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Masks in Storytelling: What Happens When a Mask Chooses You
I do not do Halloween. I do not do cosplay. I do not wear masks. I do not wear hats! Even my t-shirts are usually one basic color. I do not do improvisation. I am not spontaneous. I can’t jam. I can’t speak extemporaneously. Am I boring? Am I so reserved and self-conscious that I can’t reveal my true self even in my everyday life? Now you’re asking me to play with masks? Moi?
I recently went to a storytelling retreat in the Koke’e mountains of Kauai. It was a week of storytelling, workshops, and some sightseeing. One of the workshops, taught by Singapore storyteller, Roger Jenkins, was on the use of masks to explore physical and verbal characterization. Impressively, Roger brought a collection of at least twenty wooden masks from Bali and Java in his checked luggage.
After leading us through some exercises to loosen us up and explore ways our bodies and voices can be used expressively, we chose a mask to play with. I remember Roger saying that you don’t choose the mask, the mask chooses you. I don’t know why I chose the one that I did, it reminded me of the wicked witch in Snow White. Something happened. It chose me. It wore me.
