Stories
I like when people tell me stories.
Sebastian tells me stories often.
(we drink together often)
I never know wether they are true or not, but he tells them like they are. That’s the whole thing : you have to tell them as true stories. And when I tell them again, some details lack so they become less and less true and more and more fantastic. This is the theory of the chinese whispers, or téléphone arabe in french.
He once told me that Salvatore Dali, aged 18 or so, ended at first place in the world’s most rescpected painting academy contest. It’s a contest where all student competitors come and show their work, under the form of oil paintings, to a very serious and respected jury.
Dali showed up with nothing. When his turn came to prove his skills, he did nothing but ask for a blank sheet of paper and a pen. He proceeded to draw a circle, without any special tool or preliminary sketch, in front of the audience. The judges then measured it and it appeared that the circle was 100% perfect.
Impressed, they gave him the coveted first price.
Another story is about Jaco Pastorius.
The man was telling here and there that he was the best bass player that ever was.
Once that he was performing in a club in New York, a whole bunch of very famous jazzmen came to see the show. All the big names where there, irritated by such arrogance from this young white dude.
After the gig was over, when the crowd had left, they all stayed and waited for him.
He showed up, and they asked him : ” So, you think you’re the best bass player in the world ? We hear you say that everywhere.”
He quietly replied : “Yes.” and facing them all : “Isn’t that true ?”
They looked at him, and after a pause, replied :
“Well, that is indeed true.”
