Circling back to that red oak tree on the farm, amid snowfall

Beyond the Red Oak v6 from Elizabeth Daggar on Vimeo. I haven't had time the past two weeks to get much farther with this, but I'm hoping to get back to it on the weekend. Here's where I left off in my motion tests and atmospheric meanderings.

The red oak that dwarfs the big barn

Another drawing in service to the animated short I'm working on. This is one I did last weekend, and I'm hoping to get the barn and silo illustrated from at least one point of view this weekend. Also: fences. I'm looking into learning more about the puppet tool in After Effects, too, so that I’ll… Continue reading The red oak that dwarfs the big barn

This winter has conspired to plant seeds for a story

I've embarked on a project that has decided it wants to be something much larger than I'd planned, which is awfully exciting (to me). What began yesterday as just a few drawings of trees and birds to layer into another snowscape has planted the seeds of a short film, a proper story. The spark has… Continue reading This winter has conspired to plant seeds for a story

Our hopes such as they are, invisible before us, untouched and still possible*

Returned from the snow farm for the last few days of the year’s closing book. Serene here, too— quiet and white-blanketed. Few people are on the sidewalks, chilled and brittle. The emptiness of the playground today: a witness to the mercury, its height diminished despite bright sun. And here we meet our fabricated bookends for… Continue reading Our hopes such as they are, invisible before us, untouched and still possible*

The water pipes upstairs froze overnight

It’s double-quilt weather and icy lashes weather as the wind stings saltwater rills from our eyes. Shoulders hunched, we retreat into our hoods like sheltering caves. Convolutions and subtext slip away like shingles from a roof during high winds. Faced with the elemental force of cold, our needs simplify. Just as hunger renders food delicious… Continue reading The water pipes upstairs froze overnight

A pile of airy bones in an attic room beneath the pitched roof

I want so much to write. I’d like to be still for a day or two; to draw. To draw at a rate more like I was in October— daily. Or nearly so. To have space for things to percolate and bubble to the surface from below. Instead, I’ve been kept moving, pulled in multiple… Continue reading A pile of airy bones in an attic room beneath the pitched roof

Idylls following a solstice

I went out in the afternoon to say hi to the Dudes. The new horse is still being kept separate until they've all got to be friendly, so he was down in a separate pasture. Seneca and Prince were feeling feisty and joined me in running

Farewell, Red

Here is a portrait I did this week in memory of my horse, Red, whom we lost on Monday. He was 35 this year, and feisty as ever— now running and grazing in the Elysian Fields. I've been planning to write about him this week, but the portrait was a softer catharsis. Instead, I've unearthed what I wrote three summers ago, late one August night at the Farm:

Having arrived at the Farm for Christmas

This is T. He's the third cat we've had at the Farm (since I was a child) named Tigger, but we roll like kids here, and a fitting or familiar name can always be used more than once. (Farm folk are pragmatists.) He's the sweetest cat I've known in a long time— serious; takes some time… Continue reading Having arrived at the Farm for Christmas

Writing steadies me, as does the farm

Handsome Red Late night at the farm; window open upstairs and a squeaking distant sound of coyotes through the cricket-song. Tig hears them too. They seek the feral cats that live around here (dinner). The new kitten, Piwaket, was one of same; a runt or cast-off, living on her own and scrappy as hell; my… Continue reading Writing steadies me, as does the farm