Imagine getting up early one morning and walking into the predawn
mists of a New England salt marsh. There you see a creature silhouetted
against the gradually lightening sky. It seems vaguely human,
hunched over and moving at an odd gait through the waves of undulating
marsh grass. It is making strange sounds, half spoken, half grunted.
It comes closer. It sees you.
Suddenly, the creature stops, falls silent, slowly stands erect,
and smiles. It is a lanky, bearded man with a kind, intelligent
face and a glint of magic in his eyes. It is master storyteller
Jay O'Callahan, caught in the midst of transforming himself into
one of his own characters.
"Many of my stories are born here," he confesses. "Every morning,
I walk two and a half miles to the ocean and back. The first time
I did, I was astonished at the dramatic power of the place - it's
wild and primitive. There's a sense here of the power of creation."
Time magazine calls Jay "a genius among storytellers." "A virtuoso,"
echoes the Boston Globe. "He can turn a word into a thousand pictures."
A former teacher, novelist, and fiction writer, Jay has performed
all over the world, from London's National Theatre to remote African
villages. But the marsh is his creative zone. If there is magic
to his storytelling, it is a magic that benefits from solitude,
practice, and the inspiration of a dramatic environment: In a
sea of marsh grass, midway between the beach and the line of cedars
that define solid ground, he explores how his characters talk,
how they look, and how they move.
"When I create a story, I work with a very spare palette," he
explains. "I use sound and silence, movement and gesture, language
and rhythm to portray the world the audience sees before them.
I work with great care on language and the sound of each character's
voice until the storyteller disappears and the characters appear."
Strolling through the morning fog, Jay graces you with an example,
conjuring images of his best friend's house in the Brookline,
Massachusetts, neighborhood (called Pill Hill because so many
doctors lived there) where he grew up.
"It was the most orderly house I have been in in my life," Jay
says in hushed tones. "The entry room smelled of clean linen.
The cocker spaniel was in the corner, aging in an orderly way.
Even the shadows seemed neatly pressed."
As he continues, a 14-year -old boy replaces the 52-year-old
storyteller, the boy talking about walking through Pill Hill to
St. Mary's school with a group of "toughies" from across town.
The story is funny, dramatic, poignant, and exhilarating, full
of both the pleasures and the pains of childhood.
"It's healing to reclaim childhood memories," Jay says. "Storytelling
demands that you be vulnerable. Because of that, people sense
they can trust you."
Jay has reached the beach. The morning mists vanish as the sun
clears the horizon. Back on the marsh, the dewy sea grass sparkles.
As Jay turns toward solid ground again, he talks about the power
of storytelling to heal and to awaken creativity - things that
he believes are closely linked.
"Each human being is a galaxy," he says. "Parents, friends,
enemies, fictional characters, experiences, fears, uncertainties
circle within us like planets. Stars burst into life and die within
us. Yet we live most of life superficially, unaware of our vast
inner world. Stories can awaken us to the world within. They invite
the audience to be active, to create. And that, in turn, awakens
in them a sense of their own story."
© Robert E. Baldwin
email: storytlr@netins.net
Phone: 515-284-8920
Used with permission
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