Artists vs. Gymnasts

One criticism I sometimes get from the director of my circus is that I look too much like a gymnast, that what I do is a little too sport like. That really bothers me. Just because I do difficult skills and make a point of doing them well doesn’t make me a gymnast. Being a circus artist doesn’t mean a bent legged free for all! But having heard it so much, I began to take it to heart.

Well, now that I’ve been to Worlds I can assure you that I am no gymnast on my wheel. I am a bonafide circus artist.

I admit I had a rather negative preconception of the type of choreography that wheel gymnasts do. I expected it to be slightly better than artist gymnastics, but still very flowery, very posed, boring, slow and without heart.

When I arrived in Baar, I saw a number of gymnasts do their straight line routines and hoestly, they made my jaw drop. Not because of the skills (well, also because of the skills) but because of the originality, the complexity and the beauty of their movements. If I had had a hat, I’d have eaten it.

Sadly, when it came to the finals (I missed most of the qualifying routines as I was busy fretting over my own routine) I realized that my first impression was closer to the truth. Yes, the Japanese (the men more than the women) are very fun and exciting to watch. But save for a handful of truly exceptional gymnasts, it was routine after routine of overly balletic arms and little knee kicks.

The current straight line champion

I’d have to say that it’s really in the choreography that you see who is simply skilled, and who is truly great. Cecile Meschberger of Switzerland, for example, has to be the most exciting and technically bad ass person I have ever seen on a wheel. She was straight line champion in 2007 and (in my opinion) was robbed of the top spot this year by a mind numbingly boring and 'safe' routine out of Germany.

I know that in this context, German wheel is a sport and not an art. But it’s those who can bring grace and artistry to their sport that add the most to it. It’s those who take risks and dare to be innovative who bring it to the next level. And while these rare exceptions of gymnasts may consider themselves gymnasts, in my mind they are great masters and great artists.

Hey everyone! This is the last post about the World Championships! In a few minutes I'll be heading off to La Rochelle for the next leg of this crazy adventure! A plus!

The Germans

Gym Wheel... Rolling Wheel... Rhoenrad… All of these names are used to describe the apparatus on which I perform, but in my mind, no name is more fitting than German Wheel.

To be sure, all of the competitors at Worlds are first class athletes and unimaginably talented wheel gymnasts. But the true wheel gods are indisputably the Germans. Of the 15 gold medals awarded, 13 of them went to German athletes. There were only two instances where there was only one German on the podium. There’s even a rule, often referred to as “the German rule” that states that only two competitors per country can make it to finals per discipline. If that rule didn’t exist, it would practically be the German National competition all over again.

I say practically because as with anything, other nations are stepping up to the plate and getting stronger and stronger. The Israeli team, all junior girls, are absolutely incredible. As a team, they were the most beautiful gymnasts there. Then there are the Japanese. As a team, they’re really quite strong, but more than anything, they are daring, innovative and wonderfully creative. I’m a big fan of the Dutch team and while the Swiss team didn’t do well in competition, you can see that they are definitely ones to watch out for.

But whatever the politics of the sport, whatever the general feelings towards the Germans may be (I can name quite a few people fed up with hearing the German national anthem), there is no denying that, unlike Canadians at basketball, they are truly masters of the sport they created.

Oh, Canada!

Being the only Canadian at Worlds caused quite a stir. You’re the only one? There’s a wheel club in Canada? Who is your coach? The answers (yes, no, I don’t have a one) simply lead to more questions and more astonished looks.

Overall, I received very good feedback and people were impressed. Many people told me they really liked what I did. I think a lot of that had to do with the performance element that comes naturally as a circus artist. You don’t exactly see the other gymnasts smile.

But by far, the best part about being the Canadian at Worlds was when people sought me out, not to talk about wheel, but to talk about Canada. It is incredibly flattering to have people come up to you and tell you that they’ve been to Canada and loved it or that their child is studying in Canada and loves it. It’s overwhelming and heart warming to be greeted with raucous applause when your country’s name is called, even though there isn’t a single Canadian flag being waved out in the crowd.

And while the best part about being the Canadian at Worlds may be the general warmth coming my way, the most touching gesture by far would have to have been on the second to last day at lunch.

The Swiss organizers made a huge effort to make everyone feel welcome. One of the things they did was try to have foods from each country to offer some kind of comfort and a link to home. So imagine my surprise when I got up to the lunch counter and saw two bottles of maple syrup! They were serving crepes filled with Nutella and jam, so the syrup wasn’t really necessary, but wow. Way to extend a hand in welcome!

I got to lunch near the end and neither bottle had been opened. But you can bet I drowned my crepes in syrup with a smile up to my ears. Such a small gesture, but I was completely overcome with emotion! Seeing as the Canadian delegation was a delegation of one, they very easily could have lumped me together with the Americans (as many people do). To take that extra step, for just one person… Thank you Switzerland and thank you IRV!

Three Minutes, Five Seconds

This entire experience has been a whirlwind of emotion from the minute I set foot in the gym hall. Seeing the Canadian flag in the gym for the first time set my heart racing. Marching in for the opening ceremonies made me cry. Seeing the level of skill and mastery that the other competitors have on the wheel is both mesmerizing and breathtaking.

But looming over all these happy squishy feelings of joy and good times is the harsh reality that I need to go out on that floor and compete against these wheel gods.

Me.

The random Canadian who learned wheel through circus and hasn’t had a coach in three years.

Me.

The ill prepared acrobat who ran her routine three times before coming to Worlds and chose to perform a dismount that she hasn’t done in two years.

Me.

I went out onto the floor. My name and country were announced and everyone cheered. My music started and I was officially competing at Worlds.



I would just like to take a moment to note that I was the 21^st competitor to pass the straight line event. The men and women’s competitions run simultaneously and the men’s meet had already concluded before it was even my turn to go. All that amounts to some serious jitter building time.

Needless to say, I was nervous. I’m finally starting to better handle my nerves during a show, but this ain’t no show. In a show, mistakes can be covered up and no one really cares if you fall a little or bend your needs to make a trick work. And seriously, these women really are unbelievable. One look at them and I want to pack my bags and head to the door!

But I did it. Not nearly as well as I would have hoped, and not nearly as well as I know I am able to do. I was shaky and my feet were all over the place. Because of my nerves, I wasn’t nearly as tight as I could have been. My major mistakes, I’d say, were in the transitions because I hadn’t really practiced them. I messed up the hanging bridge but covered it up like a champ. In fact, I covered all my mistakes brilliantly. No one else there could have sold their errors as choreography the way I did. Thanks circus! When all else failed, I performed. And the crowd loved it.

All my other tricks went off without a hitch. Well, the double forward roll was late. I don’t think the real gymnasts would have gone for it, but sure as hell wasn’t going to mess up another move! My triple was gorgeous and received some nice applause. Not because I’m the only one to do it, but because my wheel is so small and I have to go so fast in order to pull it off. I think most people were surprised I could make it.

And the flying line? My “D” move? Well… let me put it this way: there were only two people to perform that feat in the competition. Me, and the previous World Champion in the straight line event!

Feel free to be impressed.

I may not have scored terribly well, but I showed the world of wheel gymnastics that this random Canadian can at least compete on the same level as them! With innovation and pizzazz no less!

I came 25th in straight lines out of 31 women. I would have placed higher but accidentally touched my foot to the floor (a 0.8 point deduction) and finished just after the music (a 0.2 point deduction). Plus, being a complete and total unknown, they’re not about to bust out anything terribly generous. I did, however, have full points for my difficulty start value.

I admit that I cried afterward. I was really disappointed. I know I could have done so much better. A former World Champion came up to me afterward, hugged me, and told me that I did really well, especially for my first competition ever. It only lasted for three minutes and five seconds, but without a doubt, it was one of the most incredible moments of my life.

Opening Ceremonies - The Best Part

I can't believe I almost forgot to include this. It was quite possibly the best part of the opening ceremonies, nay, the entire event!

Okay, maybe not, but it certainly was the strangest.


Those two things flanking the mayor of Baar? Those would be the mascots of the World Championships.

From what I was able to understand from the translator (who's English was kind of a disaster) those two things were inspired by Carnival and have something to do with turnips...

Turnips!

I love you, Switzerland.

Eee! Eee! Eee! *

Needless to say, the opening ceremonies left me feeling giddy. When I got back to the hostel I couldn't help but document the pieces of my Worlds thus far.


We've got the 'tard, my 20 year old Aces, official accreditation, my trusty straps,the Canada jacket and the World Championship commemorative hoody. Okay, maybe the term "commemorative hoody" is a little excessive, but it accurately embodies my level of excitment.

The little round flag is actually a card that was given to me by the little Swiss girls who did the Canada tribute number. That bad boy is going to have a place of honour in my mal back stage at the circus!


And yes, that is a chocolate Swiss army knife! Clearly, the Swiss have no illusions when it comes to their identity. Their delicious, delicious identity.


* Eee! Eee! Eee! refers to the sound the Israeli coach made when one of her girls got the top marks in straight lines. It's also the sound my heart was making for most of my time at Worlds.

Opening Ceremonies

Walking into the venue for the first time, seeing all the wheels, the competitors and the sheer ass kickery… that all felt pretty real. But as it turns out, I wouldn’t experience the full out, smack-in-the-face enormity of what I’m a part of until the opening ceremonies.

I haven’t competed in a gymnastics event in thirteen or fourteen years, and when I did compete, it was certainly never at this level. Marching in with my fellow competitors, the stands packed, flags waving, the crowd cheering… I started to cry. It was so powerful and so moving. I was completely overwhelmed by it. And even though there wasn’t a single Canadian flag in the mix, I still felt like they were cheering for me too. And that is one of the most beautiful things in this sport. Because there are so few people and because you can compete for such a long time, most people know each other and everyone is supportive of each other. You can really feel the vibe is more familial than cutthroat. When Canada was announced, the people cheered. They cheered!



It’s amazing to me, and an incredible honour to be competing next to athletes of this calibre. More amazing to me is that I have the level to compete next to them! At least in straight lines.

We marched out and went back to our seats to watch the remainder of the opening ceremonies, which were exactly as you would expect an opening ceremony to be: too long. Although there were a few things there were pretty cool. Like the group wheel act at the beginning! I’m sure for everyone else it was old hat, but I’ve never seen something like that before.

And the local club did a mini tribute for each country accompanied by said country’s national anthem! It was really sweet. And afterwards, the little girls who performed it gave each nation a signed card wishing them luck with a Swiss chocolate Swiss army knife! Fantastic!

Oh, and did I mention the techno yodel polka extravaganza? And the skipping rope? No? There’s a reason for that.

Worlds! – Training Day 2

Okay… today was hard. Yesterday felt good but today I feel exhausted and sore. The floor here is a disaster. It’s the big concern among all the competitors. It’s really, really soft and you have to work so hard to get the speed required to do the tricks. My routine is only three minutes long, but I feel almost as tired as I am after I run my number in the show!

The really disappointing news, however, is that my hip injury isn’t even remotely close to being better. There’s no way I’ll be doing my split bridge in the competition and I have to replace it with a super lame ‘y’ position. Boo! And even though the other skills I do don’t really work that part of my body the way a split does, I’m still feeling it, the constant dull ache of an enraged hip. Grr!

I ran my routine two full times and about a million quarter times. The CD player kept skipping and was stuck on this weird mode where it loops after 30 seconds. Speaking of CDs, it was one of my colleagues at the circus who burned my music onto a disk for me. All she wrote was the name of the track and my first name. As a result, my CD reads The Winner Is Kristina.

I’m thinking I should maybe change that…

All in all, it was a pretty good day. I’m completely beat and really sore, but my last run through went really well. I’m still kind of scared to do my dismount (you know, the one I haven’t done in two years) and had a really terrible moment of panic at the end of the day. One of the US athletes mentioned how I was taking off a little early and would maybe hit my head. After that, I was too scared (having hit my head in the past) and had to slowly work back up to doing the move. Not really what I was hoping for the day before I compete.

But now its time for a quick nap and the opening ceremonies! Yay Canada!

Worlds! - The Arrival

The journey to Worlds was a stressful one. Not because of anything specific (well, I did almost miss the train) but mostly because I am stressed. I mean, what the heck am I getting myself into? This is going to be one of the biggest events of my life and I have no one by my side. Team Canada, in its entirety, consists of me. I am the delegation. I wrote to the Canadian Gymnastics Federation before leaving because I realized that no one back home even knows they’re being represented.

Upon arriving in Zurich, I must admit I had a moment of “What the hell am I doing here? Get out, and get out now!” but somehow I managed to get a ticket for the train into Baar. I wasn’t excited. I wasn’t much of anything. That all changed when the train pulled into the station.

Decked out in the competition garb was an event volunteer waiting to meet me. The city has banners and posters announcing the competition. The hostel we’re staying at literally has a German wheel in front of it with a banner hung up inside it.

For some strange reason, they didn’t want to mix countries in the hostel, so I have my own room with a private bathroom and shower! And the breakfast here? Tea, coffee, hot chocolate, juice, fresh fruit and bread, yoghurt, granola, meat, cheese… We don’t get that much to eat for breakfast at the circus!

After settling in, I went directly to the gym hall to train. Walking in, one of the first things I saw was the Canadian flag hanging from rafters, right next to the World Championships banner! I think my heart may well have burst out of my chest and the biggest smile has permanently plastered itself to my face. I am so proud to be here, so honoured to be a part of something like this. I qualify for the World Championships! Do you understand how awesome that is? And to be here as a representative of my country? That’s just the icing on the cake.

Seriously, this place? It’s heaven. Its like one of those movies where the main character dies or almost dies and gets a glimpse of paradise and it turns out to be this one thing that they loved and now get to do all the time, like that magical night in nineteen-dickety-two where they danced in the moonlight with Sally Jean at the Summer Festival dance, down by the boardwalk…

Okay, maybe my idea of paradise isn’t a smelly gym full of people doing German wheel, but there certainly would be a gym full of people doing German wheel just down the street. And I would totally be able to go whenever I wanted and learn to do all the biggest, most bad ass moves there are…

sigh…

Back to the competition, there are maybe 120 competitors and I could spend the entire day just watching each and every one of them. Except I can’t because I need to train! But, oh! My jaw is permanently agape and I am so impressed and in awe of what I’m seeing. Technically, these athletes are outstanding. But I suppose that’s normal, what with this being Worlds and all. But I must admit I’m very surprised by the level of artistic. So fluid, so graceful and seamless. Even the boys!

How do I fit in? Well, let’s just say that I have full marks (four) for difficulty, assuming I make all the tricks. That leaves four points for execution and two for music. So in that respect, I’m not too shabby. One of the junior girls from the US team seems to think I’m really good. A young Austrian lad said the same. And the Israeli girl who has dual citizenship with Canada? She really digs my last line. So while I may not be in any position to make it to finals, at least I’ve gotten the nod of approval from those in the know.

* All of the posts from Worlds are off by about a week. Just so you know.

Last Day

Today* is my last day in Salins and I am full of dread. The energy around the site right now seems stressful and frenetic. The show is being taken apart, packed into boxes and stuffed into a truck en route to our next stop on the tour. People are running around, unable to find things, not sure how it will all fit, utterly amazed by the amount of physical objects either make up the show, or have been left lying around.

This is the first time the show is being torn down, so of course it will take longer and be more hectic. I’m told the tent will take another three days to take down. Meanwhile, there are large patches of yellow grass dotting the area as caravans disappear one by one. It suddenly feels very empty around here.

On my end (we don’t have to help with the tear down, man are we ever spoiled!), I’m desperately trying to pack up my caravan and figure out what I’m going to be bringing with me as I won’t be seeing this caravan again until the fall. We’ll be performing in a theatre in the next city we’re going to, so we’ll be staying in apartments, not caravans. The city after that is so far away that we’ll be renting caravans (we’ll be back under the big top then). True, I did shove an enormous amount of stuff into my mal, but I won’t be seeing it for at least two weeks. Whatever is coming with me needs to fit in my pack.

This caravan, this tiny little town, this site snuggled up in the mountains has been my home for close to four months. Everything I have in France is here. I have no other home, no other place to go. It’s kind of like leaving Canada all over again.

This time around is not too bad. I’m going to Switzerland for Worlds (did I mention I go to Worlds tomorrow?) and then have a couple of days in Paris with a friend. But after that, I have no idea where I’ll be when we’re not performing.

I know this is really the beginning, but damnit if it doesn't feel like the end!



* 'Today' was actually a week ago. The next few entries will all be off by a week as I was at Worlds and was unable to actually post the things I was writing.

Deep Breaths...

On Saturday I presented my routine for Worlds to the troupe (complete with leotard). I didn't want to do it. I almost canceled the presentation because I didn't feel like I was ready. It was only the third time I ever tried to run it and the two times before, I didn't even manage to complete the routine.

It got off to a rocky start. Two rocky starts, in fact. I started over three times and it was only on the third try that I figured out how to keep going if I mess up the first move. So that's pretty damn positive! After that, it went really well.

I'm actually really, really glad I did it. I was feeling so discouraged and so unprepared, but now I feel like I can head over to Switzerland with a bit of confidence! Plus, everyone in the troupe is being super supportive and they all seem really excited about it. In fact, the other night, a woman came up to me after the show saying how she had just spoken with the director and that he had told her I was going to Worlds! I think everyone feels kind of proud to have a "World Champion" in the troupe.

I, for one, know I'm not going to win anything and that I'm not actually a World Champion. I'm not going there to win. I'm going for the experience, to have fun, and quite frankly, the fact that I even qualify is enough for me! That doesn't change the fact that I have the technicians telling me I'd better bring back a medal. Or that my coach mentioned that he'd really like to be able to put that he coached a world champion on his CV. I mean, I know they're just kidding around and that they're really showing their support, but it does feel like pressure none the less.

Oh! And did I mention that the technical director embroidered a Canada jacket for me? Because he did, and its made entirely out of awesome! And did I mention that the technicians wrote "World Champion" on my wheel case before they packed it into the truck? Because, being sweet like they are, they did.

All that's left to do is get on the train to Switzerland! Wish me luck!

Blast!

It happened.

With the fatigue, the stress, the interminable work, it happened...

I injured myself during the show last night.

Its not a big injury, but it is an annoying one. I was doing my coin spin split and my psoas gave up. I don't know what you would call it. Certainly not a tear, I wouldn't have been able to continue. But I either pulled, sprained or over stretched the shnook out of it.

During the show it was bad. I had a hard time walking and was very aware of the dull, burning, throb that wouldn't go away. This morning things felt better so I had hope that the ibuprofen I took the night before did the job, but I just tried to stretch it out and the dull burning throb came back.

Did I mention I'm presenting my routine for Worlds today? In an hour? And that there are two splits in the number? Sigh... if it weren't for Worlds being right around the corner, it wouldn't be a big deal. I can take the split out of the act for show, but I need it in my routine for Worlds.

The presentation is going to be hilarious. And not just because of the leotard.

"Okay, here, this should be a split. And um... imagine that I'm doing this line, but I can't right now because there's no room. And that's another split right here, but whatever, you know what a split looks like..."

Oh life...

Look Out World, Here I Come!

Some rather exciting news on the show front is that we sold the show to a producer from Holland! Word on the street is that while the company has been to Holland many times before, this particular producer has never actually purchased one of our shows!

Not too bad for a show that's just beginning. That brings us up to three countries. And there are rumours of another potentially exotic voyage. My fingers are crossed and I'll keep you posted!

Sneak Peak

Here's a behind the scenes sneak peak at my daily routine!

Really, I just want to show off my make-up. I never wore make-up as a teenager (and still don't for that matter) and only really had to deal with the whole make-up thing when I started performing. Needless to say, I have a bit of an inferiority complex when it comes to my make-up applying abilities.

But you know, I think I'm starting to get the hang of it. At any rate, I'm better at putting on eyeliner than I used to be.

Maybe one day, I'll figure out how to curl my eye lashes...

Oh-oh-oh, The Sweetest Thing!

This was waiting for me by my wheel shoes yesterday afternoon. It was drawn by the daughter of one of the clowns. I don't think anyone could pay a higher compliment.

L'Est Républicain

As I mentioned in an earlier post, there was a second article about the show. So for your reading pleasure (and the inflation of my ego), the review!

From L'Est Républicain:

"Voilà l'incroyable tourbillon de la jeune fille à la roue. Elle tourne, sur la tranche dans un sens un autre, se lance, s'arrête, minuscule dompteuse d'un engin infernal." - Catherine CHAILLET

Again, for those who don't speak French, loosely translated that means See the incredible whirl that is the young woman on the wheel. She turns, this way and that, launches out, stops, tiny master of an infernal machine.

You got that?

Tiny master of an infernal machine.

That one's going up on the wall.

Shift

My experiences with this company so far have pretty much taken all of my ideas and feelings towards circus and flipped them on their head. Being circus, that may actually be a good thing.

I've had a lot of firsts these past few days. The first performance of a new show, the first of potentially 400 performances, this is my first contract with a big company, and really, the first steps of my career! But more important are the 'firsts' I'm experiencing on an emotional level.

I'm an extremely nervous and worried person. I fret. I pace. Normally before a show, or just before my number, I'm a slight wreck. Already, this is the first time in my life where I don't need to run to use the bathroom before I go on stage. To me, that's huge. Even more exceptional, however, is the fact that I think I might actually learn to like this.

I mean, of course, I like this. I wouldn't have pursued this as a career if I didn't like it. But the fretting? The nervousness? The pacing? That all makes the performance side of circus a little less enjoyable. And I suppose there will always be some nervousness, but there's the kind that feels like excitement and the kind that feels like dread. I've always had a closer relationship with dread than excitement. But slowly, I think that's going to change. Each night during the bows, I look out into the audience and feel more and more at ease. I'm having more fun and slowly, I'm starting to perform for the sheer pleasure of it. On the one hand, that may seem selfish. But when an artist goes on stage for pleasure, for love, for passion and just has fun, all of those wonderful feelings are passed on to the audience. And that's a generous gift to give.

I also feel more and more addicted to the applause. And let me tell you, the French are incredibly generous with their applause. We're talking three or four bows generous. After a matinee, even. A matinee! At home, I often feel that we (the artists) linger on stage for too long and force the audience to clap. Here, I feel almost embarrassed because they won't stop. Its amazing.

Another personal change I'm noticing is that I'm much more gentle with myself. When my number goes poorly, I'm able to shake it off much more quickly than in the past. I take lessons from it and look towards tomorrow. It true, after night's two and three I was wondering if I could hack it. But after the Sunday show (which went brilliantly) it was a like a huge weight was lifted from my shoulders. I can do this. There will be off nights, but in the end, there will likely be way more good nights.

I think part of this openness comes from the feeling that this tour is limitless. The other contracts I've had were short term and consisted of relatively few shows. Under those circumstances, you kind of feel like you need to bust out a perfect number. Preferably many of them. But now, I have three to four years of work ahead of me. New dates get added to the tour all the time. I suddenly feel like I'm free to let the number and my skills evolve as they will without having to worry so much about what I look like along the way.

I thought I was starting a new chapter in my life. But now, I think its more like a brand installment in a continuing series! Who knows what the following days (and months) will bring!

Sloppy Seconds

As I've mentioned previously, there is always a risk of the second and third night being less than stellar. I finally understand that a lot of that comes the release of doing the show for the first time and giving the accumulated fatigue a crack to slip through. Needless to say, nights two and three were a little soft, and a little slow.

The second night, I made so many mistakes in my number, I couldn't believe it. They were mostly little errors, many of which I've never made before. Never the less, I was very pleased with the work that I did. Not the number, but the work. And it was work.

That second night, I worked at being an artist and a professional. Perfection, while perhaps the objective, will never actually be reached. And so, despite the many, many difficulties that came my way, I worked through them. Hid them with elegant manipulations and a smile. Its true, there were two moments where I think I let the difficulty show in my face, but only for a moment. Like I said, it was work, but really good work. So even though it was far from what I expect of myself, I am still pleased and proud of the steps that I took. That's a very positive thing.

Unfortunately, the third night was just bad. While there were fewer mistakes, it was just a hard number. I had an actual fall and really struggled. I still did the work, but I must admit, I couldn't help but wonder if I can do this. Night after night for the next four years...

One show left before a couple of days off. We'll see what happens.

Extra! Extra! Read All About It!

So much to write about, but for now, I'll let someone else do the talking. The first articles are appearing in the local and regional papers and it looks like the show is a hit! Already we've had rave reviews from the public so the positive press is icing on the cake!

From Le Progrès de Lyon

"Hommages ou dérision, les clins d'œil et références aux peintres évitent toute pesanteur et mettent en valeur les artistes circassiens, comme K.D., dans une prouesse à la roue allemande qui cloue le spectateur à son banc." - Christiane Barbault

For those who don't speak French, loosely translated that means In homage to or in mockery of, the nods and references to art avoid being too heavy and support the circus artists, like K.D., in prowess on the German wheel, who nails audience members to their seats.

Read the whole article here.

There's another, even better review that, unfortunately, I am unable to access online unless I pay for it. As such, you'll have to contain your curiosity until I can get my hands on a copy and transcribe the good bits.

In the meantime, enjoy this photo from the show, also from Le Progrès de Lyon.

The Aftermath Part 3

Have you ever had a moment where your heart suddenly lifts and and you're not quite sure you can contain it? Where you feel like it might burst and you're not even sure you can take the next step forward? That's what happened to me right before going on stage. And I must admit, those first few seconds face to face with the audience were panic stricken. I could feel that the look on my face was of more of the shocked variety than what it should have been. But it only lasted a moment. Indeed, those first few minutes on stage flew by and I have hardly any recollection of them at all.

Put on my mask (literally), pick up my frame, one step, one flip at a time...

Of course, the most important moment of the show for me is my number. That goes without saying. And the moment sneaks up rather quickly in the show. I'm lucky enough to have a five minute window where I can visualize my number beforehand. Then its one last whirlwind moment on stage, costume change, warm up and go. I don't know that I really needed a warm up last night though. I was so nervous, I felt like I was radiating heat.

I'd love to write some epic paragraph about how the number went. But there's no point. Despite it being their role, words will never do the moment justice. And so, I will simply say this: I fucking rocked it.

It was incredible. Yes, the number went well. The technique was well executed. But it was the audience. The audience! Everything I did, I did it for them and because of them. I was propelled by something much greater than myself. And then the applause... the applause! I have never been on the receiving end of anything like the thunderous roar that erupted from the public last night. I almost started crying. It was so moving, so beautiful... it was one of the most exhilarating moments of my life.

But the show wasn't over yet. We weren't even half way through. Out of breath and walking on air, I changed my costume and continued with the manipulations backstage and readied myself for the rest. The rest? It flew by. Flew by! It was sweat and anticipation, laughter and joy. It went so, so well.

People told me I set the stage on fire, that in my bazooka moment (you'd need to see the show to understand) I was absolutely hilarious. One of the few criticisms I received was that I was a little too femme fatale during my number for so and so's taste.

Me? A femme fatale?

Best flaw ever!

But now, its 6pm Friday evening. The premiere has come and gone and its already time to get ready for show number two. I'm still nervous. Maybe even more nervous than yesterday. Everyone keeps saying that the second night is harder, that with the fatigue and the release of the first night, we let down our guard.

Two and a half hours from now, the curtain goes up. Two hours after that, we'll have an answer.

The Aftermath Part 2

There is nervousness, and then there is sheer dread. We're talking verge of tears, unable to utter simple phrases and sitting in stunned, but trembling, silence.

That's where I was yesterday afternoon. I needed hugs. I needed love. I needed.

It occurred to me that this would be the first time in my entire life that I wouldn't have my family, my friends or my community by my side for an opening. I suddenly felt incredibly alone. Here I was on the biggest, most important moment of my career so far, and I hadn't heard heads nor tails from home.

An e-mail from my brother... one line... but the best line I have ever read in my life. But where were mum and dad?

Not hearing from my parents really hit hard. I wandered back to the kitchen to be around people. I just needed people. I didn't think I could really communicate with them, but apparently, the deer in the headlights look said it all. And that's when it started...

"Above all, go out there for your own pleasure. Have fun. Its all about enjoying yourself."

"Hey, come one, you're the World Champion!"

"It will be fine. No matter what happens, they will love you. All those people out there? 95% have no idea what they're looking at. If you make a mistake, they'll never know."

"This is a birth, no matter what, it will be beautiful. Whether its painful or easy, it will be beautiful."

"It will be magical. After all this time, effort, pain... it has to be. It can't be anything else. It will be magical."

But my favourite piece of advice came from a very dear friend of mine who has been with this company for perhaps 15 years. He told me that what he likes to do is take a moment, before anyone arrives, to sit in the public. Just to take a moment to be, and to be a part of this whole circus entity. I don't think I have ever taken a moment to go into the stands and look down on the stage. Earlier in the day, I went out on stage and looked out in to the seats. That's when a voice called down from the technical grid and said, "Yup, and its going to be full of 1000 people!"

Did I mention that the last show I was in sometimes only had 20 people in the audience?

Wanting to shake the fear that had been building, I went to sit in the stands. I had never seen the stage from that perspective. It helped, but not as much as the crying I did (on the shoulder of my same dear friend) a little later.

I put on my make up, I made many trips to the bathroom, I forced down some dinner. I still hadn't heard from my parents and I was slowly sinking into a terrible mood. I wasn't at all excited. And then, looking at the program, I was that I was credited as the "young girl in the wheel". My heart sank. I was not the young woman in the wheel, but the young girl. All that fighting over three months and in order to win, they put it in ink. I didn't even want to go on stage.

Now if you're thinking "that can't be a good way to start a show, let alone the first show of the tour!", you're right. The worst part is, I had no idea how to get out of that state of mind. The good news is I didn't need to know how. It turns out the circus gods wouldn't allow it.

The hugs started. The energy under the big top became tangible. Then, the crowd came in. They were electric. They were infectious. The show hadn't even started and they were cheering. My stomach is in knots just remembering it. Its supposed to be the artist that goes out and gives a gift to the audience. But they lifted me up and took me in their hands before they even saw me, eradicating the storm clouds in my heart. They gave me a gift.

The lights went down. The curtains parted. It was show time...

The Aftermath Part 1

It is Friday morning. The premiere has come and gone. There were so many moments yesterday where I wanted to write but couldn't sit still long enough to it. In the end, it was for the best. I needed to be "in the present" as one of my colleagues here often says.

I'm going to write about the day in different installments. Partly because I really feel like the day can be divided into different parts, but mostly because it will be really long otherwise.

Yesterday was a crazy roller coaster kind of day. I'm pretty sure I was in a state of shock upon waking up. For the better part of the morning, I don't think I felt anything at all. I don't mean I wasn't nervous. I mean I was completely numb. In case you're wondering, that is a bad place to be.

I think the better part of the morning was spent wandering around aimlessly. I did maybe 15 minutes of wheel to go over a couple of moves that had been giving me trouble in the two previous runs before continuing the aimless wandering. During brief moments, my eyes unglazed and I was able to see the circus around me. Its really a beautiful thing, this circus life. Where we are right now, though tiny and quiet, is beautiful and serene. We're surrounded by mountains, there are little forts looking down on us. The sun was shining, the grass tall and green, and the trees around us are all blossoming. The caravans, the dogs, the sounds of preparation... all these things make up the magical little world I'm now a part of. And I am a part of it. In that moment, I was overwhelmed by just how amazing it is for me to be here, to be part of a troupe and part of a show. I'm in the feakin' circus!

It was after this moment of awe and wonderment that I slipped into the second phase of my premiere day...

What He Said...

Ladies and gentlemen, tonight is the night. Wish my luck, wish me love, and most of all, wish me courage! And also, aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

Dun Dun DUN!

Its been three months. There have been arguments, breakdowns, tears, laughter, hurdles overcome and breakthroughs made. Most importantly, a show was born. Tonight was our final run before the doors open to a curious and eager public. And I, for one, am crapping my pants.

Last night we had a small audience of about 30 people (the Chapiteau holds 1000). Oddly enough, I wasn't nervous. I had heard they were the people from the office and some theatre company that often comes by. I figured they were friends and so no big deal. I later learned they were actually one of those super critical bunches you need to be wary of.

Oops.

Things went well, but I feel like I've plateaued a bit. I don't really feel like I'm inhabiting what I'm doing. I think having a real audience will help.

I also think it might kill me.

Tonight, I was so nervous. There were six people in the public. The director, assistant director, the costume designer, the technical director, the maintenance/all around go-to guy, and the videographer. That's it! People who have been here from the start and know the show inside and out! And yet I was on the verge of thoroughly soiling my costume...

If I felt like that tonight, I don't know what I'm going to do tomorrow.

One thing that's really great though is my placement in the show. My wheel number has always been either last or second to last. That's a long time to let your nerves build up. Now, I'm rather close to the beginning, just before the middle. Its a good spot. I can get into the show, do my number without getting too worked up, and then continue with a lot less stress. It's pretty awesome.

Also, I now have a costume! Its still not quite finished, and it did sort of fall off at one point in the run (but that can be avoided later on), but its a costume! And its orange... a nice orange though. Kind of a burnt, rust, pumpkin kind of orange. Well, the pants are, I've never really had a chance to look at the top in the light. Anyway, its orange. I must admit, its one of the last colours I ever thought I'd end up in...

I can't believe its finally here. This journey started with my audition in 2007 and now I'm finally going to be presenting a show as a member of this reknowned circus. And you know what? Tonight, at curtain call, I felt like a real member of this troupe. And that is a beautiful thing.

So wish me 'merde' all over my broken legs! Because tomorrow is the beginning of a whole new chapter of this crazy circus life of mine.

Allez!

Worlds Update

I have purchased my train ticket to Switzerland.

There's no turning back now!

Look out Baar, here I come!

I Feel Pretty! Oh So Pretty!

There’s one thing I’ve been meaning to write about for quite some time. From inside a show, it’s my favourite part. I always find it terribly exciting and quite frankly, for me, it’s the part I find most magical and the part that really makes me feel like I in a show.

If you haven’t figured it out, I’m referring to the costumes. The idea that someone is going to make a costume especially for me, to exactly my measurements, so that it best suits my shape and highlights my best features… well that, my friends, is one tasty looking carrot to be dangling in front of someone’s nose.

It’s funny how the things just left of the actual show are the parts I love most. The costumes, make up, the poster, the program… I suppose that’s what makes it real for me. Anyone can put something together and call it a “show”. I feel like it’s these elements that make it real, official and professional. At the same time, I guess it makes sense. When the show is over, everything that has occurred on stage exists only as a memory. When you get back up there the following night, the experience will never be the same, even if the gestures are. And one day, the show will end. The lasting reminder, the proof that it really happened, lies in the things you can hold. The poster, the program, the costume...

I suppose I’m just getting a little wistful because we open in five days… Five days!!

But back to costumes…

As I just mentioned, we open in five days. I still do not have a completed costume. There are some people who are missing elements of their costume, but I’m flat out missing pants and a top. I do have a costume just for my number, which is really quite awesome, albeit now covered in paint (damn you, clowns!). And I do have a sequin-infested jacket. But for the duration of the show that I am not doing German wheel I have only my shiny, shiny coat to keep me decent.

I almost have pants. Every time I try them on the fit is disastrous and I have the costume designer up in my lady parts muttering under her breath. And one day I may have a top but the costume designer hasn’t found “my colour”. I have, however, been told that that colour is not green. I suppose that’s a start.

As for my German wheel costume… after having lived through costumes that made me look like an ice dragon (actually kind of cool) and a diseased sperm (very far from cool), I am happy to report I will finally be represented as an attractive young woman!

For starters, the costume is red. Red! Only sexy women get to wear red. But not only that, its a little bustier that shows off my cleavage (!) coupled with what the costume designer calls little underwear, but are actually just little red shorts. They aren’t really interesting enough to call them anything but shorts. Except for that, like the bustier, they have roses all over them! Needless to say, the wheel costume makes it much easier to bear the sequin-infested jacket and lack of pants.

The Second Run

The day started out rough. We were all exhausted from the night, and weeks, before. I swear you've never seen a group of droopier acrobats than the ones oozing off the structure for the trampoline number.

And of course, there was the infamous wheel session in the afternoon...

But its true what they say, the show must go on, and run through number two was looming.

As you can imagine, I was nervous. I have the incredible fortune of incredible friends here and after my difficult wheel session, I shared a good cry*. Still, doubt remained. Also, inadequacy, embarrassment, fear and many other emotional parasites. I had no idea if I could what I had to do that night. Using a technique called EFT I worked through a good portion of the things holding me back. For the first time in a long time, I felt some kind of peace and was ready to work. I know I still have a lot of issues to work through, but I took some huge steps in the right direction.

The lights went down, the music started, artists paced the backstage.

And it was glorious.

I don't know what happened, but somehow, we did a show. Not a series of acts and technical bits, but a show. A living, breathing entity consisting of the sweat and passion of thirteen artists, three stage technicians and a handful of others. We progressed by leaps and bounds and we felt it. That is magic.

And my number? I exploded. I blew them out of the water. I left them with their little jaws dangling and even made one of the musicians cry. I took my time, and for the first time, I did my number for myself. Not for the director, not for the sake of the show, but for me. I rediscovered my relationship with my wheel, the love of what I do and what the hell I'm doing here in the first place. And it felt so good.

After wards, the technical director came up to me and told me that I took him in my hand and held him the entire time. He later told me that my number was the moment in the show when the energy really took off. And he is not a man who gives compliments gratuitously. I finally did my job.

I'm also finding my place in this show. I understand who I am a little better. I'm having fun, still trying to learn the show, mind you, but slowly I am starting to have fun.

And the best part? We won our Saturday! We were supposed to work the weekend because we were so behind. The thing is, we're all breaking. One colleague got an infection in his knee and now has all these crazy bumps on the glands in his knee. Others are getting sick too. Plus tempers are growing short and the pressure and stress are mounting. We need these two days. Especially since starting Monday, we go seven days straight.

But! We have a show... and from the whispers of those who've seen it, it might even be a really good show. I guess we'll find out Thursday.


* Understatement.

Number Drama: The Moment of Truth

As I stumbled out of my caravan, still half asleep, trying hard to find some hitherto untapped scrap of energy with which I could attack group trampoline, I ran into the director. I apologized for not commenting the night before, and explained that I wasn’t in a state to be constructive. He assured me that was fine, and then went on to tell me that we would be working on my number that afternoon. That we had never taken the time to do so. We were going to fix it. He really likes my character in the show and would like to see that character in my number…

Oh…

Those words struck me as a death sentence. My character, if you don’t know, is somewhat silly, runs around a lot, and has absolutely nothing to do with the spirit of my act.

When the time to do wheel arrived, the director started proposing things like:

“Put your arms up here to give the image of Da Vinci.”

“Add a little smile there* for the public”

And that’s when it went to shit.

I have an extremely difficult time hiding my inner monologue. Some people wear their hearts on their sleeves. I wear my thoughts on my face. I looked like I was in pain. And finally the director lost his patience with me and started yelling.

"With every proposition, you look like you're being slapped! You put up walls, won’t listen, will accept no criticism when it comes to your wheel!"

Not being one to start a yelling match, I got off the stage and went to speak to him face to face from where he was seated in the audience. And by speak to him, I also mean speak to the musical director and technical director (founding members, all), and the assistant director.

I tried to remain composed but just started crying. I explained how I felt lost, that I had no idea what they wanted from me, and that the only thing I’ve been hearing from them lately is that it doesn’t work. I told them of my doubt, how I’ve spent the last weeks worrying and dreading, unsure how to proceed. They said they wanted to see my funny character, I told them that if I were to do that, it would be caricature, and besides, that is not how I am with my wheel, that I don’t know how to be that, and if they had wanted a wheel number like that, they should have hired someone else.

I told the director that, yes, I do put up walls as soon as he comes to speak to me. I don’t know what it is about him, but I get angry and frustrated when he tries to intervene. I told him he’s unclear and while I don’t talk to him, I do seek the counsel of others. I suddenly understood that one of the reasons I have such a difficult time working with him is because of his lack of clarity and because I have to dig to get at the tiniest scrap of specificity.

More importantly, I have a hard time working with him because he proposes solutions without pinpointing the problem. And because I don’t know what the problem is, I don’t understand And because I don't understand, his propositions make no sense, feel super fake and imposed. Because his proposed solutions feel dishonest, superficial and placed, I become resentful.

Wow.

So finally, someone specifies the problems. There’s the manipulations, of course. However, unlike what I had been led to believe, it wasn't so much the manipulation as it was the approach. I was convinced they disliked them so much that I kept trying to be as efficient as possible. What they needed from me was time and care. To move my wheel with the same tenderness I approach it with at every other moment.

Out of nowhere, the director’s wife/founding member/artist in the show appeared. She began to tell me how when she was still wire walking in the show, she too would try to hide the preparation. But the truth is, the audience is interested in you. So much beauty and interest lies in the artist. Those moments of preparation are as much a gift as the the actual trick because the time the artist takes to prepare for a figure is an act of generosity to the public. That feat is being prepared for the public. There's no need to be afraid of taking the audience in your hand and bringing them along for the ride.

I took her hand and I cried.

They continued to pin point the exact moments, the four or five moments (and not the piece as a whole!) that didn't pass. I may be an artist, but the technical acrobat in me, the former gymnast in me, that side of me needs specifics and precision. Now armed with those tools, I could work.

I made some changes, and most importantly I made a request.

The one thing that has been missing in this process is a period where I can take all the time I need. The entire "Your number is too long! Cut! Cut! Cut!" period severely crippled me. I rushed, I was more worried about finishing that doing. More concerned by where I was in the music that what was happening in the moment. So I asked if during the night's run, I could take as much time I as I needed. Even if that meant taking twelve minutes.

I got the okay. Armed with clarity and time, all that was left was the real moment of truth. The night's run through would tell...


* ‘There’ is a moment midway to standing up where I’m bent over with my arms hanging down and my ass sticking out. Classy.

The First Run

After months of research and creation, fine tuning, chopping and rehashing, we finally did a complete run through of the show. I believe the first comment the director gave afterwards was, “Some moments are really magical. Some moments really aren’t.”

It was hard. It was long. It was exhausting. I suppose the first sign of trouble was when we started an hour and a half later than we were supposed to. Not having time to warm up is one thing, warming up and having a half hour delay, then another, then another is an entirely different difficulty. It’s draining to remain present, and hard on the body to stay warm in inactivity.

Not ten minutes in, there was a huge technical mishap when couscous started falling from the ceiling. I’ll let you do what you will with that image as I don’t think I could do it justice.

Then there were the half dozen or so people (myself included) who wiped out on a poorly placed accessory because for some reason, the lighting designer keeps forgetting to put lights on backstage. I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to set up a trampoline in the dark, but it isn’t as easy as you might think.

Of course, for me, the wheel was the deal breaker. It’s no secret that I’ve been having a considerable amount of difficulty with my number and my place in the show. The way my act is going, I am filled with dread up until the moment I do it, and then after wards, I dread the feedback. My number did not go well in this run. Entering the space, I was disoriented. That confusion and uncertainty dragged me down. It was plastic, I messed up a lot of the technique and once again, the musicians had to extend the music…

It was terrible. The worst one yet. And it wasn’t that the number was bad that bothered me. What left me discouraged and unhappy was the thought of what the director would have to say later. And I really let that feeling drag me down. It was not a joyful run of the show.

I know I can do my act well. I know I can. And while I keep telling the director it will come, it isn’t. I feel like I’m failing my art.

Some positive points on the run: we were under two hours. I am told that them first run of the previous show was between three and four hours long. Um… I remembered to do most of my manipulations.

What can I say? It was exhausting and discouraging. We stayed in the Chapiteau giving notes until close to midnight. When we got to my number I flat out said I couldn’t comment, that I was too tired, and had nothing to give. I knew that if I had to talk about it, I would just get angry. That would have served no purpose and would have been unfair to the troupe.

The director wanted to start at 9:00 am the next morning. There was no way. I didn’t even shower at the end of the day. Eat. Bed. Back to the drawing board…