“Tell me a story.”
A poem, a song. DaVinci was a musician and arranged the loaves of bread in ‘The Last Supper’ to equate music notes. Bach wrote code into his music to spell out praises. Beethoven was deaf, but he told stories anyways knowing he would never hear them.
“Tell me a story.”
Imagine those first stories around a pit-fire. Mastodons and arrows, legit heart-racing stories about survival, and techtonic shift.
Imagine as the fire dies, the word being the one thing that still exists.
“Tell me a story.”
A poem, a song. Rauschenberg said: I work in the gap between life and art. Maybe that was Jasper Johns.
Andy Warhol offered up a soup can; Jackson Pollock painted his subconscious and was entirely brave for doing so.
“Tell me a story,” my son says to me. I keep the tradition alive. We are all stories.
Daddy, medium-well. 