Two short series in production, made to show what this studio can do outside memorial work. Private page, not listed, not indexed.
A short drama in eight parts — two minutes each.
A stone guardian at the door of a village goddess temple has been missing her right forearm for sixty years. A young conservator is hired to carve and fit a new one. She wakes at night — but only while the repair is unfinished. The moment the hand is fitted, she is stone again, for good.
The better he is at his work, the sooner he loses her. The thing he is good at is the thing that takes her away. That is in place from the first minute; everything after it is consequence.
Three lines. They never bend, and the audience should feel them before anyone explains them.
One. She wakes only after dark, and only while she is incomplete.
Two. She cannot leave the temple ground. She has been a door her whole existence.
Three. If she is not at her post by first light, she does not wake again.
Two minutes each. Sixteen minutes end to end, watched in one sitting.
1 · The Broken Hand — He arrives, measures, begins. He wakes at night to an empty plinth. “Make it slowly.”
2 · Measurements — He works all night to keep her awake. At dawn she turns to stone mid-sentence.
3 · What the Door Has Seen — She names every person who has died in this village. He realises she cannot step past the threshold.
4 · The Wrong Stone — The block cracks. Weeks lost. He is openly glad, and she sees it.
5 · The Village Notices — The priest finds him talking to a statue at three in the morning. He does not deny it.
6 · A Name — He gives her one. The hand is finished on the bench, unfitted.
7 · First Light — He keeps her out past dawn on purpose, and is told too late what that costs.
8 · Do Not Be Afraid — Deliberately unwritten. He can fit the hand and lose her, or leave the door unguarded and keep her. Any version where he gets both is a worse story.
Stills first, then animate. Every shot is generated as a still from one locked character reference and approved as a storyboard. Only then is it animated, bridging two pictures already accepted. The camera work is decided before a frame moves.
That is the whole trick, and it is why she is the same woman in shot 3 and shot 87. Every prompt and every seed is written down at the time, so any episode can be rebuilt from the record rather than from memory.
“The Broken Hand” · one minute seven seconds · eleven shots · vertical.
A comedy in short episodes — forty seconds each. In production.
Richie Pike is six. Every episode he tells one of his parents something true and horrible that he has worked out by himself, in the flattest voice imaginable, and then leaves the room. Big Walt is in the chair with a cigar. June is in the kitchen. It is the year 2400 and nobody mentions it.
He is never pleased with himself. That is the whole engine — the moment he enjoys the joke, there is no joke.
Richie lands the line. Richie leaves. The parent sits alone a beat too long. Then they say his name — quietly, to nobody, conceding the point — and the title burns in over them. He is always already gone, and he never hears it.
“The Peaceful King” · thirteen shots · vertical.