The Pain of Creation

September 6th, 2010 by Web Editor
Hannah Weir is a literary studies major here at UTD, but that didn’t stop her from getting her hands covered in clay.
Hannah was inspired by Lewis Carroll’s poem The Jabberwocky; it drove her to buy clay and spend many hours fiddling with it. She wanted to create her own claymation interpretation of The Jabberwocky (the poem can be read at the end of the post).
Unfortunately, things went askew early on. There was an unfortunate bit of galumphing that lead to a bloody mess of a hand. Hannah explains what happened in this interview, and talks a bit about her creative process.

Hannah Weir is a literary studies major here at UTD, but that didn’t stop her from getting her hands covered in clay.

Hannah was inspired by Lewis Carroll’s poem The Jabberwocky; it drove her to buy clay and spend many hours fiddling with it. She wanted to create her own claymation interpretation of The Jabberwocky (the poem can be read at the end of the post).
Unfortunately, things went askew early on. There was an unfortunate bit of galumphing that lead to a bloody mess of a hand. Hannah explains what happened in this interview, and talks a bit about her creative process.

-Alex Hays


Here is an Interview with Hannah about the whole event.

See the video Hannah made after the jump!

Hannahs vid from alexboots on Vimeo.

Hannahs vid from alexboots on Vimeo.

The Jabberwocky

Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!”
He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought–
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.
And as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!
One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”
He chortled in his joy.
‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
- Lewis Carroll.

5 Responses to “The Pain of Creation”

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