A cartoonist's beginning, with pencil in hand,
The comics and stories set out in newsstands.
A director's performance becomes the end,
When power is too much to understand.
Few good recollections are mentioned
of a man with a heavy hand.
But, back to a finer time in his career,
When his vision seemed clearer.
The vessel was a bit easier to steer.
Animating Mouse cartoons and Silly Symphonies,
Motivated by arrogance and crafty planning.
He was elevated by his tendency,
nothing less than quality,
As well as his intensity.
He was a theatrical man,
From what I can understand,
On desks and tables he'd stand.
Passion in his eyes,
To bring ideas alive,
With overwhelming strides,
For perfection in lines.
Acting out characters with a musical composer.
Painting their unique frame in tune,
With the beat,
a keep up
Exuberant in all motions, he was a dream holder.
in Flowers and Trees,
Before this masterpiece,
Attended the Art Students League,
While working for a lumber company.
A man in love with trees.
"Don't turn my Sylvia into a toothpick!"
One character screams.
A love story of vanity.
Even the Big Bad Wolf
Hid behind trees.
Those Three Little Pigs,
That Technicolor spritz,
Colors as vibrant,
As a minds image,
Things were no longer black or white
a wandering cat, colored in sight.
Streams of hues floating, by
a splitting prism dividing light.
A cow who recognized,
The necessity of saving butterflies
But, he let his ego stand in the way.
Obstructing his view, the things he'd say,
Minimalizing, to decay of pay.
He thought he was the top of the world those days.
I'm sure it would have been different,
If he wasn't dependent
On something so relentless
Molding him pretentious.
Perhaps he would have had a better handle on plans,
A mind sharpened,
A feather like grip on the pencil in hand,
Letting thoughts in his mind decorate beaches with Sand.
Cartoon Animation Biography;
Burton F. Gillett