Insane and Stubborn

Many of us begin the new year with high hopes, great expectations, and visions of a bright future. I began it with a hair-tearing sense of "What the frack have I gotten myself into?"

2008 marks my third and final year as a digital media student. My chosen major is 3D modeling and animation, one of the most cutthroat of industries. Many are called; few are chosen. Among the thousands of 3D adepts who graduate from art colleges, only a select, meticulously-sifted handful make it into their desired careers. And those that do make it face a long, arduous, exhausting road. 3D artists work 50 hours a week (more if doing an urgent project), endure lengthy, eye-bending stints in front of a glaring computer screen, and come out of the office too drained to pursue a proper social life. The only acknowledgment of their blood, sweat and tears is a fleeting, half-second flash of their name in the credits-- all the accolades and media attention tend to go to the directors, producers and voice actors. They suffer from time pressure, hand and eye strain, and a workload so merciless that those who wish to marry or start a family tend to quit 3D in favor of a less backbreaking line of work.

So why am I in it? Because I am insane.

Well, actually, it's because I love 3D. Which is probably like being insane.

3D is not simply my chosen career-- it is my art, my passion, my favorite thing to do. Many people surf the Web for funny pictures and videos; I surf the Web for 3D modeling tutorials. Many people take joy in cooking food; I make 3D models of it. If I see a tasty-looking picture of food in a magazine or catalogue, it becomes reference material for my next project. Creating works of wonder in 3D is like sculpting in clay, without the fuss of getting clay residue on your hands. To mold a hunk of lines and vertices into a recognizable shape, to lovingly apply textures and lighting, is to imbue it with life. For those such as myself, who specialize in photorealism, the thrill of creating this semblance of a real-life object, person or creature is a heady drug. We are magicians; we are illusionists; whenever someone views our work and believes it to be a photograph rather than a 3D render, we gloat and laugh and bask in the glow of triumph. 

And if I can make a living by doing something I love, why not give it a shot? Why not, even though the odds against me are a million to one? Even though the selection processes of the companies I wish to work for will probably chew me up and spit me out. Even though getting that longed-for job means facing toil, turmoil and a marked lack of contact with the outside world. Why not just keep 3D as a hobby, and apply for a job in some other industry whose standards aren't so draconian? Why not do the sensible, comfortable thing?

Yes, there's the insanity, and there's also good old-fashioned, bull-headed stubbornness. Some part of me believes that I can make it past the rigorous screening processes and actually become a full-fledged modeler or animator, not just run around the office making the modelers' and animators' coffee. Some strange little creature is tugging strings in my head and commanding me to push through whatever barriers come my way. Can I actually do it? I honestly don't know. I have no clue. Yet someone or something is telling me to shoot for it. Many times, after working on over-ambitious personal projects or grueling class assessments, I've thrown my hands up in the air and begun to silently scream, "ENOUGH!" But that mysterious, unseen entity lowers my hands and stops my scream in its tracks. 

"Not enough," it says. "Until you get what you want, you haven't given enough."

So here I am, waiting for the start of the semester, armed with my trusty Macbook Pro and Intuos 3. The enigmatic thing in my head says it's not a question of whether or not I can get a job in 3D-- the question is when it will happen. It may be soon after I graduate, or it may take some extra time. All I know is that I'll get there. I don't frickin' know how. I just know that I will.