The Best Storyteller I Know
'If It Makes You Feel Something,
Then It's Good Art'
Thoughts on Art
The first story I ever shared
was a play I put on at school.
Dad came to watch.
My dad is an amazing storyteller.
Everyone loves my dad. He's an incredibly kind, cheeky bloke who drives big trucks through the desert and collects adventures on the way.
‘The snake was this big.’
‘This bloke was half mad.’
‘He’s dead. Kangaroo flew out the side of the road and he missed the bastard.’
All his stories have lessons. A laugh.
Something that makes you think.
The best ones have it all.
-
After my play’s big debut, I couldn’t wait to hear what my favourite storyteller thought of mine.
We drove home in silence.
I sat in the front seat in my glitter eye shadow and colourful costume and waited.
Finally, after a long while, dad spoke- deep and kind-
in that ‘I’m about to say something real’ way that he has.
-
‘I don’t know much about art.
But I do know this.
If a story makes you feel something,
-good or bad
if it makes you cry or laugh or think
Then it’s good.’
-
The last couple of years,
I’ve been trying to tell the best story I can.
One that makes people feel the most.
Turns out, that’s pretty hard to do.
-
In the process,
I’ve burnt my entire life down
a few times over.
-
Things were so bad at one point,
Dad and I stopped talking.
My stories didn’t make him feel anything other than confused.
(To be fair- watching your daughter have an orgasm from a foot job in front of 300 people is a pretty tall order for a country dad.)
‘You’re broke, scared and stressed all the time- and what for? This nonsense?
If something is making you sick,
you need to quit it.’
But I couldn’t.
I figured once I'd ‘made it’
all would be forgiven.
-
A few months went by.
Then a whole year.
A lot of people I loved started to go.
I missed my dad, but I didn’t
pick up the phone.
One day, my mum called to tell me
dad wasn‘t well.
I was suddenly very afraid.
I wondered if I’d make it
while he was still here.
And what would happen if I didn't?
'I might not ever make
anything that the whole world
thinks is good.
Or that dad thinks is good.
And one day soon
it might just be me out here with a bunch of stories
and no people to share them with.'
Dad’s in town for the truck show.
I go to breakfast with him
and listen to his new stories.
I feel safe.
Like someone has got my back
in this world.
And it’s okay.
-
After, he gives me two crisp
fifty dollar bills-
‘Pocket money- in case you need it.’
And my throat closes up.
say sorry and ask if he’ll forgive me.
‘I feel like I've let you down.
I haven’t become anything.
I haven‘t made it.’
He gives me a hug and says it’s okay.
I'm here now.
He thinks I’ve become a good person.
And that’s enough
I go to the truck show with my dad.
x