Epiphany

Epiphany

1. (initial capital letter) a Christian festival, observed on January 6, commemorating the manifestation of Christ to the gentiles in the persons of the Magi; Twelfth-day.

2. An appearance or manifestation, esp. of a deity.

3. A sudden, intuitive perception of or insight into the reality or essential meaning of something, usually initiated by some simple, homely, or commonplace occurrence or experience.

(From Dictionary.com)


Like being up at 4 in the morning the day before school starts even though I'm finished with my holiday homework for once. Its tradition.

Anyway, there I was, just reading about Wall.E and all the references it makes to Pixar's other films (Toy Story's Rex appears in his collection of stuff, the rat-bots seen in the rubbish disposal area are called REM-E, a reference to Ratatouille) when all of a sudden, that feeling comes back again.

Its the same one I get after watching most other Disney/Pixar animated films (Animated, not the rubbish like High School Musical).

I want to be a part of it all.

Be up there with them, create these vessels of storytelling that have such an effect on me, and share that feeling with the rest of the world.

I want to work there.

The logical part of me says "Quit dreaming, get to sleep already, its 4.30."

The rest of me does that dramatic "I want to follow my dreams and spread my wings" speech, dying for even that tiny, minute crystal of a chance that it might one day that the dream might materialize.

And therein lies the problem. So often does this feeling surge up, only to be pimp smacked into submission by cold, hard logic, proceeding to wither and die like flower in a desert.

For one, I can't draw to save my life. My last serious attempt at anything visually artistic was when I was five and trying to draw balloons.

And the best in the world will all be trying to get in there as well. I used to laugh at the people with 6 points going to animation courses, but at the moment, well, ah dammit, you know what I'm talking about.

But some desert flowers are persistent little blighters that simply refuse to die out. One generation dies, leaves seeds for next rainfall of yet another good movie from Disney/Pixar, seeds grow up into flowers which then flash the "V for Victory" and planting the seeds for the next generation before being stomped on by the hobnailed boots of big, mean Reality.

This time though, the feeling lasted long enough for me to do a serious search for requirements to land a job there. The Pixar site lists that one needs to do a demo reel of a short for animators, but the link for "Can I Submit a Story?" is broken so I'll never know if I can. Somehow, I've got a feeling they don't normally take in a person who can make a story but can't materialize it. Like taking in a guy who can write but can't read.

Even as I type, the feeling is dying down once more. The requirements to get in, and the videos the competition have sent in are taking turns jumping on its prone, helpless form. (If I searched right on Google, I think the Kiwi video was one).



Its a simple, but powerful short. But yet its showcases the creator's animation prowess, as well as his unquestionable ability to send a message through it and tell a story, made all the more commendable because it has no dialogue at all.

For now, I'll just lovingly put that dream back onto the shelf, just in front the one of me becoming the new Roy Keane for United, between the one where I become a world renowned chef specializing in steaks and the one where I become a CSI unit.

Normally I trivialize sensitive topics, to distance myself from them. But I refuse to here.

I laugh all the time all the other three, trivialize them, because I know and feel that they'll never come true.

I'll never laugh at that dream of working at Pixar though. Not now, and not ten years from now. Not necessarily because it had any greater a chance of coming true then the rest of them. But because it felt so much more real than all the rest, and because I wanted it so much more.


Perhaps I'm giving up the fight before its even started. Perhaps I'm safeguarding myself from certain failure. I don't know. Perhaps I'll simply come crashing down if I set down that road, like what happens so often in real life, and either I or the dream won't survive the fall. Perhaps it'll come true if I bet my last chip on it, like so many characters have in all their films.

Maybe that's why I'm drawn to them, the promise of success if you just try one last time.

But although I'm shelving it for now, I might even settle for an illusion, like the Kiwi's own illusion, even if it will only last a short while before its inevitable end.