In the beginning there was a word, the word, a word, I don’t know but that word doing its best o state afloat at the confluence of time and space spinning at the hot center of the minds-eye vortex had no choice but to go forth and multiply and…beget a Story
These are the first few lines of a prose poem called Story story, which will be shared in full later in this podcast. It comes from the soundtrack of a film of the same name that explores the evolution of "story" as an essential aspect of human development and history. In this episode I will share the story of Story story, what prompted it and how it evolved. Along the way we examine some threshold questions: Where do stories come from; what is their function, and most importantly, what is their power for good or ill?
From the Center for the Study of Art & Community, this is Change the Story / Change the World. I’m Bill Cleveland.
Part 1: Art and Upheaval
In the early spring of 2005, my wife Carla and I found ourselves unpacking in a small, well-appointed room in a 15th-century Italian palazzo named Villa Serbelloni, overlooking the blue expanses of Lake Como. We had traveled to northern Italy at the Rockefeller Foundation’s invitation to spend a month as residents of the Bellagio Retreat and Conference Center. I had come to write, and Carla, to paint. My book project, called Art and Upheaval, would tell the stories of artists working on what I was characterizing as the world’s frontlines, which translates literally as eleven communities across the globe facing extreme conflict and disruption.
During our time there, we shared meals and good cheer with the dozen or so artists and scholars who were our fellow residents. Many mornings Carla and I started our day across the breakfast table from a poet from Maine named Wesley McNair and his wife, Diane. Wesley’s poems, which I came to admire a great deal, were powerful, intense, and often very personal.
One morning, he shared a work in progress describing an abusive encounter between a New York couple and a clerk in a roadside store near Wesley’s home in rural Maine. Like most of his work, it was short and unsparing. By the time he looked up from the page, there was no mistaking the deep sense of violation he felt when fair weather and fancy cars heralded the annual migration of a particular species of callous interloper to his beloved rural refuge.
Over the next day or so, I pondered the story — particularly the blithely self-absorbed couple whose fast-accelerating BMW concluded the poem. No doubt, the clerk had been mistreated, and by extension, the community sullied. But I also felt an intense curiosity about what those two were talking about as they continued up the coast. Did they have any idea what they had left in their wake? Were they oblivious, or sorry? Did they argue? I guess you could say I was interested in the “other story” revealed in that disturbing scene in the store. Who were these people, and why did they act that way?
These questions led me to reflect on my work at the Villa. I was spending my days exploring the lives of artists working to heal and provoke change amid appalling conflict and trauma in places like Northern Ireland, Watts, California, Milosevic-ruled Serbia, and post Keymer Rouge Cambodia. My efforts to animate these harrowing and inspiring stories respectfully and compassionately had been humbling. In the process, I found myself caught up in, no, actually overwhelmed by the infinitely faceted, interconnected nature of these human narratives. I had convinced myself that my job was to make sense and meaning of all these threads. But the weave of people, places, and history I was trying to represent, the layer on layer, shifting, bubbling, boiling nature of the lives and events I was encountering; was seriously fogging my lenses.
I pressed on, but in the spaces between my book and time with Bellagio colleagues, a side-saga appeared. What emerged was my first attempt to acknowledge and understand the nature and power of human story-making. Indeed, the landscape I was exploring was immense -- the ubiquitous, indelible presence of stories; the fragility and mutable nature of stories; the powerful connections between the story and the imagination, story and belief, story and history, story and learning, story and the human struggle with power and difference – and on and on. Was I tilting at windmills? Likely so, but I had a head of steam, so I spent a day writing whatever came to mind and filed it --- working title: Story, Story. Maybe it was a safety valve because the foggy skies over Art and Upheaval soon cleared.
There are hundreds of dead-end writing threads scattered across my hard drive that will never see the light of day. For some reason, though, I found myself being drawn back to Story story to poke and prod. At some point, I started including excerpts into talks I was giving to artists and organizers working for social change. I did this because I had come to believe that the care and feeding of stories are central to all change work. If you challenge and change the dominant narrative of a place, for good or ill, you will have taken a potent step towards community change. The shorthand version is --- Change the Story, Change the World.
A slightly longer version is embodied in what follows in this podcast, namely a reading of Story story with an accompanying soundscape crafted beautifully by composer Judy Munson. But that’s not all. As we indicated in the intro what you will be hearing is the soundtrack of the film version of Story story based on an extraordinary suite of 30 photo collages created by artist Barry Marcus. And truth be told, one reason for sharing Story story here is to entice you to check out both the film, and the newly completed book version. Links to both can be found in the show notes accompanying this episode.
Part 2: Story story
In the beginning
there was a Word
The Word, a word,
I don’t know…,
but that Word
doing its best to stay afloat at the confluence of time and space
spinning at the hot center
of the minds-eye vortex
had no choice
but to go forth
and multiply
and…beget a Story
In no time at all
that Story was whispered, and sung,
and gestured, and shouted
until it gave birth to another story---
and another and another
that, well, given the fruitful nature
of humans and stories,
grew to become a family, a village,
a whole land of stories
all alive in time
to the pulsing rhythm
of all the story hearts
and story souls
beating then, and now
and forever in the
always emerging meta mother-story of the world
Now, if you, my friend
here and now
can feel that rhythm
If you can move your feet and sing
and lay yourself down
in the groove
of that tall tale dust and music
If you can swim in the roiling roux
of all that telling, and listening,
you are tapped into in the crucible of the signifying, sanctifying transmogrifying power of stories
Yes, if you are plugged into that
You are holding a beaded parasol in the second line
of all those story births and passing’s
If you are tapped into that
Well it may just be that you are
on your way to taking your place
as a link in the chain, of makers and tellers
And if that’s true,
Then you better listen up:
Where do I start
Well, I’ll begin with a warning
We all know about stories, right?
Stories are fun, stories frolic, stories amuse,
YEA
But stories are also nimble, tricky, malevolent,
And, and …
well, you can fill in the blank.
Some say if you own
“the story”
Then you’ve got the power,
--the juice
But Others declare, stories are free- can’t be owned.
Then there’s those who say if you are creating the story then you are making the future
and that stifling the story is killing the future
and the past.
What we do know is that every person, every family, every community
is formed and shaped
by their stories.
And, if we don’t know.. our story
If we can’t shout out
the story of who we are, where we came from,
where we are going
we lose our dignity,
our humanity,
our souls
as in East Germany,
as in Chile,
as in Cambodia,
As in Sharpeville, Tulsa, and Wounded Knee
as in Attica, Solovetsky, Parchman, Soledad,
as in Toul Seng, and Dachau
These particular stories teach us that
Tyranny is story subjugation driven by fear.
Here’s how it works:
One-- Keep them from telling the story.
Two-- Ignore the story.
Three-- Control the story by altering or editing it.
Four-- Romanticize the story
Five-- Simplify the story,
Six-- Trivialize the story
Seven- - Twist that story with a lie
Eight- Buy, then smother the story
Nine—Steal, then lose the story
Ten— YEA If all else fails, just kill the sucker
But, we all know
stories do not die
After the smoke settles
those fugitive seeds,
Those Neruda, Malcolm, Biko spores
murdered, buried, forgotten
FORGOTEN until they wake
yea, the rain and the sun
Tug on memory’s twitchy trigger
and they rouse… Yea, those seeds
remember, once again
to sprout and flower,
growing with a vengeance
that will not abate.
Just like the kudzu vines and blackberry canes that
crowd our lanes and clog our fences
And of course, you all know the story about neighbors and fences, right?
good fences ---make good neighbors and…
well, I don’t know
is that true?
Actually, Mr. Frost didn’t seem to think so---neither did Mr. Aesop
But, both knew that a good story
Could set powerful, unpredictable things in motion
Like an altered chromosome
or the floating spill of a new idea
caught in the hot updraft of a Santa Anna wind
And as those incipient stories swoop and swirl
Some fall
Some collide
And a few join together
At the hip
At the shoulder
At the third eye intersection
of self-interest and common ground
And those tall tale partners
Become democracy zygotes
Youre THINKIN’ WHAT?
but, it’s true,
Democracy is the art of collective story making.
Democracy says:
LISTEN UP! “Here is the story to this point—Let’s decide together what’s next… and make it real… together!”-
Now, this making thing
That it appears
We’ve always done
that we call art
These are the tools we
use to nudge our stories
out into the world
But it’s important to remember
The artists hands
made that animal thing
that bison on the wall
that became the words
that begat the first story!
That gave birth to the
First tale tale
The first myth
The first joke
The first rumor
The first vexing, no-easy-answer question
And Hey,
if you’ve got a mystery messing with you
You’ve got to use that story making hand
to help you paste it fast into the rest
of your world defining window
Do it quick, cause, you know,
unanswered questions
don’t sit well with us humans
If you don’t, that fugitive cipher,
ignored, and out of context,
IT will suffocate you in its shadow
I know, I know you’re thinking,
well, that sounds kind of melodramatic
But, you can’t ignore
the trickster’s spin
Cause disrespected stories
ARE nascent shadows.
You can’t close your eyes to them
because the shadow GROWS with neglect
Out of sight and out of mind
They just bubble and ferment,
And mark my word
Those untold stories,
Those unpeeled stories,
Those stifled stories,
left to fester---
are very, very dangerous
Bottom line,
If you hold your ears,
if you only pay attention
to your own ECHO
its hard to listen,
its hard to CONNECT TO the rest of the stories
Hovering all around
And you need that…
WE need that…
to survive together.
This is because
Everything out there is translated for us,
to us, by us, through us
by story.
For good and for ill
Everything we see, hear, touch, taste …feel
is just pregnant with story
ready to give birth to another
and another
helping us make sense and meaning
in this confounding jumble of a world
Sense and meaning?
WELL, That’s just story breath and story fire
Feeding the future in the
mind’s eye furnace of
Imagining What’s next
And You know, that imagination thing
It’s just a muscle up in there
Working overtime
generating more power than it consumes
as it chugs along raising the temperature
in the hot house of stories.
Talk about power. Change the Story, change the world
Man, but you know, it goes both ways. That privilege thing.
Privilege is imagining your story, is THE story
AND THEN If you are rich
you can buy all the stories you think you need regardless of where they came from.
Not only is that corrupt, Its just plain undignified.
And that’s no small thing. Cause you see Dignity is the unfettered imagination, the untethered voice, the unleashed story.
And Wealth be damned, If that story holds great meaning you can touch a million hearts
Or just a precious one
Empathy happens when
I tell you my story
and you tell my story back to me --and I nod my head.
Art well the art holds the story, but only just---
for a while
The artist says, “This is how the story goes at this time and this place.”
Sometimes that story sticks around
Sometimes it mutates or migrates.
Sometimes it escapes
What we call Improvisation is fishing for those fugitive stories
New stories get born
when improvisation and imagination converge
bending time and space wide enough
for story sperms and the story eggs
to find each other and join.
But of course,
there are no new stories
And all stories are new
Some people say
Look, Have a seat while I tell my story
Some say
Have a seat
while I tell someone else’s story
Some folks say
Have a seat while I tell your story
Some artists say
Stand up
we have a story to tell
I say,
Once upon a time…
Thank you for being here, for tuning in. Please join us for our next episode. Change the Story / Change the World is a production of the Art and Community. It’s written and directed by Bill Cleveland. Its theme and soundscape are by Judy Munsen.
And please if you have been provoked or inspired, join the continuing conversation, and check out our show notes at the Center’s website at www.artandcommunity.com. Please know that subscribing to Change the Story / Change the world is a great, no cost way of supporting out work.