Hello Reader 👋

This week, I’ve been thinking about friction.

Not the physics kind. The invisible kind—the one that slowly builds up between us and the things we want to create. The tiny hurdles, the micro-annoyances, the subtle resistance that makes even something we love feel just a little too hard.

For a long time, I used to think that if something felt hard to do, maybe I just wasn’t made for it. That I lacked the talent. Or the spark. Or the right temperament.

But lately, I’m seeing it differently.

Sometimes, it’s not about talent. It’s not even about passion. It’s just about friction.

When there’s too much friction in the process—setting things up, finding the right moment, clearing the space—it becomes harder to stay consistent. And consistency is everything.

Cooking for my family is a good example. I actually love it. But when it’s three meals a day, every day, plus everything else that life demands… it gets heavy. So I’ve been obsessing over this one silly thing: an air fryer. Because it might cut 15 minutes off dinner prep, and those 15 minutes? That’s friction gone.

And the same goes for creativity.

Back when I had time to make music, just the act of setting up a mic, pulling out my guitar, connecting everything… it would kill the spark before I even began. Inspiration is delicate. It shows up fast—and disappears faster. If the setup takes too long, the moment’s gone.

So now, I optimize everything. I try to make things easy. Low resistance. Quick capture.

Got an idea? I’ll record a voice memo. Or jot it down in Notes. Or snap a photo. Whatever’s fastest. Because the brain isn’t made for remembering everything—it’s made for noticing. You need a system to catch what it notices.

But here’s the balance: don’t fall into the rabbit hole of optimizing everything. That’s another trap. You can spend your life building the perfect system and forget to actually use it. The notes you take? They’re only useful if they feed into real work. Real creation.

You don’t want to become a collector of thoughts—you want to become someone who turns them into something.

So that’s what I’ve been reflecting on this week. A reminder to myself, and maybe to you too: reduce the friction. Make it easy to start. Keep the spark alive.

Because what you’re making matters.✨

Now, on to this week’s issue 🌴😊

Okay. Deep breath.

This book isn’t just a book. It’s a revelation.

The Art of Milt Kahl is an awe-struck, loving tribute by Disney legend Andreas Deja—the animator behind iconic villains like Scar (The Lion King) and Jafar (Aladdin). He recently shared an exciting update:

And honestly? You can already feel that ambition in every page.

I just realized I’ve never really said this here—and that feels strange.
Because the truth is: I love the Nine Old Men. Deeply.
To me, they’re everything.
They’re the reason I fell in love with animation in the first place.

A huge part of that came from my early days at Animation Mentor.
That’s where I truly met them—not just as Disney legends, but as artists.
The way the mentors or guest speakers spoke about them, the reverence, the clarity, the way their work still speaks…
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It hit me hard.

Even now, nearly a hundred years later, their mastery feels untouched.
They remain the blueprint. The high bar. The soul of the craft.
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And I love animation even just for that.

Because at its core, animation doesn’t come from a new piece of software or some shiny tech breakthrough. It takes root in the work of those guys, from decades ago.
Yes, we’re rediscovering it with new tools.
But the heart? The essence?

That’s timeless.

Animation is an old art. And that’s what makes it beautiful.
And I don’t see that ever changing—for me, they’ll always be the masters.

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And Milt Kahl was the one for me.
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My absolute favorite of the Nine Old Men. The one who made me stop and rewind, who made me feel the structure beneath the performance. His work on The Jungle Book—Bagheera’s elegant weight, Shere Khan’s terrifying grace—still stuns me. It’s not just good animation. It’s masterful drawing pushed to the edge of performance.

Deja’s curation here is next-level. The sketches, frame sequences, and handwritten notes don’t just celebrate Milt—they give you access to a genius mind at work. You see the rhythm in the lines. The guts in the poses. The elegance in every tiny choice.

If you’re an animator, this isn’t just a must-read. It’s a north star.

A reminder that character animation can be bold, complex, and unapologetically sharp.

Milt was a giant. And this book does him justice.✨
I know what I'm getting for my birthday 😊

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