The year is 1978. I’m a kid looking for something to do on a hot summer day so I find myself snooping through a clutch of abandoned boxes in the corner of the garage. After a while, I unearth dozens of coaster-sized notepads emblazoned with my dad’s construction company logo. I’m always short on drawing pads and these are perfect – white with no lines. I seize as many as I can carry and scurry off to my bedroom where I start sketching away. Somehow I discover that I can make my drawings move by flipping the pages. This new revelation is like hitting the lotto. For the rest of the summer, and for what turns out to be the rest of my life, I’m obsessed with not only making pretty pictures, but making them move.