Stephen Hillenburg: Man of Character

By Maureen Selwood

Known the world over for the characters he created, Stephen Hillenburg (Film/Video MFA 92) is also remembered for the strength and quality of his own distinctive character—his creative drive and staggering professional achievement, tempered by his delightful sense of humor and genuine humility. Hillenburg’s unusual life journey led him from a deep love of the sea and his study of marine biology, to his passion for art and his study in CalArts’s Experimental Animation Program— and with SpongeBob SquarePants—to one of the most remarkable success stories in American television history.

The Pool asked Maureen Selwood, one of Hillenburg’s instructors and friends at CalArts, to share some of her memories of this talented and well-loved artist. Maureen herself enlisted a few of Hillenburg’s contemporaries to share additional memories.

Mourning the loss of a member of our community who has become a public figure of immense proportions doesn’t lessen the sorrow felt among those who knew and embraced this loved one, now gone. As we look for ways to speak of that sorrow, those who knew Stephen Hillenburg as a student and friend at CalArts can provide glimpses of how Steve came to be that remarkable, well-known, and well-loved person. Perhaps by hearing from his classmates at CalArts we can begin an open-ended conversation about how Steve Hillenburg became the prodigious artist he was.

When I arrived at CalArts in the fall of 1991 to teach in the School of Film/Video’s Experimental Animation program, I was keen to know about Program Director Jules Engel’s teaching philosophy. Jules patiently waited for my questions, but mostly, he was anxious to tell me about the students in the program. This was his greatest pleasure. He particularly wanted to tell me about Stephen Hillenburg, whom he described as “a giant.” Jules often lavished praise on those he felt were contributing something unique to the art of animation.

In my new position, I was responsible for assisting students as they shot their films.

Steve came to me, now and then, to talk about the animation stand and how he could create interesting moves that melded into the animation. His questions were puzzles to be solved. As a lover of drawn animation, it was thrilling for me to see that a piece of paper, graphite, pastels, and some colored pencils were all that was needed to create a good film—and to see how far Steve could take that. Each phase of his work offered me the opportunity to enjoy his curiosity and wonderful sense of humor.

The first film Stephen created, The Green Beret, was about a Girl Scout with enormous fists who toppled homes while trying to sell cookies. It was developed during a drawn animation class using the motif of a “knock on the door,”and the “prompt, “cause and effect.” Created with those simple materials, it contained absurd humor. Back then, all the students in the program worked in room A115, where Jules Engel was always available for mentoring. I was impressed with the tight community of students and how they all seemed so well versed in each other’s work.

Steve came into the program with an established drawing style, yet it was continually being nourished and developed by new ideas, and he was learning animation for the first time. I loved seeing how Jules worked with our students and how he worked with Steve. My understanding deepened, not so much from their dialogue in class, but from their somewhat mysterious private exchanges that somehow produced new and exciting work.

When I began my tenure at CalArts, Steve was an MFA-2, already making Wormholes, his thesis film, spending his time rendering and shooting it. The story centers around the theory of relativity such that he described it as

Sketch for The Green Beret

“a poetic animated film based on relativistic phenomena.” I remember Steve relating that the car trip in Wormholes was reminiscent of his childhood summer vacations, driving with his family back east to visit relatives. It was around these trips and the stops made along the way, that he wove the surreal, playful theory of relativity from a child’s point of view. He captured the world through a wacky, surreal landscape based on the Southwestern terrain.

Wormholes was enthusiastically received and heralded by the Program for years afterwards. Jules saw it as a very important work, citing Steve’s highly original drawing style. In turn, Steve always acknowledged the critical role Jules’s mentorship had played in his CalArts and post-CalArts achievements.

The summer after Steve’s graduation in 1992, he came to work with me in my West LA studio. I was searching for new territory in the animation for my film, Flying Circus: An Imagined Memoir, and I needed someone to animate circus performers—to make the tension of a tightrope performer feel real. I wanted the aggression of a trickster to tantalize by discovering new ways of drawing that could test animation techniques. Although I had completed a fairly extensive storyboard before meeting with Steve, the process took on a whole new dimension as we began to work together. He drew incessantly as we talked, trying to understand what I was thinking. As we conversed, he roughed out actions with a prismacolor blue pencil that were complex and full of life. Once we resolved the actions, he went over them with a 6B graphite pencil. It was exhilarating to work with him in this way. Steve’s knowledge of animation techniques, from those of Chuck Jones, to John Hubley, and others, was extensive. He understood the abstraction of speed, which was a Jones device. Details are lost until the action stops. By bringing his own thinking into the movement, Steve showed me how one can be original and independent, without closing off the rich traditions of great animators that had so much to offer. The animation Steve and I worked on was tested over and over again, and yet, when it came time to color the scenes, incredibly, another new stage of discovery began.

Preliminary sketch for Wormholes

Steve Belfer (Film/Video MFA 93, BFA 91)

“Stephen knew all the Latin names for sea worms and mollusks, and his eyes sparkled when he explained the way a sea cucumber ate its lunch.”

I met Steve on my first day at CalArts and we became instant old pals. We always greeted each other with different variations of our moniker, such as Steverino, Stevie-Wonder, Steve-O… you get the idea. I was the kid from Wisconsin, and Steve, the California surfer.

We both came from middle-class families and our dads were into old cars; I felt a brotherly connection with Steve, but we had even more in common creatively. Each of us had constructed whimsical kinetic sculptures incorporating electric motors, we drew underground-style cartoons, and, most importantly, we made each other laugh. Steve and I never hesitated to help one another with our animated films. On the weekends we went to the Saugus Swap Meet, enjoyed Tim-Tom Burgers, or just drove around in his old VW Bug.

In addition to his overflowing talent, Steve was a tireless worker. He had switched disciplines (from marine biology) to pursue his CalArts education, and he took his new art career very seriously. Steve was always the smartest person in the room. He knew all the Latin names for sea worms and mollusks, and his eyes sparkled when he explained

the way a sea cucumber ate its lunch. He was also like this in an art museum; Steve appreciated fine art with the same sense of amazement.

We formed a goofy CalArts band called Flea Circus, which sounded like a demented middle-school orchestra from hell. Steve was the rare type of friend that would inspire me to do my very best, most authentic work. I always strived to impress Steve because if he liked something I was working on, then I knew it was good stuff. I’m sure others felt the same way.

I recall the day he told me about meeting his future wife, Karen. He described her as the most amazing woman and then he exclaimed, “She’s a chef!”

Several years after graduating from CalArts, Steve asked me to provide some musical ideas for a show he was developing. I recorded some quirky, underwater guitar tracks, which quickly became part of SpongeBob’s musical DNA. Steve’s belief in my work transformed my career.

Steve Belfer continues to write and perform music for SpongeBob SquarePants.

Stephen soaking up sunshine in 1990.

Stephen on the set of The SpongeBob SquarePants Movie (2004), with Producer Gina Shay and actor David “The Hoff” Hasselhoff (Theater 73).

Mark Osborne, Co-Director of the film with Stephen, in Barcelona, 2010.

The two Steves—Belfer, left, and Hillenburg— engaging in campus hijinks at CalArts, early 1990s.

Mark Osborne (Film/Video MFA 92)

If you know SpongeBob, you might think you know Steve—but he was so much more than that indelible creation. You don’t have to look much further than his CalArts student films The Green Beret and Wormholes to discover just what an interesting and special artist he was. Those films can also help you understand a bit more about just how everyone’s favorite sea sponge came to be. When I arrived at the CalArts Experimental Animation program, I was a transfer student from the foundation art program at Pratt Institute, and was very excited about learning to make personal animated films. I was soaking up everything, trying to figure out what I was going to do, when I discovered Steve and his unique work. His enthusiasm, his shaky drawing style, his offbeat sense of humor, and his general weirdness shaped his singular voice and greatly inspired me as a filmmaker. I just wanted to be cool like him, and when we became friends and helped each other with our films, I found out why CalArts is such a special place. The fact that Steve also asked me to be a part of SpongeBob, that our families became friends, and that our children grew up together, is nothing short of astonishing to me at this point. I was just happy to know him, and I am forever grateful that he invited me to be a part of his creation and life. In the immortal words of Steve’s mentor and “Art Dad,” Jules Engle, I will just end this the way he ended every class he taught, and say to anyone who knew Steve: “I love you all.”

Mark Osborne co-directed The SpongeBob SquarePants Movie (2004) with Stephen Hillenburg.

“Steve’s enthusiasm, his shaky drawing style, his offbeat sense of humor, and his general weirdness shaped his singular voice and greatly inspired me as a filmmaker. I just wanted to be cool like him.”

“I will always remember the day Steve recorded the music for Wormholes, overjoyed as he walked around the sublevel blowing on his trumpet.”

Isabel Herguera (Film/Video MFA 93)

I was shown to A115, the experimental animation studio, by the class TA who told me to pick a table that would become my workplace for the year. I chose the one that was close to the telephone with a view of Jules Engels’ office. The student sitting at the table next to me came over, and with a firm handshake welcomed me—giving a shy but intense stare through his very blue eyes. Noticing my accent, he blurted out something in Spanish. But between the noise in the room and the surprise of his words I stared back, remaining speechless. He, in turn, was frozen, waiting for my response. Out of complicity, we immediately started grinning at the same time. That is how I met Steve.

Steve was in his second year of MFA work and was developing what would later become Wormholes. During the week, he worked at home, then on Friday he appeared on campus with a huge stack of papers to get the animation test done. Friday after Friday, I learned from him how to be patient, and to love and care for every detail of the entire process: from sharpening a pencil well, to the final stroke of every drawing. As the weeks drew on, my familiarity grew, and my inkwells, cutouts, and all my material started drifting gradually, but surely, toward the edges of Steve’s table.

One Friday, a musician friend of mine appeared in A115. With her guitar on her shoulder, she came in furiously, storming the narrow corridor toward my desk, puffing like a caged tiger. Her guitar accidentally kicked Steve’s desk and a jar of ink flew toward a week’s worth of Wormholes drawings. We both froze, deep inside the tale of The Accelerator by H. G. Wells; we found ourselves in an animator’s nightmare, as we watched the disaster unfolding in slow motion before our eyes. Somehow, and out of nowhere, (I believe it was his trained animation timing reflex) Steve broke the spell and shot his hand out to save the drawings. He looked at us, still in shock, and laughed out loud.

I will always remember the day Steve recorded the music for Wormholes, overjoyed as he walked around the sublevel blowing on his trumpet. That was the day he bid farewell to CalArts.

After graduating we lost touch with each other; I returned to Spain some years later, and then, after many, many years without contact, I reappeared to ask him for a big favor. I invited Steve to Barcelona to give the inaugural lecture for the first edition of an animation forum I was organizing. He immediately agreed to come, and I will never forget his generosity, kindness, and the elegance with which he recovered all those threads that time and silence tend to untie.

The honesty of his character, the commitment to idealism in his work, and the perseverance with which he pursued his dream has left a great mark on me. Muchas gracias Steve.

Isabel Herguera produces and directs animation in Spain and teaches at the Academy of Motion Arts (KHM) in Cologne, Germany