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Lone
Wolf
Howl:
GOAT
SONGS,
TALCUGHS,
AND
THE
MIRACLE
OF
THE
IMAGINATION
(Originally
published
in
Calgary
Country: March 2004)
There's an episode from the Greek myth of Medea (prior to the atrocities she commits against Jason made famous by Euripidies' play) wherein she uses her black magic means to achieve benevolent ends. An aged ram is cut into pieces, placed inside a cauldron with a few herbs, then emerges as a fresh young lamb. This transformation, this return to youth by way of dismemberment, is a common theme found in myths and legends the world over (including those closest to home in the Blackfoot stories). Scholars have called this performance with the ram -- this reformation of the bits and pieces into something greater than the sum of its parts -- the Miracle of Medea. Farmers understand this. I live on a 100 year old farm, and the entire fencing system is a patchwork assemblage of bits and pieces brought together to form a new whole. Today we call it recycling. When we lived closer to the bone of magic, we called it a miracle. The artist's sole pursuit is this miracle, for the artist seeks to create something new (be it bold or beautiful) that the world has never quite seen (or heard or felt) before. The creative act has often been likened to the trade of the blacksmith. James Joyce closes his "Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man" with a vow to 'forge in the smithy of my soul the uncreated conscience of my race'. Read "Ulysses" and find out just how well he did. Theatre (and by extension film, television, and radio arts) owes its very existence to the Miracle of Medea. Dionysus was the Greek god of suffering, death, and resurrection (leave him alone, Mel Gibson) whom the Greeks honored with a festival every spring. The Passion of Dionysus was re-created at this festival by two significant events: the dismemberment of a goat (which was the form the God of the Vine took on when he was torn apart by Hera's vengeful Titans), and by the singing of a hymn. A chorus would sing this hymn, this 'goat song' (from which we get our word 'tragedy') every year, until someone had a great idea: remove a single voice from the chorus and allow him to respond back. Voila! The thespian makes his first appearance and a star is born. From the pieces of a simple goat the miracle of theatre emerges. That miracle continues to re-emerge in halls and school gymnasiums all across Calgary Country. Go look… it's happening right now. What was the myth-maker's tool? What did he use to forge such a complex story as Dionysus? What was Joyce's tool? Or Euripidies'? Or the farmer's? The same as your's and mine and everyone else who emerges from the smithy of the womb: imagination. But here's the rub: we can only imagine that which we've already experienced. If this sounds somewhat oxymoronic, consider this: Imagine a talcugh. Got the picture? Me neither. There's no such thing as a talcugh. We cannot imagine what we do not know. The great ideas we marvel at, the towering creations that have shaped our world (whether they come from the artist's imagination, the farmer's, or our own) are nothing less than the forging together of little bits of experience, dream, inspiration, and sweat. The Miracle of Medea is in essence the Miracle of the Imagination. Piece it together for yourself. Go visit the miracle of theatre in your community, talk about a book you've just read, or help a farmer put up a fence. Imagine the possibilities. Back to Resources Page |