It’s only a story.

I saw art being created last week.

It was inexact in many ways, and a dispassionate observer might describe it as ‘messy’ (art is like that!).

It involved some struggle. Some people cried during it. There were quite a few angry words, but there were kind words too, lots more of them. And there was a huge amount of laughter.

There were many long silences.

People walked away, some to find inspiration, others to find solitude and release, looking up towards the sky, then sighing deeply, counting to ten. But at nine were stopped by a gentle and concerned hand on their arm. No need for ten then, and nine is a very good number comprising, as it does, three sets of three. Three is an auspicious number. Is that why three minute photofilms work so well? There were three people in my group. We’d agree.

Several long days and worrisome nights were required to encapsulate this experience. Starting at dawn, often finishing by candlelight the next morning.

And in that time, once or twice, some things were said that were later regretted, then apologised for.

But the one thing that I did not hear said was “I wish I’d never come.”

Kristin works by candlelight © John MacPherson

This was the duckrabbit photofilm training at The Hinterlands in the gently rolling hills of Devon.

I contribute to this blog, but I have no connection otherwise to duckrabbit, or The Hinterlands. I’d never ever met any of these folks, I just attended as a trainee, and experienced all of the above.

So what did we do? We went out in our groups to make a photofilm and spoke with, and photographed, a guy with a tram, some folks with a horse, a farmer who’s got some cows, and a bloke who sells eggs. Ordinary stuff then?

Well yes.

But only on the surface.

Somehow, remarkably, these individuals allowed a group of total strangers to invade their lives and tease from them images and words. Words that revealed opinions and concerns, hopes and fears about their lives. “A picture’s worth a thousand words” we like to say. But when these pictures are accompanied by the words spoken by the individuals themselves, directly, honestly and with a story to tell, they are powerful.

In an era that will probably be defined by cynicism and distrust, the experiences I had last week were sobering and uplifting. A complete stranger trusted me with his story, his thoughts, his fears, his aspirations, and astonishingly also with his two young children. Within an hour of stopping him in the street and explaining what our group was trying to do, I was left sitting alone in his van, keys in the ignition, with his daughters, 6 and 8 years old, whilst he was off out of sight delivering his eggs. By any standards that goes off the richter scale of trust. But sadly I doubt we’d ever see it as a tabloid headline:

“Man leaves two young children alone with total stranger in van up alleyway. Children have wonderfully hilarious time. Father returns to find everyone giggling, and all become great friends!”

Megan and the eggs © John MacPherson

These are ‘only’ photofilms, ‘just’ stories. But in this short week I learned that these words, with some images, and three minutes of your time can touch people. They can captivate an audience and take them on a short journey to a place they’d not otherwise go – deep into the life of a stranger. To visit places and emotions we all know, but are often afraid to admit to.

Learning is never easy. Learning to tell stories like this is even harder, requiring a broad set of skills in imaging and sound, but also people skills too. Being able to listen silently is crucial. But when it all works, it’s magical.

There were stories shared last week that reduced many, including several grown men, to tears.

I am not at all ashamed to say, I was one of them.