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Each of these circumstances was, of course, job-related; in
fact, they were job-demanded. To
participate, one had to look the part … and walk and talk the part … .
Outside of these circumstances, however, should we continue to look like Storytellers? It’s a question of identity, isn’t it?
This, however, begs the issue: what does a Storyteller look like? Does he wear a bow tie like Donald Davis?, or gold shoes like Linda Gorham? Does she wear ethnic garb like Shanta or Mama Edie? Or wear a frog-bespeckled vest like Ben Rosenfield? A tie? A funny hat? A “story” coat or apron? Wild hair? Long hair? Short hair? Bearded?, or deforested as to chin?
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I believe in comfort. I like to move around when I tell. I sometimes squat, jump or dance; I flail my arms about … I try not to step on anyone. I gesture grandly and make faces at my audience. I kneel. I lay on my stomach, sometimes. I’m the one telling the stories – whether at the front of an audience or smack dab down in the middle of one – there’s no mistaking that … . I am a Storyteller when I am telling stories. No matter what I am wearing. When I am not … perhaps … someone else is telling tales?
| And that’s all right.
There are as many tellers as there are tales to tell; everyone
is, afterall, a Storyteller of one sort or another. There are as many styles of Storyteller and Storytelling as
there are tellers, and that is our beauty. |