We will cite one little trick—humoring the vision, if one may put it this way: have a spot, or patch, of black repeated relatively in the same position throughout the series of a movement. An example is that of having the boots of a figure of a solid black. The eye catching the two black spots as they alternately go back and forth is deluded with respect to the forcibleness of the animation even if the walking action is not as correctly drawn as it should be. An added effect is given to this illusory ruse if a tiny high light is left on the toe of each black boot.
The final test for drawings for animation is, it stands to reason, the result on the screen. One may, though, approximately find out whether or not any sequence of drawings animate by flapping them in a sort of way akin to the book-form kineograph novelty noted in a preceding chapter. Two immediately following drawings can be tested this way: with one hand they are held near one corner pressed against the drawing-board, then with the other hand the top drawing is moved rapidly up and down. In this way the two drawings are synthesized somewhat, and if the action is delineated correctly there will be some notion of the appearance on the screen.
This little experiment crudely demonstrates the phenomenon of after-images and the operation typifies a simple synthesizing apparatus.
A significant addition to a scene, if it is suited to the story and consistent with the general plan, is to have some foreground detail in front of the moving figure, or figures. This sometimes consists of a rock, a clump of foliage, or a tree trunk. The contrast of the inertness in these details gives an added force to the animating that takes place back of their mass.
Foreground details of a pictorial composition help the animator in several ways. Their inertness, for one thing, affords a contrast to the moving figure.
This feature of a picture is drawn on celluloid that is placed on top of the rest of the set having to do with the particular animation. It is possible, though, for an artist, if he is dexterous, to fasten this inert foreground to the under-side of the glass in the frame which is pressed down over the drawings during the photography. The foreground feature, of course, is cut out in silhouette and fastened with an adhesive like rubber cement. This cement is an article of great usefulness in a photographic studio; especially for temporary use over drawings, as it can be easily rubbed off afterward by the friction of the finger-tips.
Radically opposite in method to the scheme described above, in which an inert object helps the animation, is the panorama. In this screen illusion the figure, which is thought of as moving, occupies the same position; while the landscape, normally quiet, is in motion.
Certainly we have all experienced the sensation, when seated in a railway-train waiting for it to go, of suddenly imagining that it has started; when, in fact, it has not budged. This simply has happened: while occupied with thoughts not pertaining to our surroundings—perhaps reading—we casually caught sight of a moving train on an adjacent track, and as we were in the state of expectancy of at any moment being on the move, we immediately thought that our anticipation had been fulfilled. Even if, in a moment or two, we realize that our senses have deceived us, it is hard to shake off the first-formed delusion of being in motion.
Now the screen panorama is a similar delusion. We see near the centre of the screen a figure going through the motions of progression, but we know perfectly well that he is in the same place all the time. And we know that the landscape is drawn on a band of paper that is pushed along back of the figure. All our knowing does not help us. In spite of it the little figure spectrally advances and the landscape deceptively passes by as we know it does (visionally) when we ourselves are running very fast.