Ryan’s Walking showed an art form that a novice could dig right into with the simple tools of the average artist: paper, ink, and paint. © National Film Board of Canada. All rights reserved.

In October of that year, the film was shown again at the animation festival in Ottawa, which I attended with my son Christophe, who was 12 years old at the time. As we entered a building in downtown Ottawa to pick up our festival passes, I was explaining to my son who Ryan was, and how I had worked with him. And then, suddenly there in front of me at the end of the hallway, was a strange, crooked looking little man with a cane. Bless his heart, it was Ryan.

I was amazed then, by his total recall and apparent sharpness, as he exclaimed, “Hey, Joe man, how are you man?” Well, it was so good to see him, regardless of the fact that he looked incredibly rough, he had stitches in his face, he was swollen, and looked weak. But there it was, his soul and spirit, shining through all the spirits, smiling and gaining a foothold in my heart and soul once again. In the following days, we had lots of time to talk. I told him of my own journey, and that I had been sober since 1996. He was delighted, amazed and inspired, or so he said. I implored him to work again, I insisted that he could have a positive impact on a lot of people’s lives if he could just pick up a pencil and draw again. I never once insisted that he quit drinking, but I insisted that he create, come hell or high water, because it is what we are put here to do. Like a rooster must crow in the morning, an artist must shake his fist at the world, and show it to itself.

And where does this story take us? Where did Ryan leave me? Well, I got to see him, with tears streaming down my face, stand and take a bow after his Oscar-nominated Walking was screened in Ottawa, and I got to see him stand and take a bow with Landreth after Ryan had been screened. And I got to find out that Ryan had decided to start working again, and was creatively active in his final days. I got a lifetime of memories, and a life in the animation world. I got to be part of the magic. I even got to work at Walt Disney Animation, and be a big part of a creative dream called Lilo & Stitch, the closest thing to a real old school Disney film with a heart and a soul that they’ve made in a long time. That in itself was like touching Fantasia somehow!

Ryan Larkin 1943-2007 Courtesy of Copper Heart Ent. and the National Film Board of Canada. Photo credit: Liam Maloney.

Ryan, you played an enormous part in the shaping of this artist and in the shaping of my artist’s soul. You gave selflessly of your time and energy when I needed it most. You were my mentor, and my master. And beyond my little self-centered universe, you gave the entire international animation community a vision, a jolt of energy, a flash of pure genius and you gave them all something to think about when they felt slightly uncomfortable watching the film Ryan.

The artistic community and the animation community are full of excess, partying, drinking, etc, and we all know someone near and dear who struggles with addiction. With your life as your canvas Ryan, you have made a lot of people look at themselves, you have awoken subtle underlying fears about mortality, poverty, misery and depression and the frailty of the human condition. With your ability to smile and make a joke, and be frivolous in spite of your all pervading obsessions, you showed me a strength of character that few people will ever have to muster, in their comfortable safety zones, where they have to walk around the street people and avoid eye contact. A beggar on the street. It could be a Ryan. He or she might be a creative genius of staggering talent and vision… who knows?

I know that you Ryan, had a sweet pure heart of gold, and I will never forget you. I will work and create animation tirelessly, in your shadow, in your light and in your honor. And hopefully, some integrity will shine through, and rather than just making animated films to pay the rent, some of us will make animated films to help raise our human frailty up out of the ashes, into the light, off of the street, and in front of a warm comforting fire fueled by brotherly and sisterly love.

This gentle man’s life story need not ever be seen as tragic. In tragedy there is always rebirth and ultimately, growth. Pain is the corner stone of spiritual growth, and some people are destined to lead us down that path.

For you, Ryan.

In his 30-year animation career, Joseph Gilland has worked with studios as diverse as Walt Disney Feature Animation and the National Film Board of Canada. He has worked on all styles of animation, experimental films, television series, commercials, theatrical feature films, stop motion, title sequences, live-action films and documentaries. He is writing a passionate book about the art of animation.