The Storyteller’s Path: From Magic to Meaning at Festival Acadiens

Loveday Funck
Oct 8
2 min read

🌙 The Storyteller’s Path: From Magic to Meaning at Festival Acadiens

Blue Voodoo

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Next weekend, I’ll be packing my world into boxes and heading west, toward Lafayette, toward Festival Acadiens et Créoles, toward that sweet tangle of zydeco, laughter, and late-afternoon sunlight that only Louisiana can make.

I’ll be there from Friday through Sunday, surrounded by artists, dreamers, and people who still believe that stories matter, whether they’re told through fiddle strings or brushstrokes, through a song shouted into the open air or whispered in the hush of a gallery.

I’ll be there with my surreal digital collages: fragments of folklore and fairy tale, antique portraits reborn in impossible worlds, mythic women with the eyes of saints and the shadows of ghosts. Every piece is a story. Every image is a door.

✨ What I’ve Come to Realize

For years, I tried to name myself: artist, writer, performer, creator. But none of those quite fit. They were like borrowed coats, beautiful but not mine.

Then, somewhere between a midnight improv show and a finished collage that seemed to breathe on its own, I realized the truth: I am a storyteller.

That word feels right, like a key that’s been waiting in my pocket.

Because everything I make, the visual art, the poetry, the dark fairy tales, the performances, the podcasts, they’re all part of the same great spell. They are ways of reaching through the veil and saying: I see you. Do you see me too?

🕯 Louisiana, Myth, and the Small Magics Between

There’s something about this state that lends itself to myth. The air hums differently here, as if stories themselves rise out of the cypress roots. In New Orleans, ghosts gossip on balconies. In Lafayette, the air smells like gumbo and old songs.

When I set up my booth at Festival Acadiens et Créoles, I’m not just selling prints, I’m sharing pieces of that invisible world. The art may look still, but it listens.

And if you pause long enough in front of one of my collages, you might feel the story whisper back.

🌿 Why Stories Matter

We tell stories because they remind us that we’re not alone.

Because the human heart understands metaphor better than instruction.

Because we all need to believe in transformation, that monsters can become saints, that grief can turn into beauty, that maybe, somewhere, we’ll find our way home again.

This weekend, I’ll stand behind my booth in Lafayette and look out at the crowd, and I’ll see a thousand stories walking by. Maybe one of them will be yours.