WAVE PATTERNING IN BRAND STORYTELLING—THE LONG NOW.
[Image By @DacArc, Copalis, WA]
ONE WOULD PRESUME THAT THE MOVEMENT OF A WAVE, WHETHER WATER-RIVEN OR SONIC BLAST—LIGHT, FOR THAT MATTER—WOULD SIMPLY GO ON FOREVER AND EVER. ONCE IT STARTS, IT JUST GOES—
IT’S OUT THERE: THE FINITE TO THE INFINITE—
AND WHO CARES WHERE YOU’RE GOING?
HOW FAR MIGHT YOUR BRAND STORY GO?
(Girvin | Barcelona)
IT SHOULD BE FAR—
TO THE REACH OF THE RIPPLE.
Working in the story trade, I’ve seen and participated brand stories that are locally legendary—like Dilettante.
To stories that are regional—like Cheerwine.
To stories that are global—The Matrix.
Thinking about storytelling as a smaller and nurtured proposition, you get from a tiny whisper, to a roar, rolled. And while our reach to promotional is mostly advertising tied to Social, murmurings can ripple to shouts, rivulets to cascades.
I remember when I was in grade school, and I couldn’t quite figure out the spelling of definite—which has an etymological reference to infinity—and better, the simpler: infinite. As well—finite, aligned to the word: finished–from another, older word: finis—the end. I was thinking, then, that—if it’s in-finite, then it’s in finite—which might be “in—the finish.” Makes sense as a spelling mnemonic. But still, the idea of infinite—going on forever, and ever. Then that would be “no finish.”
FINALLY, I “finished”—I learned the right spelling. Reaching the proverbial end, I figure it out—THE END.” FINISH, THE FINITE. Definitely, it’s the end.
Ad infinitum—onwards, that exploratory, for-ever.
These days, I’ve been talking metaphorically to colleagues, friends, and clients about the idea of
It comes to the idea of how ideas get out.
And go on and on.
When there’s a stone [story] cast—tossed on water [or another stoney surface] then there’s a ripple, which could become a watered wave, they’re both rolling movement, or the echoing clatter of sound from stone on stone, traversing the air, flowing out.
Being at a certain pond, on a remote island – all is still, no breeze waffles the place, nor the sheen of the water — there are no ripples, just a quiet stillness. As I cast the stone, across the smooth water — it’s rippling and skipping; I’m watching the stone trip its way across the pond. As I’m watching the reaction of the water, it’s changing the character of the surface. Clipping the skin of the water, rings of movement extend — the rippling.
And I’m thinking about the touch of people, the movement of the story, the spoken murmuring. Sharing, fluttering — the movement. How people share, ideas and other things. Emotion is but that — the psychic motion of people.
Rippling— as I stand at the edge of the pond, contemplating the finish of the tossed stone movement, I see the softest lulling at the grasses that extend from surface of the pond water.
Like a breeze, it’s the whisper of an idea — like the flock of birds, they flow like an idea — one, another, to an other. They ripple across the water of time, then they come back — like everything.
It goes out, and comes back — from one, to many. Returned…the story. The storied rippling . . . the true wave of human kind.
GIRVIN | IMAGINATION +
EXPERIENCE = PLACE
PLACES | RETAIL | RESTAURANTS