Belgian Liège Waffles
Nov. 12th, 2009 | 04:12 pm
location: Ridge House, Berkeley, CA
I have created Belgian Liège waffles. They're made from leavened dough and studded with pearl sugar, which caramelizes on the outside.
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(no subject)
Nov. 7th, 2009 | 03:06 am
On August 20th, I moved into a Berkeley co-op, Ridge Commons. In case you're not familiar, a co-op residence (at least in Berkeley) is a giant house that a bunch of people purchase a share in, resulting in low rent and other benefits. Ours is an old Tudor-style mansion on a hill overlooking the campus. It's full of dark hallways and hidden nooks, with walls covered in long-forgotten posters and doodles. The DIY fixes and additions that have accumulated over the years form an endearing patchwork over the house's original design. There's a waist-sized window exit to the roof, nominally discouraged, but with an apologetically removed bug shield and a footstool placed in front of it. The feeling is that of a forest coming to life shortly after a fire, a house with a life and history beyond the knowledge its inhabitants. I think that's when you know a house is a good house.
We have to do 5 hours of work for the house each week, as well as miscellaneous stuff like 2 hours of house improvement.
The awesome pantry includes fresh organic produce, every spice you can imagine, dried fruits and nuts, canned goods, flours and sugars, dairy products, fresh herbs, and Ghirardelli semi-sweet chocolate chips. Just a day after I moved in, we got about 8 potato sacks full of artisan bread -- so much that we could only fit half of them in the freezer. (We now get Noah's bagels in addition.) This place is culinary heaven, and I've been having a lot of fun perfecting comfort food recipes like macaroni and cheese (with real, roux-based cheese sauce) and the grilled cheese sandwich. It goes without saying that bakers are prevalent in this house, and we often enjoy sampling each others' recipes. There are 2 assigned dinner cooks for each day of the week except Saturday.
Outisde, bits of the Bay peek out from behind trees and buildings, with the beautiful north- and east-side houses reclining on the softly forested hills. Especially at night, it simply feels cathartic to push myself through the small rooftop window and allow myself to dissapate in the magnificent, overwhelming panorama. Sitting there, I feel for the first time in my life as if the Bay Area, and Berkeley in particular, is an actual living place in the world, blooming with its own culture and history, permeated by the beauty of untamed Californian nature. I guess it takes a dose of the sublime to really learn to love a place.
Most importantly, after 2 years of doing my own thing, I finally got to meet some people. I've been a terrible introvert for most of my life. Every time I'm in a social situation, I half-heartedly try to mingle at first, but inevitably retreat into my thoughts and bitterly watch everyone else having fun. Then I spend the evening wondering what's wrong with me, since pretty much every other human on the planet has managed to get this stuff down.
This time, I tried to be more outgoing, and it's amazing just how different that mindset is. If you're introverted, you're always thinking about yourself. There is a constant, overwhelming fear that if you don't keep making up stuff to say, the situation will turn awkward, making conversation sort of like a frantic game of hot potato. If you're extroverted, you instead forget yourself, assuming that others will accept you just fine and that the conversation will go well. Any failure does not reflect poorly on you, and mistakes are quickly forgotten. I still find it difficult to do this, but it's gotten better.
To summarize, I love living here.
We have to do 5 hours of work for the house each week, as well as miscellaneous stuff like 2 hours of house improvement.
The awesome pantry includes fresh organic produce, every spice you can imagine, dried fruits and nuts, canned goods, flours and sugars, dairy products, fresh herbs, and Ghirardelli semi-sweet chocolate chips. Just a day after I moved in, we got about 8 potato sacks full of artisan bread -- so much that we could only fit half of them in the freezer. (We now get Noah's bagels in addition.) This place is culinary heaven, and I've been having a lot of fun perfecting comfort food recipes like macaroni and cheese (with real, roux-based cheese sauce) and the grilled cheese sandwich. It goes without saying that bakers are prevalent in this house, and we often enjoy sampling each others' recipes. There are 2 assigned dinner cooks for each day of the week except Saturday.
Outisde, bits of the Bay peek out from behind trees and buildings, with the beautiful north- and east-side houses reclining on the softly forested hills. Especially at night, it simply feels cathartic to push myself through the small rooftop window and allow myself to dissapate in the magnificent, overwhelming panorama. Sitting there, I feel for the first time in my life as if the Bay Area, and Berkeley in particular, is an actual living place in the world, blooming with its own culture and history, permeated by the beauty of untamed Californian nature. I guess it takes a dose of the sublime to really learn to love a place.
Most importantly, after 2 years of doing my own thing, I finally got to meet some people. I've been a terrible introvert for most of my life. Every time I'm in a social situation, I half-heartedly try to mingle at first, but inevitably retreat into my thoughts and bitterly watch everyone else having fun. Then I spend the evening wondering what's wrong with me, since pretty much every other human on the planet has managed to get this stuff down.
This time, I tried to be more outgoing, and it's amazing just how different that mindset is. If you're introverted, you're always thinking about yourself. There is a constant, overwhelming fear that if you don't keep making up stuff to say, the situation will turn awkward, making conversation sort of like a frantic game of hot potato. If you're extroverted, you instead forget yourself, assuming that others will accept you just fine and that the conversation will go well. Any failure does not reflect poorly on you, and mistakes are quickly forgotten. I still find it difficult to do this, but it's gotten better.
To summarize, I love living here.
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(no subject)
Sep. 15th, 2009 | 06:58 pm
Sorry for the lack of updates -- the first four weeks of school have been SUPER-HECTIC.
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(no subject)
Aug. 17th, 2009 | 11:24 pm
location: Mountain View, CA
Shipping fail.
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(no subject)
Aug. 16th, 2009 | 02:16 am
location: Mountain View, CA
* There was a thread on MetaFilter a few days ago where almost everyone was just gushing over Bob Dylan: how wonderful and influential he is, how he's better than most "real" 20th century poets, how everyone should be expected to recognize him on the street, etc. But why? I've listened to a bit of his music, and I guess it's pretty good, but my reaction wasn't even close to this kind of adoration and reverence. Same thing with Radiohead. Am I not getting something? It makes me feel broken.
* Today I made tomato sauce using this recipe. The sauce never really thickened (I think because I let too much juice escape from the tomatoes while seeding them), but after mixing in the spaghetti with a bit of the starchy cooking water (as suggested by this video), it was OMG by far one of the best pasta dishes I've ever eaten. Orders of magnitude better than store-bought sauces.
* Check out this visual account of a dinner at El Bulli, one of the best restaurants in the world. The chef apparently uses the principles of "molecular gastronomy" - basically, science applied to cooking - in order to devise really strange dishes like parmesan glass and memetic peanuts.
* Today I made tomato sauce using this recipe. The sauce never really thickened (I think because I let too much juice escape from the tomatoes while seeding them), but after mixing in the spaghetti with a bit of the starchy cooking water (as suggested by this video), it was OMG by far one of the best pasta dishes I've ever eaten. Orders of magnitude better than store-bought sauces.
* Check out this visual account of a dinner at El Bulli, one of the best restaurants in the world. The chef apparently uses the principles of "molecular gastronomy" - basically, science applied to cooking - in order to devise really strange dishes like parmesan glass and memetic peanuts.
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Cooking update!
Aug. 13th, 2009 | 03:54 am
location: Mountain View, CA
COOKING UPDATE!
Today I made blueberry pie, my very first pie! I used this recipe for the filling and crust. The dough was a bit of a pain to make because I wasn't sure what consistency it needed to be (and also because I dropped my first batch after attempting to balance it on a carton of eggs, resulting in a string of profanities directed at the inconsiderate force of gravity), but other than that the recipe was surprisingly straightforward. Too bad blueberries are so expensive at the farmer's market. I wonder if they're inflating the price, or if it's simply not the right season yet?
( Photos! )
About a week ago, I made these maple syrup scones. They were pretty much perfect, but I'm not sure I like the taste of whole wheat flour. (As![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
the_neon_one succinctly puts it, "too healthy".)
Ever since I had a real chocolate malt at Rogers' in Victoria, BC (which reminds me -- I should really post about my West Coast trip before I forget the details!), I've been trying to make my own at home. All you need to do is take your everyday chocolate milkshake recipe and add a few tablespoons of malted milk powder, which is getting a lot harder to find nowadays. Most connoisseurs apparently order it online, but I managed to find Carnation brand at one of my local chain stores. With bittersweet chocolate ice cream (the Carnation powder is sweetened), it's almost perfect! Too bad old-fashioned soda fountains went out of fashion, because it seems like there's a wide variety of carbonated and blended drinks that have either been reduced to syrup or simply aren't around anymore.
Which reminds me, apparently you can get your own carbonator for pretty cheap. Nearly-free soda, any flavor, any time of the day! Now to find some high-quality syrups -- the popular Torani brand seems to contain a lot of "natural ingredients", which makes me suspicious.
Which further reminds me, I should make my own ginger ale and root beer. No, not the wimpy syrup kind, but the real, yeast-fermented variety. I've also been wanting to learn more about artisan teas, ever since visiting The Tao of Tea in Portland. Bevarages are so great for expanding your pallate!
Tried this mac and cheese recipe a few weeks ago. It was quite good, but as someone on MetaFilter pointed out, "eff this melted-cheese-mixed-into-pasta BS". Real mac and cheese is apparently made with a cheesy béchamel sauce.
Check out this excellent series from CHOW, "You're Doing It All Wrong". Hilarious and educational at the same time!
It's interesting how different many common recipes must have been before the arrival of modern culinary conveniences. For instance, many pie crust recipes specify ice-cold butter and water. I'm guessing this type of crust didn't exist before refrigeration was invented? Here's a question I asked about scone leavening on Ask MetaFilter, which resulted in some fascinating historical discussion. All this makes me want to collect antique recipes, which are a lot more nuanced than most modern recipes I've seen.
On Tuesday, the Berkeley farmer's market had a tomato sampling booth with 32 different flavors. My favorite was a tangy Early Girl. It's easy to forget that even the most basic fruits and vegetables come in tens or even hundreds of different varieties!
All the blogs mentioned above are worth checking out. I'm quite skeptical of social networking recipe sites like All Recipes -- they feel too generic and my results have been accordingly mixed.
Today I made blueberry pie, my very first pie! I used this recipe for the filling and crust. The dough was a bit of a pain to make because I wasn't sure what consistency it needed to be (and also because I dropped my first batch after attempting to balance it on a carton of eggs, resulting in a string of profanities directed at the inconsiderate force of gravity), but other than that the recipe was surprisingly straightforward. Too bad blueberries are so expensive at the farmer's market. I wonder if they're inflating the price, or if it's simply not the right season yet?
( Photos! )
About a week ago, I made these maple syrup scones. They were pretty much perfect, but I'm not sure I like the taste of whole wheat flour. (As
the_neon_one succinctly puts it, "too healthy".)Ever since I had a real chocolate malt at Rogers' in Victoria, BC (which reminds me -- I should really post about my West Coast trip before I forget the details!), I've been trying to make my own at home. All you need to do is take your everyday chocolate milkshake recipe and add a few tablespoons of malted milk powder, which is getting a lot harder to find nowadays. Most connoisseurs apparently order it online, but I managed to find Carnation brand at one of my local chain stores. With bittersweet chocolate ice cream (the Carnation powder is sweetened), it's almost perfect! Too bad old-fashioned soda fountains went out of fashion, because it seems like there's a wide variety of carbonated and blended drinks that have either been reduced to syrup or simply aren't around anymore.
Which reminds me, apparently you can get your own carbonator for pretty cheap. Nearly-free soda, any flavor, any time of the day! Now to find some high-quality syrups -- the popular Torani brand seems to contain a lot of "natural ingredients", which makes me suspicious.
Which further reminds me, I should make my own ginger ale and root beer. No, not the wimpy syrup kind, but the real, yeast-fermented variety. I've also been wanting to learn more about artisan teas, ever since visiting The Tao of Tea in Portland. Bevarages are so great for expanding your pallate!
Tried this mac and cheese recipe a few weeks ago. It was quite good, but as someone on MetaFilter pointed out, "eff this melted-cheese-mixed-into-pasta BS". Real mac and cheese is apparently made with a cheesy béchamel sauce.
Check out this excellent series from CHOW, "You're Doing It All Wrong". Hilarious and educational at the same time!
It's interesting how different many common recipes must have been before the arrival of modern culinary conveniences. For instance, many pie crust recipes specify ice-cold butter and water. I'm guessing this type of crust didn't exist before refrigeration was invented? Here's a question I asked about scone leavening on Ask MetaFilter, which resulted in some fascinating historical discussion. All this makes me want to collect antique recipes, which are a lot more nuanced than most modern recipes I've seen.
On Tuesday, the Berkeley farmer's market had a tomato sampling booth with 32 different flavors. My favorite was a tangy Early Girl. It's easy to forget that even the most basic fruits and vegetables come in tens or even hundreds of different varieties!
All the blogs mentioned above are worth checking out. I'm quite skeptical of social networking recipe sites like All Recipes -- they feel too generic and my results have been accordingly mixed.
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(no subject)
Aug. 8th, 2009 | 03:18 am
In recent years, classical music has taken over my creative thought, to the point where I've been seriously thinking of learning composition. Why not? Most of us would like to become experts in our chosen fields, and what field could be better than one as nebulous yet powerful, as antiquated yet immortal, as classical music? And to be placed in that refined lineage, dating back to the Renaissance masters, through Bach and Handel, to Mozart, Beethoven -- all the way to the present day? What an honor!
And yet, I'm none of those men. I can barely even play the piano. Why even bother?
Well...
At around the time Romanticism arrived in Europe (early 1800s), a musical canon started to emerge. Not merely a cannon of preferences, but a canon fueled by the Romantic veneration of the "genius" artist, who, imbued with creative powers beyond human understanding, single-handedly created the defining musical masterpieces of Western civilization. As superstitious as this may sound 200 years later, many Romantic beliefs are still held by classical musicians and audiences, however tempered by the soothing objectivity of the 20th century. Most significantly, we still believe that composition is a mystical affair, reserved only for those with music in their genes.*
For years, this was the only impression of classical music I got. I was constantly reminded how much art, depth, and brilliance was in this music, how incomprehensible it must be to the layman, how there's no accounting for taste -- in short, how much of it I was supposedly missing, for I had absolutely no idea what these people were talking about. So I turned my back to it, letting the "geniuses" and their pretentious groupies have their fun. I only started to enjoy it when I was locked in a room with it, one on one, against my will -- only to discover that it was not at all like they said it would be.
We are able to intuit most arts from an early age, whether we're doodling on notebook paper or writing cheesy poems in English class. Simple though they may be, these early experiments are really the first steps towards exploration and mastery of the given art, if we choose to take them. But classical music is based so much on abstract rules and structures that it's nearly impossible to figure out without an education. We don't even have a vocabulary to talk about it outside of academic circles! Nor can we do much if we're illiterate in music notation, or if we don't how to play an instrument, skills that can take years to develop.
Because of this, most of us never end up studying music to the point where we can freely experiment with it like with those other arts, and grow up without the knowledge that this kind of freedom is even possible. But it is! After two years of "real" musical education, music is finally starting to come together in my head -- which is to say that I've finally, finally learned how to doodle on my staff paper, something that I believed for almost two decades to be impossible. It's not an art for "geniuses", but for those willing to overcome the daunting and obfuscated learning curve, trudging forward even under the heckling gauntlet of naysayers.
Look at jazz. Look at digital art. Look at cinema. Look at any creative medium without this baggage, and you'll see people from all backgrounds, with all levels of natural ability, working hard to master and develop it further, creating worthwhile art in the process. Without the threat of guaranteed failure, creativity thrives.
At the moment, classical music is a field of eugenics. We can change this philosophy, but we must have the balls to stand up to the great composers of the past, to stop belittling ourselves, and to believe that composition is just as attainable as any other art. I agree with Miyazaki's philosophy: everyone who wants to compose should be composing.
* It's certainly the case that many of the great composers were musically gifted, but I suspect there are explanations for this other than the Romantic one. For instance, you really couldn't make money from music unless you were skilled in every aspect of musical craftsmanship, which favored child prodigies. A lack of public musical education is another possible reason, since it was very difficult to study music without an apprenticeship, and teachers often picked children to be their students. We also rarely look at non-canonic composers, even though most of us have never heard anything by them; it's unlikely that all of them were musically gifted, despite having written worthwhile music. Looking back, it's easy to infer that you have to be a "genius" to become a composer, when it may simply have been a historical artifact.
Parts of The Grapes of Wrath very eloquently summarize the sustainable food movement. Interesting that these same ideas were floating around back then!
And yet, I'm none of those men. I can barely even play the piano. Why even bother?
Well...
At around the time Romanticism arrived in Europe (early 1800s), a musical canon started to emerge. Not merely a cannon of preferences, but a canon fueled by the Romantic veneration of the "genius" artist, who, imbued with creative powers beyond human understanding, single-handedly created the defining musical masterpieces of Western civilization. As superstitious as this may sound 200 years later, many Romantic beliefs are still held by classical musicians and audiences, however tempered by the soothing objectivity of the 20th century. Most significantly, we still believe that composition is a mystical affair, reserved only for those with music in their genes.*
For years, this was the only impression of classical music I got. I was constantly reminded how much art, depth, and brilliance was in this music, how incomprehensible it must be to the layman, how there's no accounting for taste -- in short, how much of it I was supposedly missing, for I had absolutely no idea what these people were talking about. So I turned my back to it, letting the "geniuses" and their pretentious groupies have their fun. I only started to enjoy it when I was locked in a room with it, one on one, against my will -- only to discover that it was not at all like they said it would be.
We are able to intuit most arts from an early age, whether we're doodling on notebook paper or writing cheesy poems in English class. Simple though they may be, these early experiments are really the first steps towards exploration and mastery of the given art, if we choose to take them. But classical music is based so much on abstract rules and structures that it's nearly impossible to figure out without an education. We don't even have a vocabulary to talk about it outside of academic circles! Nor can we do much if we're illiterate in music notation, or if we don't how to play an instrument, skills that can take years to develop.
Because of this, most of us never end up studying music to the point where we can freely experiment with it like with those other arts, and grow up without the knowledge that this kind of freedom is even possible. But it is! After two years of "real" musical education, music is finally starting to come together in my head -- which is to say that I've finally, finally learned how to doodle on my staff paper, something that I believed for almost two decades to be impossible. It's not an art for "geniuses", but for those willing to overcome the daunting and obfuscated learning curve, trudging forward even under the heckling gauntlet of naysayers.
Look at jazz. Look at digital art. Look at cinema. Look at any creative medium without this baggage, and you'll see people from all backgrounds, with all levels of natural ability, working hard to master and develop it further, creating worthwhile art in the process. Without the threat of guaranteed failure, creativity thrives.
At the moment, classical music is a field of eugenics. We can change this philosophy, but we must have the balls to stand up to the great composers of the past, to stop belittling ourselves, and to believe that composition is just as attainable as any other art. I agree with Miyazaki's philosophy: everyone who wants to compose should be composing.
* It's certainly the case that many of the great composers were musically gifted, but I suspect there are explanations for this other than the Romantic one. For instance, you really couldn't make money from music unless you were skilled in every aspect of musical craftsmanship, which favored child prodigies. A lack of public musical education is another possible reason, since it was very difficult to study music without an apprenticeship, and teachers often picked children to be their students. We also rarely look at non-canonic composers, even though most of us have never heard anything by them; it's unlikely that all of them were musically gifted, despite having written worthwhile music. Looking back, it's easy to infer that you have to be a "genius" to become a composer, when it may simply have been a historical artifact.
Parts of The Grapes of Wrath very eloquently summarize the sustainable food movement. Interesting that these same ideas were floating around back then!
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(no subject)
Jul. 28th, 2009 | 01:04 pm
In order to work on my analytical skills (as described here), I decided to start reading more often (than never). My current reading list consists of The Grapes of Wrath (reading), Don Quixote, and Great Expectations. (and a collection of Nabokov interviews, because his witty introduction caught my eye.)
A few observations about Steinbeck's writing style:
A few observations about Steinbeck's writing style:
- It's very Old Testament. Every event, from the most crass to the most beautiful, is described in that depersonified and omnipresent style. Certain phrases are repeated over and over again, both in prose and dialogue. The way people behave seems less influenced by rational decisions or even emotions, and more by "fate", or perhaps by the natural order of things. Family is emphasized over individuality.
- The descriptions of nature are unbelievably detailed.
- He's very good at explaining motivations. For example, "The other pup was not so brave. He looked about for something that could honorably divert his attention...", or "Each one knew the other was shy, and became more shy in the knowledge." As a result, the reader gains an intimate - almost uncomfortable - insight into the characters.
- Every few chapters, we see part of the narrative from a secondary character's point of view: a truck driver, a used car salesman, even a turtle.
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Lecture notes from Hayao Miyazaki interview.
Jul. 27th, 2009 | 11:41 pm
A few days ago, I saw Hayao Miyazaki at Zellerbach Hall in Berkeley. Tickets were completely sold out in early July, but as with all Zellerbach events, "completely" is a rather impressionistic term. I decided to stop by the box office the day before, and after frantically questioning the clerk about any released or canceled tickets, I was informed that people couldn't really release or cancel their tickets (crap!), but that they had a few extra tickets on hand (...oh!), and how many would I like? (...after seeing prices as high as $50 on Craigslist?!)
The interview was conducted with the help of an interpreter. Miyazaki was professorly and timid in appearance, but his responses were warm and humorous, and often delivered with a chuckle. He prefaced many of his answers with a growling "Hmmmmmmm...", which made the audience burst into laughter. My impression was not of a man overly concerned with deep thoughts and creative control (i.e., the stereotypical artist), but of a very imaginative person who put a lot of effort into his craft.
Lecture notes: (quotes aren't exact)
The interview was conducted with the help of an interpreter. Miyazaki was professorly and timid in appearance, but his responses were warm and humorous, and often delivered with a chuckle. He prefaced many of his answers with a growling "Hmmmmmmm...", which made the audience burst into laughter. My impression was not of a man overly concerned with deep thoughts and creative control (i.e., the stereotypical artist), but of a very imaginative person who put a lot of effort into his craft.
Lecture notes: (quotes aren't exact)
- In response to a question about "virtual worlds", he said that we might risk corrupting our imaginations from immersing ourselves in them, even though they've always existed in some form throughout history (animation and cinema, for instance).
- On apocalyptic themes in his work, he joked: "It would be wonderful to see the end of civilization in my lifetime, but I don't think I will, so I use my imagination."
- He explained that natural disasters need not be viewed as evil; Ponyo's tsunami, for instance, is as much a cleansing force as a destructive one. He noted that in apocalyptic situations, people are generally nicer to one another, and that plant life is much healthier along the coast after a flood. When talking about his home on a river that floods higher and higher every year: "My wife and I did not build higher than everyone else. We're willing to get flooded with the people around us." On the other hand, he has a self-described "evil side": "When I look at the scenery from a highrise, I wonder if it would be better if the sea came a bit closer."
- When asked about why evil is so hard to pin down in his films, he explained that good vs. evil is only one way to make a film. "It's not pleasant to draw evil figures, so I decided to not really have true evil characters in my movies."
- For "Ponyo", he asked his staff to become more childish and naive, which gave the film its vividness. ("Now [the background artist] has a hard time readjusting to normal society!")
- He said that "some artists draw realistic eyes for simplicity", but decided to give Totoro stylized eyes because he didn't want people to know where they were pointing. He also told his staff to draw Totoro so that it would be hard to tell if he was really smart or really stupid.
- He mentioned that there are many different narrative techniques for entering an imaginary world, the most boring of which is the tunnel. For "Spirited Away", he wanted to have an elaborate entry scene, but it ended up being too long -- so they used a tunnel instead.
- In reference to strong female protagonists in his films, he mentioned that only 4 of his current animators are male, and that out of the entire pool of potential new Ghibli animators, only 1 is male. ("There are so many strong women now, I should make films about men!") He added that the roles of men and women in films are different, and that in "Ponyo", the male protagonist is unjustly ignored by viewers instead of being celebrated for keeping his promise. (Note: my facts about the number of animators might be off.)
- When asked why he doesn't make films based on manga (as is common in Japan), he explained that manga and animation have very different concepts of time and space. Animators "intend to show that time and space flow as [they] have drawn."
- When asked about how he knows when he has the "seed" for a movie, he said that it's different for every movie, but that he only knows he can't use an idea when he has tried it and failed. He tells his staff that they have to struggle hard, even when the task seems useless and impossible.
- When asked if making a film has gotten easier or harder over time, he said that he felt like he was barely able to finish each of his films, and that he hoped people wouldn't find the weaknesses. He jokingly added that he doesn't want to see any of his films again, and tries to forget about them as soon as possible. When working on his second film, he told his wife that he didn't want to go through that kind of pain again, but he has repeated the same thing for every film that he's made.
- He feels that doing 2D animation instead of CGI is like "rowing an ark among many high speed boats", but believes ("with no basis at all") that his studio can keep going like this. He wants to be more casual about animation, and feels it's freer to draw by hand.
- When asked for advice to beginning animators: "Sketch what you see with your own eyes, and find someone to critique you in a strict way."
- He seemed somewhat hesitant to talk about himself, and shrugged away a question about autobiographical traits in his characters by saying that he tries not to show himself in his films.
- On artist's block: "Only thing I can do is think. When I really think hard I smell blood deep in my nose. It's not necessarily that thought process but something may come to me out of the blue while I'm thinking so hard. But I need to have really hit a wall and think about it a lot for something to come. My own theory is that we do a lot of thinking with the surface of our brains, then underneath there's the subconscious and even deeper there's a deeper, darker space. What we really want to say comes from our subconscious and the truest, most pure things we want to say come from that deep, dark area. That's when I smell the most blood." (Borrowed from a Flickr post.)
- When asked about the future of animation, he said that he didn't like thinking too much about the future, and that those who want to make films should be making them.
- When compared to artists like Jean Giraud and Frédéric Back, he said that he was different from them because he was in the realm of entertainment films, and that his closest "comrades in arms" were people like Nick Park and John Lasseter.
- When asked if he wanted to make a live action film, he said that the landscape would have to be brought back 50 years. "Even people's faces are different now."
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(no subject)
Jul. 20th, 2009 | 11:31 pm
music: Beethoven - Symphony No. 7
My ability to analyze narrative works is a bit crap at the moment. I'm not sure why this is; perhaps I never actually developed the ability, or perhaps it waned with disuse. In any case, I'd like to bring it up to excellence, but I'm not exactly sure how to go about doing so. I simply don't know what to look for.
In particular, I'm confused by different artistic readings. If, for instance, a work is said to be both an "exploration of love" and about "the loss of innocence", then there has to be some common thread between the two meanings; otherwise, the artist would have had to manually think them up and combine them without the work losing coherence, which in my experience isn't how the creative process works. Unfortunately, most reviews and analyses avoid this detail, and I'm left trying to figure out the work's "skeleton" by myself, often with little success. Is it just that we don't have the language to describe it?
In other words, I don't believe that a work can have different interpretations (except in rare cases), but that there's always some underlying idea that might be useful to look at from different angles. Is this correct? If so, how do I get at this idea?
The extent to which a piece of music affects me is often proportional to its volume. The rock guys already know this. It's one of the reasons why I believe classical music has the "classical" label attached to it: unless you're at a live performance, you'll probably be listening to Mozart at a quiet, "pleasant" volume.
Good music doesn't lull you to sleep, but rattles you up the point of concussion. Thanks to the omniprescence of ambient music and FM radio, I didn't realize that classical music had more of this than most popular music until a few years ago. I always smirked when I read about people bursting to tears at first performances of famous symphonies and the like, but I listened to Beethoven's 7th at full volume yesterday and nearly teared up myself. It felt like a cross between a soothing massage and being punched in the gut.
Music is a powerful medium, and we do it a disservice by shooing it into the background. Turn it up to 11!
(This also applies to cinema. Some movies simply have to be seen on the big screen.)
I thought I hated peaches -- until I found one of 10 different varieties at the farmer's market that fit my tastes. Sweet!
In particular, I'm confused by different artistic readings. If, for instance, a work is said to be both an "exploration of love" and about "the loss of innocence", then there has to be some common thread between the two meanings; otherwise, the artist would have had to manually think them up and combine them without the work losing coherence, which in my experience isn't how the creative process works. Unfortunately, most reviews and analyses avoid this detail, and I'm left trying to figure out the work's "skeleton" by myself, often with little success. Is it just that we don't have the language to describe it?
In other words, I don't believe that a work can have different interpretations (except in rare cases), but that there's always some underlying idea that might be useful to look at from different angles. Is this correct? If so, how do I get at this idea?
The extent to which a piece of music affects me is often proportional to its volume. The rock guys already know this. It's one of the reasons why I believe classical music has the "classical" label attached to it: unless you're at a live performance, you'll probably be listening to Mozart at a quiet, "pleasant" volume.
Good music doesn't lull you to sleep, but rattles you up the point of concussion. Thanks to the omniprescence of ambient music and FM radio, I didn't realize that classical music had more of this than most popular music until a few years ago. I always smirked when I read about people bursting to tears at first performances of famous symphonies and the like, but I listened to Beethoven's 7th at full volume yesterday and nearly teared up myself. It felt like a cross between a soothing massage and being punched in the gut.
Music is a powerful medium, and we do it a disservice by shooing it into the background. Turn it up to 11!
(This also applies to cinema. Some movies simply have to be seen on the big screen.)
I thought I hated peaches -- until I found one of 10 different varieties at the farmer's market that fit my tastes. Sweet!
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(no subject)
Jul. 18th, 2009 | 02:39 pm
Human architecture likes to pretend it's in complete control over the environment. Asphalt is at the lowest level, followed by spurts of sidewalk. Occasionally, we see manhole covers that hint at the sprawling infrastructure below our feet. Impossibly complex buildings tower over our heads at every corner, and the only hints of plant life are little islands of grass with a few neatly-arranged trees or bushes; mere decoration!
But look down, and you see tree roots poking up through the asphalt. It's all a ruse; our civilization is but a thin crust over an impossibly complex ecosystem, no matter how much we like to pretend otherwise.
20 isn't old age, and yet I can't help feeling helpless whenever I see people around me already reaching mastership in their respective crafts. It might not seem like such a big deal, but think: those who were doing what they love since they were young are now working on their early masterpieces, whereas I will likely have to wait until I'm in my mid-20s or even 30s. What's the point of even trying? How can I compete with a 10-year head start?
I want to be the best, but the best often find their passion early.
But look down, and you see tree roots poking up through the asphalt. It's all a ruse; our civilization is but a thin crust over an impossibly complex ecosystem, no matter how much we like to pretend otherwise.
20 isn't old age, and yet I can't help feeling helpless whenever I see people around me already reaching mastership in their respective crafts. It might not seem like such a big deal, but think: those who were doing what they love since they were young are now working on their early masterpieces, whereas I will likely have to wait until I'm in my mid-20s or even 30s. What's the point of even trying? How can I compete with a 10-year head start?
I want to be the best, but the best often find their passion early.
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(no subject)
Jul. 14th, 2009 | 09:31 pm
The Pacific Film Archive was showing Studio Ghibli's "Porco Rosso" today, and so I discovered another film that completely blew me away. Only -- as with all the Ghibli films I've seen, I can't quite put my finger on what the point of it is, exactly. There were the beautiful, beautiful scenes of 1930s Europe; the sublimely animated water, clouds, and vapor trails; the perfectly captured freedom of flight; the poignant characters, acting, and plot. But I don't know how to decipher it, even though it left me with a kaleidoscope of emotions long after I left the theater (as all my favorite films do). Is it meant to be that way?
The animation is a lot more limited than Western animation, but Ghibli isn't afraid to animate on twos (or even ones?) when necessary, especially for details like vapor. It's not laziness, but a different aesthetic: every scene feels like a painting.
Incidentally, there are some movies that absolutely have to be seen on the big screen. Watching "Porco Rosso" at crappy DVD resolution would completely ruin the immersive effect of many of the scenes.
"Porco Rosso" uses a certain dramatic technique that I've also noticed in other mediums. Does it have a name? At two points in the film, we get flashbacks that reveal large parts of the backstory, some of which were alluded to earlier but never outright stated. These flashbacks also bring to the foreground emotions that saturate the film, but generally remain the background. The result is a cathartic sense of revelation. I guess it's basically the same thing as the "big reveal" in detective stories, but more general and profound.
The animation is a lot more limited than Western animation, but Ghibli isn't afraid to animate on twos (or even ones?) when necessary, especially for details like vapor. It's not laziness, but a different aesthetic: every scene feels like a painting.
Incidentally, there are some movies that absolutely have to be seen on the big screen. Watching "Porco Rosso" at crappy DVD resolution would completely ruin the immersive effect of many of the scenes.
"Porco Rosso" uses a certain dramatic technique that I've also noticed in other mediums. Does it have a name? At two points in the film, we get flashbacks that reveal large parts of the backstory, some of which were alluded to earlier but never outright stated. These flashbacks also bring to the foreground emotions that saturate the film, but generally remain the background. The result is a cathartic sense of revelation. I guess it's basically the same thing as the "big reveal" in detective stories, but more general and profound.
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(no subject)
Jul. 14th, 2009 | 03:50 am
* Back! More information is forthcoming, but in the meantime, these photos:
( Photos )
* For the longest time, my modus operandi as a photographer was to primarily take photos of minimal, geometric compositions. I thought this would make my photos more unique, but it only resulted in a few interesting (and ultimately unmemorable) photos per trip. I eventually realized that professional photographers followed different principles:
* I spent a while today trying to figure out the best way to play Nintendo 64 games: using a PC emulator (easy, but imperfect: some hardware features aren't implemented, various glitches due to high level emulation, complicated per-game wrangling with settings), on Wii's Virtual Console (theoretically guaranteed to run well, but missing rumble support, requires a Wii+GC controller, and missing a lot of non-Nintendo games), or on the original console (perfect, but very expensive, and requires seeking out many different parts: the original system, the controllers, the expansion pak, the actual games, etc.). The sad truth is, despite their imperfections, PC emulators are really the only way to go. Even if the VC versions were perfect ports (which they're not), once Nintendo's next system overtakes the Wii, the process will have to start over again -- if not for us, then for Nintendo's engineers, who will have to rewrite all the VC emulators for the new hardware. Unfortunately, as consoles become more advanced, the chance of emulating them - and thus, preserving their games - gets lower, especially if they use fancy proprietary hardware like the Wiimote or the PS3's multicore processor. We might end up losing entire generations of games, and the only permanent solutions would be for game companies to retain backwards compatibility (which is unrealistic), or for consoles to use standard hardware -- thus making them little more than stripped-down PCs.
( Photos )
* For the longest time, my modus operandi as a photographer was to primarily take photos of minimal, geometric compositions. I thought this would make my photos more unique, but it only resulted in a few interesting (and ultimately unmemorable) photos per trip. I eventually realized that professional photographers followed different principles:
- Beautiful photos can be taken of almost any scene.
- The best photographs are often picked out of tens (if not hundreds) of similar shots and adjusted for color/levels/etc.
- An even tone distribution is, perhaps, even more enticing than good composition. This is very evident in b&w photography.
- Living subjects are far more interesting than objects. Without them, photos become stale and interchangeable.
- Waiting for the right shot is extremely important.
* I spent a while today trying to figure out the best way to play Nintendo 64 games: using a PC emulator (easy, but imperfect: some hardware features aren't implemented, various glitches due to high level emulation, complicated per-game wrangling with settings), on Wii's Virtual Console (theoretically guaranteed to run well, but missing rumble support, requires a Wii+GC controller, and missing a lot of non-Nintendo games), or on the original console (perfect, but very expensive, and requires seeking out many different parts: the original system, the controllers, the expansion pak, the actual games, etc.). The sad truth is, despite their imperfections, PC emulators are really the only way to go. Even if the VC versions were perfect ports (which they're not), once Nintendo's next system overtakes the Wii, the process will have to start over again -- if not for us, then for Nintendo's engineers, who will have to rewrite all the VC emulators for the new hardware. Unfortunately, as consoles become more advanced, the chance of emulating them - and thus, preserving their games - gets lower, especially if they use fancy proprietary hardware like the Wiimote or the PS3's multicore processor. We might end up losing entire generations of games, and the only permanent solutions would be for game companies to retain backwards compatibility (which is unrealistic), or for consoles to use standard hardware -- thus making them little more than stripped-down PCs.
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(no subject)
Jul. 8th, 2009 | 11:05 am
Sorry for the lack of updates. My family and I have been driving up the West Coast for vacation, briefly stopping at major cities along the way: Portland, Seattle, Vancouver, Victoria.
(I think I know people in each city, but I didn't bother contacting anyone because we were in such a rush!)
Portland felt like a cross between San Francisco and San Jose. Unfortunately, it was very hot, and we couldn't find very many interesting areas to explore. The Chinese garden was quite nice, though, as was Powell's. I'm not usually a fan of bookstores (why bother when you can just go to the library?), but getting lost among the shelves upon shelves of unknown books was a revelation. Bought a copy of The Omnivore's Dilemma to seed my personal library!
Seattle was quite lovely. If I were to move somewhere on the West Coast, it would probably be there. Pike's Market was deliciously huge, the University was lovely as ever, and I even managed to sneak into Valve headquarters! (You can apparently get a tour of their offices if you contact them ahead of time. D'oh! At least I managed to snap a few crappy photos of their lobby.)
(I think I know people in each city, but I didn't bother contacting anyone because we were in such a rush!)
Portland felt like a cross between San Francisco and San Jose. Unfortunately, it was very hot, and we couldn't find very many interesting areas to explore. The Chinese garden was quite nice, though, as was Powell's. I'm not usually a fan of bookstores (why bother when you can just go to the library?), but getting lost among the shelves upon shelves of unknown books was a revelation. Bought a copy of The Omnivore's Dilemma to seed my personal library!
Seattle was quite lovely. If I were to move somewhere on the West Coast, it would probably be there. Pike's Market was deliciously huge, the University was lovely as ever, and I even managed to sneak into Valve headquarters! (You can apparently get a tour of their offices if you contact them ahead of time. D'oh! At least I managed to snap a few crappy photos of their lobby.)
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(no subject)
Jul. 1st, 2009 | 05:40 pm
Some people think that art is progressive; that the art of today is objectively better than the art of yesterday. To make an obscure simile useful to no one but myself, this is a bit like trying to fit a polynomial function to an arbitrary curve in computer graphics. No matter how hard you try, you will never be able to get it perfect with a lower-degree polynomial, and as you increase the degree to try to get a better match, the deviations from the actual curve will become more noticeable due to the greater number of inflection points. There is, of course, a perfect solution, but for all intents and purposes the degree has to be infinite. (It's possible I'm totally contorting mathematics to make my point, but whatever.) In my opinion, art should be more like splines. You can approximate an arbitrary curve much more closely if you split it up into several segments and try to fit a function to each, making sure that the segments match up at their endpoints using certain rules.
In other words, I prefer to look at art as a combinatorial practice. The best artists take whatever elements are available and combine them in unique and interesting ways, instead of trying to get closer and closer to some theoretical creative asymptote using fancy new techniques. Progress can be a good thing, sure, but only in moderation -- not as an outright replacement for the techniques of the past. Older art still affects audiences much the same as it did when it was new, so why shun it into obscurity? We have the entirety of art history at our fingertips!
American cities vs. European cities: there's definitely a huge difference. This blog post summarizes it nicely. I'm definitely moving to England as soon as I get the chance.
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(no subject)
Jun. 28th, 2009 | 01:41 am
Sorry for not updating for a few days. I'll post a bit tomorrow.
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(no subject)
Jun. 21st, 2009 | 12:19 am
Watching "Food, Inc." today made me excited about food again, even though I knew a lot of that stuff already. Most importantly, I was reminded that even though local sustainable food might seem like a fancy luxury, it should not be that way. We are subsidizing the true cost of our food not only through legislation, but also through pollution, health and humanitarian problems, detachment from nature, centralization and corporate control, population growth, and dependence on finite resources. For such an important part of our lives and cultural heritage, it's disgusting and unacceptable.
The intersection between nature and humanity is a beautiful thing, and it pains me to see our culture emphasize the latter over the former. I realized a little while ago that 99% of my time was spent around human-made structures, from the asphalt under my feet to the cleanly-shorn bushes by the entrance to my apartment. This has to have some psychological effect on us.
Here's another thought: before the industrial age, whenever tyrants held power, there was always hope for a better future. They simply didn't have the means to permanently mess things up. Now, our technology is powerful enough to completely change the face of the earth. If a leader of a multinational corporation decides to do something stupid for short-term benefit, the effect might not be reversible, even with the passage of time. The movie had a bit on how farmers are forced to buy GM crops due to competition, and how ruthless lawsuits are preventing them from saving and planting their own non-GM seeds. What if certain species of fruits or vegetables became extinct due to such practices? (See heirloom plants.)
We're basically eliminating millennia of evolution by enforcing monoculture, and that's a really scary thought.
The intersection between nature and humanity is a beautiful thing, and it pains me to see our culture emphasize the latter over the former. I realized a little while ago that 99% of my time was spent around human-made structures, from the asphalt under my feet to the cleanly-shorn bushes by the entrance to my apartment. This has to have some psychological effect on us.
Here's another thought: before the industrial age, whenever tyrants held power, there was always hope for a better future. They simply didn't have the means to permanently mess things up. Now, our technology is powerful enough to completely change the face of the earth. If a leader of a multinational corporation decides to do something stupid for short-term benefit, the effect might not be reversible, even with the passage of time. The movie had a bit on how farmers are forced to buy GM crops due to competition, and how ruthless lawsuits are preventing them from saving and planting their own non-GM seeds. What if certain species of fruits or vegetables became extinct due to such practices? (See heirloom plants.)
We're basically eliminating millennia of evolution by enforcing monoculture, and that's a really scary thought.
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(no subject)
Jun. 20th, 2009 | 03:26 am
I took a walk a few days ago, and it was great -- much better than I thought it would be. My feet were tired and I was hungry, but as soon as I took a step over the first unknown hill, my mind was overcome with wanderlust. (The fact that my planned route swung right by Berkeley's most famous pizzeria probably helped matters a bit!)
Whenever I spend some time in an area, I unconsciously give it boundaries and an emotional "signature", or a certain mood I feel whenever I'm there. Taking walks to unexplored areas, for me, is more than just sightseeing; it's also leaving the confines of these boundaries and seeking out new emotional signatures, which can be brought back and mixed in with the familiar area's mood. It's unbelievable to be walking through a friendly, serene neighborhood of Berkeley, only to suddenly spot some known location in the distance and feel the dissonance between the two moods. The new experiences color the rest of my day and briefly give my surroundings a different context.
In other news, here's my first game design article.
Whenever I spend some time in an area, I unconsciously give it boundaries and an emotional "signature", or a certain mood I feel whenever I'm there. Taking walks to unexplored areas, for me, is more than just sightseeing; it's also leaving the confines of these boundaries and seeking out new emotional signatures, which can be brought back and mixed in with the familiar area's mood. It's unbelievable to be walking through a friendly, serene neighborhood of Berkeley, only to suddenly spot some known location in the distance and feel the dissonance between the two moods. The new experiences color the rest of my day and briefly give my surroundings a different context.
In other news, here's my first game design article.
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(no subject)
Jun. 17th, 2009 | 03:39 am
I took a detour today and spent a little while sitting under a pine tree in Willard Park. The sun was setting, but not yet over the horizon, and the evening shadows in the leaves and grass cast a warm resignation over the scene. I watched a crow fly overhead, cawing with every dip in its flight. It was a peaceful moment.