When I was a child, nothing fascinated me more than puppetry. It began with a beat-up puppet of Bert from Sesame Street. I came upon his dangling plastic limbs hanging from a weathered toy box at my Grandmother’s house. I yanked one of his hands, first revealing his signature striped shirt and then his solemn face, printed on a head like a bowling pin. His tuft of black, brittle hair had been brushed, chewed on, and even snipped with scissors over his twenty-year life span. I tugged his body down over my spindly arm and stuffed my tiny fingers into the hole to move his mouth. It was then that I was hooked.The rest of my childhood would be dedicated to finding puppets of all shapes, sizes, and methods. After countless puppet shows hiding beneath a pretend stage, I was ready to graduate. I built my own dancing clown from scraps of wood in my dad’s workshop and painted him myself. I also continued to devour television episodes and films featuring puppets of all forms — muppets, marionettes, and my favorite: characters brought to life through claymation.In college I didn’t have much of a plan, aside from trying to entertain people through my stories and art. I landed a few crucial internships, and eventually moved on to work for one of the biggest entertainment companies in the world. One of the perks of my job included getting the chance to take a sculpting class, where I was able to build my very own clay puppets, just like the ones I’d grown up loving. After several years of writing and sculpting I was approached to write a book about the art of stop-motion puppetry and animation. I was able to interview world-renowned artists, producers, and directors and learn even more about the craft I had swooned over for decades. It was the manifestation of almost thirty years of my passion for puppetry – and I owe it all to Bert.