The King’s Faun takes place in a forest on the outskirts of Elysium ~ where a shy yet mischievous faun is misguided by nymphs to a glade, where he becomes enraptured by a force of nature. Strange visions appear reflecting his desires in an overwhelming symphony.

The conductor behind this fervent Bacchanalia is the King Of Paradise himself, who appears as an apparition ~ having undergone a chilling transformation and speaking in retrospect, the King wishes to tell the faun of the “labyrinth of dreams” which led him there.

Fauns have always been fascinating Gods to me. Their pursuit of pleasure for pleasure’s sake, something we’re taught is somehow wrong or taboo in our society. That each right action must have a purpose beyond pleasure. And yet the Romantics understood the value of following one's instincts to pursue those things which make us feel euphoria and that lead us somewhere beyond despair at their absence the day after. But to a path less traveled by, and onto spiritual experience.

These stories call into question the notion that art should only function as parables of morality. The right course of action may actually stem from our animal nature that intellect seeks to repress and confine.

How many other kinds of experience do we shut ourselves away from by listening to the dictation of theory? How much secret knowledge do fauns possess in their Dionysian nature?

KING’S FAUN

We remember in fragments,
Like a glass frame, Shattered to the last vein, at the end of a long life.
And that’s where I remember mine,
Glinting at the bottom of a well, which we call ourselves.

The forest was all I had known.
Chasing through its shadows,
That day I came upon a bronze mask, Unlike anything I had seen before;
A relic on the forest floor,
Glowing in the moonlight.
A rose burst into flames before its gaze,
And the crows carolled in the wind, For me to follow the river’s maze and drench my sins.

And for days I was lost in the forest, Until I came upon a nymph, She kissed my face to my chin, And I found again the taboos of sin, And then I heard, the voice of a king;

“To covert of our Kingdom,
The stones of our courtyard, Where the lavender grew,
By the gates of Paradise and all that lies waiting for you.”

I can never recede, what I saw in the forest that eve,
The King Of Paradise called me to his side.
And this is where his secrets had led him,
His back had hunched and spiralled down his spine. The bones made of rocks and moss and his hide as course as mine.

“There’s a life I must admit to you,
If you will hear the story of how this came to be,
It will lead you through a labyrinth of dreams.” by Laurence Fuller, 2024