The Importance of Storytelling

Over the years I have been asked many times to talk to young people about topics ranging from photography to farming, creative thought to traditional dance. Recently, I was asked to speak to the third grade class of St. Michael’s School about what it is that I do at Wheelhouse Creative. That got me thinking. What is it that I do at Wheelhouse? Ask my fellow teammates and they will tell you that they have no clue as to what I do. So the big question was, “Where to begin?” Answer, “At the beginning.”

The following is a pretty close version of what I said to this wonderful group of 9-year-olds.

When I was a very little boy my mother used to tell me the exact same bedtime story every night. And my mom was such a grand storyteller that, in my mind, I could see exactly what the characters looked like and I could picture the story’s surroundings. The story goes like this. “Once there was a little boy who wouldn’t say his prayers. And when he went to bed at night way upstairs, his mother heard him holler, his father heard him bawl, and when they turned the covers down he wasn’t there at all. They seeked him in the rapture room, cubby hole and press. They seeked him up the chimney flew and everywhere, I guess. But all they ever found was his clothes strewn round about. And the goblins will get you if you don’t watch out.” 

Now this story in and of itself wasn’t all that powerful. It was the way my mother told it. She had a way of hesitating at just the right moment, or leaning in and reciting part of it, as if it were some kind of secret between the two of us. And when she would get to the part about the goblins my heart would race and I would giggle with delight. It didn’t take very long until this love of story telling started to seep into my very being.

I used to make up and tell stories all the time. I mostly told them to myself. I’d sit all alone with my Matchbox cars and make up stories about the drivers. I had trucks and cars and even buses. I had a regular bus, a Greyhound bus and even a big, red double-decker bus. I would drive these buses around the floor, up and over the coffee table and onto the mountains of the sofa. I would make up stories about who was on these buses, why they took the trips that they did and on and on and on. This eventually led to making up stories that I could relate to others. I would tell tales to my mom, my grandma, the old lady up the street. My favorite person to tell my stories to was my next door neighbor, Alex Raffa. I was 9 years old and Alex was 92. He spoke no English. He was from Ukraine and spoke only Russian. Still, he would listen and laugh and slap his leg with delight at my presentations. I loved talking to him. He never questioned a thing.

As I got a little older shyness set in. I started to fear the response I might get from people when I told them my stories. Some folks would condemn me as a teller of tall tales and some even as a liar. This part of my life went on hold. I stifled it all inside to the point where I almost forgot about it entirely. Then one day I picked up a camera and for me the world changed. I found out several things from that magic tool called a camera. I found that I liked photography. I found that I was pretty good at it, and most of all, I discovered a way to tell stories without having to say a word.

Over the next 30 years, I used my camera the tell hundreds, even thousands, of stories. I told my story. I told the stories of others and one day I found that through marketing and advertising photography, I could tell any number of client’s stories. These stories required much more thought and I had to fit everything into what it was that the client was selling, or promoting. I found my outlet. Once again I was a story teller.

There are good things and bad things about making your living as a professional photographer. One of the good things is that you can make very good money. A bad thing would be that when there is no business, you make no money. Eventually I was asked to do lighting for television commercials. This started out slow, but soon it became evident that even through lighting, especially through lighting, I could once again tell a story.

Lighting and music create mood for motion pictures. I asked the kids to picture a scene in their minds. A man and his two small children are on top of a hill. The man has a shovel in his hand and is digging. The children look from the ground to the man, to the sky and to the ground again. Now imagine that this scene is lit dully, no shadows, kind of gloomy, and imagine the music playing is kind of sad. I asked the children what they thought the people on the hill were doing. They all agreed that the man was burying a family pet. Then I asked them to imagine the same thing, only this time the lighting looks bright and sunny, and the music is upbeat and dramatic. Now what do you think these folks are doing. “Digging for treasure!” they all exclaimed. All I changed was the light and the music, but the story changed dramatically. Through lighting I was still telling stories.

From here I talked about writing, about being on the set of a TV commercial, about directing a video and then about being a creative director for Wheelhouse. The common theme throughout this whole little presentation was storytelling. I asked the kids to raise their hands if they already knew what they wanted to become as adults. The majority of them raised their hands and said doctor, veterinarian, fireman, lawyer, teacher… a few, maybe two, didn’t raise their hands. At that age I had no clue what I wanted to do or be as an adult, but I loved telling stories. And one day I was fortunate enough to pick up a camera. The rest is history. All my life I have loved storytelling. I still do, and Wheelhouse is the perfect place for me to do this.

As I finished my speech I opened the floor for questions. But first they had to answer a question for me. What color was that double-decker bus? “RED,” they all shouted. I took a few moments to explain that early on in my presentation, in my story to them I planted a seed. I told them that the bus was red. I explained that by peppering your story with simple little details like the color of the bus, it would help folks relate to the story and would give them triggers that could bring up memories later. I also told them that at least one of them would remember 20 years from now that the bus was red. One little girl said that she would be the one to remember.

These children were a blast to work with. They were very kind and attentive. Among their many questions was this one. “As a professional photographer have you ever taken a selfie?” Here is how I answered.