Perhaps the best picture I ever took, I NEVER took.

20 some years ago my husband, George and I were visiting the Tuscan hill town of Montepulciano. Montepulciano is known for its wine and as a centre for the purchase of wine, olive oil and cheese. We had advanced as far as we dared down an ever-narrowing side street when we happened upon the Meuble Il Riccio hotel.  Our host was the wife of now deceased A. Caroti, who had conducted a School of Mosaic Art in this same space. He was more than a teacher; he had been Mosaic Artist to the Vatican.

For two days, we explored Montepulciano and towards the end of our last day, we went to make our purchase of wine from a vendor in the main square across from the church. George went in to see about the wine and  I took a seat on a well-worn ledge where I had photographed the communing of women earlier in the day… I was shooting film with a NIKON camera and by this time I had either used up all the film or I had one or two frames left. I sat happily tired in the late afternoon sun and waited for George. I pointed my lens, framing the people sipping espresso, meeting and greeting, walking briskly by…when a older man, dressed very well in shirt and waistcoat came and motioned for me to bring my camera and follow him… I pointed to the wine store and he pointed to his watch… gesture translated as: won't take long. In a moment of abandon, I followed him toward and then through a doorway right beside the wine store, up a series of staircases, and into an apartment. I started to feel some apprehension at this invitation to DO WHAT EXACTLY?

I followed as the [hopefully well-intentioned] gentleman led the way through the kitchen and dining area into the dimly lit bedroom. At first I failed to see what had been presented to me: then he opened the shutters and gestured for me to see. I gazed down and out from these windows high on the outside wall of Montepulciano looking down, past a snaking roadway into the Val di Chianaa with distant towns and tangled trees - breathtaking. He motioned for me to take a picture and I realized that the film was not advancing, my last role of film was spent, finished. I did what any tourist who has been given such a gift would do -- I pretended to take pictures. Then the man tapped me on the shoulder and pointed up to the ceiling, where a fantastic, albeit much-faded fresco adorned an otherwise stark room. Once more I raised my camera and pretended to click away. I motioned for the man to stand by the window for me to take his picture which he happily obliged…more pictures and more smiles. I said grazie, grazie, grazie, and I passed once more through the dining room, the kitchen, front hall and down the many stairs into the afternoon light.

I wore an expression of one who had an opportunity and took it - but did not, in fact, take it… if you see what I  mean.

What three elements of this story do you remember?

The three elements that you recall can be classified as residual memories. Once all the details are forgotten residual memories stick around cemented in our consciousness - this is how a story becomes part of the reader's own experience. Did you know that residual memories can be programmed into a story? A story can be centred around a person, a place, a service, an idea, or a thing/product. To be powerful a story needs to be told in language akin to speaking -  a recipe for story includes colour, texture, truth, feelings, history...personal struggle and humour. There is no place for jargon of any sort in these types of stories.  

I call this powerful method High Fidelity Story Telling®. It is creative, it goes far beyond brand, and it encourages an emotional commitment and connection with the reader.

Let's tell your stories in high fidelity.

Nora
ncamps@duo.ca
416 255 0775