Two weeks ago a friend and I participated in a game jam, and as a result, made Rodent Robbery (sorry, it's windows only). For the uninitiated, game jams are basically hackathons, but for building games. I haven't built any games for a long time, but the ashes of this passion lay smoldering in the back of my mind, waiting for someone (else?) to stoke them.

And stoked they became. Some of you might believe that drawing and painting is all I have ever done, but let's look back to revisit (and rekindle) forgotten flames.

The Awakening

I was a LEGO kid growing up. I built sets, tore them down, and then used the bricks for their intended purpose - in my own creations. One day in middle school, I watched a Youtube video of what appeared to be a movie, but with LEGO characters, and they were moving by themselves. How could this be? I had discovered stop-motion animation. When the medium is LEGO, the production is affectionately referred to as a "brickfilm."

Anyway, this spurred in me the art of cinematography. I dipped my toes into scriptwriting, storyboarding, lighting, sound effects, post-processing, not to mention that actual art of stop-motion animation. It was hard, and I wasn't great, but I was learning a lot. Eventually I produced a film using BIONICLE (another LEGO line, because I was really in to that). I physically cringe when I hear my voice acting, but you can check it out here. Later, I submitted a short film for a workplace PSA contest and actually won 2nd place (with a monetary prize), which basically made me a semi-professional filmmaker. I wish I had the original file, but for an idea of what the animation was like, here is the last animation test I have. For my final link, I give you the finest brickfilm to grace my eyes: Unrenewable.

A New World

As I got more and more into film production, I needed to figure out how vfx was done. How is good looking smoke made, and how can I put planes in the sky without holding the plane in every frame? That led me to discover Blender, the 3D creation suite. For the second time, my world changed.

Was this how Pixar and Disney made their films? Was this how Crash Bandicoot and Sonic the Hedgehog were manifested? And I'm allowed to do the same, for free? That's a bit of an exaggeration, but suddenly I came into contact with a world that, until then, I was merely a consumer of. Now I could become the creator? Blender was only in version 2.5 back then (we are at 4.3, about 14 years later), and it was intimidating, but I learned about 3D modeling, animation, rigging, texturing, rendering, vfx, and compositing. It was hard (again), and I wasn't great (again), but I was learning a lot (again). I stopped doing stop-motion animation and joined a community of folks building a LEGO fan game that was effectively a BIONICLE version of Super Smash Bros. I was an animator working with random strangers, and from it I learned how unreliable random strangers can be. This was also around the time I was learning programming (my junior year of high school?), which meant that game development was falling rapidly into my lap (my brother was actually a programmer for said fan game).

Because of my interest in game development, I tangentially stumbled upon the role of concept artist. Seeing environment concept art for games was the coolest thing I had ever seen. And so, while all of what I previously said was happening, I also started figuring out how one makes … that kind of art.

Changing of the Times

I shipped out to UC Berkeley to study electrical engineering and computer science. When I wasn't doing problem sets, I would find some time to draw. I painted this mug on a Friday evening, which was met with much laughter by my floor mates at the time. I have forgiven, but not forotten (I'm kidding, maybe).

During my sophomore (I think) winter break, my brother and I made and published a game called The Sharpest Blade. I don't have any videos of it, and I don't think it works on modern operating systems now, but it was a simple puzzle platformer where the only clue you had was the name of the level. I made the backgrounds and character art while my brother did all of the programming. The hardest part about building games is actually finishing it. The last 10% of polish takes 90% of the time.

I had the exciting opportunity to take a year long class called "CNM190 Advanced Digital Animation," in which a group of twenty-four students, half studying art and half studying computer science (who had taken computer graphics), would be split into two teams and each produce a 30 second animated film. We studied the art of storyboarding, look development, and the pipeline for making films at scale. I enjoyed it, but I was forced to learn Maya (industry standard 3D creation suite), which I found obtuse compared to Blender. Perhaps the most difficult task, however, was managing 12 people on one project.

In my last year I took the opportunity to host the Berkeley Chapter of 2016 Global Game Jam. It was a successful event, with 45 folks (not just students) showing up to work 48 hours to build some games. It would be my last major foray into game development.

You Can't Have it All

I was working as a software engineer in San Francisco, drawing on my commute to work, and fiddling with some game dev on the way back. But for as much as I had done, I wasn't good at anything. The truth was, I was a dabbler, and I hated myself for it. I took stock of what I knew and what I felt was reasonable, and decided I was going to keep drawing as my creative outlet. It was a rational choice. I didn't need a computer to practice it, it didn't require developing a plethora of skills (wrong), and it exposed me to people from a variety of backgrounds. I suffocated all my other flames, attached my self-worth to only the one remaining, and let it burn.

The Fire Spreads

As it turns out, I'm good at burning. I tore my ACL playing soccer, which meant that fate had snuffed out my non-creative flame too (at least, temporarily). It caused me great anguish, but it also removed my distractions. It gave me laser focus. I practiced. There's a famous quote by Ira Glass that is as follows:

Nobody tells this to people who are beginners, I wish someone told me. All of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste. But there is this gap. For the first couple years you make stuff, it’s just not that good. It’s trying to be good, it has potential, but it’s not. But your taste, the thing that got you into the game, is still killer. And your taste is why your work disappoints you. A lot of people never get past this phase, they quit. Most people I know who do interesting, creative work went through years of this. We know our work doesn’t have this special thing that we want it to have. We all go through this. And if you are just starting out or you are still in this phase, you gotta know its normal and the most important thing you can do is do a lot of work. Put yourself on a deadline so that every week you will finish one story. It is only by going through a volume of work that you will close that gap, and your work will be as good as your ambitions. And I took longer to figure out how to do this than anyone I’ve ever met. It’s gonna take awhile. It’s normal to take awhile. You’ve just gotta fight your way through.

I took it to heart, but after a while I wasn't sure if I was doing it for the love of the game, or for the love of who I thought I was going to become. That troubled me, because only those who love the craft will stick around long enough to see it through. There came a point where if I weren't doing a study of some kind, I had no idea what to paint. It felt as if my practice had sharpened the blade of skill and left dull that of creativity. I felt dull.

Controlled Burn

Creativity can be learned. I can't say that I have learned it (I read a few books and practiced creativity more meaningfully), but I have seen enough artists' work over time to know that it isn't innate. It involves consumption, but with a creator's eye.

I reached a point where I felt I would be better served by experimentation instead of execution. You can see that in in a lot of my work over time -- I play with lighting, texture, and perspective in search of something that stretches my idea of what a finished artwork could look like.

As I started to experiment, I began to like what I made. That helped me create more. I understand enough about myself to realize what I really enjoy is a certain amount of difficulty. Every time I make a painting, I (subconsciously) am looking for a composition/subject that doesn't just inspire, but pushes me. These are developments of the last two years.

This effort to learn creativity is what they mean when they say "creativity is a muscle." For it to grow, it must be consciously worked. What I'm saying isn't novel, but I'm the type of guy who only grows through what he goes through. Having worked on it for a while, I can say that creativity is best explored on the foundation of strong fundamentals. I have much further to go.

The Renaissance

/ˈrenəˌsäns/ a revival of or renewed interest in something

During all those years I spent practicing art, I kept tabs on my other flames. Not dead, but smoldering. I never unsubscribed from the r/gamedev subreddit, and I got a regular newsletter for all things 3D art from our savior Andrew Price of Blender Guru. I kept up with open source game engine updates, and occasionally watched talks from GDC (Game Developers Conference) every year. Each time I would consume some content from the other side, I would feel a tug. The suffocation I spoke of earlier was not a one time deal. I suffered through that regularly, each time affirming that any worthy pursuit requires sacrifice, and my sacrifice was curiosity.

When my friend, who was somewhat aware of my history, asked me if I want to participate in a game jam, I hesitated. It felt like I'm bringing a mistress into the fold, and it was dangerous (forgive me this metaphor, it fits too well). But a weekend couldn't hurt, right? Don't overthink it.

I was right to be concerned. As we were building the game, I began to feel the heat of every previously subdued flame. A sublime intersection of engineering, art, and storytelling exists here, and I yearned to explore it all like I once did. But for that to happen, the primary fire I nutured must burn with less vigor.

I made a choice a long time ago, and stayed the course. The choice presented itself once more. This time, I chose differently.

No man steps in the same river twice. For it is not the same river, and he is not the same man.