've also found that a tiny upside of having spent many young years in Utah, where my mum tutted at everyone's 'lazy tongue' when they turned mountain into mou'en and something into sum'm is that I'm taking very naturally to the wide variety of glottal stops that Danish requires of the hapless English speaker. This is not an accident, I think: there was quite a lot of Scandinavian settlement in Utah in the early days,* so I suspect the comfortable habits of the Nordic tongue outlived the taste for fish and minimalist interior design.

I first started trying to learn French so long ago that I've forgotten what it's like to be a beginner with a language; in my first few days with Danish I'm amused to observe that I'm coming up with all sorts of mnemonics which will be completely impractical in a conversational context. But I don't think I'll ever quite shed the impression that, in Danish, a girl is a pigeon (pigen), a boy is a dragon (drengen), a man is a maiden (manden), and a woman – any woman – is a queen! (kvinden)

Perhaps the reputation Danish has for being difficult to learn comes from the way the spoken word hardly resembles the written one – it could give English a run for its money. Pigen is pee'een, drengen is drain, manden is mai'n, and kvinden is kveen-n. The phrase Jeg er en kvinden (I am a woman) sounds more like Yerre kveenn. My first experience of this was when I was talking about words I'd learned off packaging and, in my obsession with Danish bread, one of these was wheat flour – hvedemel. One of the Danes present gave voice to it, and it came out velmee. I pity anyone who's tried to learn it from a book and then arrived in the country; they wouldn't understand a word.

I'm next due to teach at the end of November, and I doubt I'll be the least bit capable of conversation by then, but it'll be interesting to see how my experience of the place changes. I have learned what ikke means at last – it's a negatory – but Duolingo is insistent on the importance of my learning the word for 'plate' which so far I have been completely unable to remember beyond that it starts with a T.

But I know that you find pastries at a place called lagkagehuset, and what is necessary beyond that?

*and quite a lot of skin cancer there now, not coincidentally


Jul. 20th, 2018 07:09 am
tealin: (think)
Visa business aside, I am trying to get back in the swing of character design, as I have all the ship's crew to get through before embarking upon drawing the book that takes place on the ship. I've done first mate Victor Campbell, whose post is going up on Patreon today; as I needed some cheering up I thought it was a good chance finally to treat myself to drawing Lillie, the crackpot marine biologist and caricaturist whose work has livened up the textual records for so long.

This morning I was up at the crack of dawn to do laundry and figured I'd get a start on researching his biography at least.

I am starting to think this was a flawed idea.

tealin: (Default)
I spent all day yesterday collecting incidents of The Big Storm from various sources, writing them out and cutting out the slips of paper, and arranging the slips to get the best possible dramatic arc out of the episode. All day I'd been swept up in this mighty tempest and coming at it both imaginatively and analytically. Surely, surely, that kind of immersion and hard mental grind would turn up in my dreamscape, given dreams are quite often the result of what you've been learning in a day.

I dreamed about explaining the anatomy of the Terra Nova to someone.

Well, yes, I guess I learned about that, too.



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