Here is another speed drawing video that I made using Artflow and a screen capture program. It’s New Year’s Eve, and I feel that it is important to get another video out. I’ve been exploring the idea of a regular vlog, but talking into a camera feels too unnatural. The drawing idea seems to want to stick, but I also want to play with filming.
I never thought of myself as a film maker, but I suppose that is what I’m doing. I don’t care about writing a script and delivering a skit. I just want to be skillful. I want it to look good. There are some things about my videos that need serious work – I am usually at the end of my skill level, or the end of the time I am allotted to work on YouTube videos, which don’t pay for themselves.
With bad equipment and no audience, this is the perfect time for me to learn how to make videos. Lance Armstrong said not to blame the bike, so I never will.
That reminds me. It’s snowing and my bike is outside.
With nearly 22 subscribers and an uncanny ability for locating lost battery chargers, Screaming Turkey (also known as J. Ozawa), is set to turn Istanbul and the internets into his personal petting zoo. As his name implies, this filmmaker’s voice is much to loud to ignore.
How can we approach this new phenomena, this force of nature? With reverence and patience, of course. And bus fare.
His filmmaking arsenal is nothing to scoff at. Of his five SD cards, only one of them contains corrupt files that cannot be erased or retrieved.
“I’m really lucky to have this camera,” says J. appreciatively of his Samsung SMX-C10 Memory Camcorder, “I got it for Christmas in 2006. It’s practically an antique. Plus, it’s really pretty.”
Other equipment includes and iPhone 4 and two Nikon COOLPIX cameras, one of which actually belongs to his 3-year-old son:
“Callen is very generous with his camera and lets me use it almost whenever I want,” says Ozawa, “In kindergarten, he’s learning to share.”
He also uses two mini tripods that he found at a discount shop, one of which is “bendy and cool”.
Usually, the videos begin with a stunningly rendered 7 or 8 second intro and outro segment, normally backed by free YouTube music. Sometimes he uses a few seconds of footage of Istanbul street cats, cars, or random garbage.
“I really don’t care about what I put there,” says Ozawa. “Seriously. I don’t.”
Most of the actual videos are of Ozawa’s speed drawing a horrible looking cartoon face. The more horrible, the better, he says. Sometimes he draws to relax, and the idea to create videos of his drawings occurred to him when he noticed people creepily looking over his shoulder while he doodled. That way, he says, people can watch him draw and he won’t have to hear their disgusting nose whistle breathing next to his ear.
Other videos, the ones that he prefers to spend more time on, are of him and his son going to the park and riding skateboards or bicycles around their home on Istanbul’s Asian side.
“One time we made a video of us eating hamburgers. It got no views. Not even my own mother would watch something that dull,” says Ozawa, “It was awesome because my son actually finished his food.”
The Creative Side
Ozawa uses the YouTube editor for most of his work, although he sometimes uses the iMovie software on his iPad.
“I bounce the videos back and forth because of the limited functionality of both editors. Sometimes I use the YouTube editor for making a timelapse, then upload the film onto my iTunes account to add music. I got permission from some good people to use their music, but for the sake of expediency, I usually use the YouTube music or no music at all. Once though, I made a whole video culled from creative commons clips on YouTube and free music. I thought it would make me the next Pewdipie.”
While it’s probaby tempting to want to move to Istanbul to steal his style and be just like him, it’s not a good idea.
“You’d go hungry. You’d just be very sad and hungry.”
Although he typically spends an hour for every five minutes of film that he puts on the internet, his YouTube earnings wouldn’t even be enough to buy the electricity to watch one of his videos.
“I can’t believe how much time I waste on this. My wife is really mad at me,” says Ozawa.
In recent weeks, we’d been afraid to leave our home for fear that it would be demolished behind us. Construction crews and demolition crews in Istanbul are nearly on top of each other, running neck and neck in their race to make this city look more horrible and likely to fall over in the next earthquake.
Little Horace has begun knawing on the wood and leather objects around the house due to lack of sunlight, so today I resolved to detach myself from this little place emotionally and let the crews have it if they want it.
It is still standing today, but tomorrow and the next day, I shall do the same, and each day after, until one day I come home to a pile of rubble.
My new attitude is quite freeing, and Horace and I had a lovely day in the sun.
It grieves me so to have had no news from you in so long. How long has it been? How many moons? How many trips around these tired worry beads do my fingers need to take until the sun shines again?
Little Horace has been a terror at school. His teacher, the long, graceful swan of a creature who impressed with her long years of education and experience, has requested that I help her to pay for the cost of treatment for her alcoholism by having bottles delivered to her home under cover of night. I have agreed to say nothing to anyone about why her big brown eyes seem to swim in her cloud of perfume and mouthwash smell. She’ll be found out, but it won’t be because of anything I’ve said. It will be because of Horace, this wonderful little boy of mine.
My pride and joy. May no one ever hope to manage him.
I had a dream last night that the Russians were coming. In my dream, the ruling party was good at robbing people and seducing villagers, but dreadfully inept at foreign affairs. They’d awakened the bear and there was hell to pay, and no amount of shrieking, defiant slogans, or journalists placed under arrest was going to change the reality of that helltrain coming off the rails.
Edmund is well. He’s gaunt and deathly as ever. He send his love.
I was very sorry to hear of your father’s passing for lack of a Lazy Susan. Still, we can take comfort in the fact that your mother is still being provided for.
Edmund is well, or as well as can be expected. He is trying a fruitarian diet. I have tried unsuccessfully one several occasions to fool him with non-fruit, but the man knows what a fruit is and his body is punishing him for it.
Little Horace is still little and should remain so for some time. He brightens my life and brings noise and laughter to our home, which also drew the attention of our crackpot neighbor and her two shrieking lungs. Her fists deserve some mention as well, as they spend a good deal of their existence pounding on the wall in an effort to silence us.
As toddlers shan’t be silenced, we decided to try to make peace with the shivering wraith by baking her one of Edmund’s lemon and banana cakes, but within an hour Edmund was cleaning it off of our door to the sound of her bony fisted pounding and yells. Poor Horace was beside himself.
I went to talk to her myself and give her a piece of my mind, but when she opened the door, I found her countenaince to be quite sweet and cordial, and even likable, as if the devil that possessed her were taking a nap. I found myself whispering hurriedly in order to not wake it before I could get my message across.
She invited me to dinner to meet a group of her friends, which I found quite odd. I asked the place, and she said that it would be in a ballroom in Kadikoy, just 20 minutes away. I was nearly afraid for my life over this curious development, but I went, determined to have peace between our two houses, and honestly did not give a thought to whether or not I would enjoy an evening with one whom I still regarded as a miserable person.
The meal was peculiar, at best, with cold beef sandwiches, cold chips, and ayran, that horrible salty yogurt drink. During the meal, at a table where I sat with five others, I was asked one question after another, until I felt the need to ask why I was the center their attention. No one seemed to have a job. No one played golf. No one read books or knew what was on television. They deflected my questions and asked more about me. I changed the subject several times, and each time the subject turned back to me. One after the other, they looked into my eyes, pinched my face, and looked at my neck. An old man crawled under the table to examine my ankles.
At that point, I stood up to leave, and if you had smacked me with a dead cat and thrown me down the stairs, I could not have felt more cold or more cruel towards this world or its miserable inhabitants, for it was then that I noticed the banner which featured a reptilian couple with a warning that alien snake people could be among your friends and neighbors.
In the center of me, just under my sternum, there stirred the little bit of humor that has remained with me into my advanced adulthood. It positively glowed when the lights dimmed and a projector kicked on and a dramatization of aliens among us shown on a screen. I chuckled at talk about numerology and foretellings by Rumi of alien benefactors.
The night became fun, and I had a fabulous time. Surrounded by this hokey cult, I felt suddenly at home.
That night, I shared a taxi with the mean-spirited wretch and she became genuinely sweet, even flirtatious, and I felt comforted by the fact that I had passed all of their alien frogman tests.
We passed her door, and she lingered there for a short while before she invited me in. I begged her off and said that Horace would likely still be awake, unable to sleep until I returned home.
Once home, I informed Edmund that we would be leaving, and we began to pack.
I’ve taken to video-film making to get my point across. It seems to be the only medium people care about, probably because it is the most capable of conveying suggestive images. Fear not. There is no nudity in my films, but the lack of an audience makes a vulgar production seem tempting.
And just what is my point, you may ask. Well, you are free to ask it. Since I am not interested in creating a tutorial, I am creating films of myself doodling. That’s right. I draw pictures. I thought that it could be more interesting than making sandwiches or omlettes, which are the other two things that I am good at.
The tenant in the apartment below ours has suggested that Horace is possibly the second coming of Christ. I assured her that unless staining our carpets with juice constituted a miracle, there were no other divine indications but that I would keep her informed.
This fellow looks a little frightened. To tell you the truth, I have no idea why… but the picture made me laugh.
To be perfectly honest, I didn’t know how he would look when it was finished. As usual, I just follow the lines and let it go until I have a horrible looking picture to share with unsuspecting passers by!
So gaze deeply into the horrified, abysmal eyes of this poor soul!