How Gopnik Studio Got Started Gopnik Studio came out of a short film. I made it myself, with my own money, in between jobs. It was called Three Wings . No big plan, just a need to make something that felt personal and creatively satisfying. It took a while. It was expensive. It nearly broke me. But it got finished, and it landed in a few festivals. More importantly, it showed me that there’s an audience—other artists, studios, producers—who connect with work that’s raw, character-led, and made with care. That response pushed me to set up Gopnik Studio as a proper thing. A small studio focused on distinctive storytelling, bold style, and practical, efficient production. Not a content farm. Not a collective of dreamers. Just a focused group of people making sharp, specific, high-quality work. Making Three Wings  — And How We Work Three Wings  taught us a lot about what kind of stories we want to tell—and how to actually get them made. We didn’t have a big team or unlimited time, so we had to figure out a way of working that was scrappy but sharp. Here’s what we learned, and how we’ve been building our approach ever since: Keep the story grounded. Don’t overreach. If the idea’s too big, it collapses under its own weight. We keep our stories focused and rooted in emotional reality—small moments, strange characters, grounded settings. It lets us go deep without trying to do too much. DJ Smoothback Ultra-rough storyboards. No time wasted on polished boards for internal use. We know the story, we know the tone—we just need a map. Quick thumbnails and blocking is enough to guide the team. BG design is everything. Backgrounds do just as much storytelling as the characters. For us, they set the emotional tone. In Three Wings , we put a lot of energy into the environments—shabby houses, weird corners, cluttered rooms—because they told you where you were and who these people were, without needing dialogue. We design them early and refine them late. Grit, mood, texture, and layout are all part of how the story lands. Golden Chicken - High Street Ext. Work with fast, talented animators. We collaborate with cel animators who are both quick and precise, and we direct them closely. Every gesture, every expression is intentional. That back-and-forth is key—we’re not just farming out shots, we’re shaping performances. Rough Animation by Giulio De Toma Lean into roughness. Our work isn’t clean or floaty. We like noise, flicker, smears, and mistakes. It gives the animation life. We’re not chasing studio-smooth polish—we want it to feel human, dynamic, and a bit unpredictable. Hybrid pipeline for efficiency. On Three Wings , we did full hand-drawn cleanup. It looked great, but it was time-consuming. For our next film, we’re trying a hybrid workflow—rough cel animation for the base, then cleanup and consistency handled in Moho. That means animators can focus on performance without worrying about keeping things on model, and rigged elements make it easier for multiple people to share characters. It's quicker, cheaper, and still looks hand-made. This whole system is about getting strong, stylised work made without killing ourselves (or the budget). It’s not about cutting corners—it’s about putting the effort where it counts. What Kind of Work We Want to Make Gopnik Studio isn’t about chasing trends or building a house style. We’re drawn to tone-driven stories—often awkward, a bit dark, sometimes funny, sometimes bleak. We like stuff that feels personal and flawed and specific. Visually, we pull from old Eastern European animation, lo-fi experimental shorts, and graphic novels. But more than references, we’re chasing atmosphere. We want every piece to feel like it came from somewhere real—even when it’s surreal. Where We’re At Now We’re a small team, still building. We take on client work to fund the original stuff—developing new IPs, pitching weird little stories, and slowly building a portfolio that reflects what we actually care about. We’re not trying to scale fast or become a big name. We just want to make sharp, distinctive work and collaborate with people who value that. If that sounds like you, let’s talk.

THE BIG BAD DJ Working in animation today means facing a rapidly changing landscape. AI tools are becoming part of our workflows — sometimes in obvious ways, sometimes behind the scenes. But alongside the excitement about speed and possibilities, there’s a lot of unease and debate among artists, especially when it comes to the ethics of AI-generated work. WHAT WE NEEDED Recently, I ran into a small dilemma that highlights these tensions clearly. In the interest of the ongoing construction of the Gopnikverse, I wanted to give my day one classic Big Bad DJ Pablo  a makeover to align better with the style of my short film, Three Wings . The update needed a quick turnaround, so my resources and time were limited. One big challenge: I needed lots of background elements scrolling past a window — blurred and moving, so details wouldn’t be obvious, but the scene still needed variety and depth. For Three Wings , I’d worked closely with a talented background artist who created incredible work under my direction. Her style was a key part of the film’s identity. But to commission dozens of new background assets for this update would have been time-consuming and expensive — far beyond the budget for what was essentially filler. HOW WE GOT IT So I tried an experiment. I used one of her backgrounds from Three Wings  as a prompt for an AI image generator to create simple, minimal filler backgrounds. These assets weren’t meant to replace her art or be featured prominently — just to fill in practical gaps efficiently. The results were a little bit magoo, but totally serviceable. I set about putting them into the scene and soon enough I had a convincing variety of pubs, offies and bookies scrolling past the window.  WHAT THIS MEANT But I was cautious. She had previously expressed skepticism about AI, especially concerns around companies scraping artists’ work to train AI models without consent. These worries are widespread in the creative community, from illustrators to animators, and they’re valid. No one wants their work stolen or replicated without permission. This raised a question I needed to answer: was my use of her art “training” the AI, or was it simply “prompting”? The distinction matters deeply for ethics and legality, and it wasn’t immediately clear to me. So, I did some research. TRAINING vs PROMPTING Training an AI model involves feeding it massive datasets — sometimes millions of images — to teach it patterns, styles, and features. This process happens behind the scenes and can include artworks scraped from the internet, often without the original artists’ knowledge or permission. That’s the root of many artists’ anger and fear: their work is used as raw material for AI learning without any credit or control. Prompting, by contrast, is different. It means taking a pre-trained AI model — one that has already learned from huge datasets — and giving it a specific input or “prompt” to guide its output. In my case, I used a single image of the background art as a prompt, asking the AI to generate new images inspired by it. The AI isn’t learning or storing her style from this one image to reproduce later; it’s generating brand-new images based on patterns it’s already internalized. Understanding this distinction was a relief. My use of her art wasn’t feeding the AI’s training data or teaching it her style wholesale. It was more like showing the AI a single reference photo to influence the look of new work. That subtlety is crucial but often lost in conversations about AI ethics. It’s something all of us in animation and art need to understand better as we navigate these new tools. This technical exploration also reminded me how rapidly AI is evolving, and how the legal and ethical frameworks are still playing catch-up. Many artists worry not just about theft but about the devaluation of skill and craft if AI-generated art floods the market without proper context or credit. AI IN THE COMMUNITY Meanwhile, figures like Hayao Miyazaki have spoken out about AI’s potential to erode the “human touch” that defines true artistry. Ghibli fans have seen a surge of AI-generated “Ghibli-style” art online — a strange mix of admiration and unease. It’s thrilling to see beloved aesthetics revisited, but also worrying to see those styles replicated without respect for the original artists. These contrasting attitudes reveal a real divide in the creative community. On one side, the imperative to protect artists’ rights, their creative labor, and the uniqueness of their styles. On the other, the practical need for faster, cheaper production amid tight budgets and deadlines. AI promises to bridge that gap, but only if used thoughtfully, transparently, and ethically. In my case, I chose to have an honest conversation with my background artist. I explained what I was doing and why, emphasizing that this was about efficiency for minor filler elements, not replacing her main work. I wanted her blessing before proceeding. Luckily, she was fine with it - Seeing as I’d directed her and paid her for the work, she insisted it was mine to do with as I pleased. Initially that seemed obvious and I wondered if I’d just let anxiety get the better of me. But I’m glad I asked.  WHAT WE LEARNED This exchange reinforced something vital: collaboration is more than contracts and rights. It’s about trust, respect, and clear communication — especially as new technology blurs the boundaries of authorship and creative labor. For those of us working lean, AI can be a powerful ally. It can take care of tedious, repetitive tasks, speed up workflows, and free us to focus on the craft that only humans can bring. But making that partnership work means ensuring everyone involved understands and consents to how AI is used. If you’re a director or producer, it means checking in with your collaborators before incorporating AI into their work. If you’re an artist, it means setting boundaries but also exploring how AI might support your creativity rather than replace it. No one has all the answers yet. Technology is moving faster than the conversation around it. But if we want to keep making art that feels human, authentic, and respectful of its creators, transparency and dialogue are our best tools. At the end of the day, creativity is fundamentally human — whether it comes from pencil and paint, pixels and code, or a blend of both.