It's Been A Few Months Since I published it on Vimeo, really, But as this blog is remove dead Lately, I've Decided to post my animation reel here too, just to Give this Some life. The reel has shots from The Lady and the Reaper and The Missing Lynx. I've done all animations Shown in the reel (Including camera layouts).
It has been several months since I published my animation reel on Vimeo, but since the blog is to get off lately, I've decided to post it here too, if only to give some good atmosphere . The reel contains maps of The Lady and the Death y de El lince perdido y todas las animaciones que aparecen, tanto de personajes como de cámaras, son mías.
Here, London, two thousand and ten (ad hoc anthology Ángel González)
Who is right? Is anyone certain that his life is the product of their decisions? The only certainty is that we are silent forever. And while what is done during this short existence? Believe in something. Develop complex ideas and modeling projects tailored to the insatiable desire (their own and the audience). Do one thing or another, make a decision, it makes sense only for a few weak temporary variables, however, is charting a course that can take away. The territory, the heart and the flesh of those who "say and believe" love, including ourselves. But that's okay. While in opposition, because I could not say whether it's wrong. Total at the end of the day, the only comfort I have, and it is not little, is that of not lying to believe to be, and move on, like a juggler and three and four variables in the air, waiting for - sometimes a lifetime-to take them and throw them back coins into the air as infinite faces. That comfort weigh enough for my eyelids fall and settle to sleep. And so one day, she follows the other, and one month leads to the next station, and light plays hide and seek, to let us in the dark, alone, only with a voice that asks and asks, what has been on with its pulse fatal.
Angel has verses that fit these words without meaning, or perhaps it was the opposite. But just so I would say, no more somniloquy today.
your day yesterday was not
From a very early yesterday was late.
dawned dusk and dawn heaven on earth shed a large beam penumbra. Around noon
a tenuous and incomplete sky - number of our fate? - shone still in space. (Moon not illuminate the world;
its transparent body allowed us to guess just the existence of another sky high inclement also final.)
We are still waiting, however.
imprecise signals - a beating of birds, sometimes; the echo of lightning; sudden violent gusts of wind- kept us alert. When
sunset the sun came out a moment to get and confirmed the shadows with ash.
---
The day has gone
Now walk for other lands, carrying away light and hope, flocks of birds throwing remote , and rumors, and voices, and bells, -loud dog wags its tail and barks with the door ajar.
(Meanwhile, the night, like a cat creeping , came through the window, saw the remains of pale light and cold, and drank the last cup.)
Yes, definitely the day is gone. Much was not (did not bring anything); only a little time between the teeth, a dwindling herd of tired light. Nor weep . Timely and restless certainly come back tomorrow. scare off the black cat. will bark to get me out of bed.
It will not be beaten. Is another day.
be another dog of the same race.
--- Nothing is now
Largo is the art, life on the other hand like a knife cut
But nothing and now, not even death For its part
can help immensely: free, free, as the fog at daybreak the deep valleys of winter exhale growing in an area without borders, that love and without you I will always love.
will tap into the rivers of red-stained to their bloody beards. then precipitated the valley.
The three o'clock already, seems light, retractable claws, abandons its prey.
But that who knows? Crouching
As a wolf, Twilight expected
A the moon rises to howl long.
So were the days I remember.
The other, which oblivion as roe deer fled blown away. ---
I wanted
Susana Rivera
I wanted to see the world with your eyes excited, new green on the bottom
like spring. I entered your body full of hope to admire these wonders from the clear viewing of your eyes. And you're the one that you end up seeing the world's failure with mine.
--- Diatribe against the dead The dead are selfish: mourn and do not care, stay put in the most iconvenientes, are reluctant to walk, we must carry their backs to the grave as if were children, how heavy. Unusually rigid, their faces accuse us of something, or warn us; are bad conscience, bad example, worst of our lives is they always, always. The trouble with the dead is no way to kill them. His constant task
destructive it is for this reason incalculable. Insensitive, aloof, stubborn, cold, with his insolence and his silence not realize what undone.
Here, Madrid, 1900
fifty-four: a man alone.
A man of February, eager for Sunday bright walking step by March, March to the wind and red horizons, and the recent spring and on the border of rainy April
...- Here, Madrid, between trams and reflections, one man one man alone.
- will come later in May and then June, July and and then at the end, August -.
A man with nothing a year ahead of his distaste for everything. ---
A good dressing to these verses and a complaint to the absurd idea of \u200b\u200blooking for a meaning to the destination, voice, image and history, can be found in Salieri, click here . Note: Photo 1: La Sagrada Familia, spiral staircase. Taken by Paul Rainer in September 2006. Photo 2 and 3: Sevilla wall (walk on the banks of the Guadalquivir). Rainer taken by it in February 2010.
