March 2003

I looked over an old rendering I'd made, and noted its imperfections. There were flaws that I would easily have avoided had I done the same scene now. The scene was simply a wooden fence around a modest grassy yard, only the grass was flat green, and the fence was coarse and essentially featureless. The patch of shade cast by the fence was uneven, and repeated at regular intervals, as if tiled. I remembered that I'd taken a number of such shortcuts because of hardware limitations. In contrast, here was a scene that I'd rendered more recently. Another grassy field - this one much larger - bordered by a stand of trees. This rendering was so realistic that it was immersive. In fact, I'd brought with me a paper plate of food, and walked through the scene appreciating its detail. I took rest in the shade of a tree, set my plate down in the gravelly dirt, and took out my editing pencil. Leaning in close to the tree, I saw that the shadow fell imperfectly across its rippled bark. It wasn't exactly straight - not as the sun would actually have cast it. I steadied my pencil, applied the eraser to the bark's craggy surface, and began to erase the shadow, straightening its edge. After a moment I backed off to look over my progress, and noticed a small band of exotic ants had emerged from several small holes in the bark. Evidently I'd disturbed them with my pencil - an idea which I quite liked. I was content to watch them for the moment. There were several different types of ant, some larger and others smaller, some striped and others mottled with pale spots. They certainly appeared energetic, and it brought out the devil in me. I wanted to mess with them. Unfortunately I had nothing here but a pencil to poke at them with. I'd have to go inside and get something then. And anyway, where was K.? She was supposed to have joined me for lunch. Surely she'd had enough time to gather some food by now.

I set off looking for her, heading down an industrial-looking white corridor lined with ductwork. I came to a wide translucent door which slid aside as I approached. Beyond it lay the game room. The endless replay of the last game was projected onto a wall-sized screen, and I recognized it as my brother's game. It looked like an interesting game, but I didn't have time to stop and play. As I continued my way through the complex it occurred to me how happy I was to be here, living in such a modern age that would find an entire society living within the halls of this vast complex. The facility somewhat resembled the merging of mission control and a mall. The only real challenge was negotiating its seemingly endless maze of corridors. Indeed, some doors wouldn't open for me, and I had to find my way using alternate routes. These came back to me easily though, and soon I'd made it to the main concourse. From here I could see many levels of wide galleyways, each suspended over the others, and leading off in every direction. I let instinct guide me through another set of sliding doors, and saw K. as soon as they pulled aside. She was with a small group of brightly-dressed strangers, wearing clothes that I didn't recognize. I heard their voices before I entered the space though, and could tell from their artificially modulated voices that they were actors. I was careful not to interfere with their production, and stayed back along the wall, finding a spot to sit within one of several regularly-spaced alcoves. I tried to catch K.'s eye, but she seemed quite immersed in the scene. In fact she seemed to be playing a major part. I watched as one of the characters asked her a question, and she very believably became flustered and stammered out a partial response. Someone else interrupted then, and the spotlight was off her. K. turned to one of the actors in my direction, and I could see clearly now that she was wearing coke-bottle glasses, and had some kind of makeup appliance over her right eye. What an odd look, I thought, and she saw me sitting there. I thought I caught her wink at me, though it was difficult to tell for sure through the gear. The director, a young black man who stood on a stepladder which emerged through a hole in the floor, coached his actors periodically throughout the scene. I wondered how K. had managed to land this job. Had she struck up a conversation about acting with one of the company members while preparing for our picnic? I was glad that she'd found an opportunity to ply her trade, but I didn't understand why she wouldn't have told me about it. The scene was picking up again though, and I watched a volley of lines leading to a climax. There was an outburst, and the characters seemed ready to disperse. Suddenly K. leaned forward and poked the black and white padded belly of another character. "Piebald is so cool!" she exclaimed. The director held his hands up, and I read his lips, "And hold it..." There was a silent pause as everyone held their places. "And cut," he said.