LRL Concepts
The art of connection
Storyteller: Portrait of a Story
As people, it is our human condition to try to make sense of the world around us by making up explanations about everything that surrounds us. We are prone to form tales that give us a sense of understanding, and by association, a sense of personal safety. We don't fear as much what we feel we understand.
We have also turned to the visual arts to help us reveal something about the world within ourselves and about our own humanity. We trust what we can see, and hope to expose what we can't. Art helps us shed light on many different areas of our lives. Artworks, individually and collectively, tell many different visual tales that help reveal something about ourselves as a society.
In this Storyteller Series (Portrait of a story) I use portrait in the hope that I can find clues into what makes us uniquely human. I also aim to challenge my own vision of what a portrait is meant to be, and to discern at least one of the many possible stories that my own work presents.
This is and will always be, by definition, a work in progress, as it is impossible to find every story that each portrait contains. It is the first time that I attempt to create art that includes bits and pieces of my own writing. Whether it will be successful in its attempt, I don't know. But as the mother of these creations, I am bound to love them no matter how ugly or beautiful, scary or inspired they turn out to be.
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Portrait 1: She
I am a storyteller. I want to tell a story today. I don't know where it came from, but I can see this woman when I close my eyes. Not all the time, but often enough that it needs to be said... 
Portrait 2: The little green woman
The little green woman screamed. She screamed louder. So loud that her throat hurt and her lungs burned. But nobody heard her. Not the three men sitting on a bench, arms tightly crossed across their chests; not the three women on the following bench, legs tightly crossed together...
Portrait 3: I'd rather be sleeping
I put my socks on one at a time. Carefully. No rush. Simon and Garfunkel have been playing on the radio for the past twenty minutes, but I’m only half aware of the music playing. I’m half in trance. My socks are soft and plushy. Walking in them is like walking on clouds, but I don’t want to walk today. It’s 15 degrees outside and all I want to do is stay home....
