Legend Has It
What is your red thread?
I try to imagine a world where no mirrors exist;
no way to see the way we may reflect.
Yet take away the glass,
the refractions of the water,
and quickly you can see
the magnitude of what
a mirror can be.
Recently I was trying to find another word for “qualifications,” to describe to a friend why I felt inadequate for my work; why I felt I had to spit out random knowledge to validate my ideas instead of using my vulnerability as a source.
And I discovered that we can view accumulated knowledge overtime as Lore.
Lore! The magical, mystical, ancient stories of witches, and myths, and greek gods. I fucking love lore.
My current favorite is the lore of Fleetwood Mac and all of Stevie Nicks spells on stage.
I have a Medusa tattoo because of lore and will soon have Atlas on my body as well.
I’ve dreamt of being Lady of the Lake, and am slightly convinced I would easily be cast as her if I ever auditioned for a fantasy show (let me stay delusional).
When we were in 6th grade, we had to write a piece of mythology (or lore) about a creature of our own imagination. And I think about mine all the time.
Her name was Crystilla.
She was a young girl who avoided love. Everyone told her her heart would turn cold if she didn’t let love in. Then on her 15th birthday, her heart froze and she slowly turned to ice. From then on, anyone she touched became an ice sculpture. Those brave enough to trek to her castle were met with the frozen gazes in her garden. Rows and rows of people, all shocked at her scorn, frozen in time.
The story ended with someone showing her to find the love within herself, and everything melted. Ta-dah.
Yes, I was 11 when I wrote that and yes, I had and still have a lot of feelings.
But, thinking back to that 11-year old Deanna, writing the story of someone who feared the vulnerability of love, I have to ask myself, “What is my Lore?”
What is my myth? My story?
I had an art mentor for a bit that kept telling me to look for the red thread.
This thread that connects my creations. This thread that no matter where someone may find something of mine, there is no question it is me.
Existentialism? Clouds? A deep longing to fill the world with magic and love?
Those may be words to describe me, but after a long time, I’ve realized that everything I’ve ever made, written, or done has been about a portal.
I’ve been drawn to Hell Loops.
I’ve been drawn to Subtle Activations.
I’ve been drawn trying to capture the sky.
All of which, are simply, an invitation.
I invite you to find yourself.
I invite you to allow in freedom.
I invite you to shift.
The gratitude I feel and why I show up in my creations has always been because of those that resonate with my work. I receive messages and calls telling me about the invitations I’ve offered; many times, ones I didn’t even realize.
I draw literal portals in most of my work, or ladders, or use subtle activations as portals with words.
That is my red thread now, but what is the story that brought me to my creativity?
I think a way to discover your lore is to look at the spaces you’re afraid of your own curiosity.
Take my ice queen story for example. The girl who wrote it saw a fear of love; saw a fear of loneliness.
That fear didn’t just disappear after the story was written…I still write about my avoidance to romance to this day.
I still dance around in my hell loop, with a pattern of believing that no one would commit to me. I’ve experienced relationships where I was searching for the proof that my beliefs were valid.
If I told you my dating history, the red thread is shining brighter than the thread woven through my art.
Up until recently, I have used those experiences and patterns to mold my mythos.
It’s funny actually because whenever I travel to a new place, or move to a new town, I think how easy it would be to write a new legend. I fantasize about removing that pattern from my identity, even playing with a new name, so I could rewrite what it means to be me.
And yet, I eventually still choose to walk around with the chains of my lore as if the story were sewn into my skin for all to see.
Write a story that you wish could be your history and then write the story of the history you’ve been carrying. Do they reflect each other? What parts are you wishing to rid yourself of? Which parts do you wish to keep?
A few years ago, these questions were looming over me, so much so that I wrote a short story of a man who became stained in ink with every word he ever spoke.
Some day we’ll be able to measure the power of words. I think they are things. They get on the walls. They get in your wallpaper. They get in your rugs, in your upholstery, and your clothes, and finally in to you.
-Maya Angelou
Can you hold your story with some magic?
Is your story one of triumph and perseverance? Mysticism and intuition? Chaos and impulse?
I’ve been carrying around the belief that Nothing is Real and Everything is Sacred.
I carry it to remind myself to bring in more curiosity with my experience. Any story I tell, any truth I believe, can be shifted, even though it holds weight.
The series of the creation of meaning on Philosophize This! is a really great look into how we find meaning; is it created within us and projected or is it formed externally and simply found?
What you decide shifts your lore.
Today, I would say my story is the story of young girl that moved with curiosity. A young girl who trusted herself and her interests.
She held onto her hope like a weapon and offered up her love to the world.
Any events that resulted in sadness or grief were just side quests to help her become who she is today.
Any time something happens to me, I often find myself saying “that will make a great story one day.”
My story has always been fueled by…stories.
The bridges formed by my creations and words are so vital to my own vitality that I am willing to go into the dark rooms of life to find the light. I’m willing to experience the side quests and the pain and the struggle if it means that I can bring some nugget of inspiration to those who may experience it.
I want to be the legend and the bard.
I want to move through my stories as I weave them.
And I often wonder if we have more control of our own legends, much like we do meaning, or if we must experience life before we can find that story.
I guess that’s with anything though.
We are always trying to force the story before the experience.
Like clarity.
We get so caught up in discovering the clarity that we tell ourselves we need it to take action. As if the action is not what forms the clarity.
Meaning, Clarity, Lore.
Maybe they are all just synonyms of the very thing we are trying to master.
The lore we speak weaves the world we seek.
Just some food for thought :)
P.S.
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