I was surely in love with Circus before I ever saw one--somehow have forgotten completely the Ringling show I attended as a toddler, but am nonetheless mired securely in juggling and the performance world. Shortly after jumping into juggling at nineteen, (only because I ended my college institution career,) I was picked up by a local 'cirkus' as a roaming juggler clown, given the opportunity to meet some great amateur performers and get a taste for the floor and stage. Well over working with that group, I've taken some time off of actively pursuing performance, choosing to work my skills purely for the need of it; to satiate my addiction. Last night for my birthday I was taken to
Teatro ZinZanni for a wonderful circus cabaret show, tabled inner ring, right up against the rising center stage. Surrounded by the show, I was close enough to understand the realness of the performers, and to see the concentration in their eyes during their most difficult acts. I love it, watching them smile and do the trick, but the eyes are staring somewhere just behind the retinas, concentrating on body and mind, focus completely on successfully executing the moves--as must be done to sustain the belief, or suspension of disbelief; the part that makes show more dream, physical capabilities more like magic.
Seeing a show always makes me feel like getting myself in gear to be there, put my effort into my skills and build myself into the performer I know I can be. Seeing a
phenomenal show makes me eager and restless to work more often, harder.
I must juggle more balls. Six is decent, nine is optimal, and how come I'm not yet at seven? In the (almost) three years I've been juggling and working skills, I've learned how to mount a unicycle but not ride one, throw seven balls up but not catch them all, (let alone throw them all again,) and am just now feeling comfy enough with my handstands to walk around a bit. Being unsatisfied with this is what pushes me to throw seven balls until I do catch them all, and then throw them again. It's why I've spent a year standing on a bowling ball learning how to walk it around while juggling, (goal: five,) and why I choose random days to dress up, go out, and clown the public, so as to be confident enough in myself to go ahead and look ridiculous, if that's what you all want to see in order to laugh. Any of my friends would tell you I'm a clown, and it's because I cannot help but be one, because I love to smile and have others with me, and so much seriousness in the world really just makes me laugh.
But such a misunderstood population, clowns--scaring half and scoffed at by the others. Everyone's willing to laugh at good antics, but few are interested enough to understand the difficulty of actually forsaking image for the audience, of spending infinite hours doing things that are difficult and take endless repetition, to get only a few moments of entertainment that looks ridiculously easy for the one performing. But that's performance and audience perception: I could keep five balls going for three minutes, or throw one ball up reeeaaaally high and catch it behind my back, and the vast majority is more impressed by how high I can throw and catch, regardless of the fact that I had ages to track only one ball, and that it took months to be able to even watch five at a time. It's about showpersonship, owning attention and giving back tenfold for it. It has to look easy, because who wants to watch someone doing something and struggling at it? I want to watch jugglers who don't drop, aerialists who float around on their equipment, clowns who bounce upwards when they fall, traceurs who fly. I want to fly, too.
--That's why I effing
love Sabine Rieck in the Teatro shows, her casual clowning style, complete willingness to make herself look ridiculous, and acute sense of connecting with the audience. One of my goals for the night was to interact with any of the performers as they did with me; maybe help them have more fun too. I started by tapping the "security guard" (Sabine) on the far shoulder as she was working the table behind us, doing the old 'tap-and-pretend-nothing-happened.' This was rewarded with a short game of move-the-silverware: She takes fork, puts it further, I bring it closer, she brings it closer, I put spoon on other side of table, she puts it back, I move knife closer, she puts knife further, I put spoon in my water, she puts fork in another woman's water. (European style seating, so we shared a table with two strangers.) It was a great run. Later, I got up to use the restroom just after they'd served the salad; coming back proved the security guard sitting in my seat with her boots on the table, haven eaten two of the three large grapes that had been on my plate upon leaving. I shined her boots with my napkin, and tugged some of the celery in her belt until she gave me some. All night I watched her moving through the room, always in character, coming out with different costume pieces but always the same demeanor. I aspire to perform as she does: herself at her best as a skilled performer, making fun of herself even as she does technically difficult moves, like in her crazy hard aerial rope performance, in which she was 'getting tangled' and 'falling', and had me laughing my ass off the entire time. To be graceful and good enough to make yourself look awkward is just awesome, as far as I'm concerned.
Though right now I'm working, (obviously
so hard,) waiting for the hour when I can go home and juggle, thinking about my goals and making some new decisions. Coming into the game late, with no formal teaching and with only the knowledge that I can do anything I want to, I'm gonna do it. However long it takes. Build an act, then a show, then take it out to ya'll. Why? Because there's no way I want a normal job forever, and because a lot of someones have to entertain the rest. Since humans gained 'free time' we've needed entertainment; Ancient Egypt had jugglers, Greece, theatre, and Rome had circus, (circus meaning literally the circle that held the horse racing and gladiator spectacles.) It's undeniable, and I'm not one to fight that. Not when it's so natural to want to join in, stage-side, and try to make sure everyone else is having a time of it.
Sure, I'm a ham, but I count on you to be here to see me be it, because I wouldn't be, if you weren't around to see it.
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