As a visual storyteller, a lot is learning what to include so

In the quiet wisdom of Nate Powell, a master of words and images, we find a teaching that speaks to all who create, express, and strive to tell truth through art: “As a visual storyteller, a lot is learning what to include so you're not being redundant between images and text.” Though it may sound simple, these words touch the very heart of communication itself. For in every art — whether painting, poetry, music, or storytelling — there is a sacred balance between what is said and what is shown, between expression and silence, between form and feeling. The wise artist does not merely fill space; he chooses what to reveal and what to leave unsaid, crafting harmony between the seen and the spoken.

The ancients understood this law of restraint. The Greek sculptor Phidias, when asked why his statues seemed alive while others looked lifeless, replied that he carved not the figure, but the essence — removing all that was unnecessary until only truth remained. So too, in Powell’s art of visual storytelling, the image and the word must dance together — not repeat each other’s steps, but move in rhythm, each enhancing what the other cannot express alone. The eye and the ear must work in union, as spirit and body do, to create meaning deeper than either could achieve in isolation. To be redundant is to dull the edge of beauty; to balance is to awaken it.

In this, there lies a profound lesson for every creator — that art is not addition, but selection. The young artist believes that to tell more is to tell better; the wise artist knows that to tell less, when guided by intention, can reveal far more. The greatest storytellers — whether in words, paint, or motion — are not those who overwhelm their audience with detail, but those who trust the silence between their notes, the white space between their lines. Powell’s insight teaches us that mastery lies not in abundance, but in understanding: knowing when to let the image speak and when the word must carry the weight.

Consider the story of Hayao Miyazaki, the great Japanese animator, whose films often contain long moments of stillness — wind moving through grass, clouds drifting across the sky, a child breathing quietly before a choice. In these pauses, no words are spoken, yet meaning fills the air like perfume. Miyazaki once said that “silence is also part of the story.” In those quiet frames, the audience feels emotion not told, but awakened. This is the same truth Powell shares: that the visual and the verbal must serve each other like two instruments in a duet — never echoing each other aimlessly, but blending in harmony.

To live by this wisdom is to understand that clarity is born of restraint. In life, as in art, not all things must be spoken. When we repeat ourselves — in speech, in image, in thought — we clutter the beauty of what might have been simple and pure. To know what to exclude is the mark of discernment, and discernment is the sibling of wisdom. The Creator Himself, in fashioning the world, left vast spaces of silence — the desert, the ocean, the sky — so that the fullness of creation might breathe. The artist, too, must leave room for the audience’s soul to enter the work.

Powell’s lesson, then, reaches far beyond the realm of visual storytelling. It is a philosophy for all who seek to communicate truth — teachers, writers, speakers, even leaders. To communicate well is not to speak endlessly, but to say what must be said and trust what can be felt. The eye reads what the hand paints; the heart hears what the lips do not say. In every form of creation, there is a silent partner — the imagination of the listener. To overfill a story is to leave no space for wonder; to balance is to invite participation.

Let this be the teaching carried forward: learn to see what need not be said. In art, in speech, and in life, strive not for excess, but for meaning. Let image and word, action and silence, reason and intuition, all work together as threads in the same tapestry. For the truest beauty does not shout — it breathes. The greatest stories do not explain everything — they awaken something within us. And as Nate Powell teaches, the artist’s highest task is not merely to speak or to show, but to harmonize, so that the truth shines from the space where the two become one.