History and Evolution of Animation

Whether you believe art imitates life or life imitates art, you must believe that there’s something very lively about animation art. It instantly catches your attention and the more colorful it is, the better, at least for me. Since it taps into both “nostalgia and stylistic trends”, it is only natural that animation forms the “ultimate cultural currency” of the contemporary era.

The most apt association with animation I can think of, is what the famous Romantic poet John Keats wrote, “A thing of beauty is a joy forever” and indeed, animation, as a timeless beauty, has survived throughout history through many forms and facets.

The desire to create movement of the created art has always been there. It started with prehistoric paintings using sequential imagery to depict motion, persisted through the Middle Ages through numerous techniques rendering movement to creative works. “Mechanical devices known as automata began to appear, sometimes drawing on the illusion of moving images for entertainment purposes in court.”

And the dream was finally realised in the nineteenth century with optical toys like the thaumatrope, phenakistoscope and zoetrope, which made a spinning strip of drawings come alive. It’s thrilling to even imagine the gasps of people seeing the images move, don’t you think?

Emile Reynaud, in 1892, projected hand-painted films at his Théâtre Optique in Paris, giving the world what many call the first animated show. Then Cohl's Fantasmagorie (1908), a short film and the first animated cartoon came out. Winsor McCay's Gertie the Dinosaur (1914) gave a sense of perspective and personality to drawings. After this animation took a fun turn with characters drawn on transparent sheets over painted backgrounds and this ushered into a new era. With Walt Disney’s Steamboat Willie (1928) and Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937), the first full-length cel-animated film was featured. Meanwhile, in Japan, Osamu Tezuka's Astro Boy (1963) laid the foundation of modern anime.

When Pixar's Toy Story (1995) arrived, it proved that computers could carry emotion as well as pencils could. Today 2D, 3D, stop-motion, and hybrid styles all live side by side. Yet the technology was never the real magic. Behind every frame, there is still a human hand and a human heart.

Since September is Suicide Prevention Month, it feels apt to talk about how animation or art in general is more than some colorful sorcery for entertainment. While reading about animation artists, I found out how it’s been a way of surviving one’s inner storms for many of them.

Hideaki Anno, creator of Neon Genesis Evangelion, has spoken openly about the years of depression he went through before the series. Its raw portrayal of loneliness, self-doubt, and the fear of connecting with others came straight from that darkness. When I read that, I realized how many viewers must have felt seen by a story born from someone else's pain.

Charles Schulz lived with depression and anxiety, and he poured them into Charlie Brown, a gentle, persistent boy who keeps showing up even when he feels like a failure. Through the strip and animated specials like A Charlie Brown Christmas, Schulz turned his own melancholy into comfort for millions. This is where poetry lies, to commit to make others okay with themselves by portraying what demons they themselves had to fight.

Tim Burton has described feeling like an outsider as a child, and drawing was his refuge. That loneliness became the beating heart of Vincent and The Nightmare Before Christmas, where the "strange" characters turn out to be the most lovable ones. His work quietly tells every misfit that being different is not a flaw.

Rebecca Sugar, creator of Steven Universe, built a whole world around kindness, vulnerability, and healing. Its sequel, Steven Universe Future, deals with anxiety and the long aftermath of trauma, and many young viewers have called it a lifeline. And BoJack Horseman broke stigma from another angle, showing depression and addiction with an honesty that surprised people coming from a cartoon about a talking horse.

I think like any other art form, the magic of inner work in animation starts with its nature itself. Animation requires a lot of patience and happens one frame at a time. The slow rhythm can align with the slow burn of becoming oneself and coming to terms with one’s failures and feelings. The restless mind needs an anchor and animation helps the artist to conjure something up in order to turn feelings into shape and colors. Storytelling helps and both turn pain into a character, a world that can be shared, and once it is outside of us, it feels a little lighter. Making art reminds us that we still have something to say. Watching it reminds us that we are not alone.

This reminder is as much for me as it is for you, “YOU DON’T HAVE TO BE A FAMOUS ARTIST TO HONE YOUR CREATIVITY AS COMFORT!” Yes, you heard it right! Any doodle, any sketch that fills a corner of your notebook or a few animated frames on your phone can become a testimony of your perseverance.

From cave walls to computer screens, we have always tried to make our drawings move, and in doing so, we have kept ourselves moving too. Animation can be a reminder that when life feels stationary, one tiny movement can carry us forward and that might include watching the clouds move in the sky!