Hayao Miyazaki

There are those who make the wind speak. There are those who call the act of painting big stories a “carnival”— adding color, setting things in motion, talking it through, drawing people in. It all begins with a single pencil, a grand carnival of rage and hope. The boat drifts in still waters, nothing more emerging, the wind no longer blowing— adrift in the open sea. This time it’s truly over, this time he must stop drawing. Even when creating small stories meant to bring closure, it never truly ends. It’s only an attempt to erase the lingering regret of CG. And yet, from somewhere, the wind begins to blow again. The wind pushes the boat forward, toward a new carnival. There were people waiting for it. People searching for answers in the wind, awaiting the start of the carnival. They are swept up, delighted by the swirling wind, and on their way home after the night of the carnival, they talk about the wind— about today’s, and about the next wind to come.