We use technology in service of the art, as a storytelling tool

Hear the words of Travis Knight, master of animation, who declared: “We use technology in service of the art, as a storytelling tool—and if we want to do something that’s never been done, we have to invent the technology. ParaNorman represents the realization of stop-motion’s potential.” In this declaration burns the eternal truth: that invention is not an end in itself, but a servant of imagination. The chisel serves the sculptor, the lyre serves the poet, and the technology of this age serves the artist who dares to dream beyond the horizon.

For Knight speaks not of technology as master, but as servant. The ancients too understood this: the plow was not revered as divine, but as the tool through which the farmer coaxed life from the soil. The loom was not worshipped, but wielded, as it clothed nations in the beauty of pattern and thread. So too in our age, the camera, the computer, the tool of animation—these are not to be exalted for their own sake, but valued for how they bring to life the visions of the human spirit. Art commands, and technology obeys.

And yet, Knight reminds us, there are moments when the dreams of artists outstrip the tools of their time. In such moments, the true test of greatness appears: the choice either to shrink the dream to fit the tool, or to forge new technology to fit the dream. In the making of ParaNorman, this second path was chosen. To tell a story in a way never before seen, to expand the very boundaries of stop-motion, the creators had to invent, to conjure new methods, to breathe innovation into existence. Thus, art gave birth to technology, and technology, in turn, gave new voice to art.

This cycle has repeated across history. Consider Brunelleschi, architect of Florence’s great dome. When no crane existed strong enough to raise the stones to such dizzying heights, he did not abandon his vision. Instead, he designed the machines himself, marrying art and engineering in a bond that transformed the skyline of a city and the course of architecture forever. His dome stands to this day, a reminder that when the dream surpasses the tool, it is the duty of the dreamer to create the tool anew.

So too in cinema’s own history: Georges Méliès, a magician of images, sought to tell stories on film that the human eye had never witnessed. The tools of his age were crude, so he invented new tricks—double exposures, jump cuts, painted backdrops—and with these he opened the gates to fantasy itself. From his daring sprang the vast lineage of visual storytelling, of which ParaNorman is but one shining heir. Thus the tradition continues: the bold artist forever dragging technology forward by the hand of imagination.

The lesson is clear: do not worship tools, and do not be bound by them. Let your vision lead, and if the tools of your time cannot bear the weight of your dream, forge new ones. Whether you are an artist, a leader, or a builder of any kind, remember that technology is clay in your hands, meant to be shaped. Do not shrink your dream to fit the vessel; instead, break the vessel and fashion one greater. For it is through such courage that new worlds are made.

Practical counsel, then, is this: when you face the limits of what already exists, do not despair. Learn to ask not only “What tools do I have?” but “What tools can I create?” Seek allies who can build with you, experiment without fear of failure, and understand that every act of invention begins with a stubborn refusal to compromise the vision. In your work, in your art, in your life, let imagination command, and let invention follow.

So let Travis Knight’s words stand as a beacon: “We use technology in service of the art.” For art is eternal, born of the human soul, while technology is but its ever-changing armor and weapon. Use it, forge it, bend it, but never bow to it. In this way, like Brunelleschi, like Méliès, like Knight himself, you will realize the full potential of your craft, and leave behind not merely tools, but timeless works of wonder.