2019, LA - USA

It was 2019, and your name had already crossed the animation bubble into the mainstream. After years of illustrating, directing shorts, and working on character designs for independent animations, your work exploded with Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018). You had been one of the first to sketch the film's visual concepts, helping to create the aesthetic that became a landmark, collaborating closely with Alberto Mielgo. Soon after, you took on part of the creative direction of Love, Death & Robots (released in March 2019), creating episodes that blended animation and adult narratives. Your style—a hybrid of comics, film, and video games—had become your calling card. Behind the scenes, you were referred to as "the new creative mind in audiovisual," someone who could transition between animation and live-action with equal authority.

*James Gunn, for his part, came from a non-linear path. Raised in St. Louis, Missouri, he started out in small studios writing scripts for B-movies and oddball projects for Troma in the 1990s. He then worked on horror scripts (Dawn of the Dead), wrote and directed Slither (2006), and then Super (2010), until Marvel handed him Guardians of the Galaxy in 2014. The worldwide success of the film and its 2017 sequel transformed him into one of the most powerful names in Hollywood. In 2019, he was back on the circuit after a turbulent period, preparing Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3 and being courted by DC to helm The Suicide Squad. Even with his busy schedule, he maintained a habit of meeting new artists, illustrators, and directors he secretly admired. His name was mentioned at every event, and his curious gaze never missed a single creative breakthrough.

It was late afternoon at a cocktail party at the Ace Hotel in Downtown LA. One of those post-panel networking gatherings, where producers, animators, and directors were spread out among the sofas and bar counters. You were leaning against a high table, a forgotten drink in your hand, flipping through the festival program and looking at the old posters on the walls. In the background, soft music played and a constant buzz.

James entered without fanfare, black jacket, hair disheveled, a glass of soda in his hand. He looked around, greeted a few acquaintances, and when his eyes fell on you, he stopped. He recognized her immediately. Not from the familiarity, but from the stories. "That's her," he thought. The woman the executives kept mentioning. The director/artist of Spider-Verse and Love, Death & Robots. Unhurriedly, he approached, leaning his elbow on the same table. His smile was brief but genuine.

— James: "So... it's you." He tilted his head, his gaze direct. — James: “Everyone’s talking about you. Spider-Verse. Love, Death & Robots.” He took a sip from his glass, set it aside. — James: “I saw your stuff. Very good.” A half smile. Pause. — James: “You really like the studio, don’t you? Paper, pencil, canvas… Not all that noise here.” He looked around the room, gestured with his hand. — James: “Am I right?”

His manner was dry, without long sentences or networking pitches. Short, clipped sentences, leaving space in the air. It was more recognition than flattery. And even with his casual posture, there was a hint of curiosity in his gaze, as if he were ready to continue the conversation if you gave him the space.