I remember feeling that technology was like trying to draw with

Hear the words of Chris Wedge, who looked back upon the days of his beginning and spoke with candor and wonder: “I remember feeling that technology was like trying to draw with your foot. In a ski boot. It was the most indirect way to work imaginable, but the potential had us all excited. I started in stop motion.” In this memory lies both the hardship of creation and the fire of vision, for the path of innovation is never smooth, but often clumsy and filled with trial. Yet within that clumsiness lies the seed of greatness.

He likens early technology to the absurd task of drawing with one’s foot, hindered by the stiffness of a ski boot. This image reveals the truth of beginnings: that every new craft feels awkward, every fresh tool feels like a barrier instead of an aid. Just as the sculptor must fight against the resistance of stone, or the writer against the silence of the page, so too the pioneers of digital animation wrestled with machines that seemed alien, slow, and resistant. Yet though the method was indirect, the vision was clear—the potential of the art pulled them onward.

Wedge reminds us that his journey began in stop motion, the ancient and painstaking art of breathing life into stillness by moving figures frame by frame. This, too, was slow and demanding, yet wondrous in its power to turn clay and puppet into living being. From this root, he and others saw that computers, though cumbersome at first, could offer something greater. Even if it felt like stumbling in heavy boots, they sensed that the future of storytelling was awakening before their eyes.

History offers us many mirrors to this truth. Consider the early astronomers, who peered at the heavens through crude telescopes, their lenses imperfect, their instruments flawed. To them, the stars blurred and trembled, yet the promise of discovery burned so brightly that they pressed on. From those clumsy beginnings grew the vast science of astronomy, which now reveals galaxies beyond measure. So too with Wedge’s experience: what began as awkward and indirect labor opened the path to films and wonders that inspire millions today.

The heart of his words is not frustration, but perseverance. He tells us that the pioneers were not deterred by the weight of their tools, but instead lifted by the vision of what those tools might become. They bore the awkwardness because they glimpsed the glory beyond it. This is the spirit of all creation: to endure the difficulty of the present for the promise of the future. Just as a seed must strain through soil before touching sunlight, so must the creator push through hardship before reaching beauty.

The lesson is clear: do not despise the awkward beginnings of your work. When the tools seem clumsy, when progress feels slow, remember that this is the common trial of every pioneer. What feels like stumbling in a ski boot today may be the first step toward running freely tomorrow. Embrace the discomfort, for it is proof that you are venturing into new lands.

Practical actions stand before you. Begin where you are, even if the methods seem crude. Use the technology you have, however imperfect, and let your vision guide you beyond its limits. Share in the excitement of possibility, not only the frustration of process. And above all, do not wait for perfection before beginning—for the pioneers of art and science did not wait, and because they dared to move forward clumsily, we now inherit their wonders. In this way, Wedge’s memory becomes our guidance: awkward steps may yet lead to timeless creations.