We recently had the chance to connect with Adriel Meka and have shared our conversation below.
Hi Adriel, thank you so much for taking time out of your busy day to share your story, experiences and insights with our readers. Let’s jump right in with an interesting one: What are you being called to do now, that you may have been afraid of before?
Throughout my career, I’ve been fortunate to answer many creative callings at a young age. I was called to pursue my creative passions seriously — first as a student, and then as a professional artist — and I’ve been lucky to turn that passion into a deeply rewarding career. I’ve had the opportunity to collaborate with incredible teams and studios like Nickelodeon Sony, Monkey Paw, and Disney, and every experience has reminded me that this path is a gift that keeps unfolding.
From the very beginning, my calling has always asked me to stay curious — to remain a student, to learn from those around me, and to push my craft further. That’s meant not only improving my drawing and storytelling, but also developing the business side of things: maintaining clients, growing my freelance practice, and constantly refining how I present myself as both an artist and a creative entrepreneur.
Lately, though, I’ve felt a new kind of calling — one that feels both challenging and joyful: to create something of my own. For years, I followed a fairly conventional path in animation. I drew as a kid, studied at the Savannah College of Art and Design with a minor in Industrial Design, and absorbed everything I could about how the industry worked. After graduating, I freelanced, built experience, and eventually decided to pursue my MFA at USC to truly master my craft. That chapter gave me the space to direct my own short films, learn from incredible professors and peers, and test what kind of stories I wanted to tell.
After graduating and stepping into my dream role at Disney, I finally had the chance to apply everything I’d learned in a professional studio setting. It was the truest test of my skills — and also a turning point. I realized that while I love helping bring other people’s visions to life, the next stage of my creative growth would come from building worlds of my own.
In the past, I didn’t feel ready for that. I didn’t have the tools, the network, or knowledge to take that leap. But over time — through my experience, my studies, and my relationships in the industry — I started to see that I’ve been preparing for this moment all along. I’ve always been a storyteller at heart. And now I’m learning to lean into that part of myself more deeply, whether that’s through developing original scripts for future projects like Camp Kona, or exploring new ideas that capture the magic of the Saturday morning cartoons I grew up on.
At the same time, I’ve also found a new sense of calling in content creation. For years, I was part of that crowd of artists who’d say, “I just want to draw — I don’t want to be in front of a camera.” But as I started experimenting with sharing my creative process online — using a simple three-light setup in my living room and speaking honestly about my journey — I discovered how much I enjoy connecting with people in that way. It started small, with videos about things like my Disney interview experience and tips from my time working on Marvel’s Moon Girl and Devil Dinosaur, but the response was amazing.
It reminded me that storytelling doesn’t only live on a screen or a storyboard — it can also happen in real time, by sharing your experience. And while consistency in content creation can be intimidating, I’ve found it to be incredibly fulfilling. The more I create, the more I grow — not just as an artist, but as a communicator and a leader.
So, what I’m being called to do now is twofold: to share my voice more boldly and to trust myself as a creator of new worlds. I’m learning to embrace the unknown, to write and develop projects that feel personal and universal at the same time, and to use my platform to inspire others to do the same. It’s a journey that’s still unfolding, but one that finally feels like my own.
Can you briefly introduce yourself and share what makes you or your brand unique?
My name is Adriel Meka, and I’m a Canadian-American illustrator, animator, and director — a creative professional who’s always been drawn to the power of visual storytelling. I’m originally from Montreal, but I’ve lived all over, and I like to say I follow the 3-6-9 rule — I’ve lived in 3 countries, 6 states, and 9 + cities, including places across Europe, Canada, and the U.S. That mix of environments and cultures has shaped a lot of how I see the world and the kind of stories I tell.
I’ve been a visual artist all my life. What started as doodling and illustration evolved into a deep love for animation — a field that let me merge my design background, my storytelling instincts, and my fascination with character. Today, my work touches just about every part of the animation pipeline, but I’m most often working as a character designer or visual development/concept artist by trade. I’ve had the chance to apply those skills to published children’s books, short films, and Emmy-nominated television series, and I’ve collaborated with some incredible studios including Disney, Nickelodeon, Marvel, Monkeypaw Productions, Sony Pictures Animation, and more.
While my craft has always centered around storytelling in a visual medium, I like to describe my brand as “storytelling with no medium.” Whether I’m designing, directing, painting, or speaking on a stage, the goal is the same — to connect with people through story. Over the past few years, I’ve had the honor of being a guest speaker on podcasts, panels, and workshops, and more recently, to host and moderate live events — including my ongoing work with AfroAnimation in Burbank, California, where I currently serve as Head of Competitions & Awards. I was also honored to serve as an Ambassador for the Cannes Can: Diversity Collective, representing my voice at the Cannes Festival of Creativity among such an inspiring community of global storytellers.
My creative journey has brought me into so many fulfilling spaces — from working on major animated productions to directing my own short film, Camp Kona, which has screened at festivals worldwide. It’s also inspired me to grow my platform as a content creator, where I share behind-the-scenes insight, advice, and creative reflections with a global audience online. I think of it as using both my hard and soft skills — design and storytelling, art and outreach — to inspire other artists to believe in their own ideas.
As I look ahead, I’m continuing to develop new animated stories that reflect the world through my eyes — visually rich, emotionally honest, and universal in their themes. 2026 is already shaping up to be a big year, with several new projects in development and a few exciting reveals on the horizon. At the end of the day, I’m a creative who loves using storytelling to connect with people — whether that happens on paper, on screen, or in conversation.
Appreciate your sharing that. Let’s talk about your life, growing up and some of topics and learnings around that. Who were you before the world told you who you had to be?
Before the world told you who you had to be—This question makes me think of Avatar: The Last Airbender a little bit — that idea of remembering who you were before the world tried to shape you.
As far as who I was, I was your run-of-the-mill goofy ’90s kid: overly inspired, endlessly curious, and constantly searching for a creative outlet. I grew up in the States with my family and came from a household full of creative people — my dad was an architect, my grandma was a graphic designer, and my sister went into fashion. My mom had to be the scientist for us all; she was an aerospace engineer with a master’s in business, which definitely came in handy for me later.
Growing up in the ’90s, I was deeply influenced by the moments in school when our teachers would read to us or wheel in those tube TVs to play reruns of movies. I loved the idea of art as escapism — and of using that escapism to create a shared culture. My sister and I still have an entire library of inside jokes built on old episodes of SpongeBob.
When we were younger and would go on road trips, my mom would bring a little car TV to keep my sister and me occupied, and we’d play reruns of Tom and Jerry and Looney Tunes as the miles went by. My family was always a big moviegoing family — even to this day it’s hard to have a dinner conversation that doesn’t swerve into movie talk, classic ’80s nostalgia, or the latest blockbuster. Movies became a language for us, and I was mesmerized by the idea that you could capture a world of stories within that glowing square frame.
If a movie was coming out on Friday, my friends and I would go see it together, but I was always that kid quoting it by Friday morning before anyone else. I also found myself fascinated by storytelling in general. I always give a shout-out to my camp counselor Mike from Arizona, back when I was in middle school — during recess he’d get a bunch of us to gather around the jungle gym and tell spooky stories or read us chapters from Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark. I lived for those moments and how vividly I could see those stories unfold in my head.
I fell in love with characters I could see myself in and became fascinated with how they were actually created. Back in the ’90s — or at least growing up as a ’90s kid — I remember Nickelodeon airing segments where creators like Butch Hartman would pop up between commercials and do five-minute tutorials showing you how to draw Timmy Turner from The Fairly OddParents. Those moments captivated me completely.
I loved — and still love — the idea of seeing something that inspires you and becoming consumed with figuring out how it’s made. At school book fairs, I’d grab every “How to Draw” book I could find. And yes, that started with How to Draw Manga — but it quickly expanded to cars, human faces, and everything else. That’s when I began shifting from input to output. Once I knew what inspired me, I started creating and sharing things with the people around me.
It wasn’t uncommon for me to grab cardboard from a box, cut it up, and turn it into characters I’d bring to school to show my friends. One of my earliest memories was learning about Yu-Gi-Oh! and Pokémon cards — but since I didn’t have any, I made my own. I’d take index cards, draw original characters, invent absurd rules, and convince my friends to play whatever game came out of my imagination that day.
Around the same time, I read Money Talks by Andrew Clements — about a kid who learns how to fold a sheet of paper four times, staple it twice, and turn it into a mini comic book he sells for 25 cents. I thought, “I can do that.” So I made a comic series out of printer paper called The Incredibly Crazy Stick People. Every time I came up with a joke or a funny moment, I’d turn it into a rudimentary comic strip and bring it to school. It wasn’t uncommon for me to have ten or twenty kids crowded around me at latchkey, reading the latest “Adriel story.”
As I grew up, I started learning how to draw more seriously. Some of those early drawings definitely make me cringe now, but that process — creating, sharing, getting feedback — became a habit that shaped me. I started posting my art on DeviantArt, drawing for my friends, and realizing that what began as a hobby was becoming something deeper: a talent that turned into a skill, then a defining part of who I was.
I’ve always loved to create, and I’ve always loved to share. And ironically, when I think about who the world told me to be, I don’t think the world ever asked me to be someone different — it just told me to keep going. It told me to take my crawl and my walk and turn it into a run.
Years later, I’ve been fortunate enough to run with it gracefully — to see the fruits of that childhood passion lead me to the very studios I grew up watching. Now, I feel like the world is simply asking me to pay it forward — to take that same spark, keep building, and tell others about the journey it took to turn a sandcastle into an ever evolving fortress.
Was there ever a time you almost gave up?
Well, “giving up” is probably more than I can call it. I’d rather approach this from the perspective of the times my faith in my work was truly tested — moments when I had more questions than answers and only a faint direction to go.
Let’s start at the earliest stage. My first real introduction to animation was at the Savannah College of Art and Design. I initially went to SCAD intending to major in Industrial Design and minor in Animation. At the time, I didn’t know much about the animation industry beyond the fact that I loved to draw and I loved movies. Industrial Design felt like the more conventionally stable way to apply my creative skills to a life that made sense on paper.
Then I went to a Wreck-It Ralph screening during the SCAD Film Festival. Alumni who were working at Disney came to talk about their careers and this upcoming project called Big Hero 6. I was so inspired that I immediately flipped my plan: major in Animation, minor in Industrial Design. I didn’t know where the future would take me — I just knew this felt right.
Like a lot of students, I had the belief that once I graduated with a degree that said “Animation,” Bob Iger was personally going to call me with a job at Disney or Pixar. (A common misconception haha) Very quickly after graduating, I learned the industry was far more competitive than I realized. There were tons of artists out there doing great work — and the skill gap between where I was and where I needed to be felt bigger than I’d imagined. That’s when reality set in.
I grabbed a retail job because doing nothing wasn’t an option, and I really questioned whether this path was right for me. What helped a lot was a conversation I’d had with my SCAD teacher Adriana Garcia. Before graduating, she told me that in a cyclical industry, it can be smart to go out, get some experience, keep learning, build your portfolio — and consider coming back for a graduate degree so, at the very least, you could teach your craft if the industry fluctuated. I took her advice to heart.
For about two years, while working retail, I hustled on freelance, drew constantly, illustrated children’s books, and kept trusting the process. Eventually, I applied to the Paris College of Art and got in. But due to complications, the year was canceled. Suddenly I was back home, in my high school house, after waiting what felt like forever for a next step that disappeared. That could’ve been a give-up moment.
Instead, I decided I needed a change of scenery. My dad suggested moving back to Montreal (where I’m originally from). I was working at Apple, meeting great people, and applying to as many grad programs as I could. One of them ended up being the key player in my future: the University of Southern California.
I got into USC Animation — which was incredible — but here’s the catch: this was 2020, the year COVID hit. The incoming Class of 2023 had three choices: abandon admission, defer, or go online with no idea what the future held. That easily could’ve been another give-up moment. But I figured: go through the pandemic with nothing to do, or go through it starting a master’s degree in any capacity.
So I went for it. Year one of our three-year program was entirely online. Oddly, that opened doors: a lot of studios shifted internships online, and through a USC career day interview, I landed a remote internship at Nickelodeon. I’m still grateful for that moment — it really started the early stages of my career. I kept running with it. I finished year one online, then moved to LA when campus reopened in year two, did another Nick internship, and kept stacking skills.
Upon graduating, through the relationships I’d built at Nick, I landed a post-grad internship at Disney TV Animation — a dream opportunity. But it didn’t stop there. That same year, Hollywood was dealing with the Writers’ and Actors’ strikes, and the emotional temperature of the industry was in turmoil. Jobs were uncertain. I finished my Disney internship and made the call to move back to Montreal for stability — especially with the incoming wave of AI reshaping the landscape.
In hindsight, you could say it looked like I’d given up on Los Angeles — but that’s not how I see it. Since setting up my base in Montreal, I’ve been fortunate to build a stable remote life, keep doing creative projects, and still fly back to LA often for events like LightBox and AfroAnimation to see friends and colleagues. It feels like the best of both worlds: focused, peaceful, and productive in Montreal; plugged into the industry and community in LA.
Part of me misses Los Angeles every day and sometimes wonders “what if I had stayed.” But I also know it’s only a matter of time before circumstances bring me back more permanently. I’m using this season in Montreal to work, stay creative, and keep my head down developing my own ideas — writing scripts and building worlds — so that the next time I knock on LA’s doors, it’s a warm embrace that goes both ways.
In short: I didn’t give up — I got tested. If I’d quit at any of those junctions — after undergrad working retail, when Paris fell through, when grad school began in a pandemic, or when my Disney internship ended in the middle of the strikes — I wouldn’t be here. Each time, I learned to make the best of the circumstances, think on my feet, and trust that I genuinely can’t imagine doing anything other than what I’m doing now. The road has been winding, but deeply fulfilling — and I’m grateful for every step so far, and all the steps to come.
So a lot of these questions go deep, but if you are open to it, we’ve got a few more questions that we’d love to get your take on. What would your closest friends say really matters to you?
My friends would say that what matters to me most are the “5 C’s”: Connection, Creation, Cinema, Curation, and Comedy. (None of them actually call it the “5 C’s,” but I made the list before answering this question and it sounded cool.)
Connection
A lot of my friends would say that connection means everything to me — connecting with people and connecting people to each other. Having lived in so many places, I’ve learned not to tie myself to one location but to the people I meet along the way. I’ve always admired the beauty in people — how different everyone is, but how shared experiences can bring you together.
It loops back to animation too — animation is literally the study of motion, which is really the study of people. I’ve always been fascinated by the why behind what people do and what makes them who they are. Whether it’s California, Georgia, Arizona, or Montreal, I’ve always left each place filled with incredible people I now consider family.
My friends know that even when I’m drawing, cooking dinner, or out for a walk, I’m usually the one calling to check in and catch up. I love hearing updates, sharing my own, and making sure my friends feel seen. I also get a kick out of introducing people from different parts of my life and watching worlds collide. Connection matters — in friendships, in work, and in family — and everyone who knows me knows that’s a big part of who I am.
Creation
The next would be creation — or just creativity as a whole. My friends will tell you that I’ve always been that person who’s making something. Whether it was comic books out of printer paper in middle school, sketching anime characters, or working at Disney and creating viral reels today — I’ve always needed to make things. I’ve always found creative solutions to problems, and I love the process of taking in what the world shows you, processing it through your own lens, and then sending it back out through your own voice as art.
When I was younger, that looked like tinkering and making things just for fun. Once I learned to draw, I started using illustration as my main outlet to tell stories and communicate my ideas — and you can see how far that’s evolved now. For me, creation isn’t just something I do; it’s woven into how I see the world.
Cinema
Then there’s cinema — what my friends will say is easily one of my biggest passions. Growing up with a TV basically glued to the living room, I’ve loved film and animation my entire life. From Tom and Jerry marathons with my sister to Saturday morning cartoons on Nickelodeon and Cartoon Network, movies and TV have always been part of my DNA.
As I mentioned earlier, my family has always been a big movie family. Even today, it’s almost impossible to have dinner without the conversation turning into a debate about the latest release or a nostalgic dive into ’80s classics. Cinema became a shared language for us.
I’ve always been fascinated by how film can entertain, teach, and connect people. I love how something like SpongeBob or Shrek can unite an entire generation — and how, years later, you’ll still see millions of people staying up till midnight to watch Stranger Things 5 or Arcane.
Cinema pushes culture forward. It makes us feel our full range of emotions and gives us a mirror to see ourselves in. My friends would definitely say that cinema is a key pillar of my personality.
Curation
Curation ties into creation, but it’s more about how I present, refine what I make, and value showing up. I’ve always appreciated things that feel intentional — that show purpose, taste, and meaning.
On the surface, that can be seen in how I post my artwork on Instagram, but it also extends to how I design my personal brand. My years at SCAD really shaped how I think about presentation and professionalism. I want my work to speak for itself — to carry the same level of care and craft that went into it.
Even my personal Instagram stories are curated with intention. I’ll shoot in 4K at 60fps, color-grade the footage, and spend 15 minutes finding the perfect song for a 10-second video of me and my sister driving over sand dunes. I’ve grown to see the beauty in small things done well. It’s not about perfection; it’s about being intentional. My mom always told me, “It doesn’t matter what you do in life — just make sure you do it at 110%.” That’s stuck with me ever since.
(I mean, you see how long these article responses are?)
Comedy
And finally, comedy — the easiest and maybe most essential one. Comedy ties right back to connection. I truly believe laughter is one of the purest forms of human connection, and it’s a big part of how I bond with the people I love.
My closest friends and I are basically running an ongoing comedy show. We have endless bits, movie quotes, and absurd humor pulled from our shared media diet. My sister and I have decades of inside jokes — sometimes just a side glance can snap us out of a bad day.
People often say I give off the energy of a happy person, and while everyone has their ups and downs, I take those moments of joy seriously and try to value them. There’s something healing about calling a friend just to laugh for ten minutes straight. Some of my favorite memories are simple — two lawn chairs, a friend, and a shared joke that makes the rest of the world disappear.
So yeah, I’m glad you survived the 5 C’s — as we’ve coined them in this article: Connection, Creation, Cinema, Curation, and Comedy.
They pretty much sum up what my friends would say matters most to me — and if you hang out with me long enough, you’ll probably see all five in action before the day’s over.
Thank you so much for all of your openness so far. Maybe we can close with a future oriented question. What are you doing today that won’t pay off for 7–10 years?
I like this question because it makes me look at both the present and the future when it comes to legacy. The easy answer is that, in ten years, I want to have shows, movies, stories, and comic books that all say “written and directed by Adriel Meka.” Who wouldn’t?
But what this question really does is make you reflect on what you’re doing now to reach those goals.
When I look into the next 7–10 years, I see myself developing the scripts I’ve written into series, continuing to grow my social-media platform by sharing my story and insights, and hopefully maintaining close relationships with studios. My dream is to one day have my name appear alongside projects like Spider-Verse — that would be nothing short of surreal. But I’ve learned that dreams like that are built entirely on how you choose to show up today, and that’s where the real work begins long before the payoff.
Right now, I’ve earned two degrees in animation, partnered with incredible authors to illustrate five published children’s books, and had the privilege of working with studios like Disney, Nickelodeon, and Sony — the very ones that inspired me as a kid. The work I put in over the years got me here, but as my USC professor Mike Patterson once told me: “Don’t ever stop.” Even when you cross a finish line, take the moment to celebrate, then keep pushing those ceilings.
At the moment, I’m living in Montreal, freelancing after years of structure within school and studios. On paper, it sounds like a dream — freedom, creative autonomy, flexibility — but it’s also a challenge. After years of having my time dictated by deadlines, I now have to be the one setting them. Freelancing has given me freedom with my time, but immense responsibility for my future. And how I handle these daily choices now will directly shape what I see 7–10 years from now.
That realization can feel existential, but it’s also grounding. It’s pushed me to focus on discipline, routine, and self-discovery — to build systems that help me stay consistent. Creativity alone is powerful, but without structure, it can lose momentum. So, since finishing my time at the studios, I’ve been creating my own Google calendars, setting deadlines, and holding myself accountable — making sure I’m doing my best today so my future self will thank me later.
The scripts I want to turn into TV shows start as scripts I write today. That means researching, outlining, refining — building a foundation strong enough to grow on. And through it all, I’m trying to balance accountability with grace. It’s important to be disciplined, but also forgiving. If you miss a day, it’s not the end of the world; just make a list of what you did accomplish and start again tomorrow.
Lately, I’ve seen this philosophy pay off in my content creation. Not long ago, I kept overthinking — planning, strategizing, waiting for the “perfect” moment to start. That hyper-strategy turned into paralysis until I finally told myself to stop over-planning and just post one video a week. I put my heart into every piece — learning about lighting, editing, storytelling, and camera setups — and it paid off. My Instagram recently passed 10K followers, which was a huge milestone. But more importantly, it reminded me that momentum is everything.
Seeing how far my reach can extend — how many people I can inspire or connect with — has shown me the real value of building steadily. These small daily steps are the seeds of the future I want: pitching my own shows, developing new IPs, and continuing to grow my platform and brand.
Legacy lives in the future, but it’s built in the present. Everything I’m doing today — from structuring my time to creating my art — is about planting those seeds. One day, when the credits roll and my name’s on the big screen, I’ll look back at this version of me — in my Montreal apartment, putting in the work day by day — and know that this was where the foundation was laid.
Contact Info:
- Website: https://www.adrielmeka.com
- Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/arekusan_meka
- Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/in/adriel-a-meka23/
- Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/@arekusanmeka
Image Credits
Disney Television Animation, Marvel Entertainment, AfroAnimation, Cannes Lions, Camp Kona Film Team, University of Southern California (USC), Adriel Meka, Marvel, Moon Girl and Devil Dinosaur, Cannes Can Diversity Collective 2024
