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Today marks the centenary of the birth of John Halas, a man that Bob Godfrey once affectionately described as “a great womb of animation”. My first encounter with John was via his head. A bronze bust was in the corner of the room in which I had a job interview. I can't honestly say that I paid him much attention, and to be honest had little idea who his was. Some years later, and with a fuller appreciation of his achievements I am in the enviable position of working with the legacy of the remarkable company that he founded with his wife Joy Batchelor in 1940.

Leafing through the Halas and Batchelor Collection; reading articles that John wrote; listening to him speak in interviews; watching the films he made; reading about him in books; hearing people who worked with him describe him: he is a damned difficult figure to pin down. I recently listened to an interview where he talked about his childhood. He was clearly a consummate storyteller, and the truth of his tales is sometimes less important than the practised showmanship with which they are told. But his unique qualities become increasingly clear as you reflect on the amount he achieved. The hundreds of films; multiple books; countless articles, speeches and appearances; awards; the determination and tireless enthusiasm for his chosen art.

John was born János Halász, and his daughter Vivien Halas told me that Halász is Hungarian for 'fisherman'. From listening to people talk about him (not everyone, I will admit) this sounds about right to me; in the sense that he made himself a fisher of men. John brought men and women of exceptional talent together, and then had the good sense to trust his judgement and let them do their job. And John was most certainly an apostle. His religion was his fundamental belief in the power of animation to change the world.

But every time I think I have stepped a little closer to understanding him, I come across a something that knocks me off my feet a little. Last week it was a group of illustrations of Max and Moritz signed “Halas nach Busch” to coincide with Halas & Batchelor's 1976 series. John had drawn the boys merrily pissing into a fellow's top hat, in what I believe was sketch suggesting ideas for tie-in merchandising. Someone else had decidedly different ideas on the marketability of such an image, as “Unacceptable. In poor taste” is scrawled across the top of the page in hysterical handwriting. The same words appear on another sketch of the boys serving up a man's decapitated head on a silver platter, complete with apple in mouth. I have little real clue whether John was genuinely thinking that such images were suitable for a child's jigsaw puzzle, or whether his mischievous nature was simply being provactive, but I am quite happy with either answer.

John's head now sits on the corner of my desk as a polite reminder to get on with the large amount of work required to safeguard the collection of the company he co-founded. I am well aware that by his side should be a physical reminder of the importance of Joy to this whole story, and I am determined that her time will come. But in the meantime, Happy Birthday John. It is a pleasure working with you.