A Look through the Lens of a 3D Artist

It was a cold afternoon; the sky was grey and cloudy. I looked out the car window as I was commuting back from work, engulfed by the pungent smell of car exhaust. Feelings of burnout and exhaustion were slowly piling up, accentuated by the gloomy atmosphere. A minibus drove by slowly coming to an inevitable stop in this never-ending traffic jam. One would argue that it was the saddest looking minibus to exist. No blinkers, no windows, and the slider door barely closed; swinging open and shut with every acceleration and stop. I observed the sides of the bus, I looked at the indentations, the worn-out paint, the snapped off window wiper resting on the window shield, obscuring the driver’s view. I looked at the minibus and the more I observed it the more I was invested. I found myself questioning the story behind each dent and scratch. I found myself excited at the thought of recreating a vehicle like that; worn out and unappealing. I didn’t realize my spirit uplifting until I noticed how my perception of the world has changed, from a perception of a random observer to that of a 3D artist.    

When I work on a new project, I always remember the first question Abdallah, my mentor, asks me “What is the story behind it?”. As someone who has mostly designed, modeled, and textured characters, the question felt irrelevant. How can an object have a story? I can easily create a back story for a character once I put myself in someone else's shoe and ask myself “How would this person feel if...?” Using that as a starting point, I can then show their emotions through the way they smile, walk, dress or even sound. I can use their emotions to express so much, unlike an object which has none. What does an AR-V 9mm gun feel? Or a MGD PM-09 French submachine gun?  That’s when I learned how to give personality to inanimate objects, which was by shifting my question away from emotions and more towards the experience itself. So instead, I learned to ask, “What did this object go through?”.

To me being an artist is to be able to evoke a feeling in the user. A feeling that is both specific and intentional. I create that through utilizing every aspect in a 3D model from its shape and colors to its texture and animation. In fact, this creative process starts even before sitting at my desk and starting to work on a project. It starts by building a personal connection with the project itself and asking myself how I relate to the project at hand and what I find interesting about it. This builds the motivation I need to stay dedicated to creating a harmonious story throughout all the stages of the 3D process. The outcome of this is a 3D piece full of life. In addition, this dedication is also the reason why some games are extremely visually interesting while others feel generic or don’t stand out.

Working on hard surface modeling has taught me a lot. It introduced me to a new form of communication, a silent yet prominent one. One that is expressed not necessarily through facial expressions or sounds but through dents and scratches. It gave me the ability to find beauty in damage, allowing me to think of the history behind an object and how it was handled. I plan to continue to use this new form of communication to produce assets and games that silently tell their own stories.

With this newly acquired perspective, I could make sense of the reason behind my spirit being uplifted upon observing that minibus. To me, it was not merely a damaged vehicle but visual proof of its own history and stories. It occurred to me that, in fact, some flaws are beautiful. As the traffic started to inch forward, I watched the minibus driveway, and for a moment I realized how grateful I am for being a 3D artist.