Author: Travis Howe, senior animator at Kixeye
Feature Film Credits: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles
Video Game Credits: Sly Cooper: Thieves in Time
Hi, Aspiring Animator!
So I’m a big fan of the TV show “The Office” — the American version (read: “funny version”). Toward the end of the final season, one of the characters says a line that hit me pretty powerfully: “I wish there was a way to know you’re in the good old days before you’ve actually left them.”
It’s the middle of the day – a work day – and I’m at home. I’ve been on paternity leave for nearly a month now after the birth of my second daughter, the latter half of that working remotely. But I’m standing in the kitchen (where my phone has been charging), shell-shocked by what I’m hearing on the other end.
“Travis, did you hear me?”
I did hear her, but it hasn’t sunk in, so I listen again.
“We’re going to have to let you go.”
A million thoughts are going through my head like a million jolts of electricity. How will I provide for my newly expanded family? What will happen to our insurance? But the question that, selfishly, plagues me the most in this exact moment:
How will I ever stumble across my dream job again?
Because working at Sanzaru, on the PS3 game “Sly Cooper: Thieves in Time” was exactly that: the best job I never knew I always wanted. It was a pub on the side of the road on my way to that Perfect Studio. I came in to get out of the rain (translation: job hunting), and found out this was where I’d want to be forever.
What made it the perfect studio for me? Well I’m glad you ask, hypothetical reader! To answer that question, let’s back up to college. I’ve attended two animation schools, the first of which was Ex’pression College for Digital Arts in Emeryville. I was a young, gung ho animation hopeful going in a direct line to THE studio. I’m sure you know which one that is, because chances are, if you’re an animator, it’s the same studio YOU are/were headed toward. What I learned while at Ex’pression, how I learned it, and the fact that I overworked myself without much to show for it — all of that is important, but a long story, so let’s cut it down to the important bit: when I think back on my time at Ex’pression, I remember this energy, like a static charge constantly hovering around me; anything is possible in animation. I felt completely limitless. So why, when I put pen to paper, divining my projects for the rest of my time there, did I consistently draw blanks? Because limits, boundaries, are the foundation of imagination. When you’re given a limited assignment (“have this character pick up this box for this amount of frames”), that’s a blessing! Within those limitations, you can do whatever you want! What’s the box made of? Who is this character? Answer the “who,” “what,” “when,” “where,” and “why” within the confines of that assignment, and your imagination will run wild with creative energy.
Sanzaru’s animation structure — (thanks in large part to an experienced and competent lead) — was such that it allowed us to take pride in our work. We had ownership of our characters and sequences, and specific guidelines that were limiting but not confining.
Now on to Point B: Networking is the key to survival. The second college I went to was Animation Mentor. When I initially enrolled, I was lucky enough to attend one of the famous Animation Mentor BBQs before I had even started school (I actually wrote “Class 0” on my name tag). That was the first time in my life that I had ever been around so many people with my same passion. I remember hearing stories about the Munchkins from The Wizard of Oz having crazy parties because they’d never been around so many people “like them.” This felt a bit like that; several hundred people with the same quirky trait all gathered in a colorful setting, pleased to the gills to learn they’re not alone in the universe. Is every animator “like me”? No, of course not. In fact, I don’t even like every animator. I like most of them, but I’ve definitely run into a few that I’d just as soon avoid from now on. But even when you find those people, the ones that aren’t “rays of sunshine”, or maybe the ones that try to damage you, it is extremely important to conduct yourself in a manner that burns as few bridges as possible. When you’re looking for work — the first job or the fiftieth — you do not want anyone working against you. This industry isn’t as small as it once was, but you’ll still find yourself at the mercy of former coworkers and other colleagues when you’re applying to a studio they work for. As a human being, you should do your best to get along with everyone anyway, but just keep in mind — things like “not taking feedback well” or “being a negative spirit around the office” can have adverse effects YEARS down the road. In all likelihood, landing your first job will not be landing your last job. You’ll be on the hunt more than once in your career, so be sure that the next time you’re looking, anyone who might remember you (and you don’t know who that will be) remembers you in a positive light. Point B: Networking is the key to your survival. What does that have to do with Sanzaru being exactly what a studio should be?
Because a studio is a metaphor for your entire life. If you’re unhappy now, being at THE studio will never make you happy. Because YOU are the studio. You are the one who decides whether you are happy or miserable, which in turn helps decide whether the people around you are happy or miserable. Now, of course you don’t have a godlike power to control their moods. But you can control yours, and whether you are a positive spirit, or a negative one, you will have an immense impact on the moods around you, which defines the culture of that studio. Happiness is infectious; grumpiness is a plague. Share positivity, and I promise you, the studio will begin to reflect it — at least to the extent that your allegorical happiness cloud reaches. Sanzaru was a place that allowed me that, because it wasn’t a big place. There was so much positivity, excitement, camaraderie, and a serious desire to pump out a great product (which, in the end, we did)!
Now I’m at KIXEYE. It’s 18 floors up (give and take) in a high rise building at the heart of one of the most beautiful cities in the world. It’s larger than I’m used to (by a lot actually), but that’s not a bad thing. The team I’m on is around the size of Sanzaru as a whole, and the enthusiasm and life are definitely present. When I started here, I was still on a low from losing “the dream job.” Over time, I’m seeing that this place can be that studio.
But what if you’re not at any studio? Maybe you haven’t had that first break yet. Maybe you’re an animation hobbyist, or a contractor that works from home. Well, the point of all this is that you make the choices in whether you are happy, whether you find animation fulfilling, and you do this with your attitude and the structure you set for yourself.
So this is the answer to the question I posed, “How will I ever stumble across my dream job again?”
The answer is, maybe I didn’t stumble into Sanzaru to begin with. Maybe, as a part of it, I helped make it the studio I loved so much. Maybe that’s what we’re all supposed to do; give our all, do our best work within the limits we are given, be as positive as we can be, share every idea, encourage every coworker, accept their encouragement and feedback. Maybe we make the studio we want to be at.
So how will I ever “stumble” across my dream job again?
The answer is: I won’t.
Travis Howe (signed)