Paris, Je T'Aime

Initially, I had no intention of posting pictures of Paris. I did so for La Rochelle and Montpellier, but I had never been to either city before so it was exciting for me to share these newly discovered cities.

Paris, on the other hand, was old hat. I'd been to Paris at least four times before performing there and nothing really inspired me to post pictures of a city that I guess I took for granted.

Well, after three months, my attitude towards Paris has changed. From what I understand, people either love Paris, or hate it. For me, Paris was a city that I passed through on my way to somewhere I really wanted to be. It was a city of limbo and I felt pretty neutral about it. I had seen the sights and that was that.

The three months I spent living in Paris gave me a greater appreciation for the city and just how much it has to offer. Yes, its kind of dirty and far too loud. But this bustling metropolitan definitely has a certain je ne sais quoi that extends far beyond its rich culture and heritage.

And so, without further ado, Paris!

Opera Garnier

A few weeks ago I mentioned that I would be performing at the Opera Garnier. Well, the moment of performance has come and gone and all I can say is "wow!"

We arrived at the opera at an hour I would normally still be sleeping. This would be our only chance to run through our act on the real stage. This was of the utmost importance as the stage is at 5 degree angle. Not really the best thing for a German wheel. I was a little worried, and the wheel did have a tendency to head towards the abyss that was the orchestra pit, but that just meant stepping out of the wheel for a moment to readjust. No biggie.

We, Les Rouetabagas (don't ask), had our own dressing room, complete with piano. You never know. We were treated to lunch and even got special ID cards that, for some reason, were marked Prime Minister.



Our portion of the show went off brilliantly. Unfortunately, because of the lighting, we couldn't see the audience during the performance, but I swear photographers were clicking away non-stop! And if I may say so, H was absolutely amazing. There was a bit of a technical issue at the end and he was left alone on stage much longer than was planned for. He improvised like a champ and held the room in his hand. I was thoroughly impressed.

The whole thing happened so fast. And for some strange reason, I had the feeling that we weren't done. On the way back to the circus, and after the show that night, I was convinced we still had to do the show. Perhaps it was simply that I've known since September that we were going to perform there and I just couldn't take in that it had finally happened.

I have to admit, as far as gigs go, this is easily the least demanding one I have ever done. I did a couple of minutes of wheel and spent less than eight minutes on stage. I don't even think we rehearsed more than five hours total. The first time I ran through my portion of the act was at the opera the morning of the show.

And yet...

Being able to say that I performed at the Opera Garnier in Paris was truly an honour. For me, its the kind of event that is up there with my Olympic performance in 2006. The crazy and amazing places I end up with the circus never ceases to amaze me .

Wardrobe Malfucktion III

Okay, this should have been posted sooner, but in the craziness of the last few days of shows, there was just no time.

The last weeks in Paris were littered with an absurd amount of costume woes. But the third to last show would have to be tbe worst one of all. Unless, of course, you're in to Punk Rock.

I have only about a five minute gap between my first appearance on stage and my number. I go off stage, change my costume, put on my wheel shoes and do a very quick warm-up. Then, its go time. There's no time for dawdling and most of my actions are timed to the music being played on stage. It's that tight.

So you can imagine the panic when L went to zip up my costume and the head of the zipper popped off, landed on the floor and bounced away. As I have mentioned, I have five minutes to get ready for my act. What I may not have mentioned is that unlike certain other cast members, I don't have a double of my costume. No, for some strange reason the costumer designer made doubles for some people, mostly musicians, only the men, and left the acrobats (you know, the ones who roll around and suchlike) with only one costume.

So here I am, half dressed with my shirt wide open and no way/time to do anything about it. The woman in charge of costume care is backstage at this point, but isn't actually a seamstress so even if there was time to fix it, there's really nothing she could have done.

The only possible solution was... giant safety pins!

I had five inch-and-a-half safety pins holding my shirt mostly closed. I say mostly as there wasn't enough time to do a good job of it so the top was pinned unevenly and was partially open. I felt terribly self conscious my whole number, was worried the damn things would open an stab me, and on top of that, I had friends in the audience that night. Not a good way to end the run.

As you can imagine, I was pretty angry afterward. Moreover, the costume designer was in town to "do maintenance" (she was really there for the Christmas party). To further fuel the flames of rage, I ran into her before she left Paris and got to hear how the costume breaking was L and I's fault. We must have pulled it too hard. The zipper can't be pulled up quickly otherwise it gets caught, so I have a hard time believing that. Apparently it was also unsewn in a number of places. Clearly a result of the sharp spikes that grown out of my side...

She then went on to say how she had so much to do in Paris, but was too tired and didn't even get half of it done. She should be bringing some costumes back with her to work on, but, boff, she was just too tired...

When I mentioned all this to the technical director, he seemed utterly shocked. Shocked I say! I just hope it shocks him into giving the costume designer a swift kick in the ass. She's being paid, and having her transportation paid for, by the circus and and yet the artists remain in disintegrating costumes.

The costume was fixed for the next night's show. I don't imagine anything will have changed when we start again in January, but hopefully there will be doubles, the doubles would have should have had months and months ago, when we come back from the break before the spring portion of the tour.

Keep your fingers crossed!

My Costume Has Leprosy

Sigh...

Circus in the Snow!

About a week ago I wrote about how exciting it was to have the circus covered in snow in Paris. I'm currently stranded in a scuzzy hotel hoping against hope that I'll actually be able to fly home tomorrow and not spend the better part of a day in line at the airport trying to find a way to Montreal, or evacuating because of a suspicious brown bag.

But since I really do love snow, here are some pictures I took when Paris was still awesome and not the city that ruined Christmas.

Overheard Backstage

"On a scale of one to ten, how much do you feel like death?"

Two Words

Xylophone. Solo.

N, the Violent Femmes got nothing on you.

WOOOOOOOO!

It's snowing in Paris! Everything is covered in white fluffy goodness! I'm so happy! Et en plus, tonight is the circus Christmas party!

It's snowing on Circus Christmas!

How wonderful is that? Pictures will follow, but I've got to get ready for the show!

It Was Bound to Happen...

I, for one, am surprised it didn't happen sooner, but with one week to go, its official: the circus has swine flu.

And now, because I can, some Swine Flu related cartoons.



Poor Piglet... poor, poor Piglet...

Wait... What?

A rather curious article was sent to the troupe this morning. Well, not so much an article as a blog entry from some random corner of the internet. While the author has positive things to say about the show, that's not at all what she's interested in. Moreover, while I think what she has to say is meant to be quite positive, I'm personally not too sure how to take it.

Here's an excerpt (translated by yours truly):

"And so, looking at this heterogeneous troupe, we see different costumes ranging from total nudity to more or less becoming attire, I had the reflection that almost none of them had a body like we see in magazines or television: they were short, quite tall, some had a small pot belly, others had slightly saggy bottoms, were flat chested, and yet they showed what they could do with these non-ideal bodies without hesitation."

I can think of more than one person in the troupe that may develop a slight image complex from this article. I know that the author, a nutritional psychologist, is trying to point out that even professional circus artists and musicians don't have what is considered the perfect body, and yet look at the beautiful and poetic things they can do! The body is an instrument to create a story, not an end in itself...

That's all well and good, but she's not the one that has to parade her imperfect body on stage. I don't think I ever mentioned it before, but I was initially quite uncomfortable in my wheel costume. I was excited that it was red and a little bit sexy, but I when I was being fitted, it was often in the tent, with everyone else around. The cat calls and remarks about the top left me feeling rather uncomfortable, and seeing as I don't even wear shorts in real life, wearing tiny shorts on stage wasn't a very enjoyable prospect.

But I got used to my costume and all was well. Now I'll be worrying about my ginormous shoulders, pasty legs, and muscular thighs... Thanks nutritional psychologist lady! Way to show some sensitivity!

Sigh...

Wardrobe Malfunction II

Just when I thought it was safe to go back on stage...

You know what's better than having your bra strap break, or having the front of your costume torn? Having the zipper on your itty bitty booty shorts break, exposing what your mama gave you to the world.

Fortunately, this happened after my number. I did have to go on stage in that costume again, but I'm mostly hidden by a very large canvas at that particular moment, so I like to think no one saw. Other than all the people sitting stage right, I mean...

I should have been expecting it. After all, il n'y a jamais deux sans trois!

Wardrobe Malfunction

While the term 'wardrobe malfunction' may give to visions of breasticles swaying in the breeze, I'm afraid my mishap wasn't nearly as exciting.

The show started out innocently enough. Then, mid-way through my number I noticed that one of the strings from the fabric we use as canvas in the show was stuck to my shoulder (the damn things get everywhere). Only it wasn't a string. It was my bra strap. It had either broke or come undone. I tried to ignore it but as the number progressed it continued its escape from underneath my costume.

Seeing as I didn't really have the freedom to stop and fix it, I decided to just ignore it and keep going. And so, while my bra strap was smacking me upside the head, my cast mates were having a right good laugh in the wings.

Humph.

You'd think that would have been enough for one show. But the wonderful world of live performance had a little more fun in store. In fact, I had just let down my guard. We had just finished the group trampoline number, the official end of the show, and were getting into place for the encore. I went to jump up onto the upper platform of the structure, just like I've done for over 50 shows, and my costume gets caught, the front rips off exposing considerable more of my cleavage than usual, and I get yanked down like a pup on a leash.

My cast mate's reaction to the event: "Aw... I didn't even get to see any tit!"

At least I can say that the eighth to last show really knocked some socks off! Or something...

Not Until the Fat Lady Sings!

So I've been sitting on this bit of info for quite some time. Mostly because there was a period of uncertainty as to whether or not it would happen. And seeing as it's one hell of an event, I didn't want to jinx it. With the event in question only a week away, I think its safe to spill the beans.

Since a picture is worth a thousand words, I'll just let the let a couple of pictures do the talking...


I know, eh? The above would be Paris' National Opera at the Palais Garnier. Myself and two of my colleagues here at the circus will be doing the lead in to a performance by Guillaume Aldebert. He's the main attraction in a Christmas show being put on for the children of the French political elite. The show is the afternoon before our second to last performance in Paris. Should be interesting to see how things turn out...

Ah, quel vie de cirque!

Eight to Go!

There are eight shows to go before the holidays. You'd think things would be winding down, but its just the opposite. Time is running out! There's so much to do! Personally, I have two big projects to somehow pull off. More on that later.

In my head, its already Saturday, but sadly, its only Friday. The 51st show was pretty weak, and while last night's show went quite well, my sinus' chose that moment to wage war on the infection within. I spent most of the show feeling like I had a screw driver up my nose, poking me in the eye. At one point it felt like chlorinated water went up my nose.

In fact, the war being waged by my sinus' was so severe that it hurt not to blow my nose and I actually had to hide kleenex in my bra so I could discreetly blow my nose during the trampo-wall act. That, my friends, is the epitome of class.

What does tonight's show have in store? All will be revealed (to me, anyway) in four and a half hours!

Countdown

Sitting in my caravan, applying the finishing touches of my make-up, all I can think of is Montreal, how I'm missing out on the first snow storm of the season, and how the Olympic torch will be passing through my home town tomorrow. I think of these things and I ache to be home.

Compared to the first stretch of the tour, this is a short stint in France. But in light of recent family tragedies and the up-coming holidays, I'm finding myself less and less enthusiastic to do to the show. I just want to go home.

Ten more shows. Just ten more shows...

Chosen Life

Those who know me often marvel at this circus life I have chosen. They’re awed by the feats that my fellows and I perform, and envy the traveling and the mystique. For them, the romance of circus is alive and well. As well it should be. The magic of the Big Top, the spectacle, the thrills… it wouldn’t be circus otherwise. For the most part, even I’ve maintained this view of the world I now inhabit. There are hardships, of course, but you learn to take them with a grain of salt. After all, don’t all great romances have their share of difficulties?

But no matter how spellbound one might be by the world of circus and all its splendours, and I say this as an acrobat in the thick of it all, there comes a time where the consequences of having chosen this life come to harsh reality.

My grandfather died a month ago. A couple of weeks before that, I received some very bad news concerning my sister. And despite all the goodwill of my heart, here I was, completely helpless in Paris.

The initial news about my grandfather was that he wouldn’t live to see the end of the week. I was told to ask what the company policy was when there is a death in the family. I received this news a Sunday morning, right before a show. Every time I return to France for work, my great fear is that something should happen at home, and that I can’t be there. Every time I leave, I wonder if I will ever see my grandparents again.

This time I received an answer.

When I asked about potentially going home for the funeral, I was later told by the director that I was indispensable to the show and that it wouldn’t be possible. I mostly expected that response. In truth, I had hoped for it. I know that makes me sound like a terrible person, but under the circumstances, I couldn’t handle the stress of having to choose between going home and the madness that would accompany that decision, not to mention the guilt and disrespect towards the troupe, and staying in Paris to perform, not having that closure and being unable to be there with my family in that moment of duress.

I’m not proud of it, but I can’t deny it was a relief to have that responsibility taken away from me.

And I cried. And no matter who offered what kind of comfort, all I could do was ask them to wait… to leave me alone until the end of the show… otherwise, there was no way I would make it through. It was one of the hardest performances of my life. I scarcely remember how I felt, just that I hated every moment of it and was on the verge of tears the entire time.

Tuesday morning I got the call that my grandfather had passed. Being the weekend at the circus, there was virtually no one on site. I was terribly and desperately alone. To add insult to injury, Wednesday evening, just before the show I found some packages waiting for me in my trunk backstage. One was from my grandparents, signed from both of them. Of course it had been mailed before my grandfather had died, but nevertheless it was a painful reminder and a slap in the face from the Universe. Again, I cried. For the rest of the week I painted large bouquets of flowers at the end of the show.

And while I must admit that the idea of a funeral scared me (this is the first grandparent I’ve lost) and the image of my grandfather in a casket rips my heart to shreds and I don’t know if I could have handled it, I envy my siblings for being able to be there and having that closure. To a certain extent, none of this seems real. I’m just going to go home and never see my grandfather again. How do you deal with that?

My answer, of course, is baking.

Since I couldn’t be there for the actual funeral, I felt it was important to make some kind of gesture to mark my grandfather’s passing. As such, I baked the most complex, elaborate and chocolately cake in my repertoire. I invited the troupe and those who work at the circus’ bar to share it with me. To my great relief, one of the more senior members of the troupe led the proceedings. I said some words and we shared a moment of silence. Then we saluted my late grandfather and enjoyed the cake baked in his honour. Though I did have to remind certain people who were very excited to eat cake (“Le gateau! Le gateau!”) that it was not so much about the cake as it was about the passing of my grandfather.

And so a month has gone by, I have another 20 shows under my belt, and more than ever the fence surrounding the lot feels like a cage keeping me in my circus bubble. Two and half more weeks and I'll finally make it home... two and half more weeks...

Le Musee des Arts Forains

Yesterday I had the extreme good fortune of visiting Paris' Museum of Fairground Art along with the cast of La Clique. Located at Les Pavillions de Bercy, this spectacular museum is only available to groups who request a guided tour. Being a wily band of circus folk, we also had the honour of meeting the man who started the collection, Jean-Paul Favand, and were even permitted to peruse the warehouses!

The collection is huge and beautifully presented. The space also doubles as a rental hall. But the best part is that they actually let you play some of the games and ride the rides! I was pretty skeptical of this one old timey ride where you pedal a bike (I'm told it was a thrill to try a bike way back in the day) and your pedaling powers the ride. But it turns out the damn thing goes hella fast and the tour guide constantly had to pull a brake to prevent the thing from picking up too much speed and throwing us off!

Les Garcons de Cafe, best game ever.

Carousel!

After the rides, the most wonderful part would definitely be the warehouses. As I mentioned, they aren't normally part of the tour. One room housed all the carousel characters awaiting restoration. Then there were these creepy wax models of messed up anatomy. To give you an idea, the double penis/triple scrotum was the least disturbing specimen...

At night,

they come to life...

And that, my friend,

is when they come for your soul!

Lastly, we visited a room housing the museum's most recently acquired collection. It consists of over 2000 individual objects! They are they sets, puppets and original mask molds belonging to a family run company that operated for over 200 years! The room was made up almost entirely of heads. All kinds of heads of every imaginable character all for the purpose of making rubber masks. They had everything from fictional characters to politicians, pop culture icons to mutilated zombies. It was brilliant. They even had the heads of two former Canadian Prime Ministers! I was quite surprised.

Chretien and Mulroney

Don't run with scissors.

Oh, and you may be familiar with the fellow who appears at the 1 minute 50 second mark of the following video. His remains could be found at the museum as well!

All in all, we were there for three hours. The history and artistry is absolutely magnificent. When carnivals were at their peak, part of the draw was their splendor. Looking at today's carnival rides, you would never imagine that only 100 years ago, carousel horses were hand carved with real horse hair tails*! Not to mention the gold leaf and inlaid mirrors. Here are a few more pictures because really, you don't read a museum, you see it.







* Only the German made horses used real horse hair for tails. Otherwise, they were made of wood.

"The Dots are People"

This arrived at the circus' head office just after my birthday...



I think he really captured the essence of my act, not to mention my feminine charms. RAWR!

Seriously though, Raphael may have adored the show, but he'll never know how much joy his drawing brought me and how deeply moved I am by the heartfelt doodlings of a small child. This was one of the best birthday gifts ever and that is why it has the honour of being the 100th post on this blog.

Best Gift Ever!

Sometimes, coincidences are awesome. Now just happens to be one of those times because my brand new German wheel arrived in Montreal just in time for my birthday! How sweet is that? Now I just have to wait until I get back to Montreal to put her together and take her out for a spin!

Or should that be 'a spiral'?

Either way, a Cadillac of German wheels is waiting for me in the living room!

Woo!

Oh, Yeah?

So the Universe thinks it can push me around, eh? The circus gods are getting a good laugh as the troupe struggles through the last leg of the run, are they? Well maybe in France they put up with those kinds of shenanigans, but we Canadians, we're made of tougher stuff. You push us, we'll apologize and push you right back.

This ain't no joke, or funny story you tell your friend over breakfast. This is serious.

Skull and crossbones shoe laces, serious.


Party's over, Universe. Its ass kickin' time.

Deep Breaths and Curse Words

Things don't always go according to plan.

Mama said there'd be days like this.

Sometimes everything that can go wrong does go wrong.

And sometimes those three things team up and kick your ass from here to Sunday.

Only if it was Sunday I'd have the next two days off...

Where do I even begin? The show seemed destined for difficulty before it even began. I've been having some health issues as of late, and tonight seemed to be one of the rougher nights. I mean, nothing sets the mood like having a heart to heart with the porcelain princess right before the show.

Troubles with the costume change, couscous in my wheel shoes (don't ask), straining my knee a little mid-way through my number, followed by taking a severe blow to the calf at the end.

Things seemed to look up until I came very close to knocking the marimba off the stage (only one side fell off...). This was then followed by the near catastrophic swinging-into-the-bottle chandelier incident. Thank the circus gods none of them broke... not that I didn't come close to breaking the extra bottles I was left to take onstage.

And hey, you know what goes good with a blow to the calf? Having a mirror shoved into both your shins! Which pairs marvelously with taking a platform to the gut as you maneuver your way through the backstage in the dark.

Cue the group battle scene (really!). Only add a stage covered in so much make up residue and couscous (don't ask) that everyone is sliding all over the place. Then try and do some acro on the slippery slippery floor. And then, for good measure, bash your forehead on the floor before you exit.

Nice!

Can't find the carabiner in the mess of fabric? No worries! That's beans compared to what's about to happen...

End of kite number. We try to take the kite down, but the kite won't move. Its stuck. Meanwhile, the white curtain is trying to go up only now its stuck in the kite. Fine. Bring everything back down. Big, gaping, silence of death follows... okay. That bit's settled. Move the structure forward and put everything in place. Cue the... wait! C isn't there yet! The bassist's mic pack and headphones are stuck on something and strangling him! The weight is still on the trampoline! P goes gives the audio cue to start and since I'm running late (someone had to get rid of the weight) and he often starts before I give him the visual cue anyway, I bolt to my place. More awkward silence and feeble attempts at curtain waving...

The curtain falls. The trampo-wall act finally starts. Its the last act of the show. So for good measure, I roll my ankle...

Deep breaths...

Curse words...

And now, bed.

F is for Fail

Don't let the title of this post worry you. F is for Fail is a lovely video that takes the viewer through an "alphabetical odyssey through the creative process." The film was created by Brent Barson, a freelance media designer and assistant professor of graphic design at Brigham Young University.

I've been through the creative process a number of times, and will undoubtedly find myself there again. This film sums up the experience nicely.

Enjoy.

Star Struck

There was an electricity backstage before yesterday's performance. It may have been a Sunday, but the evil forces of a matinee are no match for the news that there is a star in the audience. And I don't use the term lightly. Our circus had the good fortune to be graced by the presence of an Academy Award winning actress! The lovely and talented French starlet Juliette Binoche!


This was one of the rare instances where a French celebrity came to see the show and I actually knew who they were. You may recognize her from such films as Chocolat, Paris je t'aime, The English Patient and the Three Colors trilogy.

Sadly, I didn't actually see her. I was told she was in row five, which is where I kept looking, while she was actually in row eight. But I am told she stood up for the curtain call. I know it seems silly, but I really would have liked to actually see her.

In every film I've seen her in, she always strikes me as such a lovely, strong woman with such great presence. I wonder what she thought of the show? And of course the vain streak in me really wonders what she thought of my number. I guess I'll never know...

A Critical Sampling

Since arriving in Paris, there have been a great many articles about the show. Some mostly explain how it is, in fact, a show. They give an idea of the poetry of our circus and go on to mention the dates, venue and the like.

Then there are the actual reviews. Some have been good. Some, not so much. It all started with Mathieu Braunstein's review from Telerama that appeared this summer. This led to a month long upheaval of the show by the director. Doubt followed by change. Insecurity followed by more change. Frustration followed by the friendly request that the director kindly leave us the hell alone for a while.

There are a great many comparisons to the previous show, often considered to be the masterwork of this company. As you can imagine, coming in to a new production and constantly hearing how awesome the last show was is pretty hard to bear. Many reviewers lament the fact this show is not at the same level as the last. And yet, many people in the milieu of circus tell me they prefer this show to the last one. We often get feedback from the public via the company's website. Usually its people telling us that they simply had to tell us how much they loved the show. But there have been a couple of letters that went on to say how the show was a huge deception, that they will never come to see one of our shows again and that they will advise everyone they know to do the same.

Yikes.

Here are some excerpts from some of the reviews we have had since Paris. They are, of course, all in French. While I am fluent in French, there are certain turns of phrase that I have no idea how to adequately translate.

"Mais à vouloir trop parler de la peinture, les numéros s'éloignent du cirque et de la poésie habituellement à l'œuvre au Cirque. Pas d'esbroufe dans les portés, pas de trouvaille sinon musicale dans le jonglage, pas de surprise dans les sauts au trampoline. Seule KD, à la roue allemande, semble braver la gravité avec virtuosité et grâce." - Nathalie Yokel, La Terasse

"Le spectacle n'atteint pas la magie du précédent et sublime [previous show] - la faute à quelques gags et effets trop appuyés -, mais l'ensemble reste séduisant." - Christine Monin, La Vie

"Plus inégaux, les intermèdes humoristiques ont tendance à alourdir un peu la dynamique du spectacle et à mettre de la trivialité là où on espérait de la poésie. Et si certains font vraiment rire, d'autres - moins spirituels voire franchement lourdauds - semblent n'avoir pour seul but que de faire durer le spectacle. Résultat : on s'impatiente en attendant la suite. Une petite erreur de dosage qui altère un peu l'enchantement général." - Marine Polselli, Evene.fr

"Et bien sûr, il y a les numéros. De grande qualité technique et esthétique, ils sont assez ébouriffants. KD semble être née sur sa roue allemande, AN offre ses muscles noueux qui s’étranglent sur des sangles, nous proposant ainsi une très belle transposition de l’artiste maudit englué entre alcool et désespoir et enfin T jongle incroyablement, ses balles deviennent instruments de musique et s’harmonisent parfaitement avec le xylophone." - Stéphanie Richard, Theatreonline.com

"[…] KD virevolte dans sa roue allemande […]" - Myrto Reiss, Le Poulailler

"Populaire et référencé (à condition d'en avoir, des références, sinon, on passe à côté, mais ce n'est pas très grave !), le motif pictural, excitant à première vue, se déballonne comme une fausse bonne idée, un prétexte parfois cousu de fil blanc. S'approprier le geste du peintre, pourquoi pas, se faire encadrer comme un tableau, oui, bien sûr, mais à condition d'en opérer des traductions un brin moins plates que celles, très sympathiques au demeurant, proposées par le Cirque. […] Faire descendre une femme nue en chair et en os d'un tableau reste une jolie idée, mais un peu usée." - Rosita Boisseau , Le Monde

"De la peinture à la barbouille, n'y aurait-il qu'un pas ? Pour le Cirque [...] il semble bien que oui." - Rosita Boisseau, Le Monde

"Au final, le Cirque rappellent avec leur spectacle ce qu'est la peinture : une formidable machine à rêve." - La Tribune

"Numéro impressionnant et plein de grâce aussi de KD qui évolue sur une roue allemande." - Alice Serrano, France Info

"KD, un rien crâne dans son habit rouge, virevolte dans sa roue allemande avec une virtuosité à donner le tournis." - Didier Méreuze, La Croix

"II est des rendez-vous qu'on ne manque pas. Le Cirque en est un." - Didier Méreuze, La Croix

...

Please explain why there is a duck quacking outside my caravan at one o'clock in the morning...

That Was Pretty Good... For a Sunday

Sundays are hard. On Sunday, your body hurts. On Sunday, your mind checks out early (if it checks in at all). On Sunday, you just don't wanna.

Sundays are particularly difficult because we do a matinee. When I wake up Sunday morning, I can really feel that my body has had less than 24 hours to recuperate. In fact, by the time I get up Sunday morning, it's time to get ready for the show.

What happens is this: I wake up, stumble out of bed, do my hair, go do my pre-set, eat, do my make-up, go warm up and do the show.

Seriously.

Moreover, the audience is full of kids. This can either be great, or a pain in the ass. There are times when small children provide incredible energy with their unhindered laughter. They can also be chatty, obnoxious and distracting.

Ah, Sundays!

Plus, half the troupe heads home right after the show. I mean right after the show. I'm pretty sure that if they could, there are certain people who would skip the curtain call* and just get the hell out of Dodge.

But the most frustrating thing about Sundays is the general attitude among the troupe, myself included. Since its mostly kids and the elderly, not to mention the last show of the week, there's kind of a tendency to let the ball drop a little bit. I'm not terribly proud to admit it, but I have actually shouted "weekend!" after my act. There's a solid hour of show left after my act...

If the show went well, the reaction is "well, that was pretty good. For a Sunday." If it didn't go too well, we all seem to accept it with a shrug of the shoulders and a "it was a Sunday." And while that shouldn't be okay, and wouldn't be any other day of the week, we all kind of accept it.

After all, it's a Sunday.




* Since writing this, I have learned that an artist once did skip the curtain call... Bad form.

In the Middle

It has been six weeks since our mighty yellow big top arrived in Paris. In that time we have performed 30 shows to both rave and crushing reviews. We questioned the show, ourselves, and each other.

And we rehearsed...

We rehearsed, and rehearsed, and rehearsed...

We rehearsed to the point of sending the director packing because we just couldn't take it anymore.

There have been outbursts. There have been triumphs. And there most certainly have been losses.

Paris has been one helluva ride.

I'm not sure if its worth it to go back and write about all the things that have happened so far. In a sense, yes, because there were some trying times. But for the most part I've already summed up our first weeks in Paris nicely. There was a great deal of doubt, insecurity, and constant change. So much so that all of us in the troupe became utterly exhausted. Finally, we decided to leave well enough alone. Which is to say, we told the director to piss off. Now the show has begun to live. So there you go.

There are certainly a few points that I personally feel the need to address, but the drama? I know it can be exciting to read about, but I've had my fill and am ready to move on. But don't worry about it too much. I'm sure there will be plenty more to write about soon enough.

That's what happens when your life is a circus.

Mega Entry – The Trials and Tribulations of Dole

Coming back to France was a bit of a shock on the system. The luggage, the airport, the flight… the RER, the TGV, the Jura… none of it seemed real. Wasn’t I just in Montreal? Of all these things, what I was least prepared for was the sudden, excruciating back pain. Well, it was half sudden, really.

Back in Montreal I had started having back pain. Oddly enough, it wasn’t because of anything. As far as I could tell, it was from not doing anything. As soon as I stopped training and really took the whole ‘vacation’ thing to heart, my back started to deteriorate. It began in the car. It would hurt to sit for too long, then when I got out of the car, I couldn’t stand up straight right away.

I saw my osteo a couple of times, and while normally he works miracles, I couldn’t help but think his treatments were making things worse. Fast forward to France and I can’t even stand without being in pain.

Already, I was dreading returning to France. My ego had taken quite a bruising when my wheel died and I came back to Montreal empty handed. Here I was ill prepared to return to work with shows to do in, oh, two days time with a busted up back. Moreover, I couldn’t even get through my number. I never realized just how hard I had made my number, but it’s really hard. My cardio was crap, my legs would give out by the end, and my back was throwing up all over the place.

During my panic filled days and shame filled nights, I had the pleasure of seeing an osteo here in France. According to this guy, I had, among other things, a twisted uterus, turned pelvis, and most likely a damaged disk.

I’m sorry, what was that last one?

This is when the circus goes into panic mode. After petitioning the mayor and throwing around a bit of their weight, the circus managed to get me an appointment for an MRI in the course of a morning’s worth of phone calls.

Fun facts about MRIs in France:

They are extremely inexpensive.

They give you a CD with all the images on it.

As you can imagine, I was somewhat terrified. I went to the hospital with the technical director, whom I love, and I must admit, I cried. What if my disk was damaged in some way? I’m only just starting my career. I know there’s no such thing as a good time to get injured, but now was definitely not a good time.

And of course the director was on my case. Why didn’t I get this checked at home? I mean, other than that it all happened kind of suddenly, it takes six months to get an appointment for an MRI and I wasn’t exactly home for all that long? Its not like I wanted my back to declare war.

At this point I should mention that I not only had an osteo tell me I likely had disk damage, but the doctor as well. Of course the doctor also hypothesised that I may have micro fractures in my vertebra. Needless to say, I expected the worse.

What I got, was this:


I know, eh?

Clean as a whistle, sharp as a thistle, the best in all Westminster!

Except, mostly just the ‘clean as a whistle part’.

No tears, no fractures, no damage. Which is fantastic! Except for the part where my back still really hurt and I had no idea why. I know, I know, I should have been really happy that there was no disk damage (and I was, and I am) but I had what felt like electrical currents shooting down my sacrum. I kind of wanted some answers.

And of course, the MRI being clean, the general prognosis among the troupe is that it’s all in my head.

Great.

Did I mention the director was on my case? In an effort to heal, I didn’t do one of the first run-throughs. After that and a poor showing of my number in general, I also cut my number in half. I’m told that normally, the circus is pretty cool with adapting numbers (or cutting them out completely) when an artist to too sick or injured to perform. However, the timing being what it was, I wasn’t really given that luxury with a blessing.

It would appear that over the summer, the show got less than an outstanding review by Telerama. Telerama, I am told, is the French equivalent to TV Guide and their reviews generally mean something. Mind you, I’m also told that the general public typically agrees that whatever Telerama says, its best to think the opposite.

Anyway, all that to say that there were some serious insecurities floating around. Suddenly, the director is changing scenes, cutting scenes, rearranging scenes and screwing around with the music. By the end of the week in Dole, he had managed to alienate the entire cast. After a two month break and two or three days of rehearsal, we were basically told that what were doing wasn’t good enough. Not enough feeling, not enough life, poor rhythm, the works.
And of course, I got a special place in the “not good enough” category. It would seem that the wheel number is an important moment in the show. It’s the moment where the rhythm really takes off, the space opens, and the show really starts! So I’m told. All that to say that my half-number wasn’t good enough.

I was in pain. I probably shouldn’t even have been doing my number at all, but out of guilt and a “take one for the team” mentality, I did it any way. I worked with the musicians to shorten the music (they did brilliantly by the way). And while the first night was shaky, I feel like we pulled it off in the end.

But the director just kept on me. The first show where I actually felt good before the performance, the show where things were really starting to work in my mini act, he came up to me afterwards and essentially said that it wasn’t enough. They way he said it, it was as though the reason the show wasn’t working was because my act wasn’t working.

Awesome.

Did I mention the director alienated the entire troupe in a matter of days?

Dole sucked. Not the city or the shows, but the atmosphere. They never should have cut the rehearsal days before Dole (and Paris) after a two month break. The director should have some faith in the message he’s trying to share and not tear his artists to pieces. Also, my back should stop hurting.

Dole came and went with a fizzle and some hurt feelings. Hopefully, Paris will be different. But with big changes looming (didn’t mention that did I?) and the eyes of the capital upon us, the fun is undoubtedly just beginning.

Ayoye...

Well hello there!

I haven't written in (over) a month and I'm sure you must be puzzling your puzzler about what I've been up to. Well, up until a week ago, the answer was nothing. I was still on vacation, still without a wheel, and pretty darned bummed about the whole of it.

To break up this monotony during this time off, however, I started having mad back pain for no reason at all. Just the Universe's way of keepin' it real, I suppose.

Also, I'm back in France.

As you can imagine, these things combined have not amounted to anything terribly good. The repercussions on both the show, my mental and physical health, not to mention my wallet, have been many and not usually good.

But all these lovely stories will come to light in due time. After a four day stint in Dole, we now have another two weeks off. And as much as I'd love to start to fill you in on the latest trials and tribulations of this saltimbanque, I'm afraid I have yet another doctor's appointment to attend.

Break's Over

Once again, I've fallen off the blogging bandwagon. In a lot of ways, I suppose its understandable. This blog is supposed to be about my experiences working as a circus artist and I'm somewhat on the underemployed side of circus these days. However, that is a reality of the modern day circus artist.

Some days (or months), there's just no work.

So it looks like I'm going to need to refocus the blog over the next month to reflect that.

Normally, in a situation like this, I would be training at the circus school, keeping my wheeling abilities up to scratch. However, as I am without wheel at the moment, that's not exactly in the cards. The good news is, a new wheel has been ordered! Its a real Zimmermann wheel from Germany too! They're the Cadillac of German wheels, if ever you're in the market to get one.

So, what's an acrobat to do? I've made up a work out (which I have been doing a very poor job of following), go for lengthy walks (more on that later) and will be participating in some fun classes!

In the end, it is just a month off. I figure I can keep fit and give myself a little vacation at the same time. I'm pretty sure that's how normal people do it.

Flashback II: Thank Heavens for Little Girls

No matter how frustrating things got in California, no matter how head-smackingly unbelievable; one thing made it all worth while. And while this is going to sound horribly cliché, it was the children. Specifically, little girls.

I used to work at a girl's clothing store and let me tell you, there was a considerable amount of clothing that was hardly appropriate for little girls. Fish nets, crop tops, satin nighties, open back shirts... all these items were available for girls as young as five! Can you imagine a five year old girl in a triangle string bikini? What exactly is going to keep that top in place? Especially on a wiggly little kid?

But I'm getting a little off topic. The point is, it seems to me that there aren't many options out there for little girls. I see so many of them who appear to be dressed way older than they are, and let's face it, its not like there are that many positive, strong role models out there for young girls.

When little girls would come up to me after a show, full of questions and awe, it made me feel really good. I don't imagine they often have the opportunity to see a young woman who is strong, dynamic, elegant and fierce. I could see on the faces of these young girls that this was entirely new to them.

Yes, there are Olympic gymnasts, but typically, the ones who make the presses are the cutesy little darling types. The emphasis tends to be put on their sweetness rather than their skill. Think Dominic Moceanu or Shawn Johnson.

I know that when I was a little girl, seeing a strong young woman, without ribbons and ruffles, living her dream and actually earning a living from it would have been a tremendous experience. I may not have known it at the time, but often, it only takes a second for a seed to take root, and a single instant can remain with us for a lifetime. I was 10 when I saw Quidam. And the only acts I remember from that show are tissu and German wheel. Not banquine (everyone is shocked that I don't remember the incredible banquine act from that show), but German wheel. Now, I do wheel for a living and the first Canadian to compete at the German Wheel World Championships.

It only takes an instant.

And it's instants like that, where a child looks at you and sees limitless possibilities before them, that they can be more than what popular culture dictates... that doesn't just make the job worthwhile. It reaffirms that this entire career path was the right choice and that it's a very important job to be doing.

Flashback I: It's the Apocalypse!

It was the last show of the week and we were all aching for our first days off since arriving in California. As we waited for our cue in the depths of the park basement, an unknown force was about to unleash total chaos.

Without warning, the lights went. Our immediate reaction was "Hooray!", quickly followed by "um... it's really dark down here..."

After about thirty seconds emergency lights came on and park employees started scrambling about trying to figure out what the hell had just happened, and also, to keep customers (and their wallets) in the park.

By this time, we had left the basement as it was time to start to show. Some measly power outage wasn't going to stop us! That, and we didn't really know what else to do. Almost as soon as we were back above ground we were told to head back to the basement. The power outage was park wide. Rides stopped and people were stranded. The folks on the roller coasters actually had to get out of the cars and climb down! Only one generator was operational and all its juice was going towards getting people off the stranded cable cars before they fried in the afternoon sun.

Meanwhile, in the basement, we were all very excited about the possibility of having the afternoon off and heading to the beach. After all, there was no music. And no music means no show! However, before we could get our hopes to high, a messenger came to tell us that yes, we would be doing the show, there would be no music, and for the love of god, make it longer and keep people in the park!

In other words, no pressure.

What followed was an extremely enriching experience that left me feeling very proud of my fellow acrobats and I.

I have never been one for street performing. I have huge amounts of respect for those who do it, and greatly admire those who do it well. Its just not something that I want to do myself. Fortunately, the opening act in the show is performed by a diaboloist and seasoned street performer. He set the mood brilliantly, working the crowd and setting the pace for the show.

Quick whispers between artists on stage meant improvised group scenes so that no one would be left alone on the silent stage. Songs were started randomly and the rest of the group joined in.

Most acts were extended and all seemed to somehow be upgraded.

The most impressive act of ingenuity would have to have been the improvised drum accompaniment to the simple wheel act. Using nothing but junk in the dressing room, we managed to put together a full out percussion section that flat out rocked it.

Then, during the big romantic moment of the show, the music miraculously came back on! Its true what they say, love overcomes all! Outstanding!

I don't think we ever did a more energetic show, nor were we ever more committed than we were that afternoon. And if the music coming back on right at the love song wasn't enough, the rides began to start up again just as the show ended. Incredible.

Needless to say, I learned a lot about thinking on my feet that day and working with what you've got. My only regret is that the music came back before my number. I didn't have a chance to pull off any skin-of-my-teeth showmanship. But judging by my experiences in circus thus far, I'm sure the opportunity will present itself at some point.

Epilogue: Part II

I've been back home in Montreal for a few days now. Things seem to be in order, and it looks like I can begin to leave California behind me. Those with whom I had unfinished business have been spoken to, and any remaining issues have been resolved. I really do try to be professional and I wanted to end this debacle on a positive note. Not to mention tie up any loose ends. I feel really good about conversations that took place with the higher ups, as well as those I had with those in my circus community (they were all very supportive).

All that's left to do is write about two events during my brief run in CA that were particularly moving. So without further ado...

Epilogue: Part I

There is nothing I would like more than to wash my hands of this entire California ordeal. However, there are two points I wanted to write about before certain events left me unemployed. I feel I owe it to... something... to write those two posts. There's also a very good chance I'll have updates on post wheel-death activities.

I'll keep you posted.

The Dramatic Climax

For those who've been following, its no secret that the contract here in California has been less than stellar. Well, it looks like after an unexpected plot twist, this story has reached its peak.

I've been fired!

But before that happened, my wheel was destroyed!

Isn't life grand?

Normally, my number ends with me doing a front salto out of the wheel. My wheel is then caught by a fellow cast member and the show winds down. Only yesterday, said fellow cast member forgot to go out and catch the wheel.

Hearing the groan of the crowd, I turned just in time to see my wheel plummet from the stage. The freakishly high stage. A vision that will likely haunt me for some time.

As you can imagine, after seeing my wheel drop 2.5m, I was somewhat full of rage. White, blinding rage. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. I just knew I needed to get out of there before I killed someone.

I stormed off.

I really think that just about anyone in this situation, having their livelihood destroyed, would have done the same. Once I calmed down, I returned and apologized for my behaviour. I believe in maintaining a certain level of professionalism, but I really blew my gasket. That wheel is my source of income, my first major purchase, and a highly specialized and expensive piece of equipment. Now, it is a piece of junk that I can't even work on.

That evening, I was called in by the producer and told that because of the stir I had caused (for some reason the park decided to call in security), I would be let go. Personally, I think security was called in more because they realized that if my wheel had landed on someone, they'd be in far deeper doo doo.

So there you go. I've been given my out. I can leave this godforsaken place and go home. The company I was working for will cover a certain percentage of the cost of a new wheel and cover the fee for changing my flight. I just hope I can get all this shit sorted out quickly. I have no desire to stay here any longer than absolutely necessary.

Of course, now I can't train between now and September and will be horribly unprepared to continue the tour in France.

Somebody get me out of here.

The Park

Despite the unpleasant bits of this contract, I must admit, the park is pretty cool. Its like being transported back to the 1950s. Bright colours, old school signage, the works. Its really quite spectacular to see. From the stage, we look out onto a roller coaster! Its pretty wild.



Plus, the freakishly high stage is right on the beach! Its always a plus when you know your surroundings will lift your spirits when the production side of things gets you down.


I may not be one for sitting around in the sun, but with views like this:


Even I might be persuaded.

The Teeter Board

Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce the Hockey Stick Teeter Board* in all its short lived glory!

The head man's reaction to the break?

"Unbelievable."

After all, they did use high impact hockey sticks...



* If you don't know what a teeterboard is, you may not fully grasp the insanity of the above piece of 'equipment'. As always, Youtube has the answer.

The Contract

The gig I have in France is a long-term thing. As such, I don’t really need to take on side projects. And yet, here I am working in California. I took the job because my coach from circus school gave me the contact. Originally, his daughter was supposed to do the show. Since she would no longer be available, he suggested me. Thinking that my coach wouldn’t send his daughter to do a shitty contract, I figured it must be okay.

Boy was I wrong.

Never in my life have I worked on so unprofessional a project. Already, the man in charge, the man for whom the company is named, knows nothing about circus. During rehearsals, he is always the last one to arrive and typically takes off mid-way through. Once he left so he could go buy himself a big screen tv for his hotel room!

We were having a meeting, and while we, the artists were trying to plan the next day’s rehearsal, he insisted on showing us pictures of other projects he’s done, pictures of his daughter and then some videos.

Despite telling the people at the park that my wheel could not be stored under the stage because of all the sand, I found that in my absence they had moved off stage into the sand anyway. Moreover, instead of putting my wheel back in one of the upstairs storage areas, or even under the stage, it had been left on the stage. Just rockin’ out where anyone could have screwed around on it or taken off with it!

It took me over an hour to clean the sand out of it. The joints were full of sand, the screw holes, the screws themselves! There were screws so full of sand I couldn’t even get the alan key in all the way to remove the screw! Needless to say, there was some serious rage in my belly. Fortunately, our stage manager is a much classier person than the park liaison lady who has been working with us. Apparently when you go down the ladder, you find people who are far more willing to help you out. He was very helpful for finding the right tools to clean my wheel and now we have a storage solution. I am very grateful to him for that.

Two acts in the show were filmed and stolen from other groups. They were then sold to the park we’re working at before they even had anyone to do the acts. There was a teeterboard number up until yesterday. Their first teeterboard broke back in May during the kick off weekend. The replacement teeterboard broke two days after arriving here. Why did it break so soon? Because it was made out of hockey sticks.

You’re mind is probably so boggled by that last statement that it may not have fully sunk it, so I’ll just go and repeat it for you.

HOCKEY STICKS.

From everything I’ve heard from the other artists working on the project, this bullsh*it is just going to continue until the very last day. We’ve only been here for five days and already I’m counting down the days. It’s going to be a long summer.

Whew!

Its been two weeks since I've returned from Montpellier and only now have I posted everything I've wanted to post about my time there. Hopefully, entries will now appear around the same time as the events themselves!

Kicking Sawdust will be taking a break from French adventures for the next few weeks, and be 'vacationing' in California.

Its going to be a wild ride...

Flaming Os!

If you were to tell me there were flamingos in France, I would tell you to shut the front door. But as it turns out, in the south of France there are real live wild flamingos!

Flamingos!

In the wild!

In France!

Who knew?

Anyway, after hearing the stories and seeing the postcards, we set out in search of flamingos. Our quest brought us to this beautiful little town who’s name escapes me. We drove out towards the low-lying wetlands and sure enough, there were the flamingos. At first, there were only a handful. But they were still flamingos and therefore awesome. By the shore, there were heaps of flamingo feathers! I took a couple as souvenirs and we kept driving. That’s when the real flamingo fun began.


We parked by the side of the road and walked through a dried up portion of the lake. Seriously, there must have been thousands of flamingos just hanging out, scrounging for shrimp. As soon as we arrived, they kind of discreetly moved away. We settled in for a flamingo picnic surrounded by pink flamingo dots. We even saw some fly in. Those bad boys are big! And the undersides of their wings are all black. They were simply glorious.

Maybe the south of France isn’t so bad after all.

Chapiteau, O Chapiteau! I Missed You So!

While it can be nice to perform in a theatre, there’s no denying that coming back to the Chapiteau is like coming back home. And the first run through sous Chapiteau would be one helluva homecoming!

Sure, it was nice to have all that room again, and it was nice to know where everything is, but the floor… the floor! Oh the glorious, flat, even, floor! After the abomination that was the floor in La Rochelle, the Chapiteau floor was like a little slice of heaven. My entire number, I had a smile up to my ears. I have never, ever, enjoyed doing German wheel as much as I did in that moment.

Pure bliss.

The rest of the show I think I just skipped around backstage praising the floor and hugging the technicians. Its moments like that that if feels really good to do what I do. The people are great, the conditions are great, the work is great. Sometimes circus is just beyond awesome.

Montpellier

Every time I try to write about Montpellier the city, the entry ends up being transformed into something completely different. I think there’s a reason for that. And that reason is that Montpellier really didn’t do it for me.

It was nice enough. There were palm trees. There were beaches (that were covered in dead crabs). There were 80 billion cicadas that would not shut up. Lots of people, lots of little shops. One of my favourite aspects of the city was the twisty-turny alleys and side streets. But in the end, the city didn’t speak to me. It was hot, dry, and full of loud and annoying insects. I, for one, am glad to be moving on.

Feelin’ Hot Hot Hot!

In the weeks leading up to Montpellier, I was regaled with horror stories of how Montpellier is incredibly hot. How it was impossible to touch the masts of the chapiteau without burning yourself. How most people didn’t sleep for two weeks because it was just too damn hot.

The city did not disappoint. Fortunately, we were given a week’s reprieve. The really evil weather only came the second week. Of the hot days that were less hot, the temperature at the top of the seats in the chapiteau ranged from 48 to 55 degrees Celsius. Shows were held at 10pm so the tent could cool down a bit. They actually posted the temperatures in the different sections of the seats so that people could choose their seats according to how masochistic they are! And yes, the metal structure was quite literally hot to the touch. Yikes!

I have a very hard time with the heat. I once did a show were I had to wear a fat suit and afterwards, would end up crying and shaking in a bathroom. It reached a point where I had to be carried up to the dressing rooms and set in the shower.

Naturally, I feared a repeat of this unpleasantness in Montpellier. My fears would go unmet for most of the run, but the second to last show would leave me a mess…

The Home Stretch

Five months ago, I took a plane to France to start a new life as a circus artist in Europe. The creation was long, challenging, and at times, never ending. Suddenly, the premiere was upon us, and ready or not, it was show time.

Then, as suddenly as the tour started, we’re on the last leg of this first portion of the tour. After shows in Salins-les-Bains and La Rochelle, we’re now in Montpellier for two weeks and then that’s it. Two months off. Two months that will find me back in Montreal for a few short days, followed by six weeks working on the boardwalk in Santa Cruz, California, then back to Montreal for a week and a half of real vacation.

In case you were wondering, jet-setting is overrated.

But before I can go home and head to the west coast, I need to survive the hot hot heat that is Montpellier. And I do mean survive…

Blip

Hello all!

Once again, a huge gap in the blog. My apologies. I spent the last two weeks in Montpellier with virtually no internet and even less motivation to write. Or do anything for that matter. Obscenely hot weather will do that.

The good news is, I'm back in Montreal (yay!), albeit briefly (boo!), and will have a chance to catch you up on the trials and tribulations of performing at 10pm in the hottest, dustiest, most cicada infested city I have ever been to. Not to mention adventures over the big top and the hunt for wildlife I never would have imagined native to France!

And that's not even the half of it!

The In-Between

Back in my days as a camp counselor, I used to love the in-between times. Specifically, the time between sessions. That's when I could really take in what was around me, spend time with my fellow staff members, drink tea and reflect. It was that kind of camp. I especially loved rainy weekends on the back porch behind Canary Cottage, mug of tea in hand, water dripping off the trees and onto the roof. Those were cherished moments of peace and perfection.

With the circus, it's different. During shows, I'm still trying to figure out how to manage my days. How much can I go out, how much time can I spend in the sun, at what time should I eat so that I have enough energy but don't feel weighed down? And during a run, just how much can I do on my day off? I want to go out and do things, but I know my body needs rest. The clowns went and biked 80km on one of our days off. They saw beautiful things and got horrendous sunburns... Clowns may not have the same physical demands as an acrobat, but the job of a clown is very demanding physically and certainly emotionally. I don't know how they did it.

I'm sure I'll find the answers to these questions once the show runs longer. But in the meantime, I feel like I'm not exactly using my time as well as I should.

But the hardest thing for me right now is in-between cities. With this circus, we never move to the next town immediately after finishing in the town we're in. We usually have a week off, sometimes more. I find these periods very stressful and I tend to get kind of down. I think a lot of that has to do with not actually having a home anywhere in France and scrambling to find somewhere to stay, something to do.

More than anything, I feel lonely. I don't have a home here yet, and my friends are the people I work with. In between work, I squat in the apartments of of acquaintances and friends working in Europe. So strange, this circus life. How do you find the balance between the traditionally nomadic reality of circus life, and the more sedentary-except-when-on-tour reality of contemporary circus life?