Monday, April 15, 2013


Creativity: The Encourager

April 11, 2013

Posted by jayocallahan in Creativity
Years ago my friend Doug Lipman and I were leading a week long workshop in creativity and storytelling in southern France. Our whole group – the Creative Monsters – were staying at a large house where we were served beautiful meals and were also given painting lessons.
Most of us were new to painting. I painted a window of the house and still have that in my study. The instructor said to the group, “Jay’s painting captured an image we’ll never forget.”
I think that was true. I’m sure the painting was amateurish but he saw what was alive in it and pointed that out. That delighted and encouraged me to create more.
All of us have this vast mysterious playful side to us. There’s a great playground in us and out of that playground comes the work of Picasso. Out of that playground also comes a song we might sing, a drawing we might do, a kind but creative word to a friend. There are huge negative voices that perhaps are cultural, but those voices are destructive. They say, “There is no time. I can’t draw” or “I can’t write” or “I’m not creative; that’s for talented people.”
Nonsense! You are creative. Let it out, plunk on a piano, whistle, try a pickle on your peanut butter sandwich. Or even take a workshop and find out how helpful it is to have a supportive, trustful, playful group.
Curator's Note: Jay graciously gave Tales and Tips permission to use this latest post on his Creativity blog. We recommend his blog to you. Also check out his personal blog: www.jayocallahan.com.  Jay's workshops are wonderful and we have taken one of them by the ocean in Marshfield MA last spring. Refresh yourself. Re-discover your creativity with Jay O'Callahan.   d

TELLING STORIES IN MASK, PART 2: THE MASK CHOOSES THE STORY

By Rita Grimaldi
           
Mask making is an art form that flows from my hands. Storytelling flows from my body and my voice. Sometimes I combine these two art forms. When I do tell stories in mask, the mask enables me to enter the story transformed into one of its characters.
         
In 1994, I began telling stories in mask. I decided to make masks for a story - a complex story that required four masks – a bear, a coyote, a woman and a boy. From that time onwards I worked on masks. Some masks I designed for stories but many masks had no story waiting for them to tell. These masks I hung on my studio walls and sometimes I would look at them and think ‘Monkey, what story could you tell?’ or ‘Fierce Rose (a female with jagged cut teeth and a rose petal crown), what is your story?’. No answer would come.

The Duppy Mask

This past October, our storytelling group planned an evening of telling ‘Tales of Terror’. Looking through my repertoire of stories, I came across The Duppy Tale. All of a sudden an image came to me of a mask with a long pointed nose or beak. I went into the studio and looked on the walls. There in the back corner was a blue mask with a long pointed beak. I had never worn this mask, but as I looked at it I knew that it belonged to the story of the duppy bird. In fact, it was the Duppy Bird. So I began to relearn the story in the first person and then began to practice the story in the mask.


The Experience Of Telling In The Duppy Bird Mask

A duppy bird is a ghost bird and the story involves a little boy shooting the king of the duppy birds on Halloween night in the cemetery. The bird makes the boy eat him and then causes the boy to die.

I can hardly explain how telling this story in this mask affected me. I went into a state of altered self. This self was not me. It was the self that belonged to the bird in the story. It took me several days to shed it. I doubt if I will ever tell this story again. Still, I don’t regret the experience and the mask remains on my studio wall.


The Story Of The Curious Girl

In March, our storytelling group was doing a special event for World Storytelling Day. I wanted to do something in mask. Researching for a new story, I found Kay Stone’s story of The Curious Girl. A vague memory came to me of a mask I had never used. Looking, I found that it was not hanging on my studio wall. I began to look through boxes. Finally after searching off and on for two days, I found it buried at the bottom of a box. Yes, seeing it confirmed that it was the Curious Girl and it wanted to tell the story.

The second mask I needed for the story was the mask of the Red Bird. There in the studio hung a red bird that I had made and never used. It was the very bird for the story. To use the two masks to represent the girl and the bird I decided to make a head covering that would act as a consistent visual feature during the girl’s transformation into a bird. I also added layers of feathers and natural objects to the bird. Finally, after learning the story, I rehearsed it in the two masks.


The Red Bird Mask


The Curious Girl Mask

World Storytelling Day - Telling Of The Curious Girl

The morning of the telling I went to my university class. Somewhere during the lecture I realized that something was wrong with how I had planned the performance. The girl mask would tell the beginning and after the witch transforms her into a bird, the bird mask would tell the middle but after the girl transforms back into girl I had planned to tell the story out of mask in the first person as if I was the girl.

But as the morning wore on I became more and more uneasy about telling in the first person out of mask. Finally, at the break between the lecture and the seminar, I discussed what to do with a fellow mature student who had done a lot of drama. She told me to switch into the third person to tell the end and trust your audience to understand the switch. And that is what I did.

Trusting The Masks. Trusting Myself. Trusting the Audience To Understand

From my journal, remembering the telling the next morning:

I am telling The Curious Girl in the young girl mask. The story belongs with her. She reads if off the face. She knows it in my body. One third way through I switch to the bird mask my voice remains the same. Two thirds through I switch out of mask and into the third person, my voice drops lower. I sit to finish – I have been standing for the rest except for the mask change.

Two ladies come up to me after the story in the break. One says with amazement, “The girl mask was smaller than your face and when you put it on you changed into a young girl.” The second one says, “And the bird’s mouth moved while you talked.”

The Curious Girl Is On Video
         
It is two weeks since the performance and my telling of The Curious Girl has now been posted on on-line. Watching the girl and the bird I feel the rightness of the mask story choice. They belong to the story. Watching myself at the end, finishing the story as storyteller and not a story character was right too. It was, after all, the Masks’ story and not mine. But I invite you to look at it yourself and see what you think.

You can find the video of Rita’s The Curious Girl story on the Tales and Tips blog of Peterborough Storytellers.

 www.peterboroughstorytellers.blogspot.com

THE SELKIE WIFE




On the lonely shore of a Scottish island one mid-summer night, a fisherman was hiding behind a clump of rocks, watching a. strange and lovely sight.  A group of maidens, slender as moonbeams and fairer than the stars, were singing and dancing on the sand.  They were Selkies, those shape-shifters who swam as seals by day, and walked as men and women by night.

Few mortals were ever fortunate enough to catch a glimpse the Selkies in their human shape, for few were bold enough to wander lanternless along the shores at night.  But the fisherman’s boat had drifted far from land that day and it was sunset before he managed to steer her back to shore.  In his exhaustion he had sat down to rest for only a few moments, but the soft summer air and the gentle murmur of the sea had lulled him to sleep.  When he awoke the moon had risen high in the sky, and in the path of light that it made over the sea, he noticed dark heads gleaming, seals swimming to shore.

The fisherman had heard stories of Selkies since childhood and curiosity led him to take shelter behind the rocks and watch. He saw the seals flop on to the shore rocks and rest for a few moments.  Then the beasts began to tremble and rise, their pelts slid in silky folds to the ground, and they were seals no more. Their harsh barks and coughs became the sweetest of women’s songs and they danced to the ocean’s rhythms and to their own enchanted music on the silvery shore.

One of them had a voice lovelier than all the rest, and a body that caused him to ache with desire.  Carefully and ever so quietly he crept over to the rock where he had seen her fold up and hide her own sealskin.  He knew that without it she could not return to her seal shape or the sea.  Picking it up he stealthily made his way back to own home and hid it in an old chest in his attic.

 In this way the fisherman won himself a Selkie wife, for without her sealskin she could not follow her fellow seals.  She was as faithful and pretty a wife as any man could ever hope for, and she bore him two beautiful babies, a boy and a girl.  Their fingers and toes were delicately webbed like their mother’s but people in the village did not fear them.  They viewed them as a special grace from the sea, bearing an enchantment. But the Selkie wife was prone to strange moods and longing for her other life.

She told her children about the magical lands under the sea where her people lived –where seaweed grew in every color of the rainbow, where crystal palaces stood, lit by twinkling phosphorus and gilded with the shifting sheen of the northern lights.  When she saw seals out at sea she would call to them as if they were old friends.

The fisherman was always afraid that one day she would find her sealskin and leave him, but he could not destroy it, for he knew that would cause her death.  One day his fears were realized.  When he returned to his cottage after an outing he found it cold and silent, and the children unfed.  Despite all his efforts to keep the chest hidden and locked, she had managed to open it and return to her former shape.  The fisherman mourned his loss for a while, but he knew that she had never truly been his.  A daughter of the sea, she had returned to her own people and country.  No union could be permanent between the races of the waters and those of the land.


Adapted from the original Celtic version and performed in April 2013 with harp and vocals by Angelica Ottewell, a member of Peterborough Storytellers.