How True Are True Stories
How True Are True Stories?
I mostly write so-called 'true stories', based on my own life, or on memories of people I have interviewed. Only my first book was a collection of quirky, somewhat surreal fictional stories; however, I could not have written those without diving into what I have stored in my brain over the years.
These days it's hard to believe what you read or even see, whether that is something on the internet, in a newspaper, on television, in a book or even in an artwork.
The painting I'm sharing with this blog is a good example. I painted it after the war broke out in Ukraine. My heart always goes out to the women and children who suffer most, and women are often assaulted by frustrated men. In this painting, the woman is trying to protect herself. The lotus flowers are there as a symbol of hope and the possibility to leave the hurt behind and find peace again, symbolised by a peace dove. I've had several people looking at this painting telling me that they see a woman pleasuring herself. This says more about the mind of these people than about my truth.
‘Pax’, acrylic on canvas 64x92cm
Does Truth Even Exist?
Generally speaking, truth is seen as something that accurately represents reality or facts, or something that works in practice, but truth is also what a group of people or society agree upon.
It is relative to cultures or individuals, also depending on perspective and language.
For example... both my parents have died, or I prefer to say passed on... there you go, is death a truth? Death as a concept seems concrete, yet even here it shows that our language and beliefs shape our understanding.
Dr Joe Dispenza, whose approach is rooted in the belief that elevated emotion and conscious intention can rewire our brains and reshape our lives, says that only fifty percent of what we remember actually happened.
This ties in with 'reconstructive memory', as psychologist Frederic Bartlett discovered. When something happens, we reconstruct what we see based on things that we have experienced or learned in the past.
So, apparently, each time we recall something, we're not retrieving a perfect recording but actively reconstructing it, potentially introducing new elements or interpretations influenced by experiences or emotional states.
We all know the stories of eyewitness testimonies. All this suggests we should be humble about our memory-based convictions.
This also leads to interesting questions about identity. If our sense of self is built largely on memories that are constantly being reconstructed, what does that mean for who we "truly" are?
Can we ever know? At the moment I'm sitting here, typing this text, but nano-seconds after I've typed a word, it's already in the past; the moment we recognise it, it's already slipped into memory.
I think I'm digging a hole for myself here. Let's see if I can dig myself out of it.
When I relate all this to my storytelling, I could conclude that when I write 'true stories', I'm engaging in multiple layers:
The initial perception of certain events
The memory of those events
The recall and reconstruction when I sit down to write
Shaping it into a narrative form
The reader's interpretation of my words through their own perceptions and memories
Despite all this, stories can still transmit real truths even when details might shift for the writer or the reader. Perhaps what matters most isn't perfect factual accuracy but emotional authenticity.
Let Me Share a True-ish, Light-hearted Story
It was written about ten years ago and is based on a 'true' event which I totally recall as a true story. I've published this tale in my book 'Tapas of Tales'.
Elves with an Opinion
On a very hot summer's day my telephone rang. "Hi Renate, how are you?" It's Monica, a German lady whom I had met years earlier at an art fair. She asks me whether we could meet up, as her partner Gerda had 'been told' psychically that we had to exhibit our work together in a village along the coast. I was curious, so the next day I drive down the long winding mountain road to visit the remote cottage tucked away in a sea of green avocado plantations and silver-green olive trees.
I turn right into a dirt track which leads to the house of Monica and Gerda and am greeted by the two large-sized ladies with big smiles on their round faces. It feels as if I am entering a delusional, fairy-tale world and I think..."They are going to eat me!" However, I am warmly welcomed by the two 'white witches' as they call themselves. They are both wearing similar big blue dresses without sleeves and with a kangaroo-pouch pocket on the front. Their huge breasts are dangling clearly visible and freely under the thin cotton fabric. It feels soft, hot and humid during the awkwardly long hug.
Messy long, grey hair is framing their white, sweaty faces, completing the picture. Makeup doesn't fit into their world. Gerda looks somewhat wild with her watery blue eyes. They tell me that she is the creative mind and the healer of the two. I am invited into their home, an oasis of calm in a wonderfully warm atmosphere. Everywhere I look I see angels, Tutankhamun replicas, ceramic sculptures and Buddha images. I feel relaxed and at ease.
Whilst Monica is giving me a cup of herbal tea, Gerda tells me about the elves and fairies that are invisible to most people. With a mysterious smile she explains that many think she is crazy, but continues very seriously that elves and fairies have told her that it is time for a joint exhibition of my art and their dresses. Monica, who attends to all Gerda's wishes, listens. Their strange harmonious relationship seems to work perfectly.
Gerda pours me another cup of tea whilst Monica enters the living room with a large number of sweaters, jackets and dresses, hand-knitted by her. I am totally amazed when I see the beautiful colours and motifs used. The cardigans and dresses have long pointed hoods that perfectly fit their pyramid-like shape.
Gerda then explains that she has received a message from her elves to create square dresses. Monica leaves the room to get them. She then shows me a variety of one-size-fits-all, square dresses made of thin cotton fabric. The dresses are beautifully hand-painted by Gerda with colourful symbols and flowers, birds of paradise and Egyptian motifs. They tell me to try one on and I am pleasantly surprised. For someone who never wears a dress, I am filled with enthusiasm.
I very much admire the work of Monica and Gerda and tell them that I feel their clothing is certainly worthy of an exhibition. They don't sell their work to the public, but Monica and Gerda have decided they would like to exhibit their dresses and cardigans alongside my paintings and ceramic sculptures. It seems like a good plan and I feel optimistic and happy when I drive back home with the exhibition date set.
Two days later my phone rings... "I am very sorry Renate", says Monica, "unfortunately the elves have told Gerda that after all it isn't the right time for an exhibition". I can't help but feel disappointed.
How about you?
Would you like to tell your story? A recollection of live events to pass on to your children and grandchildren? Your memoirs? Let me help you with that.
Contact me via email: info@renatevannijen.com for more information!