This morning I just received the incredibly sad news that the Kerner Optical model shop was closing its doors. For those of you who aren’t familiar with who Kerner Optical was, they were the model shop and SFX division of Industrial Light and Magic (ILM).

AT-AT: Still one of the coolest things I've ever seen in a movie
When ILM pulled up roots in San Rafael and moved to the Presidio in San Francisco, rather than closing down, the model shop spun off into their own company. (For more on the closing follow this link)
For many of us in the film industry, the closing of another FX house has become regular news. It’s sad to hear, we hope for the best of our friends and fellow workers as they look for new work, and may even think of the times we spent in the building. But largely we have become jaded to it. It’s just part of working as a service provider in an industry that’s being squeezed harder and harder while our clients continue to show record profits based on our work. It’s also one of the reasons I left film to go work at a stable video game company: I needed to reliably provide for my family.
But the closing of Kerner Optical’s modelshop is different. The work that the model shop men and women did had a profound affect on my young mind. Their artistry served as constant fuel for my growing imagination. Growing up it was a rare summer day that didn’t involve us pretending to fight off Imperial storm troopers in their AT-AT’s, running from giant boulders, and flying around in X-wings as we blew up the death star repeatedly.
But even beyond fueling my imagination as a child, they inspired me to pursue art. They inspired me to spend the tremendous time and energy it takes to enter into the film industry as a VFX artist.
Having been able to work beside them at ILM, even as a CG artist, is a badge of honor I wear proudly. I got to see and touch some of the work they had done for the original Star Wars, and work directly with them directly Episode III. I had the opportunity to see them blow stuff up. It was with giddy, child like joy we would run outside to see an “explosion on the slab”. When they blew up a test version of the train in XXX: State of the Union in an immense fireball that nearly singed our eyebrows, even behind the protective plexi-glass, I laughed very hard as they said simply, “Next time we should use less gas.”

Yeah, I helped with this. Cool.
I count myself extremely lucky to be able to look to the past and know that I’ve made my 10 year old self proud with what I’m doing and where I’ve been. Having worked with them remains a highlight of my career that will difficult to top.
Over the past several months, I’ve been working hard on my short film. Recently I heard the very interesting PAX keynote address by David Jaffe (warning: Long and full of swearing). In it he talks of losing interest, becoming disillusioned, and generally losing your groove in what you love to do. I know exactly how he feels. Every one does at some point, I’m sure.
After listening to it, I immediately started to reconsider having dropped the stop motion robot I had been working on. But self doubt set in. I was scared of doing it because it’s something I’ve never really done before.
With the closing of a division of personal heroes, I believe that my choice has become all the more clear. Almost everything they did was a big risk. Throughout the ’80′s they were constantly doing something they “had never done before.”
If I am to continue to make my past 10 year old self proud, I only have one choice. I am going to blindly proceed with doing the robot with stop motion. I am going to take the path of adventure and head towards something I don’t know I can pull off. I am going to choose to continue to run from a giant boulder and fight off AT-AT’s in an underpowered ship with only a lightsaber at my side.
I think I not only owe it to myself, but I owe it to the people who inspired me so consistently throughout my life.