Dear Last Rotoscope Artist on the Face of the Earth
Dear Last Rotoscope Artist on the Face of the Earth,
I saw you walking toward the cemetery on my way to work. Clad entirely in Technicolor, it was hard to pass over you. The day was overcast, but your eyebrows were cinched down, wrinkling your forehead into a trio of broken chevrons. Hands in overcoat pockets and bowtie tilted, you stooped forward as you walked as if you were advancing into a headwind, but the day was calm and your mouth was a closed slit and I could only guess you were going to visit the grave of your mentor, the Next-to-Last Rotoscope Artist on the Face of the Earth. Curious, I followed you through the gates. From a distance I watched you pick leaves off the low trees as you made your way. I saw you pace and wave your arms in front of the tall gray stone. I heard what you said, all of it.
Listen, I won't claim to be a fan. I've never seen Waking Life and, although I've seen the original Star Wars films, Sleeping Beauty and Yellow Submarine, I didn't know the word rotoscope until a couple of weeks ago when I accidently read about the death of your mentor in the 'Oddly Enough' section of Yahoo News. I know that most everyone else couldn't care less what you do ('Why not use a computer?' they wonder. 'It would be so much quicker.'), and that some refuse to call your work art, but don't give it up. I didn't realize it until I heard you renounce your work as you stood before the stone and sighed--'I am sorry. I must let it go'--and who knows how many others have realized it, but we all need what you do like we need stained glass, carved wooden balusters, and iron gates wraught to shape by hand. We need its uneven edges, its inefficiency. We need it to help slow down the world. Please take it back.
Sincerely,
AP Saulters
I saw you walking toward the cemetery on my way to work. Clad entirely in Technicolor, it was hard to pass over you. The day was overcast, but your eyebrows were cinched down, wrinkling your forehead into a trio of broken chevrons. Hands in overcoat pockets and bowtie tilted, you stooped forward as you walked as if you were advancing into a headwind, but the day was calm and your mouth was a closed slit and I could only guess you were going to visit the grave of your mentor, the Next-to-Last Rotoscope Artist on the Face of the Earth. Curious, I followed you through the gates. From a distance I watched you pick leaves off the low trees as you made your way. I saw you pace and wave your arms in front of the tall gray stone. I heard what you said, all of it.
Listen, I won't claim to be a fan. I've never seen Waking Life and, although I've seen the original Star Wars films, Sleeping Beauty and Yellow Submarine, I didn't know the word rotoscope until a couple of weeks ago when I accidently read about the death of your mentor in the 'Oddly Enough' section of Yahoo News. I know that most everyone else couldn't care less what you do ('Why not use a computer?' they wonder. 'It would be so much quicker.'), and that some refuse to call your work art, but don't give it up. I didn't realize it until I heard you renounce your work as you stood before the stone and sighed--'I am sorry. I must let it go'--and who knows how many others have realized it, but we all need what you do like we need stained glass, carved wooden balusters, and iron gates wraught to shape by hand. We need its uneven edges, its inefficiency. We need it to help slow down the world. Please take it back.
Sincerely,
AP Saulters