Thursday, 13 March 2014

The storyteller

My mother is the best storyteller. I think that only in few occasions was I lucky enough to meet people so devoted to the plot, but also to the gestures and mimics of the main characters. There are stories that I heard my mother tell a dozen of times, and I just can't get enough of her retelling them. Just like my father, my mother left her mark on the way I see the world. But in order to be completely honest, I must add that she helped me understand the world by enabling me to imagine it. Thus, I learned to imagine sketches, and my imagination was always encouraged to go beyond limits, even if these limits applied to theater directing or costumes.
Her stories captured me because of their plot, but they way they were presented encouraged me to always imagine the set in which the action took place, to actually see the characters (even if I never met them), to hear their words and to notice their tone of voice, to almost smell the perfume of an immense bunch of freesia carried by a passer-by and to hear the harsh remark of a participant to a serious dispute.

I am not in the wrong to state that almost all my mother's stories were kept in my memory as wisdom stories. Their value is priceless, and not because of their application in the real life, but because of their immeasurable connection my mother created between us, the members of her family. As she will always be the authentic storyteller, and us the faithful preservers of the story.

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