I really like dating stories, like in Betty and Veronica comics;

In the visionary words of Fred Seibert, the creator and producer who gave life to many worlds of animation, we find a revelation about art, emotion, and imagination: “I really like dating stories, like in Betty and Veronica comics; I like David Lynch and H.P. Lovecraft for the dark gut-wrenching stuff, and I'm inspired by Miyazaki’s films for the subtle heart-warming moments, as well as the moments that blew up my imagination.” Though spoken in the language of modern creativity, these words reach back into the heart of the ancient artistic soul — for they speak of balance: the dance between light and darkness, the harmony between tenderness and terror, and the union of the ordinary and the divine.

What Seibert confesses here is more than taste; it is philosophy. He recognizes that the human spirit cannot live on sweetness alone, nor can it endure on shadow without the promise of dawn. From the lighthearted joys of romance and play — like those found in Betty and Veronica, where affection and rivalry paint the humor of youth — to the dark mysteries of Lynch and Lovecraft, where the unseen and the uncanny test the boundaries of human sanity, Seibert draws from the full palette of existence. He does not reject one for the other, but understands that both are necessary to create meaning. For how can the heart know warmth if it has never shivered in the cold? How can the imagination soar if it has never trembled before the void?

This duality has guided artists since the dawn of time. The ancient Greeks knew this well. In their tragedies, like those of Sophocles and Euripides, despair was not the enemy of beauty — it was its companion. The sorrow of Oedipus or the torment of Medea revealed the fragility and grandeur of the human soul. And yet, alongside those tragedies were the comedies of Aristophanes, where laughter restored what tragedy had broken. The wise understood that both the joyful and the horrific were expressions of truth, each necessary to reveal the full nature of existence. So too does Seibert’s quote remind us that great art — and great living — arise from the meeting of opposites: joy and fear, innocence and awe, simplicity and wonder.

When Seibert speaks of Miyazaki, he invokes a master of harmony — one who captures both the warmth of childhood and the sublime power of nature. In Miyazaki’s films, a child’s laughter coexists with the whisper of spirits, and quiet moments of tea or flight carry the weight of eternity. These “subtle heart-warming moments,” as Seibert calls them, are not small — they are sacred. They remind us that beauty often hides in the smallest gestures: a glance, a touch, a breath of wind. And when the imagination “blows up” from such moments, it is not chaos, but revelation — the sudden opening of the soul to something greater than itself.

It is no accident that Seibert’s influences span such extremes — from the innocence of comic love stories to the cosmic dread of Lovecraft. Each represents a facet of humanity’s eternal quest to understand itself. Lovecraft, with his monstrous worlds, reveals the limits of reason and the trembling awe of confronting the unknown. Miyazaki, with his gentle storytelling, shows the holiness of ordinary life. Between them lies the full measure of the human heart — capable of both terror and tenderness, despair and hope. Seibert, like an ancient alchemist, blends these elements into creation, seeking the gold of emotion that can move audiences across generations.

The origin of this quote lies in Seibert’s lifelong devotion to storytelling — to animation not merely as entertainment, but as myth-making. Like the bards of old, he seeks to weave together all the threads of human experience into a single tapestry of feeling. His words reveal the modern artist’s path: to be inspired not by one mood, but by the entire range of life’s symphony — from the whisper of a first love to the thunder of cosmic horror. He stands among those who understand that the imagination is a bridge, not a cage — and that to create something true, one must be willing to walk through both sunlight and shadow.

Let this be the lesson, then: embrace the whole of life’s art. Do not flee from the dark, nor cling only to the light. Seek meaning in contrast, and allow both joy and fear to shape your understanding of the world. Like Fred Seibert, let your imagination be nourished by every flavor of existence — the simple sweetness of affection, the chilling mystery of fear, the transcendent awe of wonder.

Action to take: watch, read, and feel deeply. When you encounter beauty, let it move you; when you encounter darkness, let it teach you. Create — in your work, your words, or your life — from both the pain that sharpens and the love that heals. For as Seibert reminds us, it is only when the heart learns to hold both laughter and terror, both innocence and awe, that imagination truly “blows up” — becoming not a fleeting spark, but an eternal flame that lights the path of all who dare to see the world whole.