Once, I came across this movie—The Wind Rises—and I didn’t even know it was Ghibli art until this trend started swirling around me. I’d watch Jiro Horikoshi sketching planes, the wind tugging at his hair, and feel this pull I couldn’t name. It wasn’t until I saw Studio Ghibli art lighting up screens everywhere—those soft greens, that golden glow—that I realized I’d stumbled into something deep. I’m Yash Gadade, and these films, some of the best Japanese movies, have carved a quiet corner in my soul.

A Breeze of Dreams: The Wind Rises

I’d sit with The Wind Rises, watching Jiro on that hill, rising with the wind, paper planes dancing above him. It was serene, like a fleeting dream—until I remembered those planes would one day drop bombs. That ache would settle in, a mix of wonder and dread, and his words, “The wind is rising! We must try to live!” would echo in my head. For me, Yash Gadade, it’s a line that lingers, a perfect piece of Ghibli art I’d hunt for in a Studio Ghibli art book. The beauty of it, the way the wind moves like it’s alive, pulls you in—then leaves you wrestling with what’s beneath.

While I was watching that movie - The Wind Rises, I had a sense of calmness because of natural scenario converted into an art form frame by frame. The wind rises was a movie which also gave me a message that no matter where you run something or other thing will be left incomplete.

A Flicker of Loss: Grave of the Fireflies

Then there was Grave of the Fireflies movie. I wasn’t prepared—those kids, Seita and Setsuko, under a sky of fireflies, her small voice asking, “Why do fireflies have to die so soon?” It shattered me. The Studio Ghibli art held me there, letting me feel this deep, hollow sadness and a strange calm, like it was okay to just sit with the pain. I didn’t know it was Ghibli art at first, but once the trend hit, I saw it clear as day. That scene? I’d frame it from a Studio Ghibli art book if I could—it’s haunting, pure, and one of the best Japanese movies for how it breaks your heart.

Wild and Timeless: Princess Mononoke and Beyond

Princess Mononoke movie swept me up too, with its wild forests and fierce heart—one of the best Japanese movies hands down. The Ghibli art in those trees, alive with sunlight, felt like a pulse. I’d watch San charge through the woods and feel my own blood race. Then there’s Only Yesterday, stumbled on by chance, with Taeko’s stained hands and her soft, “I was ten years old, and I thought the world was mine.” It tugged me back to my own faded days, that bittersweet sting of nostalgia. These films don’t push; they wait with you, patient and warm.

The Soul of Studio Ghibli Art

It’s the Studio Ghibli art that stitches it together for me, Yash Gadade—that hand-drawn magic, the wind that moves like it’s got a soul. Every frame feels like a love letter to a world I didn’t know I missed. But then I found out about Hayao Miyazaki, the man who breathed life into it all, and his sadness stopped me cold.

Miyazaki’s Heavy Heart

He’s the heart behind The Wind Rises, Grave of the Fireflies movie, Princess Mononoke movie—yet he carries this heavy shadow. He’s said, “I feel like I’m living in a world that’s decaying… I can’t help but feel pessimistic,” and it’s like a crack runs through his words. He’s watched the earth he loves—those forests, those skies—get chewed up by progress, war, and apathy. “The world is full of trash, and I’m tired of it,” he once let slip, raw and weary. It’s not just frustration; it’s a bone-deep exhaustion from a man who grew up in the ashes of World War II, who saw cities rise over ruins and nature shrink to scraps.

He’s talked about how he “wanted to make a world where children could live freely,” but you can hear the doubt in his voice—like he’s afraid that world’s already lost. His films carry that grief: Jiro’s planes turning to weapons, Setsuko’s fireflies fading too soon, the forest gods falling in the Princess Mononoke movie. “I’m not optimistic about the future,” he’s confessed, and it paints him standing at the edge of his own stories, staring at a horizon he can’t mend. He’s poured his soul into Studio Ghibli art—every rustling leaf, every fleeting breeze—and still, he feels it’s slipping through his fingers, a beauty that can’t stop the decay he sees.

Hayao Miyazaki, your work has touched the hearts of millions of people around the world along with reminding us of the beauty, complexity, and resilience of life. Your stories have celebrated humanity, nature and the boundless creativity of the human spirit. It is precisely this deep connection to life that makes your perspective so valuable in a world increasingly influenced by technology.

While AI may attempt to mimic art, it cannot replicate the soul, emotion and personal experience that you pour into your creations and whole world has seen it. Your commitment to authenticity and craftsmanship inspires countless artists to stay true to their vision and values. The world needs creators like you—who remind us that art is not just about technique but about conveying the essence of being human.

Finding Light in the Shadows

But here’s the twist, Yash Gadade—I still find light in his shadows. His sadness gives the Ghibli art its weight, sure, but it’s balanced by those moments that glow: fireflies in the dark, planes rising with the wind, San racing through the woods. I didn’t know what I’d found in these best Japanese movies until the trend showed me Studio Ghibli art was the thread. Miyazaki’s tired, maybe broken by what he sees, but his work still whispers hope—at least to me. It’s a quiet peace I carry now, a piece of his world that keeps me dreaming, even if he can’t. 

Now keeping this movies aside Hayao Miyazaki’s art has always carried the weight of his emotions—his sadness, his frustration, and his hope for humanity. It’s this depth that gives Studio Ghibli films their soul, weaving together shadows and light to create worlds that resonate deeply with us. Miyazaki may feel tired or disheartened by the rise of AI, but his legacy remains untouched. 

AI's impact on the art world is undeniably transformative, but it comes with a duality that sparks both concern and celebration. On one hand, AI-generated art challenges the authenticity and emotional depth that define human creativity. Many artists fear that the ease of creating AI art could oversaturate the market with mediocrity, diminishing the value and recognition of traditional artistry. The absence of a human touch—those imperfections and raw emotions—leaves AI creations feeling detached, unable to replicate the soul of real art.

Yet, on the other side, people are embracing AI art for its accessibility and innovation. It opens doors for those without formal artistic training to explore creativity and produce striking visuals. This democratization of art allows more individuals to engage with artistic expression, sparking joy and curiosity in audiences worldwide.