was expecting there to be tons of boxes and things stacked all over the place, but this room is surprisingly sparse. That is mostly due to the way that the files are stored.
Along the walls are long counters with cabinets underneath. Some of the counters have drawers that pull out, containing larger sheets of artwork. I expect those are some of the figure drawings that were used for reference. This archive room doesn’t just store work that my father did. It also stores at least a dozen other artists’ work. I can feel the creative energy pulsing through the air.
Besides these counters, drawers, and cabinets, there is also a long row of what look to be metal bookcases in the center of the room. However, these are not ordinary bookcases. These are all stacked against each other with placards on the ends of them. They are in alphabetical order by the last names of the authors and the shelves are designed to be pulled out like a stack of dominos. This is achieved by the way they are hung from the ceiling on large steel rods, with wheels attached to allow free movement. This is also an ingenious way to store artwork because when the shelves are all collapsed on each other it prevents sunlight from damaging and bleaching the paper.
Mae and I walk down the row of shelves and the overhead lights turn on at our movement. Mae runs her fingers along the placards until she comes to my last name: Boding.
“So, what is this paper about, exactly?” she asks as I help her to pull the shelves apart.
“It’s about inspiration,” I say. She gives me an interested look and I elaborate. “Basically the teacher wants me to look into the beginnings of an idea and analyze how it evolved over time. I figured that using my father’s work would be the easiest since I have access to almost all of his notes. It was either that or Tolkien, and I don’t feel like wading through a dozen volumes of backstory.”
“Instead you opted to go through about a million scraps of paper that your father wrote on,” Mae teases.
This brightens my mood. Up until now I have been completely serious. Rightfully so, I think. It’s not every day that someone gets super powers. Heck, it never happens, as far as I know. But, here I am, wearing the Vestige under my shirt, looking for answers.
Just like the comic book , I think with an ironic smile.
I wonder if my father ever thought this would happen. I doubt it, since he never once spoke about the Vestige being a real thing. Not even in news interviews did he give away where the idea came from - only that it just came to him on a car ride one night when he was coming home from a football game.
“I don’t think it will be too hard to find something to base my thesis around,” I say.
The shelves lock into place and we make our way down the row, searching for my father’s boxes. We don’t have far to walk because the bookcases are five shelves high and only a foot into the aisle we come across the first of dozens of black cardboard boxes containing my father’s work.
I rub my hands together and look over at Mae.
“Well, we’re in for a party,” I say and pull down the box closest to me.
Our search begins in earnest, then gradually tapers off into a more leisure pace. I’m not exactly in a rush. My train home doesn’t leave until tonight, so I have plenty of hours to peruse the boxes.
There are so many things in here that I can’t help but become absorbed.
Leafs of lined paper with my father’s messy handwriting filling every inch. Notes on plot, character, and even a few life stories that inspired different scenes. Super Guy’s parents are no doubt inspired by my grandparents. They share the same names, albeit with changed last names, and their sketches are similar to what my grandparents looked like in their younger years. I smile at these.
Moving on, I come to another box that is filled with storyboards. These are my father’s rough outlines for scenes. Not exactly useful for my
Along the walls are long counters with cabinets underneath. Some of the counters have drawers that pull out, containing larger sheets of artwork. I expect those are some of the figure drawings that were used for reference. This archive room doesn’t just store work that my father did. It also stores at least a dozen other artists’ work. I can feel the creative energy pulsing through the air.
Besides these counters, drawers, and cabinets, there is also a long row of what look to be metal bookcases in the center of the room. However, these are not ordinary bookcases. These are all stacked against each other with placards on the ends of them. They are in alphabetical order by the last names of the authors and the shelves are designed to be pulled out like a stack of dominos. This is achieved by the way they are hung from the ceiling on large steel rods, with wheels attached to allow free movement. This is also an ingenious way to store artwork because when the shelves are all collapsed on each other it prevents sunlight from damaging and bleaching the paper.
Mae and I walk down the row of shelves and the overhead lights turn on at our movement. Mae runs her fingers along the placards until she comes to my last name: Boding.
“So, what is this paper about, exactly?” she asks as I help her to pull the shelves apart.
“It’s about inspiration,” I say. She gives me an interested look and I elaborate. “Basically the teacher wants me to look into the beginnings of an idea and analyze how it evolved over time. I figured that using my father’s work would be the easiest since I have access to almost all of his notes. It was either that or Tolkien, and I don’t feel like wading through a dozen volumes of backstory.”
“Instead you opted to go through about a million scraps of paper that your father wrote on,” Mae teases.
This brightens my mood. Up until now I have been completely serious. Rightfully so, I think. It’s not every day that someone gets super powers. Heck, it never happens, as far as I know. But, here I am, wearing the Vestige under my shirt, looking for answers.
Just like the comic book , I think with an ironic smile.
I wonder if my father ever thought this would happen. I doubt it, since he never once spoke about the Vestige being a real thing. Not even in news interviews did he give away where the idea came from - only that it just came to him on a car ride one night when he was coming home from a football game.
“I don’t think it will be too hard to find something to base my thesis around,” I say.
The shelves lock into place and we make our way down the row, searching for my father’s boxes. We don’t have far to walk because the bookcases are five shelves high and only a foot into the aisle we come across the first of dozens of black cardboard boxes containing my father’s work.
I rub my hands together and look over at Mae.
“Well, we’re in for a party,” I say and pull down the box closest to me.
Our search begins in earnest, then gradually tapers off into a more leisure pace. I’m not exactly in a rush. My train home doesn’t leave until tonight, so I have plenty of hours to peruse the boxes.
There are so many things in here that I can’t help but become absorbed.
Leafs of lined paper with my father’s messy handwriting filling every inch. Notes on plot, character, and even a few life stories that inspired different scenes. Super Guy’s parents are no doubt inspired by my grandparents. They share the same names, albeit with changed last names, and their sketches are similar to what my grandparents looked like in their younger years. I smile at these.
Moving on, I come to another box that is filled with storyboards. These are my father’s rough outlines for scenes. Not exactly useful for my
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