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Enjoy! I definitely got important things to say
My latest ramblings.
Enjoy! I definitely got important things to say
Annie Leibovitz camera functions as both scalpel and paintbrush—dissecting the layered psychology of her subjects while composing visual symphonies that transcend time. When John Lennon curled naked around Yoko Ono on December 8, 1980, Leibovitz captured not just bodies but manifesto of love and vulnerability. Five hours later, Lennon’s assassination transformed that Polaroid into a cultural relic, proving her ability to freeze moments heavy with unspoken futures.
This alchemy defines Leibovitz’s 50-year reign as photography’s premier portraitist. Her lens dissected rock gods, royalty, and rebels, revealing their humanity through radical intimacy. “A thing you see in my pictures,” she reflects,“is that I was not afraid to fall in love with these people.” This emotional courage—paired with
painterly lighting and theatrical staging—redefined celebrity photography as psychological excavation.
Born in Waterbury, Connecticut, in 1949,Anna-Lou Leibovitz inherited artistic curiosity from her modern-dancer mother and discipline from her Air Force lieutenant colonel father.Constant relocations—including a pivotal stint in the Philippines—taught her to observe cultures through the outsider’s lens. Her first camera, a
Minolta SRT101 bought in Japan, became her compass:“If I was going to live with this thing, I was going to have to think about what that meant.”
At the San Francisco Art Institute, Leibovitz abandoned painting for photography’s immediacy: “Photography took me outside and helped socialize me… I wanted reality.”Inspired by Robert Frank’s raw documentary style, she shot
anti-war protests—one image landing on a magazine cover, foreshadowing her career.
Year | Event | Significance |
---|---|---|
1967 | Enters San Francisco Art Institute | Shifts from painting to photography |
1969 | Works on kibbutz in Israel | Documents war protests; first published cover |
1970 | Hired by Rolling Stone | Shoots John Lennon; begins defining rock photography |
Rolling Stone became Leibovitz’s laboratory. At 23, she was named chief photographer, embedding herself with
counterculture icons. Her approach blended reportage with psychological portraiture.
The Lennon-Ono session epitomized her method. When Yoko refused nudity, Leibovitz improvised: “Leave everything on.” The result—Lennon’s fetal embrace of Yoko—felt, in his words, “exactly like our relationship.”
Joining Vanity Fair’s relaunch, Leibovitz traded rock grit for high-gloss narrative: “I wanted to learn about glamour.” Her toolkit evolved:
Leibovitz’s process is a masterclass in psychological orchestration:
“I don’t think there’s such a thing as capturing the perfect moment… But you can capture raw moments that are honest.” — Annie Leibovitz
Leibovitz’s pursuit of truth often ignited firestorms:
Leibovitz’s influence radiates beyond galleries:
Annie Leibovitz’s work is a dialogue—between artist and subject, light and shadow, the fleeting and eternal. She doesn’t just take pictures; she invites us into intimate moments that reveal our collective humanity. As she aptly puts it:
“Photography is a way of feeling, of touching, of loving. What you have caught on film is captured forever… it remembers little things, long after you have forgotten everything.”
Banksy: The Invisible Artist Who Speaks Loud
│
├── I. The Birth of a Phantom: Origins and Identity
│ ├── A. Bristol’s Unlikely Revolutionary
│ ├── B. The Name, The Myth
│ └── C. Identity Speculation: Red Herrings and Clues
│
├── II. Stencils as Subversion: Artistic Evolution
│ ├── A. Technique: Speed as Rebellion
│ ├── B. Exhibitionism as Critique
│ └── C. The Street as Canvas, The World as Audience
│
├── III. Anonymity: The Ultimate Performance Art
│ ├── A. Practicality and Power
│ └── B. The Art World’s Complicated Dance
│
├── IV. Activism: Art as a Weapon
│ ├── A. Humanitarian Provocations
│ └── B. The "Banksy Effect" on Communities
│
├── V. The Market vs. The Message
│ ├── A. Commercialization and Contradiction
│ └── B. Anonymity’s Economic Shield
│
└── VI. Legacy: The Invisible Revolution
In an era defined by digital footprints, celebrity culture, and relentless self-promotion, Banksy stands as a defiant anomaly—an artist whose face remains unknown while his voice echoes globally. His stenciled rats, satirical murals, and subversive installations have transformed urban landscapes into arenas of cultural critique, merging guerrilla tactics with poetic resonance. More than a graffiti artist, Banksy is a cultural philosopher armed with spray paint, leveraging invisibility as both shield and weapon. This exploration dissects the layers of his enigma, the evolution of his craft, and the seismic impact of an artist who proves identity is irrelevant when art speaks truth to power.
Banksy emerged from Bristol’s underground scene in the early 1990s, a city pulsing with trip-hop beats and countercultural energy. Born likely in 1974 as Robin Gunningham (per Mail on Sunday’s investigation), he attended Bristol Cathedral School before expulsion and petty crime led to a formative prison stint. His early work with the DryBreadZ Crew (DBZ) featured freehand graffiti, but a near-arrest under a diesel-leaking truck became a creative epiphany: spotting a stenciled serial number, he realized stencils could slash production time and amplify impact.
The alias “Banksy” evolved from “Robin Banx”—a nod to his early “robbing banks” edge—later streamlined for memorability. His first major mural, The Mild Mild West (1999), depicted a teddy bear hurling a Molotov cocktail at riot police in Stokes Croft, Bristol. It announced his signature blend of whimsy and dissent.
Robin Gunningham: Geographic profiling by Queen Mary University linked Banksy’s works to Gunningham’s movements. A 2003 BBC interview caught Banksy confirming his first name as “Robbie”.
Robert Del Naja: The Massive Attack founder, a former graffiti artist, fueled theories by coordinating Banksy-like murals during tour dates. Del Naja denies being Banksy but calls him a “friend”.
Collective Theory: Some argue Banksy is an art collective—a notion amplified by the scale of projects like Dismaland.
Banksy’s own words dismiss the obsession: “I don’t want to take sides. I want to take over.”
Banksy’s switch to stencils was pragmatic: “A tight image in 30 seconds is the way to go.” This efficiency let him target high-surveillance zones—police stations, war zones, museums—while embedding complex narratives:
Rats: Symbols of society’s “powerless losers,” they scrub floors, wield placards (“Welcome to Hell”), or loom over cities like anarchic giants.
Children and Animals: Innocence weaponized. Girl with Balloon (2002) contrasts hope with loss; Napalm (2004) traps a Vietnamese war victim between Mickey Mouse and Ronald McDonald.
Banksy hijacked traditional art spaces to lampoon their elitism:
Turf War (2003): Live cows spray-painted with Warhol portraits; Queen Elizabeth as a chimp. Animal rights activists chained themselves in protest.
Crude Oils (2005): Monet’s water lilies polluted with shopping carts; 164 live rats infesting a London gallery.
Barely Legal (2006): An elephant painted in “poverty pattern” gold—a jab at inequality. L.A.’s elite partied beside it until authorities ordered the paint removed.
Banksy’s public installations force communal reckoning:
West Bank Wall (2005): Trompe l’oeil holes revealing beaches; a ladder ascending to freedom. Israel’s military called it “vandalism”; Palestinians protected the works.
Valentine’s Day Mascara (2023): A 1950s housewife with a black eye, swinging a man into a real freezer. Domestic violence charities used it to spark dialogue.
Banksy’s invisibility began as necessity—“graffiti is illegal”—but morphed into conceptual genius. It:
Democratizes Art: Viewers engage the message, not the myth. As he stated, “anonymity is vital because it stops your ego interfering.”
Fuels Mythmaking: A pizza box he discarded sold for $102 on eBay; DNA-laden anchovies became relics.
Enables Risk: Installing Crimewatch UK in Tate Britain required a disguise: floppy hat, scarf, and “fine art courier” confidence.
Galleries and auction houses profit from his anti-establishment brand:
Sotheby’s Shredding (2018): Girl with Balloon self-destructed post-sale, skyrocketing its value. Banksy filmed bystanders’ shock, captioning it, “The urge to destroy is also a creative urge.”
Market Irony: Works like Kissing Coppers ($575,000) critique authority yet fund the elite. Banksy retorted with a painting of auctioneers titled, “I can’t believe you morons actually buy this shit.”
Artwork | Symbolism | Context |
---|---|---|
CND Soldiers (2005) | Soldiers painting a peace sign | Protesting Iraq War/nuclear arms |
Happy Choppers | Helicopters tied with pink bows | Militarization masked as “gifts” |
Mediterranean Sea View (2017) | Migrant life vests as seascape | Refugee crisis; sold for £2.23M for charity |
Borodyanka Mural (2022) | Gymnast balancing on rubble | Ukraine war resilience |
Bethlehem’s Walled Off Hotel (2017): Rooms overlooking Israel’s separation wall featured “Pillow Fight” (soldier vs protester) and “Jesus with Sniper Dot.” Profits supported Palestinian artists. It closed in 2023 amid escalating violence.
Glastonbury Lifeboat (2024): Inflatable migrant boat dummies crowd-surfed during IDLES’ set—a silent indictment of U.K. refugee policy.
When Banksy claims a wall, locals face chaos:
Margate (2023): Valentine’s Day Mascara drew media swarms. The council removed its attached fridge; fans stole the plastic chair.
Lowestoft (2021): Seagull Stealing Chips cost owners £450,000 in preservation fees. Gert, the landlord, fumed: “It’s not a seagull, it’s an albatross!”
Banksy’s Pest Control authenticates works but can’t control speculation:
Vandalism as Investment: Murals are chiseled from walls, like Slave Labour (2012), sold for $1.1M after vanishing from London.
Ethical Tensions: Dealer John Brandler notes, “The brand Banksy is so big, anonymity doesn’t matter anymore.” Yet purists like Steph Warren insist street art dies when removed: “Context is everything.”
By avoiding galleries, Banksy retains control:
Self-Published Books: Wall and Piece sold 250,000+ copies, funding projects sans intermediaries.
Unauthorized Sales: eBay listings of “Banksy dirt” or shredded canvas fragments parody art commodification.
Banksy redefined art’s relationship with power:
Democratizing Access: “You don’t need college or to sleep with someone powerful. Just ideas and broadband.”
Inspiring Global Movements: Ukraine’s “Sharik” and Russia’s anti-war graffiti adopt his stencil style.
Enduring Questions: Does anonymity amplify art’s purity? Or does removing the artist neuter accountability?
In 2024, as his wildlife murals surface in London—a satellite-dish wolf, a car-crushing rhino—the cycle continues: creation, defacement, myth. Banksy remains a cultural paradox: a silent voice that deafens, a ghost haunting capitalism’s machine, and proof that in a world screaming for attention, sometimes the loudest statement is made unseen.
“Art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable.”
— Banksy’s uncredited manifesto, lived in every stroke.
This Virgil Abloh documentary paints a comprehensive picture of the influential fashion designer and considers the industry’s path forward with greater diversity.
Few names carry as much weight in the fast-moving landscape of fashion as Virgil Abloh. Feted as a visionary with a tendency to erase the boundaries between art, music, and design, Abloh was more than a designer — he was a cultural architect. His influence does not just redefine how we look at streetwear but also how fashion intersects with culture, race and identity.
And just as Abloh once said, “The most important thing to me is to always put myself in other people’s shoes,” a philosophy that underpinned his work’s inclusive, boundary defying agenda. This blog takes a deep dive into the man of the hour, Virgil Abloh, and the ways in which he forever changed the fashion industry.
Abloh, born in 1980 in Rockford, Ill., to Ghanaian immigrant parents. Raised in a working-class household, Abloh’s youth was centered on his rigorous work ethic, and the rich cultural heritage of his upbringing. He grew up amid a stew of American Midwest culture and African influences; it was a practice run for his future amalgam of global aesthetics.
Abloh’s education followed the path of a mind that was most fertile when it had both structure and a bit of creative oxygen to breathe. He graduated from the University of Wisconsin-Madison and received a bachelor’s degree in civil engineering. He went on to study for a master’s degree in architecture at the Illinois Institute of Technology, and his thesis on “Post-Modern Architecture” was well received.
The specificity, rigor, and sense of space that comes with architecture greatly shaped Abloh’s method as a fashion designer. He articulated looks in architectural terms, as designs abstracted and reassembled, occasionally deconstructed, like his skeletal tweed suits.
Prior to starting Off-White, Virgil’s love of music saw him take on roles as a DJ and creative director for hip-hop musicians. His friendship and work with Kanye West was also a turning point. Kanye once famously said of Abloh, “Virgil is one of my favorite designers.”
After earning West’s attention, Abloh helped to launch the creative agency DONDA, where he learned the ropes of art direction and fashion. It played a big part in Abloh’s move from music to fashion.
Abloh started Off-White in 2012, which he marketed as “the gray area between black and white as the color off-white.” It soon played a nouveau symbol of modernity — streetwear’s brute force and luxury’s elegance entwined.
Quotation marks (well, “SHOELACES”) and zip-ties changed the way we think of branding — it’s not just a logo, it’s a declaration.
Abloh defied the traditional rules of fashion, making use of irony, appropriation, and concepts of ownership in design.
A partnership with Nike for The Ten collection turned classic sneakers into collectible art objects, changing sneaker culture forever.
To some extent, Off-White was a cultural juggernaut, popularizing the so-called “athleisure” aesthetic and redrawing the lines of streetwear.
As Louis Vuitton’s first Black artistic director, Abloh was a path-breaker who brought Black creatives to the forefront in an industry often slammed as elitist. He was also open about the responsibility he had to pave the way for others:
“I’m building on the work of true giants. It’s my responsibility to ensure the next generation has a clearer road.”
Abloh’s very existence in fashion challenged long-held racial biases, and his work continued to celebrate Black culture — reaching from the rich tapestry of the African diaspora to the company of Black artists and musicians he worked with.
Abloh’s work often embraced deconstruction, the process of taking clothing apart and reimagining it, and an approach that had as much to do with metaphor as it had to do with asking questions and building new answers around the tropes of society.
For example, his reliance on industrial labels and exposed stitching signified transparency, the breaking down of the “black box” of luxury fashion and the rendering of the design process visible and accessible.
It is one of those rare moments in fashion, when the appointment of a creative director is not only historic, but brings with it almost the weight of a nation.
In 2018, Abloh was named the Artistic Director of Louis Vuitton’s Men’s Wear, the first Black person to assume the position in the company’s 160-year history. This appointment was a significant moment, one that announced a cultural shift in power structures in fashion.
But Abloh’s creativity didn’t just stop at clothes; he was an all-around artist. He also worked with:
His interdisciplinary mindset made him an archetypal cultural architect, one who designed not only fashion but the wider creative terrain in general.
Abloh’s signature use of quotation marks was playful, but it was also profound. It made viewers and wearers wonder, what was the meaning:
Was SHOELACES just a brand, or a critique of commodification?
And the quotation marks amplified the language of fashion, turning words into design elements.
This meta-commentary invented his clothing as a conversation piece.
Leveraging his architectural background, Abloh chose:
It was an aesthetic of imperfection, of process, a space where the process of making was what mattered, not the perfection of a perfect final image.
Abloh’s work was a wholesale redefinition of what luxury fashion could be. He:
Abloh was especially committed to supporting young Black creatives, founding programs including the Post-Modern Scholarship Fund, which provides financial and mentorship aid to culturally diverse, promising designers.
He wanted to create a legacy, he said, and not just through design, but through powerful, meaningful design.
Some critics received Abloh’s rocket-ride with suspicion, playing up his work’s lack of originality. Some said his designs hijacked existing concepts without sufficient innovation.
These (& other critiques) are issues I openly addressed.
“Culture is always created based on what is beneath it. “I’m here to recontextualize and make a new meaning of it.
He also embraced the remix culture, believing it to reflect the creativity of the time.
The death in November 2021 of Virgil Abloh, from cardiac angiosarcoma, shook the creative world. Homages came from peers like Kanye West, Rihanna and Beyoncé, underscoring his enormous influence.
His death fueled discussions around representation, mental health and the pressures on creatives of color.
Meanwhile, Abloh’s own brands, design philosophy and mentorship programs continue to be sources of inspiration. His dream of a less exclusionary, interdisciplinary fashion industry lives on in his proteges and collaborators.
Virgil Abloh was so much more than a designer — he was a culture architect that tore down barriers and built bridges between art, fashion, identity, and social commentary. His legacy is a model for future creatives that want to change not just style, but the world.
As Abloh once put it:
“I want them to feel like impossible is nothing.”
His life and work are still a testament to what creative power can do to shift culture and open doors for generations to come.
When it comes to brashness, creativity, and the utter lack of fear of convention, few filmmakers have been as indelible as Quentin Tarantino. Indeed, from his explosive arrival with Reservoir Dogs to his blood-soaked love letter to Hollywood, Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, Tarantino’s output is a lesson in audacity and innovation and cinematic enthusiasm.
In this blog post, we will explore Tarantino’s brilliance through the following lenses:
The Formative Years: A Video Store Clerk’s Cinematic Education by Travis Woods My earliest job working as a clerk at a mom and pop video store was also my formative cinema education.
The product of a broken home in Los Angeles, Tarantino left high school to find stardom. Whereas most budding filmmakers aspired to film school, Tarantino received his education from the aisles of Video Archives, the video rental store where he was employed. There, he gorged on spaghetti westerns and kung fu classics and obscure B-movies.
“When people ask me if I went to film school, I say, ‘No, I went to films.’” — Quentin Tarantino
Where Tarantino stood out from the beginning was in his encyclopedic knowledge of film, and in his gift for repurposing genre tropes with a bracing new charge. His first screenplays (True Romance, Natural Born Killers) showcased a writer with a gift for biting dialogue and non-linear storytelling tendencies.
Reservoir Dogs (1992) was a game-changing earthquake in indie filmmaking. The film, shot for just over $1 million, is widely considered the best independent movie ever made.
Tarantino reinvented the heist genre by skipping the heist entirely, focusing instead on:
Who can forget:
Tarantino gave criminals the wit of philosophers and the swagger of cinephiles.
In 1994, Pulp Fiction won the Palme d’Or at Cannes and changed cinema forever. It:
Tarantino’s timeline is fractured yet masterful.
Each scene feels standalone, yet integral — creating a cinematic patchwork quilt that draws the audience in.
Think:
Tarantino proved that dialogue could be violent, poetic, and absurdly profound.
Songs like:
Adapted from Elmore Leonard’s Rum Punch, Jackie Brown (1997) is perhaps his most measured work.
Less hyper-violent, more:
Pam Grier delivers a career-defining performance in this slow-burn neo-noir.
Kill Bill Vol. 1 & 2 (2003–2004) is Tarantino’s genre mashup masterpiece — a visceral blend of:
Uma Thurman’s “The Bride” stands tall among iconic film heroines — her mythic journey is:
From:
This 2009 film reimagined WWII and weaponized cinema — literally.
The climax involves film projection as rebellion, transforming the medium into:
Christoph Waltz’s Hans Landa:
Tarantino tackled slavery through the spaghetti western lens — raw, unflinching, divisive.
Though critics debated:
…many praised its boldness and emotional honesty.
Shot in Ultra Panavision 70mm, this film was:
A nostalgic fairy tale for a bygone era of cinema.
It revealed Tarantino’s maturity — his homage to 1960s Hollywood is both dreamy and bittersweet.
Rather than exploit her story, Tarantino gives Sharon Tate a fantasy of survival.
It’s arguably his most tender cinematic gesture.
From Pulp Fiction to Kill Bill, nonlinear timelines:
Tarantino’s violence is:
His characters discuss:
Tarantino doesn’t copy — he remixes.
Every film is:
Critics argue Tarantino can be:
…but few deny his vision is distinctively his own.
He’s been accused of:
Fans argue it’s honest storytelling; detractors call it excessive.
Despite strong characters like The Bride, critics note:
He paved the way for:
Tarantino champions:
He’s promised to retire after 10 films. With 9 behind him, the world awaits his final opus:
The Movie Critic.
It’s not just that Quentin Tarantino made movies — he made events.
Every film is a:
He ignored the rules, broke taboos, and carved out his legacy in pure, unfiltered cinema.
Zaha Hadid was a force of nature in the field of architecture, a woman whose visionary sensibility and formidable personality have reshaped skylines and redrawn the boundaries of buildings. Born in Baghdad in 1950, she rose to prominence in a profession long men dominated and was for award- the Pritzker Architecture Prize in 2004, the first woman to receive it. This blog explores her extraordinary life, her pioneering contributions, and the lasting impact she made.
Zaha Hadid came from an illustrious family in Iraq. Her father, Mohammed Hadid, was a powerful politician and industrialist, and her mother, an artist. With her liberal, intellectual upbringing, Hadid got expose to multiple fields and thoughts. She spent much of her childhood traveling and attending Catholic schools in Iraq and Switzerland, forging a global perspective early in life.
Zaha Hadid arrived in London in the 1970s to study at the Architectural Association School of Architecture. It was a transformative time at the AA. Under the influence of avant-garde architects Rem Koolhaas and Elia Zenghelis, Hadid developed an audacious, experimental style. Her thesis project, “Malevich’s Tektonik”, was an homage to the Russian Constructivists and a hint of her work to come — straying into radical geometry and abstraction while incorporating movement.
In 1980, Hadid established her own London based architecture office, Zaha Hadid Architects (ZHA). The firm confronted various obstacles, not the least of which was the reluctance of the architectural world to accept a female-led practice whose designs were highly conceptual. Many of her early commissions went unbuilt, leading to her being known as a “paper architect.”
Architectural breakthrough For Hadid, that building got completion in 1993, the Vitra Fire Station in Weil am Rhein, Germany. It was small in scope, but was a step toward converting her abstract images into reality. A sculptural composition of sharp angles and dynamic planes, it heralded Hadid’s move from idea to building.
Hadid’s fluid architectural vocabulary made in projects like the MAXXI – Museum of 21st Century Arts in Rome, which was completed in 2009. The building blurs the distinctions between inside and outside, a meandering concrete shape with intersecting pathways that invites exploration and interaction. It won the Stirling Prize in 2010.
Twin pebbles on the riverbank is how the Chinese Guangzhou Opera House, which opened in 2010 and described. Its form and geometry serves to improve acoustics and enable an engaging spectator experience, weaving within the urban framework of the city. It became a symbol for China’s cultural aspirations.
It is perhaps her best known public work in the UK and known to built for the 2012 Olympic Games, the London Aquatics Centre. The roof’s cascading curves are meant to create the sensation of the movement of water, a fitting metaphor for the mission of the building. The design was loud for its architectural and operational efficiency.
The building’s undulating, wave-like design has made it a tour de force of contemporary architecture.
A futuristic urban development designed for public space, retail and exhibition.
A commercial structure of interlocking, fluid forms, and a clear demonstration of Hadid’s philosophy regarding fluidity of space.
Architecture has always been a boys club. While women in architectural education were on the rise, the same could not be said for leadership and prestigious commissions. Hadid’s ascent was itself an affront to those norms.
In 2004, her being awarded the Pritzker Prize was a watershed not just for her career but for women in architecture in general. Hadid frequently described her hardships as a woman for being from the Middle East in a male and Western-dominated field. She is the one of the woman architects who encouraged a whole lot of other women to take-up architecture with their heads up high.
Hadid’s work has been deemed deconstructivist, referring to a type of design that scorns traditional rectilinear forms. Her buildings are dynamic, fluid, and appear to be in motion. She spurned the orthodoxy of the grid and embraced a visual language that valued complexity.
In the vanguard in its use of digital technology, Hadid’s firm employed advanced computer modeling to achieve its sinuous forms. Her parametric designs gave rise to buildings with nature-inspired shapes and structural behaviors never seen before, revolutionizing the field of engineering and construction methods.
Her influences were many and varied: Russian Suprematism, Islamic calligraphy, natural topographies, mathematical patterns. Her work frequently has the look of formations in nature — rivers, dunes and coral reefs — but is determinedly future-forward.
Zaha Hadid Architects has furthered her legacy since she died in 2016. Under the guidance of Patrik Schumacher the office continues to be a leading protagonist in designing and technology. Recent projects include the Beijing Daxing International Airport and the Al Wakrah Stadium in Qatar.
Her influence spreads beyond her constructed work. She was instrumental in redefining architectural education and theory, and in teaching architects to subvert constraints and upend orthodoxy. Xenophobia Her message is still relevant in advocating for diversity in architecture.
Some critics said Hadid’s designs were more about visual excitement than utility. Complex shapes could also result in higher costs and construction difficulties sometimes prevailed. But a lot of her designs have been praised for how well they work after everything is finished.
Hadid also came under scrutiny for accepting work in areas with controversial labor practices, particularly the Gulf. In her own defense, she traced the balance of power between developers and local government, underscoring how little control architects can have over labor conditions.
Zaha Hadid had a forceful personality; she was often described as uncompromising and assertive. With high standards and relentless drive, she was both admired and criticized. But closer acquaintances also describe her as warm, funny, loyal.
Alongside architecture, Hadid also worked on furniture, jewellery and fashion. Her partnership with Chanel, Louis Vuitton and Swarovski were some of her projects fine art collaborations. They were part of her conviction in art and design as fundamentally unified, irrespective of the scale of the work or the discipline.
Zaha Hadid’s life and output are a testament to the ambition that vision needs to be met with. She made architecture into an art that soars beyond the expected, cheered complexity, movement and, above all, inclusivity. Her legacy is still evident in the world in which we live.
Hadid’s influence extends well beyond her buildings. She encouraged a generation of architects, especially women and minorities, to take on the establishment. She is a shining light for creative spirit, daring and change.
There are few names in animation that inspire as much reverence as Hayao Miyazaki. From hand-drawn magic of My Neighbor Totoro to the ersatz existentialism of Prince Mononoke to the Oscar-winning Spirited Away, Miyazaki’s mastery transcends age, region, and even that which lives within the black lines of the daydream and the dream itself. He doesn’t animate stories so much as dream them into being, providing portals into densely textured worlds that feel a lot like ours but are also a lot more enchanted.
This blog is dedicated to charting Miyazaki’s growth and career as a filmmaker, his themes, aesthetic, philosophies and his never-ending influence from Studio Ghibli.
Miyazaki was born in 1941 in wartime Tokyo and grew up in a Japan that, like much of the rest of the world, was marked by disruption, homelessness and the visceral knowledge of death. These things creep up on you in many of his films, whether it be war-torn devastation or the fragile divide between nature and manmade.
His father was employed by a company that manufactured parts for airplanes, implanting in Miyazaki a lifelong love of flight — a recurring theme in his works, from “Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind” to “Porco Rosso.”
Miyazaki’s animation career started in the 1960s at Toei Animation, where he worked as an in-betweener but soon proved himself as a storyteller. With Isao Takahata, his creative partner and co-founder of Studio Ghibli, he would work on Future Boy Conan, Heidi, Girl of the Alps and more. But it was Nausicaä (1984), based on his own manga, that established his reputation and served as the prologue to Ghibli.
Founded in 1985, Studio Ghibli emerged from a shared dream to create auteur-driven, high-quality animation in an industry frequently characterized by formula. Under Miyazaki’s leadership, Ghibli would be synonymous with lush hand-drawn worlds, complicated female leads, and moral grayness.
Unlike many a commercial studio, Ghibli operates more as a film auteur’s atelier than a mass production pipeline. Miyazaki is famously hands-on with every part — from storyboarding to character design to music and editing. He’s a perfectionist: His method may take longer—which explains the long gestation periods between albums or songs. But he consistently produces timeless art.
One of the most recurring themes in Miyazaki’s movies is his ecological consciousness. In Princess Mononoke, the battle between human industry. Forest spirits is not just about good and evil, but about how to coexist. Nausicaä, too, foresees a world choked by pollution. But where the heroine seeks harmony, not domination.
Miyazaki, a vocal pacifist, includes anti-war themes in numerous of his works. Howl’s Moving Castle, for example, denounces the pointlessness of war with visual panache and emotional nuance. The war is not a glory — it is a lament.
The Other World and the Philosophy of the Shintô Motoworship of the Japanese and Koreans.
Movies like Spirited Away and My Neighbor Totoro offer a Shinto-informed view of the world, in which spirits live in all things, from rivers to soot. This animistic belief gives his stories a spiritual texture, in which children don’t so much navigate fantasy as learn from it.
As opposed to many of the mainstream storylines, Miyazaki’s stories are frequently about spirited and self-sufficient young women. Chihiro and (Spirited Away), Kiki and (Kiki’s Delivery Service), and San (Princess Mononoke) stand for resilience, learning, and moral action. They’re not waiting to be rescued — they’re the rescuers.
He has been an insurgent promoting hand-drawn animation in an age of CGI. His films are a visual delight — every frame a painting, each background packed with detail. Whether it’s a castle in the sky that sails across a meadow or a bathhouse teeming with spirits, his images have an organic warmth that digital animation frequently fails to capture.
Among his most praised features is his use of “ma” (空) – the distance between people and or objects, and he was increasingly recognized throughout his career for this particular emphasis. These moments, when a character is breathing, just looking, just being, provide his films with a lyrical rhythm and emotional depth that is conspicuously absent from the frantic pace of most Western animation.
In Totoro, for example, long stretches of quiet aren’t narrative doldrums — they’re times for tourists to plunge into a character’s sensations. The wind in the trees, the rustling grass, the chime of distant bells — it all helps the audience feel the world, not simply watch it.
Spirited Away was the first (and, so far, only) non-English animated film to win the Academy Award for best animated feature, a groundbreaking development for animation around the world. It went on to become Japan’s top-grossing film fro almost 20 years.
And beyond the box office and the awards, Miyazaki’s influence seeps into global pop culture — from fashion to video games to architecture. The director who would pay Arnoult most handsomely for his influence is probably Guillermo del Toro, but he also figures as a key touchstone for Wes Anderson and even for Pixar’s Pete Docter.
The Ghibli Museum, in Mitaka, Tokyo, isn’t just a tourist destination — it’s a place of pilgrimage for fans. Ghibli Park, which recently opened among life-size recreations of Totoro’s forest and the Catbus, has attracted visitors from around the world.
Miyazaki has “retired” on several occasions, and each announcement was greeted with mourning and skepticism. But like the characters in his stories, he keeps going back. His new film, The Boy and the Heron (2023), was billed as his “last,” but he’s already working on new storyboards.
Because for Miyazaki, animation is not just an occupation but a mania. He draws because he must. Because the worlds he harbors inside him have become too insistent, too noisy, to ignore. As long as his hands can draw, the doors to Ghibli’s dreamlands are left forever ajar.
And children understand more than we think, although that is not the insight for which Miyazaki is typically credited. His films don’t condescend to younger viewers — they respect their intelligence, feelings and sense of right and wrong. It’s that mind-set which makes his work connect with generations.”
For all his engagement with war, death and environmental ruin, Miyazaki isn’t a depressive filmmaker. His movies contain a quiet, steady hope — not for some grandiose deliverance, but for small, humane decisions. In giving a soot sprite something to eat, in planting a seed, in standing up for a friend.
Hayao Miyazaki is more than an animator — he’s a cartographer of the soul. So he drawn our dreams, fears and yearnings onto the screen in stories that span lifetimes beyond our own. His work serves as a reminder that magic is not a show but a mode of seeing. That sense of wonder is not just the province of children. But of any who dare to keep their eyes wide open to the world of the possible.
In an age of noise, Miyazaki’s films are a faint whisper. And we pay attention — not just with our ears, but with our hearts.
“A lot of the movies I make have powerful women, not just women who are strong. But powerful, and they don’t think twice about fighting for what they believe in. They are going to need a friend, or an ally, but never a savior.”
— Hayao Miyazaki