CONTENTS
CONTENTS
1. Foreword
2. A Light in the Gloom
3. Cynocephalus Rex ~ Centaurus Regina
4. Keeping Swords Sharp but Sheathed
5. Beware! Hidden Pitfalls are Often Deep
6. Branch and Beast. Tower and Tongue
7. The Waters are Fine in the Cauldron of Rebirth
8. The Skeleton Key and A Crown for All
9. The Ending is a Beginning in Disguise
10. Author’s Details
11. Thanks, and Dedication
“The problems are solved, not by giving new information, but by arranging what we have known since long.”
― Ludwig Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations
1. FOREWORD
Firstly, thank you for choosing to read this document.
Secondly, where there are specific details or claims to objectivity to be found in some of the examples provided, it should not be taken as exclusionary regarding other cultures, methods, and contexts. It is my contention that the model outlined herein, and the principles proffered, can be applied within any cultural context, especially where it is currently absent. Different approaches, methodologies, philosophical or ideological foundations to the artform of storytelling should be able to fit within or alongside the model offered below, within reason.
Further, with disagreement being a healthy, welcome, and necessary facet of positive discourse, isn’t only something I welcome but actively encourage, especially when aimed at improving this model. My goal here is to allow for oral storytelling to reassume a justifiably esteemed position in any given society or arts landscape where it has been lost or is deemed in need of reform. This cannot occur without active discourse.
Thirdly, I tend to use Welsh words to describe many terms throughout this piece. This is to place them in their original context (e.g., Cymru – Wales, Prydain - Britain). Again, this is not to be maliciously exclusive, rather it is to present a spirit of cultural authenticity regarding my own practice as defined below. Other terms can of course be used if applying this model, and furthermore, the use of native language here is being presented in an open-to-all fashion. I try to be as welcoming and supportive of my culture’s position in the hearts and minds of any and all who wish to learn about, enjoy it, and to embrace it. I enjoy my Cymreictod (Welshness) as an accident of birth: those who choose to embrace it from beyond our borders hold a very special place in my heart. I also enjoy and appreciate the varied cultures of the world and relish learning about them. In this spirit, I will translate terms once, then use the native term from that point onwards in this piece where it reoccurs.
Finally, the opinions and findings in this piece are the authors, and his alone. They do not reflect the opinions or utterances of any external organisations or individuals.
2. A LIGHT THROUGH THE GLOOM
“Tradition is not the worship of ashes, but the preservation of fire.”
― Gustav Mahler
In this piece I hope to outline a model, along with the necessary philosophical foundations, for embedded storytelling that could be implemented anywhere by those willing to adopt it, and in conjunction with any type of organisation.
Given that the role within this model that I currently hold is named ‘Cyfarwydd’ (pronounced kəˈvarwɨ̞ð or, roughly Kuh-vah-rooeedth). I will refer to it by this term throughout as the exemplar of the individual employer of the model. The term, foreign to most outside Cymru (Wales), is defined thus:
When used as a noun, the word refers to a storyteller in the oral tradition of the ancient Britons. The term is also used in other ways: to denote familiarity with something, to describe an individual as being highly skilled in any given field or to describe advice or instruction when used as an adjective, or more nouns used to describe either a witness in a legal sense and, archaically, as a rough cognate for ‘wizard’ (also, ‘conjurer’, ‘magician’, ‘fortune teller’ and ‘naturopathic healer’) when describing a man who is ‘cyfarwydd’, or a Dyn Cyfarwydd. You can see that in each definition the ideals of wisdom, skilfulness and creativity are paramount. Incidentally, it is also the word used in Cymraeg (the Welsh language) for ‘glow-worm’ – a creature seen as a light in the dark.
How did I become a Cyfarwydd? Towards the end of 2021, the Beyond the Border International Storytelling Festival set up an initiative for artists called ‘The Mycelium Hub’. Via this programme, storytellers, and artists who practice adjacent artforms, receive funding for their work based in specific geographical areas. This is paid in the form of a monthly stipend. The process of attaining a role in this programme is adjudicated by written bid application, outlining the nature of the work they wish to explore and practice within their respective geographic areas, reaching out to their local community and institutions. You can infer, I’m sure, the various criteria the panel used in coming to their decisions -what exactly the applicant plans to do (project planning), their potential institutional partners, and the perceived/relative need of their particular part of Cymru. The role adopted by successful applicants is titled ‘cyfarwydd’.
Given the somewhat open and broadly self-generated nature of the role as outlined, I decided to forge for myself a rather rarefied position. I modelled my conceptualisation of this role of ‘Cyfarwydd’ (capitalised henceforth) on the original ancient classification of the same name. My enjoyment and findings on this particular aspect of the work gave rise to formulating this treatise, with the hope it can prove useful in forming similar roles elsewhere in future.
The conceptualisation of this role itself proved rather challenging, given the scarce information we have on the Cyfarwydd tradition, especially when compared to the other creative professional class of Brythonic Prydain (Britain), that being the Beirdd (the bards). It is my contention that, despite this relative paucity of source material, reasonable inferences based in sound logic and application of critical thinking and comparative historical/anthropological context can be made in ameliorating this lack of data in the written historical record.
The first major hurdle is to be found in seeking a form of cultural authenticity in the reformation of the Brythonic oral tradition: the problem is that, put frankly, humans die. Whilst it is true that ideas do not, when the mode of communicating such things is as transient as fog, and the tradition was practiced in a time before recorded media, we cannot hope to find compelling, solid proofs in record. To retain such practices without a solid form of record-keeping is near impossible. The method our ancestors from oracy-based cultures employed was, in modern parlance, a form of apprenticeship, e.g., Griots in West Africa, The Drut'syla of the Ashkenazim, and the Seanchaí of Ireland. Alongside often holding an exulted position in society, they passed their practice on to the next generation by means of direct coaching, exemplary performance, and discussion, thus ensuring the continuation of the tradition. The communities they served would also have been aware of the content the embedded teller worked with, forming a network-based memory spanning entire cultures. Seldom, if ever, by writing anything for posterity. Herein lies the problem: once one link in this chain has broken, the whole mechanism seizes. A faint sort of memory of such traditions may persist beyond this break, but the tradition itself does not without continued operation of an orally-bound model by the community. I will state again - people die - and we cannot simply will it back into existence after such a breakage, however hard we try.
It is prudent to consider the nature of the tradition in order to undertake such a resurrection. So, what is our best inference as to what the Cyfarwydd actually did, insofar as we can tell at all? Beyond the dictionary-derived definition offered above, we also know from various records that they worked alongside the Beirdd, whose focus was more on composition and performance of verse and song. The Cyfarwyddion (the ‘-ion’ denotes the plural form) have been described as acting as the chroniclers, codifiers, and advisors in the post-Roman period, basing their practice on performance of/recitation of long-held traditions and ancient tales. It is therefore reasonable to consider that the Cyfarwydd role was the descendant of the Druidic class that held esteemed positions in pre-Roman Britain, given that both roles were concerned with maintaining the oral tradition and the mythological cycle. It follows that, when we consider that the Beirdd continued to practice their craft in a similar manner in the post-Roman era, that the Cyfarwyddion would fill in for the previous role fulfilled by their Druid antecedents. We should note that the Cyfarwydd role would be without the native religious element held by the Druids, that having been stamped out or practices being Romanised during the Empire’s occupation of the islands, finished off by the coming of Christianity sometime between the the 2nd and 4th centuries AD. This would place the role of Cyfarwydd in two broad categories when considered in the contemporary context – Storyteller and Philosopher. It is in this spirit that I have based my practice as a Cyfarwydd.
With this working definition established, how would one begin to formulate the requisite elements of this resurrected practice? As with any such resurfacing process, figurative ground must be broken first. The act of resurfacing a role such as the Cyfarwydd, therefore, should be undertaken with the same care and diligence as in the field of practical archaeology. The artefacts are worth uncovering, but the endeavour to do so is perilous and prone to ruination, certain to fail if the wrong tools or imprudent, rash methods are employed. When considering the uncovering of the Cyfarwydd tradition, this could be, say, the application of incautious, politically de rigueur language or intentions, or philosophically confused language in considering the role, top-loading what one wants the role to be, rather than what it was. This is the equivalent of trying to dig up some Phoenician earthenware cups using dynamite, presenting the world the dust of the exploded vessels, and asking us all to admire the intricate paintwork along the base. As with declaring the remnants of an explosion an important archaeological find, we must avoid declaring an invented cultural role to be a faithful interpretation of an ancient tradition.
Sticking with the ‘Phoenician cup’ analogy for a moment: say we have unearthed a perfectly intact Phoenician cup. It is a nice discovery, to be sure, but let us consider that it is not an uncommon discovery; perhaps it’s not of the highest import regarding present interest or the mores of historians. Perhaps every museum, university and historical society has at least one on show, better decorated or of a higher degree of rarity than ours. Maybe we already own a couple; what can we do with the particular cup we have just uncovered? Should we perhaps be permitted to use it, if it is not to be displayed? What if it was fragile? Maybe it could be fortified and protected such that its rate of deterioration is reduced to the same rate as a mass-produced plastic cup. Should we be permitted to use it then? Here is where we see this analogy can only go so far: culture is ultimately a very different sort of game from archaeology, with ineffable artefacts that should not to be valued on the basis of rarity or subjective aesthetic measurements. Despite both being equally prone to ‘breaking’, the fragile nature of cultural artefacts differ. Given that physical cracks and atmospheric sensativites do not apply, usage may not be as detrimental to the form and function of the cultural artefacts. Indeed, usage itself is often that which bolsters them. It is my contention that, in this instance, we should indeed use the ineffable ‘cup’. We should allow for just enough modernising fortification to occur so it can be celebrated in the context of its original function, but not so much that the ‘cup’ becomes indistinguishable from modern ‘cups’.
It is in this spirit that I have approached my role of Cyfarwydd. To allow for one foot to be planted on the side of the “historically accurate” and the other on the side of the “use it or lose it”. If I am to adopt the term Cyfarwydd as opposed to, generically, ‘storyteller’ or ‘spoken word artist’, it’s my ethical responsibility to practice in a manner that an Ancient/Medieval-era Cyfarwydd could recognise in principle if they were flung forward in time to today. Many, many aspects of content, language, and stagecraft I employ, not to mention my choice in clothing and hairstyle, would be utterly alien to the ancient Cyfarwydd, of course – heretical, perhaps – but the basic outline of what is being done should be easily comprehended.
To ensure this I have outlined some basic principles to be a foundation for my Cyfarwydd practice. These principles are as follows:
1. To perform Welsh tales, or tales in a Welsh cultural context for the public in a manner that retains the central thrust of such tales, all in as unadulterated a way as is feasible.
2. To be a Cyfarwydd for a set area or for a fixed institution.
3. To provide context, philosophical and historical, to the tales in a non-pedagogical manner, separated from the performance of the tales: the tale holds the lesson, and can be considered one in and of itself. The Cyfarwydd should employ a Socratic approach in discussion of the tales and their contexts.
4. To study and improve on the practice of the Cyfarwydd; to hold and seek discussion with relevant experts in adjacent fields of media, within the arts, and in relevant areas of academia. This would aid in building a solid platform for epistemic accountability and, more generally, for philosophical coherence.
5. To eschew the didactic urge: The Cyfarwydd is a role that rests within the world of the Arts, Culture and Entertainment. Although activism may be something other artists want to engage in, the Cyfarwydd, being one who seeks to preserve and advocate for traditional tales, should avoid this. In advocating for a specific position other than what is definitive in the conceptualisation of the Cyfarwydd, the action becomes the laundering one’s own subjective opinion via the tradition. This is propaganda, and counter to the basic concept of the Cyfarwydd role. That considered, life outside the role of the Cyfarwydd is not covered by this, where personal proclivities in these areas are unavoidable. This principle is best understood as being akin to the proscribed, oath-bound neutrality of a judge or a doctor.
6. To be an advocate for Cymraeg alongside the heritage and the culture of Cymru. Further, to ensure that open discourse as to the nature of these aspects be maintained. Advocacy does not entail the Cyfarwydd set an all-encompassing definition of these elements themselves, rather to present that which is objective, and to discuss that which is not.
7. To endeavour in building and maintaining an environment whereby the artform of the Cyfarwydd can flourish across the territory or within the institution the Cyfarwydd serves, and thus the culture it rests within also.
8. To be of service in doing the same as outlined above, but for the arts in general across the territory or within the institution the Cyfarwydd serves. Openness to collaboration between artforms and their varied practitioners, alongside the maitneance of a warm welcome into the territory of the Cyarwydd in key (as it likely was between the Cyfarwyddion and the Beirdd of old.
These principles, after lengthy deliberation, consultation, and consideration, are still not entirely ‘set in stone’. Improvement will come from further discussion.
I believe, however, that these principles are a good working model, and ethically sound; I hope it would keep our time travelling Cyfarwydd from immediately tying me to a stake and building a bonfire beneath me.
3. CYNOCEPHALUS REX ~ CENTAURUS REGINA
“Imagination abandoned by reason produces impossible monsters; united with her, she is the mother of the arts and source of their wonders.”
― Francisco Goya
Beyond the ethical and cultural aspects, it is important to ask: “What is the utility of such an enterprise?” or, more bluntly, “Why do this at all?”.
The transformation of the Cyfarwydd model into a practicable, contemporary system for embedded storytelling has benefits beyond the invaluable role of maintaining culture and heritage. One of the main reasons the various storytelling traditions, be they artistic/entertainment-based, religious/spiritual, or historiographical, rests in the value they have for the society they serve. Given that myths, legends, folk tales, and urban legends are, in their very essence, distilled wisdom, then the storytelling method itself is the act of disseminating such wisdom.
In a word, sensemaking.
Today, called variously the ‘post-truth age’, the ‘crisis of meaning’, the ‘age of polarisation’ or the ‘era climate/geopolitical/established order uncertainty’, we can ill-afford to either rely solely on extant systems nor to hastily force innovation (perhaps driven by a ‘progress uber alles!” approach that was a leading philosophical catastrophe of the last century, allowing for many of the greatest man-made tragedies ever to occur. Conversely, an unmoving, ossified system eventually crumbles, the falling debris damaging whatever lies below. Whilst it is true that some problems are acute and complex, and thus do require innovation and progress to solve, many of the problems we face are abstract or simply subject to basic human nature, bound to occur and re-occur. For instance, knowledge of ongoing warfare, poverty, and oppression are undoubtably problems, but are also ever-present, and thus, normal in our experience as a species (as with governance, commerce and art). In fact, they are ever-present in all cultures, with each these aspects of the human experience having evolved as we have. Rapidly forced innovation has a nasty tendency to worsen such large-scale problems. It should not be the place of a Cyfarwydd to advocate for an unnatural intervention in this area under the auspices of the role.
The oral tradition (and oracy in general), once a sub-element of our shared experience, and a cornerstone of most (perhaps all) of our cultures, seem to have been beaten into near insignificance by writing, then media, and now, the internet. At least, in most places on Earth.
This has been a catastrophe; perhaps one of the greatest unrecognised tragedies we face.
One would be hard-pressed to claim that we live in an age where most people have as genuine a sense of purpose and meaning as our ancestors did. Can we change this?
First, as a means of understanding the nature of this problem as clearly as can be outlined, I will have to level a (gentle) dig at the major competing mode of sensemaking – those based around the written word.
According to the traditions of the ancient Egyptians, it was the moon god Thoth that gave man the ability to write. This gift was given to aid in preserving their collective memory and wisdom. However, the sun god Re didn’t agree with Thoth’s reasoning, pointing out that man would become reliant on such methods, losing their ability to use their minds. Thoth saw Re’s point and allowed for only a select class to practice his gifted method: the scribes. Many cultures did this for eons, keeping literacy from most whilst preserving it for the few. As much as this may seem cruel, is there at least something to be said for the message in this tale, if not the authoritarian/elitist prognosis offered?
Let’s take the example of medieval cartographers, mainly to establish just how old this problem really is. Alongside drawing simple lines that denoted geographical features, as we see in today’s maps, they (often) added in fantastical drawings of a toothy sea-monsters, legendary heroes, and weird otherworldly creatures, depicted in the places they usually had never visited. These were, as far as my research allows me to conclude, either drawn with an earnest belief that “there be monsters” in those far-flung climbs, an exercise in the artistic expression of metaphor and myth, or to incur further commissions by demonstrating their skills.
Whatever the motivation, the trap of the written word has been inadvertently set and the tyranny of ink on velum can begin to take its natural course. You see, our pattern-spotting brains are greatly satiated by seeing an ‘answer’ to that which our rational brains cannot compute alone. Who can visualise the whole known world at once? Nobody. With a map, however, now we can. Once the ink-drenched demon of word and picture begins a codification of the world around us, the world beyond us and all that may lie in between, it is much harder for a lay person to question whether there may or may not actually be, say, a race of dog-headed men living beyond the Caucuses. “There must be… it’s on the map!”. What about that race of horse-bodied archers? “They’re in Asia, I swear… it’s on the map!”. What if these creatures do not exist? “Why would the cartographer lie?”.
“So what?”, you may think. “Surely, the ‘educated ones’ are bound to step in and disabuse the ‘ignorant’ in such cases”. There’s the problem: the offending maps were the tools of education. Where the Cyfarwydd or the Griot, the Drut'syla and the Seanchaí could answer the questions an audience member may have, to retort, to consider and adapt their models based on further study, the map remains mute. All you learn is “that’s where Constantinople is in relation to Hereford”, the general shape of rivers, and where the oceans end… and that there are four trumpet-blowing angels upon the towers found at our world’s corners, of course. Try to beratingly question a piece of 12th century parchment; it doesn’t result in much, except in probably getting you banned from the British Library.
The potential for discussion with the teller is one of the greatest strengths our artform holds; it’s why I emphasise the importance of the philosophical aspect in this model. Although this is, of course, possible with regards to written knowledge, what exactly is it that we must engage in to do so, beyond the initial reading of the texts? In a word, oracy. With the loss of an independent oral tradition that is central to the culture, however, people are reduced to discussions based around the written word, just as the god Re predicted in the story. “It is so written” has more power than you may consider.
This principle begins to govern all that is discussed. Whilst written critiques, reviews, and essaying act as a form of rebuttal, they lack the dynamism and immediacy of live conversation and debate resulting from a subject expressed verbally. Alongside this, we no longer get an ever-evolving body of high-status folklore and myths, delivered by the holder of such wisdom as examples to draw upon. A chat with your local Cyfarwydd should, therefore, compensate for the impossibility of a discussion with a book on a given subject (or, with a particularly learned Cyfarwydd, equivocal to a discussion with a library). Is it inconceivable that such a model can be a primary mode of knowledge-gathering and sensemaking, or if preferred, a supplemental form? I hope it could, but it certainly is not currently the case.
But isn’t all this talk of ‘the written word’ horribly passe in the age of mass media, let alone the internet age? Surely the fact that the sum of human knowledge being accessible on our devices has brought an end to such dogmatism. Not at all. If anything, the issue has become more acute. Here’s contemporary example of what is outlined above – the ‘Gell-Mann amnesia effect’, a phenomenon proffered by author Michael Crichton:
“…the Gell-Mann Amnesia effect is as follows. You open the newspaper to an article on some subject you know well. In (Nobel laureate) Murray (Gell-Mann)'s case, physics. In mine, show business. You read the article and see the journalist has absolutely no understanding of either the facts or the issues. Often, the article is so wrong it actually presents the story backward—reversing cause and effect. I call these the "wet streets cause rain" stories. Paper's full of them.
In any case, you read with exasperation or amusement the multiple errors in a story, and then turn the page to national or international affairs, and read as if the rest of the newspaper was somehow more accurate about Palestine than the baloney you just read. You turn the page and forget what you know”.
I’m sure we’ve all been there, perhaps daily with newsfeeds on our smartphones. It is my contention that the mantle of sole expertise has been draped too tightly about the wielders of the quill and, latterly and in a far more wide-ranging fashion, the keyboard, acting as a protective shield that, although well-earned in many ways, is nearly impenetrable when errors occur. This stamp of approval with no need to “show your work” rubs off on to those who view said work. Even if editing takes place when errors are detected, like a correction in a newspaper or an update to a flawed scientific paper, an updated edition of a novel that corrects the mistakes found in the first, there remains the stain of the previous error. What if the reader only gets the original version? The errors remain absorbed by the reader, the stain fades but remains.
4. KEEPING SWORDS SHARP BUT SHEATHED
“Art is the symbol of the two noblest human efforts: to construct and to refrain from destruction”.
― Simone Weil
Is this all to say that we should immediately dispense with reading and writing, return to small family units, erect wattle-and-daub huts near waterways, and spend our time hunting, gathering, and telling tales around a fire? Well, as nice as I’m sure some may consider this option may be, it is simply the case that the genie of the written word is now out of the ink pot or, contemporaneously, the demon of the blinking cursor is possessing us all.
Plus, I’m sure I don’t need to spend too much time in outlining the many, many boons that the world’s literary traditions have provided – I’m not trying to kick Bulgakov, Shakespeare or Dumas in their proverbial nuts, or indeed whichever metaphorically synonyms act would be equivocal for Woolf, Angelou or du Maurier. The healing, freedom of expression and understanding of the world that has been provided due to the writings of Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, Primo Levi, and Anna Politkovskaya, all having been afforded the ability to disseminate their message in books, or latterly, via online publications, is immeasurable – almost all the quotations used here were written as opposed to uttered.
Simply put, the literary tradition is as wide as the Caspian Sea but only as deep as a glass of milk, due to the fixed nature of words on a page. For our artform, the rim of a glass of milk is just about wide enough to fit your mouth around it, but you’ll never reach the bottom of the glass. We need both. They must interact; they are not the same, of course, but can co-exist in today’s world. This can only be achieved with a reasonable gap left between them.
5. BEWARE! HIDDEN PITFALLS ARE OFTEN DEEP
“There is nothing more alluring to man than freedom of conscience, but neither is there anything more agonising.”
― Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov
There can be little doubt that these are a difficult set of principles to hold, especially in this day and age. When we consider the tendency for errors to be taken as truth, possible forming or fostering blind adherence are not solely confined to the work of writers, it is important to find a way in guarding against this. Indeed, to highlight this phenomenon in its most dangerous form, a speaker who is bound to a hermetically sealed ideological system, replete with the answers to all societal woes, can convince multitudes that what they say is ‘true’. Such self-serving lies can be slander levied against specific groups deemed ‘undesirable’ or ‘enemies’, with no room for dissent. This issue is also found in the rhetoric of the self-anointed guru, the tyrannical cultist, or the unchallenged bureaucrat.
However, it is very important to consider that every dictator gives speeches alongside publishing their books and pamphlets. The codification of the idea on the page legitimises errors just as it does the truth. This phenomenon is a clear danger when considering re-centring oracy in the culture, given the ubiquity of media. The closest thing approximating a solution is to be found if we consider principles 3, 4 and 5 as stated above: this cannot occur within the Cyfarwydd model if the role is to be maintained as described above. Epistemic accountability is therefore a justifiable cornerstone of the Cyfarwydd role, and crucially, in the overarching project of re-centring oracy in society.
Further, given the unavoidable ubiquity of news and narrative-led messaging, and considering the aim of the Cyfarwydd regaining a role of relative esteem in society, external pressure upon the Cyfarwydd may occur; people may begin to demand that you ‘pick a side’ on any given issue du jour. The proscribed neutrality that some roles require seem to be eroding. Thus, institutions ossify, a ‘rights’ and ‘responsibilities’ approach to discourse becomes a battlefield of competing interests rather than a co-operative march towards better conclusions. Is there any way that such a role as the Cyfarwydd can avoid this slippage?
First let us consider how a Cyfarwydd with a particularly strong political conviction could operate within the principled position offered herein. This proclivity may govern where, when and with whom they choose to interact. It may colour the nature of the discussion surrounding their artform with the examples they choose when considering, say, interpretation of the canon they represent or the philosophical frameworks they employ. It may influence their choice with regards to the sort of funding they seek and the organisations from which they can get it. They may engage in action surrounding political issues whilst clearly identifiable as a Cyfarwydd. All this skirts the border of what is acceptable in the context of the Cyfarwydd role but may not cross over to the other side. Let’s take an analogous example for context: the Archbishop of Wales, the Most Reverend Andrew John, and his comments regarding Independence for Cymru during an interview on S4C exemplifies this well:
(Translated from Cymraeg) “I do not speak on behalf of the Church in Wales at all, it’s an entirely personal matter, but I am in favour of independence for reasons I have previously stated (those being economic inequalities)”. The quote is taken from a TV news interview where he could clearly be identified as being a part of his institution by dint of his title being listen next to his name onscreen, and he was wearing his clerical collar. Although his role as chief representative of the Church in Wales is clear to the viewers, one would be hard pushed to deny any person the right to express themselves freely, especially considering the clear statement he made regarding the institution’s neutrality in qualifying such an utterance.
If, however, the archbishop (or indeed, the Cyfarwydd) would choose to bend or change the nature or content of their work, along with the canon of stories that go with it, in order to fit into the context of their personal political proclivities, or if they deny any contrary interpretations or valid criticism due to their placing of the issue as prime, I believe that may cross the line.
How would such an act of source alteration manifest in our artform?
Let’s consider that there is a famed legend which features, say, the ascension of the story’s heroine to the realm of the gods, rewarded for her actions by being granted the role of a nature goddess in the pantheon. This could fit neatly into a campaign for the erection of a wind farm, maybe delivered by a Cyfarwydd who supported such a cause on the proposed site of the wind farm, all arranged and paid for by the lobbying group in charge. Now imagine the same tale includes a hero who rides a magical chariot into battle: could another Cyfarwydd (or in a Machiavellian way, the same Cyfarwydd) use the very same tale to boost the cause for oil prospecting so their nation can foster a strong petroleum industry and automotive sector?
None of this is to say that activism for any given issue is inherently bad, but the contemporary mania for using previously disparate terms like ‘storyteller’ to describe what is, in effect, activism does not fit into the framework described here. The tales are the tales, discussion is vital, comes after, and is separate.
Beyond the discussion surrounding political action is that of basic practice. As a part of the terms agreed upon for my role alongside the Beyond the Border International Storytelling Festival team, for instance, I often engage with specific groups (e.g., dementia groups, young people from deprived backgrounds, pupil referral units), and may allow for practices that fall beyond the scope of the principles outlined above (NOTE: thus far, this has not happened). In this regard, the Cyfarwydd role as I choose to define it is either secondary, supplemental, or not applicable at all (this is whilst performing the duties of the ‘cyfarwydd’ as defined within the Mycelium Hub proposal). I may don the cap of the Cyfarwydd at certain points during, say, engaging as an arts facilitator with a community group, but it is crucial to note that doing the work of an arts facilitator is not being a Cyfarwydd per se – a plumber may also be a soloist in their local choir. Does their singing render them no longer a plumber? Of course not, but their brilliant rendition of Gounod’s Ave Maria should not be the reason anyone sensible chooses them to fix their leaky toilet. They can sing, they can fix toilets, these things are separate.
With all this considered, we should realise the potential for instances of conceptual disagreement to arise between Cyfarwyddion, and with others within the arts. It is difficult to always consider the ethical implications of an artistic practice, given the blurred borders allowed by creative processes. Such instances, although difficult, should always be approached with an attitude of openness, and to emphasise that it is in no way personal. This is reliant upon acceptance of the ‘Philosopher’ aspect of the role, as well as the consideration that the Cyfarwydd is the custodian of the tradition, not its owner or creator. It is also important to be humble in such discussions: it may be that you are in error when considering the work of others as being outside the purview of the Cyfarwydd model. Once again, the Socratic approach is best suited in engaging in discussions surrounding creative practice, either in defending your own or in questioning others.
I hope the examples above can aid in reaching bedrock on such issues.
6. BRANCH AND BEAST. TOWER AND TONGUE
“If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put the foundations under them”.
― Henry David Thoreau, Walden
Despite this treatise being more of a philosophical guide rather than a practical one, it may be helpful to consider some practice-oriented suggestions to aid in grounding the model for embedded storytellers. Many examples I could provide are too subjective, and thus difficult, mostly on the basis of cultural specificity or personal style. But here are some general observations:
The environments in which we choose to perform are also something we should consider here: the lone teller on the stage, performing a show with light and musical cues, may be a worthy vessel for the tales to pass through. But the chance for discussion in such cases are often limited. It is my contention, therefore, that a teller-audience environment that is conducive to direct interaction, at some point in the proceedings at least, should be a necessary element to the practice of a Cyfarwydd. Not necessarily always, in every engagement, but certainly sometimes. The ugly charge of modern storytellers as being “failed actors doing bad monologues” may have some merit otherwise. Story walks, a seated Cyfarwydd waiting for passers-by to stop and listen, or story circles are great alternatives to the formal stage-based show. This having been said, the opportunity to deliver a body of work in front of a conventional audience is also a necessary element. This not only allows for, in the context of the Cyfarwydd specifically, Brythonic tales to be afforded their rightfully exulted place amongst the world’s oral traditions, but also allows for some of the ‘gentle modernising’ we discussed above. Some West End/Broadway SFX and lighting doesn’t kill the artform. If that’s all that is done by the Cyfarwydd, becoming definitive of their practice rather than supplemental, it might.
Telling ‘in nature’ is a great a tool for aiding in the cultural aspects of the Cyfarwydd role. Knowledge, folklore and tales regarding plants and animals found locally are greatly boosted by being in close proximity to the subjects.
Performing at historical sites has the same effect for the heritage work too. A famous legendary King in an amazing adventure story is said to have lived in a local castle: it would be helpful for both the audience and the teller to share such a tale at the castle itself.
Use of the native language is also something the Cyfarwydd should not be afraid to do. Even if not for an entire tale: including it in dialogue portions, accompanied by immediate translation of these portions to the most comprehended language your audience holds, aids in fostering cultural authenticity. A Cyfarwydd may opt not to translate but, considering not everyone may speak the language in any given audience, it would aid in the expression of the culture via the work to do so.
If the Cyfarwydd does not (in this cultural context) speak Cymraeg, it should not preclude them from being a Cyfarwydd. It is unavoidable, however, to use the language (character names, placenames etc) in the telling of the vast majority of our stories. It would be prudent for the Cyfarwydd to learn the derivation of such terms and, when natural to do so, share such knowledge during the performance. This enriches the audience’s experience and, again, aids in fostering authenticity.
7. THE WATERS ARE FINE IN THE CAULDRON OF REBIRTH
“A fo ben bid bont”.
(“He who wishes to be a leader must also be a bridge”)
― Bendigeidfran, King of the Britons, From the Second Branch of the Mabinogion
Philosophy, as derived from the Greek philo (love) and sophia (wisdom), is the study of all that can be considered. Traditional Storytelling, in my contention, is the ultimate devotional act in this regard. Where I am from, this Cymru that I love beyond what could be expressed in writing, it has been said that:
“…singing and storytelling are party skills, not professions”.
-Hollywood actor Rhys Ifans
He isn’t wrong. To do either, many of my compatriots feel that they must take the long journey to the West End of London or to Hollywood, to Las Vegas or Fleet Street to practice such party tricks and earn their keep. This has held true for decades, centuries even. You can try being a star of stage and screen in Tonypandy in the Rhondda Fawr Valley, or a best-selling international recording artist without leaving Curraghoo, County Cork, but you will most likely fail. This is a problem for the notion of embedding storytelling in the oral tradition.
If we look to our past, we see this was not always the case; the culture itself could maintain her artists. I believe we could revive this system. In fact, similar artefacts have been revived before, and this example hits close to home for me, figuratively and literally: the case of Cymru’s national cultural festival, the Eisteddfod, is a perfect example of this. The first Eisteddfod – a competition of Bards to sing and compose verse – was founded by a King who lived in what is now the town I inhabit. Further, his citadel, the very seat of his power and prestige was Dinefwr - this is now the home of the Beyond the Border International Storytelling Festival, the very same organisation that acts as patron for our current crop of Cyfarwyddion. And I, lucky beyond hope, am the Cyfarwydd for this most consequential of places.
Back in 1176, Tywysog Rhys ap Gruffydd, ruler of the Kingdom of Deheubarth (and Ruler of much of the rest of Wales at certain points in his life), invited bards, musicians, and storytellers from all over Wales to compete at his castle in Aberteifi. There he awarded a chair to the best performer. We continue this at a national level to this day – including the award of a chair to the victorious bard.
This current institution, the Eisteddfod Genedlaethol (National Eisteddfod), is not part of an unbroken lineage dating back to 1176. The first modern Eisteddfod was held in Aberdâr in 1861, with forerunner revivals ranging from the London-based Gwyneddigion literary society in 1788 to provincial eisteddfodau all over Cymru throughout the 19th century. The Aberdâr Eisteddfod is the first iteration of the National Eisteddfod now held annually.
Such a shining jewel in any culture’s crown can, as history reveals, be tarnished by the predations of an overly aggressive progressive modernisation, emergent competing mediums, changing socio-cultural mores, and external repression/suppression. And yet, with a good deal of buffing and polishing, it has been returned to an exulted and respected position as our chief cultural event, a gleaming diamond in a renewed crown for us all.
I’m sure this tale of cultural death and rebirth is familiar to many of you, wherever you hail from. If it can be done with a national festival, left dormant for hundreds of years, then surely it is possible to do so with an individual role as well?
As with this cultural event being a ‘draw’, the holders of such a culture should be able to draw people also. This would require institutional backing, not only financial, but in marketing: governments, arts organisations and the private sector should tell the world to come to where the culturally definitive stories are and, naturally by extension, tell them who is holding them.
With confidence in the viability of the role, a firm model of practice, and evidence of the necessity of oral storytelling, I believe that it certainly possible to secure such an embedded position. I hope this piece can help in this regard: I, for instance, hold such a position. The model of practice is outlined here. The examples and philosophical underpinnings are listed above. Indeed, it isn’t the case that this model is totally new and unique, it is just a formalised template: the University of Galway’s Centre for Irish Studies, for instance, has recently announced a storyteller-in-residence. It should be immensely confidence-building that the viability of such a model outlined here seems to be understood by some organisations already. This also goes to show that, beyond the borders of my cultural context, this model will prove successful. Your culture, your heritage, whichever language(s) you speak, are of no lesser value than mine, nor that of Ireland; there is nothing ‘special’ or better about Brythonic culture/the culture of Cymru that gave rise to the Cyfarwyddion or in the seanchaithe of Ireland. It is possible and, as shown, demonstrable anywhere. Even if you cannot find that a formerly designated storyteller role that existed where you are, the model is here, and your culture is there. That is a good spot for some innovation.
8. THE SKELETON KEY AND A CROWN TO FIT ALL
“You can only become truly accomplished at something you love. Don’t make money your goal. Instead, pursue the things you love doing, and then do them so well that people can’t take their eyes off you”.
― Maya Angelou
On forms of potential monetisation: there are three primary funding sources that are most apt for the Cyfarwydd model of embedded storytelling:
a) Private patronage,
b) state-funding,
or c) non-profit/third sector funding models
are all to be sought by resident storytellers under this model. That is to say, every possible mode of monetisation should be considered viable if the right degree of social gravitas is to be attained by this reinvigorated role and to maximise the model’s viability. If only one form of funding is deemed ‘proper’, we risk siloing the artform within any given framework, allowing for undue influence from whichever sector it resides within, or will be allowed to wither away as either:
a) Simply unable to compete in a marketplace that pits the model against the well-instantiated, commercially viable offerings of stand-up comedy, movies, and theatre. We also have a flattening of relevance regarding the very word used to signify our art form: incorporation of the term storytelling into other, often tangentially related fields numbs potential audiences when offered a chance to watch; “storytelling? Like in a Mercedes ad?” In such an ossified marketplace the model could conceivably be seen as feasible to financially back as investing in a chicken that can peck out the tune of “Bohemian Rhapsody” on an mbira. Poorly.
b) Seen as merely a budgeting area that, in a tough financial climate (which is inevitable), could be cut away like fat from a lamb chop. The fiscal value of the arts may differ from government to government, but usually are considered as more of a ‘luxury’ than other areas of spending. Given that this model would be new, an embedded storytelling budget may fall into a “last in, first out” situation.
Or c) moulded and re-moulded, re-defined and un-defined, ravaged by ‘special areas of interest’ and ‘key performance indicators’, forced to justify the practice solely by ‘impact’ that often has no real way of parsing, focusing rather on whichever area the funding organisation focuses on, and ceases to be what it was by obliteration and carless re-formation. Even if nominally remaining whatever cultural term is used for the practice according to those who have effectively destroyed it, the artist is seldom free to practice in-keeping with the tradition. Although not unique to this sector, the specific issue-focus of such organisations seems to indicate that it occurs more often.
The only way I believe is feasible to avoid these outcomes is if every option is held as possible and are sought equally: if not necessarily by the individual teller – which would be impossible to do all at once, of course; this is to be taken as being on a role-by-role basis – then by the community of those who follow this Cyfarwydd model in general. All options should be deemed acceptable, within broad ethical parameters. Whether you find funding by a consortium/company/wealthy patron, a museum/charity/NGO/university or by your local/national government directly, we should hope that this model can fit within each funding type. We should seek to serve the public, whilst we honour tradition of course, but not be overly precious as to who serves us. Dying on hills may create martyrs, but equally, it may not.
There is another form of funding that may be pursued: direct funding. Many online creators use this model: Patreon.com, GoFundMe.com, Subscribestar.com, and Ko-fi.com are all platforms where the creator can receive direct donations from their audience. Perhaps a similar platform could be innovated specifically for embedded storytellers – this model has traditionally been viewed as supplemental to advertising money gained from sites like YouTube but has surpassed that revenue stream in many cases. If not feasible to offer regular shows locally, and thus regular ticket sales, the direct patronage model could be implemented by the embedded storyteller as a form of baseline income. Setting up such a platform is NOT my area of expertise, but certainly worthwhile for those for whom tech comes naturally to consider.
It is also inevitable that many storytellers who become Cyfarwydd model adopters will engage in other forms of storytelling too, most notably to tour with their own devised shows. This may be secured via one of the funding models described above or, as with stand-up comedy or theatre, either a profit-sharing model, with a production company, crowd funding or with the artist self-funding the tour. Such an enterprise is possible alongside the embedded Cyfarwydd model. Indeed, it may help raise awareness of your embedded role, the culture you represent and of the area you serve. If a touring model is done solely, however, it is not compatible by its very nature. There’s nothing wrong with being a touring storyteller, of course, but ‘embedded’ you will not be.
9. THE ENDING IS A BEGINNING IN DISGUISE
“Everything must have a beginning … and that beginning must be linked to something that went before”.
― Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley
Finally, I would like to propose the formation of an organisation for coordination of this model. Coordination on this model is not only a method to improve it but also provides evidence of quality for potential backers to draw upon. With several people seeking to employ this model, it becomes an attractive proposition. There is safety of investment in numbers and case studies really help.
This is, unfortunately, the bit I am least equipped to facilitate alone. So, in that spirit, I invite all of you who would like to employ, improve, or disseminate this model, or to begin in organising a community around it, to please contact me:
We can revive, we must maintain. Let us revive our cultures by reviving ourselves, becoming Cultural Revenants. One and all.
Diolch o galon i chwi oll.
10. AUTHOR’S DETAILS
Written by: Ceri John Phillips, Cyfarwydd Bro Dinefwr – February 2023
Ceri John Phillips is a former actor and comedian who is a couple of years into his career as a storyteller.
His interests and repertoire range from the Mabinogi (telling traditional tales, primarily from the Welsh mythological cycle, with the Four Branches of the Mabinogion being chief amongst them), other Welsh folk tales, ghost stories and urban legends. He does not preclude telling tales from beyond these areas, relishing every opportunity to dip into other folk traditions - Greek, Slavic, Yiddish… you get the picture.
11. THANKS, AND DEDICATION
I would like to thank:
Steffan, Elin, Margaret, and Bethan Phillips (fy nheulu), Clare Murphy (fy arwr), Tamar Eluned Williams (fy ffrind), Daniel Morden (fy athro awennol), Michael Harvey (fy athro technegol),
Cath Little, Fiona Collins, Kestrel Morton, Sef Townsend, and Chris Baglin – the (hopefully) willing conversationalists,
Eleanor Shaw and all the staff, board members, and volunteers at People Speak Up, Naomi Wilds and all the staff, board members, and volunteers at Beyond the Border, and Sandra Bendelow.
Diolchiadau gwastadol i Amy Yamazaki (fy nghariad), without whom I could not do any of this.
I thank them all for their support and willingness to discuss with me the many ideas found in this text, crystalising and critiquing, wondering, and warning.
This work is dedicated to the memory of Prof. DZ Phillips and Elizabeth Levi -Diolch o nghalon a welai chi ‘to cyn ‘bo hir.
Check out THE REVENANT CYFARWYDD: THE SHORT VERSION here on my Substack for a condensed, article-length outline of this model that’s ideal for a refresher read or to share!