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This interview was conducted in March 2023.  Michelle Cheng is a flourishing artist who delves into her passion for animation and environmental topics! During her studies at CalArts, Michelle took her time to find ideas and philosophies that resonated with her - from podcasts on climate change to manuscripts by field biologists and writings on Hawaiian ecology - and gradually discovered her own artistic voice through the production of her short film, Birdsong. Michelle, thanks so much for sharing your intriguing experiences with us! 1. This story feels specific and inspired. What compelled you to create a film based on late field biologist John Sincock’s experiences in Kauai? Were you sparked by a random interest in his story? Or have you always been interested in biology and conservationism? I first heard the last Kauaʻi ʻōʻō’s story via John Green’s podcast The Anthropocene Reviewed, a podcast I used to love putting on when drawing. The episode’s emotional resonance caught me completely by surprise, especially since its central subject was a very small bird from a place I’ve never been. At the time, I was thinking a lot about my role as an animator and what I could do to contribute to the discourse about climate change, especially about climate education. I’ve always been somewhat frustrated by the lack of overlap between the animation industry and the environmental movement, and became attached to the idea of exploring a film that would combine my studies with the causes that mattered to me. While Birdsong’s scope isn’t very large, I was particularly touched by how the narrative examined extinction through an extremely personal lens. It reminded me of the value and beauty of even the smallest of creatures, and it was a sentiment I wanted to share.  2. From the musical notation of the Kauaʻi ʻōʻō’s birdsong to the ominous usage of mosquito buzzing at the end, it's clear that this story required a lot of research. How long did the research and development process take? Did you go into the film knowing a lot about this topic, or did you learn most of it as you went? I learned most of it as I went! The development process (pre-production) took about 4 months, working on and off. A solid month was dedicated to pouring over books. Even as production began, I occasionally read relevant articles that would revitalize interest in this film. In retrospect, research was my favorite stage throughout the entire process. This film became my way of learning more about extinction, loss of biodiversity, and Hawaii’s extremely unique ecological history. While most of the research conducted never made it into my film (in explicit ways), it was crucial in helping me grasp the full significance of the Kauaʻi ʻōʻō’s extinction, and how its death fell in line with the larger epidemic plaguing Hawaiian wildlife. 3. The film's design language includes collages, scans, and a gorgeous phenakistoscope, not to mention bold lighting and a clear color script. Who and what were your visual inspirations? In general, during the visdev process, I love pulling from visuals that can line up thematically or symbolically with the film’s story. For Birdsong, I got in touch with a researcher who was able to lend me access to John Sincock’s manuscripts, notes, and photographs from his time in Kauai. It was so special being able to see details like his handwriting, typewriter mistakes, or the yellowing of paper. More than taking inspiration from an existing artist, I hoped to incorporate the textures of these historical documents. The question I kept coming back to was: how would a field biologist see the world? Hence, the text and number details in my film, and the paper textures. A lot of my visuals were also inspired by what I’ve read about Hawaiian ecology. Despite the academic subject, its writers wrote vividly. They conjured images in my head, more than what photographs could describe. Here’s one such passage from Robert Wallace’s Hawaii (The American Wilderness): “Silverswords and quivering lapalapa trees, six-foot violets and birds with curved bills that draw nectar from curved flowers. These things are not only rare but delicate—otherworldly and fragile as dreams. They are the plants and birds one imagines in the background of Shakespeare’s Tempest. Touch them and they vanish.”  4. What was the production experience like? Did you work primarily alone, or was there a lot of collaboration? How did you manage your time? For the most part, I worked on Birdsong by myself, but it’d be inaccurate to say that it was made in complete isolation. For instance, my film would not have been half as good without my composer Roy Berardo, who whipped out an incredible score that elevated the film’s emotional resonance. Each week, I would also have my work critiqued during “Film Workshop” (a class at CalArts dedicated to making films). It’s fairly easy to grow numb towards your work during long-term projects like these, so I’m always very grateful for a fresh pair of eyes. In terms of time management, it wasn’t great. I had to work on my film almost everyday from December to April to get the project done, and was often slowed down by my perfectionistic tendencies. By the end of the whole thing, I felt thoroughly burnt out. Looking back, my goals for the visuals were too ambitious for the production time I had. Moving forwards, I’m trying to be a lot more mindful about my expectations and prioritize personal enjoyment over perfection. 5. Voice actor James Cheek's performance is moving and haunted. How did you find your voice actors, and how did you direct them? At CalArts, a lot of opportunities are communicated to students via posters. The tradition is to put up “LOOKING FOR VOICE ACTOR” flyers with pull-away tabs on campus. This was how I found my cast. What came as a surprise to me during the casting process was how difficult it was to find voice actors who could deliver subtle performances or read prose in a way that felt genuine, fluid, and lyrical. A lot of voice acting roles in animation require comedic exaggeration, and my film did not lean in that direction. James’ audition immediately stood out because he understood this. In terms of how I gave direction, first, I gotta say that my job was made so much easier because I had a great cast to work with. James and Maddie took instructions beautifully. I got them to read the passages in different ways; one attempt would be more calm, the other more anxious. I think it takes trying several different things to discover what you want. Apart from that, directing involved making sure everybody understood the emotional arc of the film, which I did by setting up meetings beforehand to explain my vision through the help of visuals and music samples. 6. How did you feel when you learned your short film was nominated for an Annie Award? I remember feeling very excited and very, very confused, because they did not send me an email about it before it was announced online. 7. What was your experience attending the awards show in person? The event itself was overwhelming. Picture tides of well-dressed strangers, loud voices competing against even louder music, and the occasional vaguely familiar face who you think might be X famous person. Occasionally, I would see a CalArtian in the crowd and we would chat for a bit, but outside of those moments, I felt somewhat displaced. My anchor for the night was my crew whom I had brought along, and they were by far the biggest reason why my experience was a joyful one. Some of us flew in from far off places, and this was our first time together, in-person, in the same room. Whatever doubts I had about my film dissipated when I was with them; knowing that I had people who were rooting for me made me feel stronger. GENERAL QUESTIONS 1. How has CalArts been for your development as an artist and person? I saw you also went on exchange to Gobelins, so how did that contribute to your perspective? It’s jarring to think that before going to CalArts, I didn’t know how to animate, barely knew my way around Photoshop, wasn’t very familiar with the industry, and had no inkling as to what kinds of stories I wanted to tell. Looking at it this way, CalArts has played an invaluable role in my development. If I had to summarize, the biggest thing CalArts has offered me is the time and space to develop my artistic voice. Having worked some jobs where it’s all about supporting a client’s vision, I’ve realized how rare and special it is to be given the resources to make films about whatever you want. When I graduate, it’s this freedom that I’ll miss the most. On the other hand, Gobelins has been great — I really miss my time abroad. This might sound strange, but despite having lived in Toronto for most of my life and near LA for a couple years, Paris is the first city that I feel like I’ve really gotten to know. Due to the way the Gobelins curriculum is structured, I had a lot more time to myself, which I would use to enjoy weekends in the city, or work on some personal art. This change in lifestyle helped with my burnout. It was a genuine period of self-discovery and getting out of my comfort zone, having to communicate with locals in a non-native tongue and all. I felt homesick when I landed back at Toronto Pearson. 2. Outside of Birdsong, you have developed a variety of stories, including Asian-inspired ones like "then/now" and "Tales of Mosumori." How are you inspired by your Asian heritage? To start, I don’t speak my parent’s native tongue (Chinese) very well, and as a result, I find it difficult to connect with my heritage. Something I’ve realized once I started living on my own is that I can’t really take my own heritage for granted. (The thought struck me while I was at an Asian grocery market and realized I couldn’t remember what brand of soy sauce my grandmother uses to cook). Preserving traditions requires active effort, and being in touch with a language requires consistent practice. After my high school graduation, I decided to spend 2 months in Shanghai to learn more about the city my parents grew up in. Having spent most of my life in a quiet Canadian suburb, being in Shanghai was both overstimulating and enthralling. There, I took some Guo Hua (国画) lessons, where I learned some painting techniques, as well as its underlying philosophy. Worldbuilding projects inspired by my travel experiences in East Asia are some of my ways of “keeping in touch”. My portfolio project “then/now” is a reflection on my Shanghai trip — a city that stuck out to me for the lifetimes of change it’s been through within the span of a few short decades.  3. It seems you're drawn to history, nature, and textures. Can you talk more about your biggest inspirations as an artist? Do you have any favorite artists or filmmakers?
This question is a bit difficult for me to answer, because I don’t have an extremely focused set of inspirations. They fluctuate depending on the projects I work on, and come from all sorts of places. For some reason, many of my favorite movies don’t reflect the kinds of films I want to make. Kung Fu Hustle, for instance, runs in direct opposition to my current artistic sensibilities. The reason why I love it is because it challenged what I thought the boundaries of comedic storytelling were. Many of my biggest inspirations also don’t come from within animation — I love Madeline Miller’s writing, John Galliano’s runways, Chiron Duong’s photography, the way the series Fleabag is written and edited — I could go on. Maybe this goes without saying, but I find that it’s much easier to tackle filmmaking with a fresh perspective when you’re pulling reference from outside of the industry itself. Most recently, I’ve really enjoyed watching Tonko House’s Oni: Thunder God’s Tale. It’s a show where you can viscerally feel the amount of care put into every shot. The visuals break new ground, and the story has something to say in earnest. 4. Growing up, how did you find your passion in animation and storytelling? Do you have a first memory about your love of this craft? I have two distinct memories: Having grown up with a speech impediment, I felt extremely uncomfortable with speaking for most of my childhood. What came much more naturally to me was art. I started drawing when I was fairly young and have always felt a magnetic pull towards the medium. I believe that the reason I grew so attached to it was because it became my source of confidence and my means of self-expression when my voice would fail me. The second instance was when I was about 16 and on a whim, auditioned for the school play. At the time, I was looking for opportunities to get better at public speaking and it quickly became my favorite part about highschool. Once a week, for a couple hours, I could unwind and be someone different. I loved the escapism, the rush of performance adrenaline, as well as the built-in community. Animation is a medium that combines a lot of elements from theater with drawing, and it felt like a really good way to continue developing my passion for both. On a more sentimental note, I think the medium is just beautiful. In animation, everything you see on the screen has come from someone’s imagination. It’s touching to think about how many people have dedicated their lives to observing the intricacies of color, movement, and emotion to a point where they’re able to recreate it on screen in such intimate ways. It’s just beautiful. 5. Do you have any advice for other Asian animation students or aspiring story artists? Not really, no — I’ve still got so much to figure out for myself! Something I wish I could have told my younger self, however, is that it’s okay to take your time. I remember being especially doubtful of my abilities and prone to comparison when starting out at CalArts, constantly feeling behind because I didn’t have a strong style, and wasn’t quite sure what I wanted to do. I wish I could have told myself that artistic voice comes with time. It’s hard to know what you want and what you like and who you’d like to be without living a lot of life. It’s a process that’s ongoing, and one that can’t be rushed. Writers: Jordan (@deadswampsofsadness) | Point Person: Gaby, AIA Team Comments are closed.
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