I spent the summer before taking animation in college reading up on as much theory and history as I could find on the subject, and the book that had the most profound affect on me was John Canemaker’s biography of Disney’s Nine Old Men. In the book Canemaker not only examines the lives and works of these nine groundbreaking artists but also subtly weaves in the story of the entire studio, including their mentors and their protégés. It was my first true exposure to the humanity behind the scenes.
Once, during an especially grueling all-nighter in college, I put down my pencil and collapsed, convinced that I wasn’t talented enough to continue in the field. A few hours later I awoke from a dream, one where I saw animators of the past toiling away at their desks, pulling pranks in the hallways, and nervously evaluating their work in the sweatbox. These were average joes, drinking buddies and family men, prompted by pride in their hard-earned skills to elevate an art form. They weren’t all necessarily natural talents, but their drive allowed them to innovate and succeed, creating the foundation upon which I rely on every day. I got up, went back to work and I haven’t stopped since.
Ollie Johnston is the last remaining member of the Nine Old Men. He was awarded the National Medal of Arts this past week for his contribution to the advancement of animation, the first animator to receive this distinction. I like to think that this honor also reaches back to those who came before him, those who worked beside him, and those who have learned from him, either directly or through the vast history of knowledge all animators share. Congratulations, Mr. Johnston, and thanks.
