Since 2004, I have been someone who jumps in and out between working on-site at studios and working from home. The at-home projects have included consulting (Lucy Daughter of the Devil, Super Why), directing pilots (Playhouse Disney and National Geographic Kids), directing shorts (Electric Company), and directing an entire season of episodes of the Adult Swim series Assy McGee. For the last two years I've worked exclusively at home and this experience has led me to compile these 10 Commandments of Working From Home. *drawings above from my current freelance gig: animating and directing a pilot for a client.

1-Go out before you start to work.
Grab a coffee, go to the gym, walk your dog, etc. This is very important because it gets your butt out of bed and forces you to throw on shoes and clothes. You get some air as you stretch your legs. It's a bad idea to simply stagger out of bed and plop down at your workstation straight away.

I get up each morning and eat breakfast with my wife, who has a job with normal hours in Manhattan. Every morning, I walk her to the subway and then I continue on to the gym. After a short workout I grab a coffee and walk home. Shortly after 10 AM I'm at my workstation and ready to start my day.

2-Start your working day at or around 10 AM and finish by 7 PM.
This way your get a sense of order to your life. Since you're working from home, you need to have a sense of being home and being done with work at a set time each day. Of course, there will be times where you'll have to keep working to make a deadline or juggle multiple jobs, but as a rule, try to create this healthy boundary between work and home. Also, by keeping to normal office hours, you'll stay ready to jump back into the workplace of your next on-site job.

3-Don't use IM unless you need it to communicate with your client or workers.
Instant Messenger can be a big distraction because it requires you to interact with people in relative real time. Non work related IMs get burdensome and can suck away hours at a time. Some animators use seperate IM addresses for work time so they can keep IMs as exclusively as work communication.

4-Make it a point to meet up with friends/industry peers for lunch outside of your home at least twice a week.
Not only will this be delicious, but it will get you out of the house to sustain friendships and start new ones. Note that this also works for breakfast too!

5-Be mindful of the increased demand for timely communication.
When working on site, there is opportunity for direct in-person communication all day long. When working remotely, its important to be extra mindful to communicate your questions, needs, and status of work on a regular basis.

6-Be extra mindful of the tone of your communication when using instant messenger and email. The reader always reads their own tone into someone else's writing, so its important to be clear and professional. If there is a sticky matter to discuss, get the person on the phone to discuss it in conversation.

7-Music and (maybe TV) is okay
Despite what Richard Williams advises, it is perfectly fine to work to music throughout the day. I doubt many of us are involved in the kind of total body and mind concentration required to do the kind of overly complex animation Williams is engaged in. If you're working on any other type of animation, listening to music can help make for a pleasant workplace. Leaving the TV on can work too, but there is the problem of getting sucked into a TV show. Watch at your own risk.

8-Lunch time is blog time.
When I'm not meeting up for a lunch outside my home office, I eat at my computer and use it as an excuse to peruse my favorite animation blogs which keep me informed on the state of the art and industry of animation. Food for thought, indeed.

9-Make time to go to animation events.
Working from home can make you stir crazy (anyone see The Shining?) and its easy to miss the companionship of of your peers and friends in animation. Attending events such as ASIFA-East's monthly screenings, makes for instant networking opportunities, keeping you connected to the larger world outside your home studio. You might also pick up a little inspiration.

10-Make time to work on your own art.
This can be tough under any circumstances, but it gets even tougher when you're working from home. The last thing you may want to do is to work on your own art or animation at the end of a busy animation day, but if you make the time to do so (even a few days a week), you will make yourself a lot happier, create new samples, and ready yourself for untold opportunities. Best of all, working from home allows you some days to yourself when you are inbetween freelance jobs. Fill in some of those days by attacking personal projects.

Another sign of a weakened animation industry (and the overall weakened economy) arrived last week when staffers working on the 4th floor of 1633 Broadway were summoned into a meeting where they were told that New York's Nickelodeon Digital Animation Studio would be closing its doors before the end of the year. The largest pool of workers among them were in mid-season production on Nick Jr's Team Umi Zumi, which is a as-of-yet unaired series made completely in-house with Flash, After Effects, and Maya. The workers will be on hiatus for an undetermined amount of time while the producers work to re-establish the series at an independent animation studio to complete the rest of the season order.

New York's Nick Digital Animation studio first sprung up in a few cubicles on the 32nd floor of 1633 Broadway, which was on a floor above it's sister studio, MTV Animation. The maiden project, "Blue's Clues," was a new form of production: full in-house series production via Adobe After Effects, Photoshop, and Power Macs. The studio that grew around the series (adding such productions as Little Bill, Gary the Rat, This Just In, Fridays, and Blue's Room in addition to many pilots) provided my (near- continuous) employment between the years 1997 and 2007. Having been away from the studio for the last year and a half, its semi-abstract to learn that the studio is closing its doors. Even though I didn't work on the studio's final series, it was nice to know that they were employing so many animation artists and support staff. It was nice to know that the studio was there- period.

What role did a large studio like Nickelodeon play in the New York area animation landscape? For one, it paid some of the best salaries in town, and (for the majority of its run) gave its temporary workers full benefits such as health care, dental, and 401k plans. It offered long-term work on high profile projects in a stable work environment with a genuine Human Resources department. When independent studios (such as Curious Pictures) set up their first large scale digital series productions, they followed in Nick's example by providing fair wages and benefits packages.

Whether or not you ever worked at Nick Digital Animation, this event effects you. There is a giant pool of expert workers that will be all looking for work at the same time. There is one less major studio where graduating students might find work. While there are a smattering of new projects rising in the city, so far, no single production will be able to absorb this entire crew. Lean times like this have always thinned out the ranks. Many will drift into other lines of work or move to other parts of the country.

I don't think we need any more examples that our jobs are temporary in this industry. Even accepting a job on a series with a long-term contract is by no means a guarantee that the bottom will not fall out from under you. There is no continuity to be found at any one studio. The continuity has to come from you. Times like this test us to be resourceful, to look after our own fates, and (of course) to value, appreciate, and look after each other.

One might take stock of what got them into this business in the first place. I doubt many of the recently laid off Nick Digital folks would answer, "I always wanted to work in a compartmentalized capacity preforming repetetive tasks on a preschool animated series till the end of time." Chances are, some people wanted to work in features, on music videos, write the great American novel, start a comic strip, create their own content, or build their own studio business.

It should be inspiring that Tatia Rosenthal (a Nick alumni) left the close knit studio a long time ago, forsaking the comfortable path for a chance to make her own stop motion feature. Her feature film, $9.99 opens in Los Angeles on December 12. It was the result of many years of unbelievable sacrifice and it would not have been possible had she stayed at Nickelodeon. In a similar way, those recently let go might just look back at Nick Digital Animation closing its doors as the best thing that ever happened to their career. And, if that's the case it will be because they (like Tatia) made something happen.

I figured it out. America's favorite yellow family must be vampires. In fact, all of Springfield USA must be vampires too, because nobody has aged a day since season one began in 1989. If time had been a factor, Bart would be around 30 years old today.

Since The Simpsons have been renewed until at least 2013, I think this discussion is long overdue. In theory, it looks like an advantage to have an entertainment medium in which characters remain forever young. However for a show as long-running as The Simpsons, the advantages ended around season 8 or so (and that was back in 1997!).

Once upon a time, The Simpsons WERE set in time. Marge and Homer had an origin story. They had been high school sweethearts in the 1970s. This made sense because Homer was supposed to have been in his mid 30s in 1990. The math checked out. But, nearly two decades of episodes have passed since then and that has not been kind on the reality between The Simpsons' universe and our own.

Live action sitcoms can't ignore their actors getting older. If a family-based sitcom survives long enough, its once cute tots grow up to go to college. Unfortunately, by that point, most sitcoms have long worn out their welcome and try to remedy the situation by adding new tots into the mix. Despite the fact that most sitcoms don't manage to stay as sharp as they once were, there is at least the potential to tell new stories that might reflect the characters' changing lives.

I remember what it felt like to attend junior high for the first time, graduate high school, get a driver's license, go to college, get a job, and how my social world and values changed again and again. Bart and Lisa (and Maggie) are forever stuck in grade school and any attempt to age up their situations would only ring false. That is, unless they were able to grow.

The first deathblow to The Simpsons relevancy occurred with the 1997 debut of South Park on Comedy Central. Before then, Bart Simpson was a role model for underachievers everywhere. He talked back to adults. He got bad grades in school. But, he was really a safe modern-day throw back to Dennis the Mennis, even complete with sling shot in pocket. On the other hand, South Park's Eric Cartman cooked his friends parents and then fed it to him.

The second deathblow was that beyond season 10 (and that's being generous), The Simpsons had said all they had to say and could only repeat themselves with diminishing returns. How telling it was that even the recent Simpsons feature film recycled nearly all its plot elements from earlier TV episode plots. For instance, Homer getting attached to that pig? That was very similar (but less funny) than Homer getting attached to the lobster (Pinchy) from episode "Lisa Gets an 'A'" (the seventh episode of The Simpsons' tenth season. It aired on November 22, 1998.) How about Homer ruining the whole town and making it unlivable? That happened already when Homer made the town a toxic landfill in "Trash of the Titans" (the 22nd episode of The Simpsons' ninth season and the 200th overall. It originally aired on April 26, 1998.) The family losing faith in Homer? Marge and Homer's marriage on the rocks? Lisa dealing with a new love? All tackled in the TV episodes to far better results.

Live action sitcoms debut with their characters being a certain age and (within a season or two) find the balance or blend of qualities that might define that show's voice. As the actors age and grow, the balance changes and eventually every sitcom runs out of juice. The physical transformation of the aging cast makes that change perfectly clear, giving it a visible face. An animated sitcom such as The Simpsons does not show its age so readily. One has to actually watch an episode made between 2001 and 2009 to see the rot just below the surface. By the show's final curtain call, it the bad seasons will far outnumber the good.

There's a common misconception that the "industry" does something to the animation artist. The idea is that it makes us conform our styles and our independent spirits so that we might hope to be cogs in the wheel at a major animation studio. In reality the industry doesn't do that, animation artists make that choice themselves. Everyone is so busy trying to figure out how Tex Avery timed a gag, Jim Tyer drew, or Mary Blair designed. Sure, we'd have to lack a normal artistic curiosity not to want to figure that out, but to what ends are we prepared to apply that information? What's the end game?

Oddly enough, outsiders to our industry have led the way in making some of the most groundbreaking animation of our era. For the purpose of this discussion, I'm only going to reference TV animation because the incredibly low standards and conformity in that arena. On Nov 19, Don Hertzfeldt came to town for a special set of screenings at the IFC center and the packed houses were treated to a set of unique films by this modern young master of indie animation. During the Q and A, Hertzfeldt revealed he has a TV deal, and one can only assume its for his own pilot or series. The filmmaker now joins a long line of outsiders who have stepped in to create the most original animation on the tube. The list includes Mike Judge (a self taught animator who learned to animate by making the first Beavis and Butthead film in his garage), Matt Stone and Trey Parker (live action film students who dabbled in cut out animation that most animators would scoff at), Matt Groening (the indie cartoonist who's first foray into animation was when he was drafted to dash off short animations for The Tracy Ullman Show), and Tom Snyder (the educational software company owner who devised a show with comedian Jonathan Katz that employed illustrators-not animators to create the series, Dr. Katz).

These outsiders never spent two seconds trying to imitate how Chuck Jones subtly raised an eyebrow, or to discover how Art Babbit broke the joints, or figure what sets apart each of the nine old men. And, they certainly wouldn't care to get into a debate as to the differences between each Pixar release or on how well Lasseter is doing as head of Disney. In contrast, we animation artists define ourselves by those very interests. It's what makes us "animation people." And, it's also what makes us take second place to the trailblazers listed above. They pull their influences out of life experiences as well as from inspirations coming from other mediums such as painting, sculpture, live-action cinema, theatre, etc. Is it any wonder that their creations take OUR medium to places we would dare not dream?

I know there's a degree of over-simplification in this argument. Some industry animation artists also have diverse interests, but I would wager that they tend to keep them out of their animation. This is because we are so busy scrambling to make a living that we give all our effort to our commercial work and leave none of that time or energy to ourselves. With such an equation, how could we be the groundbreakers in our own industry? The outsiders have a further advantage called "ignorance." Since they don't know the "so-called" limitations of our industry, they don't let anything block their creativity. To compete, we in the industry must learn to forget trends, fads, and commercial considerations that hold us back. Its as if we have automatic sensors telling us, "this will never sell," or "this project is too risky to be successful."

The last thirty years has seen the birth and boom of an interest in animation history and its checkered films and filmmakers, rescuing many from obscurity. Some, such as Chuck Jones, were even fortunate enough to live to see it happen and take a well deserved victory lap. I don't suggest we stop searching out our past, nor do I suggest turning a blind eye to where the industry is at today. Instead, I suggest we examine why it is that some of our best contemporary work has come from those who are not saddled by the negative baggage that comes along with being "animation people."

Incidentally, Herzfeldt's latest short, "I Am So Proud of You," (pictured above) is a masterpiece and its mature subject matter and sophisticated construction does animation proud, even though.... at the Q and A with moderator Amid Amidi concluding the screening, Hertzfeldt admitted, "I'm not an animator. I use animation to make films."

Today, I'm presenting two unrelated topics...

NEW YORKER: FOUR WEEKS IN

Forgive me a partial post on my cartoon pitches to the New Yorker. Of course, these are not pitches in the sense that one might pitch an animated series. At the New Yorker, its possible to present a new set of cartoons once a week. One could never do that for an animated pitch, where even a rough proposal will likely represent weeks or months of development. For the last four weeks, I've set aside at least one day a week to draw up a new batch of cartoons. I'm happy to report that some of them have made the weekly short list of cartoons that the magazine holds on to for further consideration. I still have yet to sell them a gag, but, I'm getting a lot out of the experience.

For one, working on cartoon gags every week exercises the hand and the mind. Over time, one has a chance to really develop a style and a point of view. Secondly, a weekly pitch puts one in the hot seat on a regular basis, where rejection becomes something you can schedule on the calendar.

An interesting thing has happened. With only four weeks into my adventure, I can report that each encounter is not defined by rejection. What could seem hopeless or disappointing, actually feels exciting and rewarding. This is because each week represents both a renewed commitment to myself as well as further proof of my sincerity to the New Yorker.

What the hell does this mean to anyone reading this blog? Well, I believe that its important to spend at least one day a week in a risky scenario where you push your talents, film, projects, or whatever. Up until now, I've pitched animated projects maybe on the rate of once every two months. Now, I feel the rush of excitement every Tuesday when I hand over a small stack of cartoons, one of which might just wriggle its way into the magazine.

(below: 2 gags from week 2 of my New Yorker submissions)



THE ANIMATED FILMMAKER VRS. THE ANIMATOR

I find this topic endlessly fascinating. Most of the time, animators that are the "real deal" are interested in animating. Their concerns are draftsmanship, staging, timing, acting, characterization, and countless nuances and possibilities available in the mechanics of creating any animated moment. What they are often not interested in is in making films. Or, as in the case of Richard Williams, when they cross into making animated films, they might bring an unbalanced view of animation's role in an animated film. Character animation is but one element in an animated film. A film requires its makers to weave together all aspects of visual and audio storytelling that make up any motion picture. A filmmaker making animated films will allow different elements of a film to dominate the experience at any given time, and all for the service of moving the story forward. The animation-minded individual is more likely to make animation the central point of any given moment. At best, they might devise a story or subject that justifies such a choice.

Don't get me wrong, one is not necessarily either a filmmaker or an animator. One can be a little of both in different degrees.

Ralph Bakshi seems an easy poster child for the filmmaker approach. He bent the elements of film to suit his own vision. He mashed animation and live action together for graphic excitement, to convey emotional mood, and also to ensure that his films came in on budget. Richard Williams acts as a good example of the animator that might obsess over the mechanics of animation to such a degree that it consumes all else. Both men have accomplished great things in their careers and rose to the top of the industry despite (and because of) their respective views of filmmaking and animation.

I suspect all of us over and under compensate to our strengths and weaknesses as we create not only films but, also our careers.

(thanks to Elliot Cowan for the idea for this blog entry!)

We are fortunate enough to have oodles of golden age animation collections available on DVD. More seem to be coming out all the time. In the last two years alone we have seen collections of shorts by Lantz, Warners, Disney, MGM, Famous, and (finally!) Fleischer. These collections house some of the greatest character animation ever achieved in the continuing history of this industry. Today, many of us lament that the standards of animation have fallen. While there are more animation artists working today than ever before, there remains the notion that draftsmanship standards have fallen. Taken with (creatively crippling) faster and cheaper production methods utilized since the TV animation era began, its obvious to conclude that the golden days were, well, simply golden.

While its easy to conclude this, its not the entire story. As I've collected and enjoyed box set after box set of these precious nuggets of animation's past, I've noticed something else–something beyond the "look, they used to animate on ones," and, "boy, could they draw!" Over time, I began to realize, that while these shorts set a technical standard of achievement unequaled since, they may have been equally responsible for our medium's arrested development. Creatively, there's only so far one could go with animation subjects starring dancing toys, cats chasing mice, rabbits outsmarting hunters, and woodpeckers pecking wood.

Much has been written blaming the "kid vid" status of animation on how animation was presented on television. In short, it was programmed at hours when kids would be watching, before school and after school. The brief period where animation first appeared in prime time (Flintstones, Jetsons, Bullwinkle), was just that. Brief. But, was TV (exclusively) to blame for US animation forever existing as primarily a children's media? I don't think so. Theatrical cartoons, such as the ones collected in these special DVD sets mentioned above, played their part as well. Sure, these shorts played to general audiences, but they were almost exclusively comedies, most of which skewed their appeal to the youngest seat fillers in a theatre. In the public's mind, animation equaled kid-safe comedy. Don't get me wrong, working within animation's narrow comedic box, directors, animators, and artists of all kinds did wonderous things. They built the foundation for this art and this industry. And, they made brilliantly entertaining shorts which, (as far as craft goes) are unsurpassed. One could argue, the success of these shorts (along with the Disney Features) built an industry and fitted it with a creative straightjacket at the same time.

All one has to do is think of the diversity of live action film from the golden age of animation to further understand how long animation has been restricted to the children's arena. In the 1930s and 40s live action film developed into many artistic directions including musicals, westerns, comedy, romance, dramas, period pieces, bible and adventure epics, gangster pics, science fiction, horror, thrillers, mysteries, etc. Yes, all of these directions were (in turn) reflected in animation, but only as comedy geared to general audiences, again skewing mostly to children. This was not the case in live action where films like The Lady Eve, Casablanca, and Spellbound (and hundreds of other classics of the day) were made for adults. Its now more than 70 years later and animation still has a long way to go before it is embraced by general audiences as a medium that can tell ANY story, and (more importantly) in untold creative ways that live action cannot.

Thank goodness UPA arrived on the scene just in time to dare to take animation into unexpected directions. Within less than two decades, UPA's influence would be passed on to the independent animators who would channel their own personal vision into films that could be anything and that could be made for anyone. Perhaps one day, the independent animation era (which began in the 1960s) will be as appreciated and celebrated as a box set of films where cats chase mice. One can only hope.

For more than fifteen years I've created and drawn hundreds of one panel gag cartoons, usually revolving around gold fish and their environs. Eight of these gags eventually found a home published in magazines and newspapers across the country. From time to time I would send off a batch of these cartoons to the prestigious New Yorker magazine, but to no avail. This week, through the generosity of a friend, I had the opportunity to present some new non-fish gags to the New Yorker's famed cartoon editor Bob Mankoff. It was quite an experience!

Once I decided to create some new general themed cartoon gags for the New Yorker I had only four or so days in pocket so I had to work fast. A morning trip to the gym proved a handy catalyst to creativity and I found myself with four or five gags to sketch when I got home. I decided to draw the gags directly into photoshop via my wacom tablet. I like the loose feel this imposes on me. My cartoonist friend told me that one needs to present a minimum of seven gags at a shot if they hope to be taken seriously. With such a short window of time available I decided to keep my gag number to seven exactly.

Cartoonists have one hour a week to present gags in person to Bob Mankoff. Visiting the floor where the New Yorker is made was prize enough for me. On my arrival, Mankoff's assistant let me onto the floor and I confessed that it was my first time presenting cartoons. He welcomed me and told me all I had to do was to figure out where the back of the line was. Boy, was he right. There was a sprawl of cartoonists hovering around Mankoff's office. Some had already showed gags. Others were waiting. Complicating matters further was a nearby waiting room that might contain other cartoonists-in-waiting. After ten minutes, it became clear that the last person ahead of me had showed and then it was my turn.

Mankoff welcomed me into his office and asked me about my background. After some small talk he motioned for my small stack of gags. Thumbing through them, he quickly gave me the good advice of avoiding topical political references which might already be dated by the magazine's publication. At least two of my seven gags violated that rule. Moving through the rest of my work, he seemed to initially put two gags on the side for possible consideration. Then he advised me to try a more sophisticated drawing style for my next round of submissions. Getting to the end of my stack, he told me that he had decided not to hold on to any of my gags on the first visit. He asked, "How many more ideas do you have?" I replied that I could do a stack such as this everyday. Best of all, he told me, "You have the mind for this. Come back and show me more."

With that last exchange, I was thoroughly encouraged. However, since nothing is ever a sure thing, I'm making a solemn vow to keep my expectations in check. I got a further does of reality joining the other cartoonists at a lunch that day at a near by restaurant. Among them was a very nice and talented cartoonist who has been submitting gags to the New Yorker for 8 years without making his first sale. Another cartoonist told me that they were submitting cartoons for a year and another had just wrapped up their first month of submissions. They each remained hopeful and inspired to keep trying, although they admitted that they seldom came in on a weekly basis. Everyone acknowledged that paying work and other life commitments make coming in weekly a near-impossible scenario. I doubt I could sustain a weekly submission very long, although I plan to push myself to the (reasonable) limits.

This weekend I took a crack at some new gags based on Bob Mankoff's feedback. I can already see the improvement. Any such creative endeavor returns to us regardless wether or not we make a sale. I'm enjoying taking on this pipe dream because it allows me to better develop as a writer and a cartoonist. And, since animation artists working in the New York area have always relied upon a diverse set of skills and outlets to earn a living, why not add "New Yorker" cartoonist to that list. A fella can dream, can't he?

*Note: cartoon gags above ©2008 by David B. Levy from his first in-person submissions to the New Yorker magazine.