I am an artist, and artists are inherently storytellers. We are the ones sitting around the campfire, with the fire crackling romantically, casting atmospheric and almost ominous shadows, creating the perfect mood for an epic fable of sorts.
We are the shamans, traveling to otherworldly places beneath, inside, outside and above ourselves. When we find our stories, we are like air vents popping up from the source, blowing steam into the world to manifest our tales. Some air vents emit violent billows; others release whimsical puffs whereas some provide gentle wisps.
Every human being is a sucker for a good story. As children we insist that our parents read the same book over and over again. We absolutely love listening to music and the enthralling woven pieces of sounds and words. We lose ourselves in film, where we are transported to the heart of a director’s tale. The actors become skilled puppets in this magical show. We look at art and the mute visuals capture our imagination and stirs feelings of awe, dread, confusion, sadness, joy or admiration. We read books, and the mere letters on a page move us. Type becomes alive and walks right inside of us. Even social media has become a story; a conglomerate of shared journeys. We scroll down every morning, to catch up on mini adventures of the ones we consider our friends and acquaintances.
We don’t essentially NEED stories, yet they are so integrally woven into the fabric of our beings. To pull out the seemingly unnecessary thread from our life garments would surely unravel large aspects of our existence, leaving holes where legacy, imagination and creative energy live and thrive.
So, please do the world a favor and keep telling your story. Keep the garment whole so we can all stay warm.