The Heron in the Ink
An old calligrapher's brushstroke becomes a heron and flies away; he follows it through hills of wet ink to the edge of the paper.
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13 keyframes. 1 ghost frames — the one-change-per-edit steps between them — are hidden; switch them on at the bottom left.
An old calligrapher kneels at his table, brush ready above a clean sheet.
One stroke of wet ink, curving up into a hook.
The stroke stands up: it is a heron.
The heron flies out over the hills. He turns to watch it go.
He climbs out of the window after it.
He walks into the ink hills; the heron flies on ahead.
The heron lands on a pine. He stops on the path below it.
Where he steps, the path is wet ink under his bare feet.
The painting stops at a hard edge: beyond it, blank paper. The heron waits there.
He reaches over the edge and paints a house on the blank paper.
He sits in the doorway of the house he painted, the heron beside him.
A red seal stamps itself in the corner: his name.
Back in the studio, nobody is at the table. On the desk lies the finished painting.
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